Sitting upon his throne sat the King, my father, Sir Reginald III. With an air of importance the King stares down at me with sharp eyes. Holding my head up high, I don’t dare show my nervousness in front of my father. Sat beside him sits my stepmother, Queen Emilia, with a blank face. Of course, she barely cares… stuck up woman.
“Freya,” Reginald speaks, “With talks of war, we thought best to unite the countries with marriage.”
“‘Tis quite the peacekeeping plan,” Queen Emilia interjects, “if I do say so myself.”
Of course, she’d say that…. that gold digger. But, marriage… I understand the reasoning, but why marriage of all things?!
Collecting my thoughts, I let out a breath and speak, “And when shall this meeting… be held?”
“Oh,” Emilia chuckles, “tomorrow at dusk, dear.”