'This is disgusting, you disgust me.'

Asher's eyebrows raise a little at the way the man talks to me. The sneer on his face is close to that of absolute disgust and I can hear contempt in his voice.

'If it were up to me, you would not sit anywhere near that throne in your state.'

'Alright Ernesto, I think you're overreacting a little.' I roll my eyes at the Italian man shaking his head and tightly gripping his pointed chin in horror.

'Look at you!' He gestures, my grandmother close to agreeing with him, 'The nails! Bitten completely down to the bed. The hair! Her split ends have split ends. And don't get me started on the eyebrows, they're almost as hairy as my legs in winter.'

'Okay, does the fact that I'm the future queen mean nothing to you?' I ask, furiously.

He comes up behind me and pushes my shoulders down so that I'm sitting in his salon chair in front of the bright lights where he can properly examine the damage I've done to my appearance since I saw him last. Ernesto has been my family's stylist since he was the only one brave enough to stand up to my grandmother at my mother's wedding.

He told her that royal blue wasn't her colour and he refused to style her in it. The tabloids didn't forget it for months, but she has respected him ever since. She even ended up wearing coral to my mother's wedding instead.

I grew up being told exactly what to wear, how to hold myself, what colours worked with what by Ernesto Hemming. Emilio has an entire Pinboard on Pinterest dedicated to him and the most excitement he has about coming to Alania is meeting him, not coming home after all this time or seeing me.

'You are not sitting on a throne looking like this, lercio.' Ernesto grumbles in his thick accent. I think the man forgets I speak Italian. He turns back to my grandmother, 'What did I tell you altezza? Eh? What did I say to you?'

'You said-'

'I said she comes to me first.' He interrupts my grandmother. 'Before she steps in front of any cameras, she comes to me. She's on the front of every magazine in the country! Dammi la forza.'

Asher makes eye contact with me and widens his eyes at the way that my grandmother allows Ernesto to speak to her. Honestly it doesn't surprise me, my grandmother is the most patient woman I've ever met. You don't get to be one of the most highly acclaimed democratic figures in modern politics by losing your temper.

'Ernesto, how long is this going to take? We have a dress fitting in two hours.' My grandmother says massaging her temples with her thumb and forefinger.

'I will work my fastest but Rome wasn't built in a day.' He says pulling out various nail files and hairbrushes onto the work desk in front of him. He looks at me closely with a pained look, 'Although apparently it was destroyed in six years.'

Ernesto polishes and chops and tweases and messes with my appearance for an hour before he leans back on his mirror and finally nods. I say finally because everytime he seems satisfied, he finds something else he needs to work on. The fiasco of the eyelash tints was something I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. I'm scarred for the rest of my life.

When he moves onto makeup, he asks if I've slept at all since I've been gone, and Asher frowns, considering he knows from just under a week with me quite how much I love to nap. He tilts his head but I just make some joke about how many years I've aged sitting in this chair and hoping no one will take his comment seriously and ask why my bed is still untouched.

I try to think about something else the whole time and decide to go over the evening I spent last night with Adanna, Tegean and Ansel. The thought at one point makes me smile and Ernesto cusses that he plucked the wrong eyebrow hair because of my movements.

Tiggy has finally gotten over her fear of me and by the end of the night she was curled up with the rest of us on the sofa, Ansel asleep in my arms and the girls close either side of me. In a stroke of deja vu, we watched Love Actually, the very same Chris, Charlie and I watched all those Christmases ago.

It might have been my rose tinted glasses fogging my memory, but I swear it wasn't that inappropriate when we were kids. I like Martin Freeman but Adanna and Tegean are going to have to wait until they're a bit older to see his role in that film.

They'd never seen the film before, but both ended up falling asleep just before the ending.

Lars wasn't thrilled at their bedtime but realistically he's never really happy and anyway, he was in a meeting all night with the security team assigned to the Wilquette family to make sure his children are safe while they're here. Call Lars whatever you want, but you can't deny that he's a dedicated father.

'Results.' Ernesto says, gesturing angrily towards me.

I don't know why he's complaining, why would he become a stylist if he didn't want to style people? I'm very fond of him but his over dramatic attitude gets a little intense sometimes.

Wait.

Oh.

Pot, kettle, black.

'Ernesto I'm impressed, I won't lie to you.' My grandmother says standing in front of me, a hand on her chin and her eyebrows raised.

Asher has almost fallen asleep on his chair beside the mirror, the magazine resting on his chest and I'm surprised he hasn't woken up several times the amount Ernesto has been shouting and cursing out my face the last hour. For the first twenty minutes he stood and tried to make himself useful, but given the amount of press outside, we've got hundreds of agents surrounding the building, leaving him very little to do.

Eventually, he listened to my grandmother and agreed to sit and peruse a magazine.

Ernesto moves to the side and for the first time I get a good look at myself in the mirror. He's right, a country isn't built in a day, but he's created it's princess in an hour. My ratty hair that has dulled with the lack of sunshine in London is the same colour but enhanced and bouncy and sleek. It looks so smooth that I wonder if I'll be allowed to touch it myself.

My eyebrows, though I couldn't find much fault with them before, are perfectly arched and tinted slightly darker to match the roots of my deep hair. My eyelashes are darker, framing the grey eyes that are finally allowed to be free after all this time.

My bitten down nails are perfectly filed and after a ten minute argument with Ernesto because I refused to agree to acrylic nails, he instead has just painted them a clean nude colour that you wouldn't notice unless I pointed it out. They're pointy and dainty and delicate.

He's also taken the liberty of rubbing various creams and makeup on my face and I must admit, the kid's good. I don't remember myself looking like this ever, and despite the painful process (it wasn't worth it) he's done alright with the canvas I provided him with.

I wince at the thought of canvases, of our decorated wall back home and how Emilio must be looking at it now alone. He's probably not alone, he's probably got some hook up round that he couldn't have with me there, and he's probably having a wonderful time. I wonder if he misses me.

My manicured hands itch for a paintbrush and I realise just how unlike me I have been the past few days and how much I find myself missing the Raine Carson I left behind in London. I used to think that was hell on earth, but sitting in Ernesto's salon has corrected me.

'Can I get up? My butt's been numb this whole time.' I grumble, chucking the cape from around my shoulders over to Ernesto. He tuts and hangs his head.

'Ay, ay, ay. I can fix the hair, but the attitude is on you altezza.' He tells my grandmother disapprovingly, as if scolding a child, 'Shame the day you take the throne.'

'Always a pleasure,' I fake a smile and he chuckles and plants a kiss on my cheek. I kick the bottom of Asher's foot and he lurches awake, 'Sleeping on the job Thorne? What would Ursula say?'

'Miss Van Doren wouldn't have kicked me.' He sneers, massaging his shoe until it's comfortably cradling his aching sole.

'We're leaving, thank God.' I roll my eyes, pulling my beige coat over my shoulders. It's ridiculously impractical for the weather we're currently experiencing in Alania but my mother insisted, who is going to be mad if we're late meeting her at the dress fitting.

Ernesto has already pre-approved my dress, and promises that he'll meet my grandmother later to advise her on hers and my grandfather's outfits. He makes a song and dance about how busy he is with the coronation, organised with such little time, and my grandmother nods, knowing he's always one for exaggeration.

'All finished?' Asher asks, standing and straightening his clothes.

'As if I sat in this chair for an hour for you not to notice a difference at all.' I say, throwing my comment at Ernesto who is jabbering away at my grandmother, who has circled back to telling her all the ways in which she has failed in raising a princess worthy of the country.

'No I can tell.' Asher nods, stowing his hands into his pockets and tucking his chin into the scarf wound around his neck, 'You look less like a night troll than when we arrived.'

I swing my leg out to kick him but he dodges, throwing his body comically back and accidentally knocking two combs of Ernesto's clattering to the floor. Ernesto looks over and lets out a stream of italian swear words and starts whipping Asher with the towel from around my shoulders.

'I'm so sorry.' Asher babbles, keeping a distance from Ernesto's devil glare.

'Oh ignore him,' My grandmother waves her hand, clearly seizing the opportunity to leave before Ernesto thinks of another insult for me, 'Ernesto, we'll be seeing you tomorrow to further discuss Marzia's outfits for the week? I'll send a car for you. Thank you for all your help today but we must be leaving.'

I hate that this man is the only one responsible for dressing me daily, and I prepare myself for a lifetime of pain at his hand.

She pushes me towards the door and walks quickly after Asher and I, leaving Ernesto mumbling to himself about the youth that London has created of me. I tuck my hands into my pockets and bow my head, knowing that there'll be press outside waiting to see the transformation.

The bodyguards for my grandmother meet her at the entrance to the stunningly bright white building and Asher keeps me close under his arm. When I thought about coming home I thought that there'd be a few people with cameras following me around but I never thought it would be anything even close to the reality.

There's hundreds of flashing lights as we leave even though no one was supposed to know where we were going this morning. My mother is probably fighting her way through it all at our dress fitting, even though they'll only be there on the off chance I'll show up.

Asher has a coiled wire in his ear and he's been keeping me updated all morning about places overrun with paparazzi that we now can't visit because it's not safe. This includes the restaurants I used to love when I was young, a few shopping malls, a public royal park and even Chris' graveyard, having missed when we were there last night.

It makes my skin crawl that all these seedy people, unshowered, unshaven, pulling overtime hours to get their shot of the princess have been anywhere near my brother. I had the idea of just letting them have one photo, but Asher reminded me that any other magazine that didn't get their chance would expect the same everywhere else I went.

Their bodies crammed up against the agency car means that it takes us almost twenty minutes just to leave the car park. My grandmother has to ride separately for safety reasons and it reminds me of how things used to be. I try to put the thought to the back of my mind but it keeps nagging like an itch I can't get rid of.

It could also be because Ernesto has plastered so much stuff all over me that I feel weird and oily and not like myself. Nesto has highlighted my hair so it doesn't seem the same colour as when I went in and I already dislike the nails he's created out of my stubs. My skin, I will give him, has never felt fresher, but I feel colder.

As planned, as soon as we evade the press, including a few that follow us on motorcycles, the limousine turns into a parking structure, with a small, insignificant silver sedan close behind. While the sedan drops off our trail on the second story, our ride continues up to the sixth.

The driver pulls up directly beside the elevator doors that are open with an agent waiting inside for us. We jump from one door to the other and the agent presses two with a manicured finger. Ernesto has apparently princess-ed the whole country while I've been gone.

The doors dings open and Asher grabs my wrist and leads me to the sedan where another agent waits with the keys outstretched to us. Asher mutters code words back and forth with him for a while until finally they're both satisfied that neither are trying to kill me, or worse.

Find out the dress I'm wearing before coronation day.

Yes folks, Asher and I are playing a game of hide and seek with the whole country's press, not to protect me from murderers, but just so that my grandmother and mother (who are insufferable when together) can keep my dress and designer a secret. Even my father doesn't know, but that's because he has a tendency to not understand the importance of such matters.

Asher tuts at the fact that this car isn't automatic and so has to change gears like a peasant as we leave the parking lot. Sometimes I wonder if he's the princess instead of me with his attitude.

It takes us almost forty minutes to get to the designers for the plain and simple fact that my grandmother wouldn't allow us to write down directions or even use a Sat Nav in case someone were to also figure out where we were going. Given that Asher and I between us have the memory of a goldfish, you can see how remembering them was an issue for us.

I think it pissed off the cars following us, containing undercover agents, and twice something along the lines of 'are you lost, or are you trying to kidnap the princess?' came down Asher's radio. Eventually, when we pull into the car park, they park a few spaces away and wait for us to go in, before they do their security sweep around the building.

I remember all of this from when I was a kid, but I forgot quite how on edge it made me.

I have to put my hood up on my raincoat despite the blue skies and Asher turns the collar up on his long jacket so that we're not easily recognisable just to walk into the building. I'm starting to think that I should just keep my wig and glasses in my bag the amount I'm having to hide in my own country.

'Finally!' My mother says, the golden watch around her wrist spinning as she throws her hands up in irritation, as if she's been twirling it for half an hour, hoping that time would reverse and we'd be there sooner. 'What happened to the both of you?'

'Surprisingly we can't remember twenty minutes of instructions off the top of our heads.' I roll my eyes, given that my mother has probably never had to use that much of her brain in her entire life. Dresses and makeup can't take up that much room.

Actually, that's untrue. It takes up a lot of room, so much so that there's not enough room for other things. Things like remembering to hug your long lost daughter when she arrives, even if she's late.

'We wanted your opinion on your sister's dresses too, they've been trying ones on for hours!' My grandmother says, even though she probably only got here twenty minutes before we did.

'Ah yes, I bet you hated it. You must've been in hell.' I say, knowing that my mother finds no greater pleasure in life than playing dress up with her daughters, me included when she gets the chance.

I shiver at the memory of the Christmas she demanded we all must Skype the whole dinner, and forced Emilio by decree of my country that I had to wear a dress. She was annoyed when I told her she wasn't royalty in that country any longer.

She was even more annoyed when I hung up on her.

Adanna and Tiggy come bounding towards us, lit by the lights ahead given that all of the windows are closed and curtains drawn to conceal the fact that we're here. They're wearing matching outfits like they have been every time I've seen them since they arrived and the pale pink colour of their dresses matches the tie Ansel is slobbering on round his neck.

'Look how beautiful you are!' I gush, leaning down and scooping them all up.

They give me a tight squeeze and then follow with also giving Asher a little cuddle. I didn't know this about him, but apparently he loves kids and anytime he's with them he always makes a point to bring them something to eat, or to play with and if he forgets, he lets Adanna teach him clapping routines.

I'll give it to the boy, he's gotten pretty good at Patty Cake and he's absolutely mastered A Sailor Went to Sea, Sea, Sea.

Asher jabs me in the ribs to remind me to not be so rude to my mother, as we're shown through to the large dressing rooms where people stand waiting for me. The head designer, Alissa Mayfaire, who I recognise from my childhood, gives me a polite kiss on either cheek, before doing the same with Ash.

Usually people are dying to kiss-ass me, but the amount of fights this woman and I have had about outfits, I'm surprised she's held back from slapping me. We came close to a physical altercation once when she tried to get me in a dress that had three of the biggest 'absolute-no's' on my 'absolute-no' checklist.

Pink, poofy and covered in bows.

'Sweetheart, you remember Alissa?' My grandmother prompts me and I smile shortly, and give her as warm a welcome as I can.

'I was offended that I was not mentioned in your recent interview.' She says with lips so pursed they look like prunes.

'That was by order of the queen actually.' I say with as little snark as I can manage, 'She thinks the reveal on the day will make much more of a statement for my family and your brand.'

Alissa huffs but turns around, acknowledging that I'm probably right. My mother raises her eyebrows at the diplomatic way I managed her. Living with Emilio, who refuses to do housework, is harder than managing literal country disputes so I've gotten pretty good at it, even if it means having to swallow my pride sometimes.

'If you think that makes up for you being forty-five minutes late, you're wrong darling.' My mother says and brushes my hair back over my shoulder lovingly, 'Your dress is ready, come through.'

'Thrilled.' I drawl and Asher stands on the back of my shoe so I almost topple into my mother. 'Future queen.' I hiss.

'Oh shush you.' He rolls his eyes, 'I don't suppose Alissa does suits does she?'

'Ah Asher that reminds me, your dressing room with a few select suits for you to decide between is just down the other hall.' My grandmother says, pointing to where any entirely separate team stands waiting for him.

Knowing Asher he's going to have the time of his life getting dressed and tailored by several people, I give a reluctant wave for him to go enjoy himself. At least one of us might have some fun today given I certainly will not, especially now that my sister's dresses are finished so all attention will be on me.

'Would you like to see my creation?' Alissa asks me, gesturing to a huge curtain that hides away a large section of the wall, that I'm assuming my dress is hidden by. Why does an outfit need a curtain to itself? My grandmother and mother have already seen it, so this can only be for my benefit, and it doesn't benefit me whatsoever.

'Does it include jeans?' I ask hopefully.

'No.' Alissa deadpans.

'Then no thanks.' I say, sitting down heavily in one of the chairs that I'm sure cost more than a term's fees for Thorne Academy back home. Alissa's assistants, who have never met me before seem a little taken aback by my attitude.

'Zia...' My mother warns.

'Oh just put the damn thing on me then.' I stand, being ushered behind another curtain (I swear this room alone could provide blankets to the homeless and solve hypothermia) where I go about awkwardly removing my clothing so they can fit me in my garment prison.

For the first time today, I'm quite thankful that Ernesto waxed everything he did considering the amount of times they tell me to lift my arms and legs and inspect me with a magnifying glass. I've never had four women undress me before but I guess there's a first time for everything.

The material they attach to my arms and around my waist is heavy and it makes me wonder just how exhausted I'm going to be after Christmas Day. I realise that completely giving up on any kind of exercise or weight training when Emilio and I lived in London might have been a slight miscalculation in judgement.

One of the women kneels beside me and begins to pin parts to my legs and I have to grip my fingers together a couple of times when she pricks me in the thigh. To say I could be her future queen, you'd think she wouldn't want to poke me with tiny metal needles.

The other woman takes to tying my hair away from my neck so that she can complete the thousands of delicate stitches that trail from the base of my spine all the way up to the back of my neck where I try to ignore the itching.

It's difficult to try and forget about how tight it is, but that is because the material winds it way to the base of my neck and strangles me. I can just see the headlines now, 'Country in mourning as Princess murdered by tailor, Alissa Mayfaire.'

The amusing thought crosses my mind, but stops me as I come to the conclusion that Alissa will probably do exactly that if I give her my honest opinion of the dress. There's no mirror in the room I change so when my mother and grandmother's jaws drop when I walk back towards them, I expect that it's probably because of how ill-fitting it is.

My mother stands up, with her hands to her chest and a look of utter shock on her face. My grandmother, who was already standing, holds Adanna close to her body and smiles widely at me. Adanna is too busy playing with something in her hands but Tegean smiles up at me with a toothy and wonky grin.

'You look like a princess.' Tiggy says up to me and the assistants around the room laugh at her innocence and complete lack of understanding of the whole reason we're here.

My mother, who would usually coo over a comment such as that, seems to have lost all hearing because she has stopped moving, and by the looks of it, breathing even. She has tears in her eyes and I feel extremely self conscious about the way that everyone's eyes are on me.

'Would you like to see?' Alissa asks sweetly and calmly, having somehow forgotten the fact that we hate each other and has softened.

I nod without being able to find words and step onto a podium in front of a glowingly lit mirror. One of the stylists had previously thrown my hair up into a bun to keep off my shoulders but my grandmother comes up behind me and untucks it so that it flows down my back.

Alissa moves another curtain and suddenly I can see myself for the first time. The dress is completely white from head to toe, stretching from my collarbones to my wrists and all the way down below my feet. It's blindingly clean and until my eyes can adjust to the light, it looks plain.

But as soon as my eyes focus properly, I can find the detailing that stems across my entire body. The golden hand stitching in the shapes of faint vines and petals intertwines with a slight hint of sparkle sewn into the fabric that covers me. I turn my shoulder to find that the dress stoops down to my lower back but even then somehow is incredibly tight.

The piece they've fitted to my chest is restricting, but I cannot tell if that's the reason I cannot breathe or if, for the first time, I can finally see the princess that everyone has been asking for my whole life.

For a brief second, my heart is filled with warmth, before a chilling ice hand wraps itself around my chest and brings me back to reality. This dress is beautiful and the work Ernesto completed earlier has made my face match its quality. I look like a princess, I look like the princess that Alania needs, but I am a complete fraud.

Any other time I've been forced into dresses or fancy clothing, I always assumed that I was uncomfortable for the simple reason that I only really find sweatpants comfortable and they weren't allowed. But I realise, standing before a person I do not recognise, that I have been utterly wrong.

I cannot wear these clothes because these clothes are a lie. I am lying to my country, to my family and to myself. I realise that every fear I had about my family rejecting the person I have become, comes from the very plain fact that I will never see this person in the mirror as a princess, and I don't think the people of Alania will either.

If Chris could see me now he would be ashamed of the sister he wasn't there for.

'It's beautiful.' I say, swallowing the lump in my throat and furiously blinking at the tears that have welled up in my eyes, 'Can I take it off now?'

My relatives have noticed the sudden change in my attitude and so, in silence, Alissa and her team make a few alterations before they help me out of the flowing material. Once the dress has been carefully removed from me, they bow and leave me to get changed back into clothes that don't make me feel any better either.

I don't wear skirts and shirts back home. The fabric of my skin tight skirt is beautiful and the deep hunter green works seamlessly with the black blouse and beige coat. My feet are aching in boots that have a slight heel to them and I know if Emilio could see me now he would laugh. He'd laugh because in the last few days, I have given away every part of myself for my country.

It still isn't enough.

I'm just finishing attaching my shoes to my feet, and considering sending Ernesto a threatening letter about continuing to put me in heels, when my mum sticks her head around the changing room curtain to see me still trying to contain myself. She sits herself next to me on the ottoman provided and watches in silence as I finish fiddling with my shoes. Ansel rests on her lap and he takes a second to try and grab the dress from its hanger and pull it down.

I always knew I liked that kid.

'Wanna explain that out there?' She says nudging my shoulder and for a second, she feels like my old mum before she divorced my dad, who solved every argument in our house by tickling us all until we laughed and screamed for her to stop.

'It was that obvious?' I laugh, half out of embarrassment, and half because I cannot help but smile at the memory of my happy little family. I take Ansel from her, and bounce him up and down my knee, feeling for a second, a little victory that I even get to be here at all.

'You might as well have held up a sign.' She grins back, even though she knows my smile must be just a tad fake, 'What's going on in your head kiddo?'

'What if I can't do this mum?' I say, braving a conversation I know I'm not ready to have out loud, 'I haven't been here for years, I've forgotten everything. I don't know anything about helping to run a country.'

'Oh darling, you think I did?' She smiles, 'At least you were born into it, I had to learn from scratch, you've at least got a jump start on me. Trust me, if anyone is capable of doing this, it's you.'

'But mum you love royalty, you love being in the spotlight. You can wear a dress and six inch heels and not feel any pain for hours.' I say, 'You wanted this life, I'm not sure I did.'

'Sweetheart, being a princess isn't about being able to wear heels, or walking in a dress.' She reminds me gently, 'The fact that you're sitting here worrying about whether or not you can help your people proves you are exactly the person that can.'

She smiles a smile that reminds me of Chris so much that I think he must be somewhere helping her do it. She leans her head on my shoulder and gives me a tight squeeze. We sit in comfortable silence for a while and I remember these understanding periods of quiet from our Skype conversations, except this time she's actually here.

'Come on petal.' She pats my leg, 'Your grandmother said you and Asher wanted to visit the city centre, you can show him some of your favourite places if you like.'

'I can't go with you?' I ask hopefully, still wanting to hold some privacy from Asher after my unexpected emotional morning. I might have mentioned that I'd like to see my country, but right now, I don't know if I can face them.

'I have to stay here for a little while yet, my fitting isn't until the children are done, and Rosie wanted to Skype in to give her opinion after her meeting. Plus, we promised to wait for Ernesto to arrive, and you know what he's like when he doesn't get his way.' She tells me, laughing because Rosie has always been much more than an aunt to those children. She's basically a third parent.

I've always been so grateful that Rosie and my mum stayed closer than best friends, like the sisters they once were. I know after Christopher died, they really needed each other. I couldn't think of a better friend for my mum than Rosie, they are alike and opposite in every way that makes them completely inseparable.

I smile, thinking about how I can't wait to see my lovely aunt Rosie.

'What about after?' I push.

'After that, I have to go and help Lars with his fitting and then there's another meeting scheduled for the safety of the kids, you know what he's like.' She rolls her eyes, although I know this is something she's eternally thankful for. I think sometimes that maybe his protective nature, of his children, of her, is half of the reason she married him.

She deserves to feel safe, she's spent so many years in fear. It's unbelievably evident on her face.

'You must be hungry? Don't you remember some of the places we used to eat?' She says, trying to get me to cheer up, 'There was that beautiful cafe in the French Quarter, and Les Nomades, and even that little diner that we held up in once during that awful weather.'

'We really thought it was going to snow here that year.' I say remembering the bitter cold and how the agency car's heating stopping working mid drive. We had to stop and hire out a shitty diner in the middle of the city because Chris was going to shatter his teeth the amount they were chattering.

'You two can do whatever you want Marzia, your whole country is just waiting for you to go back and visit it. And I can't say it'd hurt your reputation with your people to go and smile for some cameras and wave at people.' She suggests, 'Show them that no one breaks a Castille.'

'Okay mum.' I agree, noticing the rumbling in my tummy because my grandmother wouldn't let me eat anything before the fitting, or during my makeover, no matter how many times I asked, 'Is Asher done?'

'He's waiting for you outside. He just nipped out to discuss security for your afternoon.' She tells me and I don't know why, but that makes me feel all funny inside (and no, it's not hunger).

I feel the discomfort returning. Asher isn't supposed to be the guy that covers my security detail. He's the guy who kicks around my books back at school. I realise, for the millionth time already, that he's here to keep me alive. And he's got to work at that every second of the day just to have a fighting chance.

I try not to feel deflated at the idea of an afternoon of, 'hold it there ma'am', 'just a second while we canvas this ma'am', and my personal favourite, 'ma'am, we must continue, there isn't security clearance for this area.' I find myself missing walking home from the bus stop in London, at least I was free there. Lonely, but free.

I leave the changing room, thanking Alissa and ignoring the looks I get given from her staff. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them is an undercover reporter and my little breakdown is in papers everywhere by the morning, it wouldn't be the first time. But I'm too tired to really care right now.

I hug my mother and grandmother goodbye and give the kids a quick squeeze before walking outside to find Asher, one finger pressed into his ear, talking into the receiver. My eyes blink with the natural light and he hears the door closing and hangs up on whoever he was talking to, having clearly thought up every possible scenario of my potential assassination this afternoon.

I can tell his mind is going a million miles an hour because he has a piece of lint on his jacket and his scarf is slightly frayed and he couldn't care less. There are very few things in this world that can make Asher Thorne forget about his appearance, a bad grade, and fear.

'Everything okay?' I ask him gently because I can sense his panic.

'Yeah fine!' He says, with way too much energy, his words completely contradicting his face, 'You ready to go explore?'

'Promise?' I say, ignoring his question completely. He gives me a sad half smile and nods his head. I decide not to push it, because I'm trying to take this friend thing seriously, and also a little bit because I don't want to hear about all the ways in which this afternoon might go wrong. Maybe the weight of the job is finally getting to him.

'Just stay near me, okay?' He makes me promise.

I nod my head, and I mean it, 'Okay, let's go.'

*

'This is my life now. I have climbed this hill and now I shall die upon it.' I groan, the pain in my feet unbearable.

'Shut up, we've only been walking for twenty minutes.'

Asher is pacing seven feet in front of me and I'm unbelievably close to taking a photo and showing my dad that if anyone were to attempt to shoot me now, my bodyguard would have to take a train to get back to where he's left me.

Granted, we did only get dropped off by my grandmother in town half an hour ago, but Alania is a hilly country and East Laumant really takes the piss. In our search to try to find somewhere to eat (because Ash is sick of me whining and figures - correctly - that I'll be happier with some food in my stomach) Asher has been dragging me up and down the little lanes of the winding capital city.

I keep seeing little shops that I think I can remember and one little tucked away boutique I have to look away from because I remember buying my mother a birthday present with Charlie there once. I can't remember the present, and I can't remember the day, but I remember laughing there until my sides felt like they were splitting at the seams.

Asher keeps pointing at things, getting me to explain why things are the way they are. He asks about the water reservoirs that were built centuries ago, and the turrets of the cathedral in the distance where my father will be made king in a few days time. Where I will stand before my country as their princess.

There's agents everywhere around us, trying their best to blend into their surroundings. They're not doing brilliantly, one agent has stopped to smell every flower we've passed. I think it's partly because I'm walking so slow, because it's hard to walk and whine at the same time but still. I'm considering asking one of them for a piggy back, especially considering these heels.

Once again, I damn Ernesto to burning hell.

'My feet hurt.' I whine.

I walked around too long last night after Adanna, Tegean and Ansel went to bed, just wandering the castle to remember the favourite spots I used to have when I was younger. One I had almost forgotten about lies in one of the top rooms in the castle. Most people don't know it's there, because you can only get there by climbing through a crawl space in an already unused room.

I was expecting to find some cushions or books I had left when I was younger, but the whole palace has been cleaned top to bottom and the room instead felt cold, bare and unlike a place I could recognise.

I finally caved in around seven this morning and managed to Skype Emilio for a while as I was getting ready, but he's so busy packing and catching up on six years worth of social life I took away from him to have that much time, so I leave him with the reminder I'm seeing him in a few days, and a promise I force him into making to tell me all about the date he has this evening.

I don't ask if the date is with the man in his bed that he tried to hide when he answered the call, because either way I'm proud of the kid. At least he's moving on, finally, even if it is with a different guy each night.

'Okay, why don't we just stop and get food here?' Asher points to a little restaurant beside the winding canal that runs through the centre of the city with a small outside dining area.

'Inside is full, and I'll freeze to death out here.' I complain, even though my feet are cursing me for daring to argue considering how tired they are, 'I won't have to worry about anyone else killing me, you might as well suggest lunch in the middle of the pacific.'

'Blue is my favourite colour on you.' He chuckles, dragging me to sit down at one of the tables closest to the water, 'Where's your sense of adventure?'

Asher sets down his posh-boy satchel and my leg itches uncomfortably with the intense urge to kick it into the river beside our chairs. He hands me a menu as if I'm a child he's babysitting and not the future ruler of a country he has the honour of protecting.

The agents disperse, and I try not to roll my eyes when I catch glimpses of them browsing in shops, or popping up on top of buildings. We're in a narrow street, and after a while of fast movements, they decide the threat level here is pretty minimal, and take up discreet positions all around me. One of them has a dog that sniffs everyone who walks past, and I really want to go give him a stroke, even though it's not allowed.

I remember being really frustrated as a kid when they told me I couldn't pet the sniffer dogs, and as an adult, I debate the idea in my head, wondering if I could get over there and get a cuddle in before someone stopped me. I decide against it for today, but promise in my head to do it at least once, sometime soon.

The waiter appears and gives us some water for the table before disappearing again, leaving Asher to try to read the menu, written entirely in Alanian. He knows the language in a rough sense, but only really words that he needs for work, which surprisingly doesn't include phrases like pasta puttanesca or roast lamb. He pulls up Google Translate for the words he really can't figure out but after it incorrectly translates a pasta dish to spaghetti worms, leading to a hilariously horrified reaction, he instead bugs me with the harder words.

The waiter reappears once more with the soda water Asher ordered (surely only for appearances sake, because I have on good authority that it's the only drink available right in the very depths of hell) and my diet coke that Asher insisted was not allowed to have any rum in whatsoever.

'Hey, what's the Alanian translation for pineapple?' Asher asks as he scans the unfamiliar words.

'Why?' I question, wondering if Asher is skipping straight to dessert and focusing on a fruit salad in particular. Perhaps he could be allergic to it, but I don't remember him ever mentioning anything.

'Just trying to see if they have ham and pineapple pizza anywhere on the menu. I only know the Alanian word for ham.' Asher says absentmindedly as the waiter hands us some cutlery and napkins and pretends not to notice us talking.

'Excuse me?' I spit, the waiter slightly taken aback at my tone.

'Z don't-'

'How dare you? The audacity!' I exclaim, throwing my hands down on the table, 'I invite you into my country and this is how you repay me? You are unbelievably low to do this to me Asher, this is treason.'

'Sorry, what am I repaying you for? Being a huge pain in my ass?' Asher frowns, 'It's just food Zia, Christ alive.'

'I'm sorry, just food? Who are you? This coming from the boy who complained for months at the council meetings that the cafeteria food at Thorne wasn't optimum temperature.' I snap back.

'Forgive me for protecting my fellow pupils from explosive diarrhoea.' He returns.

'Thorne, don't talk about yourself that way.' I grin and Asher's anger melts away and he slaps me on the arm with the menu.

'Wait, you're the princess!' Comes a giddy voice from beside us, the Alanian dialect seeping into his accent. He bows instantly, 'Your Highness.'

Shit.

Asher looks at me with wide eyes and then up at the waiter who has a wide smile on his friendly face. Having forgotten he was standing there, I have potentially just given away my entire alias at Thorne Academy and possibly endangered any chance of returning to England ever again.

Asher stands up and begins to jokily negotiate for the waiter's silence while I realise that by just one slip of my tongue, I could be waving goodbye to the Greenewood triplets, or Asher, or Emilio forever. I cannot be carefree anymore, even if I never really was to start with.

'We'll just both get the carbonara please.' Asher says in broken Alanian as he sits back down, desperately trying to change the subject.

'Anything for you, Your Highness.' He says giddily, before rushing off towards the kitchen in the back of the restaurant.

Asher looks at me with amusement in his eyes and it confuses me, considering how much he should be panicking right now. I know I'm not exactly easy-going but there's no way I'm anywhere near as highly-strung as Asher. And here the boy is, smiling as if this is funny and not a potential to be the last time everything is going to be normal.

'What's the matter with you?' He gestures as he settles his white ironed napkin onto his lap. I watch, thinking this is ridiculous considering we're sitting outside and there's a higher chance that he'll need that handkerchief to cover his head when it rains instead of covering his lap in case he spills.

Asher could be on a rollercoaster in the middle of an earthquake while one hundred vibrating phones ring and still not spill his food, he's just that kind of type.

'We just got found out.' I gesture towards the restaurant where I can almost hear a buzz of gossip about the princess being sat outside.

'Ah, not really.' Asher shrugs and I figure he must have developed a twitch in this country considering he has never done that once before in his life, 'He doesn't speak English Z, he barely managed to understand my order and my Alanian accent is almost perfect.'

'Debatable-'

'Perfect.' Asher interrupts, 'There's no way he understood what you were saying, especially because you speak so bloody fast all the time. I can't understand you sometimes for the life of me, he has no hope in hell.'

I look around desperately, finding a hundred different ways I can run if I need to.

'You're not in hiding anymore Z, you've got to stop thinking of everyone as a threat, I've got you alright?' He tells me sincerely and I have a nagging feeling that he's right, 'Everyone is expecting you to be exactly where you are, you are safe. You haven't come home to hide from people.'

'Yeah.' I say, stumped because both my mother and Asher have told me things about myself today that I have been trying to figure out alone this whole time, when I never needed to do it solo at all, 'I was just kind of hoping that no one would recognise me if I wasn't twelve anymore.'

'This is not the country you left behind, this is a new country who wants you and loves you and needs their princess.' He smiles at me, 'And right now their princess is hungry, so she's going to sit beside the country's iconic canals and eat pasta with bacon and cream and tell her incredibly handsome bodyguard all the things about the city that he doesn't know.'

The rest of the meal goes as smoothly as Asher leads me to believe. The food comes and it's as delicious as I remember Alanian food to be, and despite the restaurant's protests, Asher and I pay our bill in full and generously tip the waiter who served us. I take a few photographs with people and smile and wave like I was taught.

Then a small girl comes running up to me, away from the hand of her mother to give me a small dove token which I recognise as being Christopher's symbol, a pin that is worn throughout all of December to remember my brother. The two beamingly bright doves are flying together, regal and beautiful, my two brothers who both departed this world.

I shouldn't feel anger when I see this, but I hate people's mourning being split between Chris and Charlie. One of them deserves their prayers and their remembrance, and the other is holed up in a shitty little beach house beside the sea in Brighton. One could come home in an hour plane ride, the other I will never see again.

The agents around us stiffen at the unplanned intrusion, but Asher has a quick word with the young girl's mother, and mutters something into his radio that signals that they aren't here to kill me. I'm relieved to know that Christopher's murderers aren't recruiting this young.

I kneel down in front of the little girl and pin the dove to her cardigan. She watches me, her deep brown eyes watching as I struggle slightly with my new nails. Asher stands behind me, not to be protective, but to see what I'm doing. I hope that no one takes any photographs, because if my grandmother sees me on my knees in this skirt I'm dead.

'What's your name, sweetheart?' I ask the girl once I have finished attaching the doves to her.

'Nemi.' She says timidly. Her mother is standing behind her and has one hand on her daughter's shoulder, the action reminds me of my mother and I whenever I had to do public press as a kid, because I hated the attention.

'Do you know what these doves represent?' I ask her and she nods, smiling widely as if she were at school and she had just answered the correct answer in class.

'It's for the princes, Christopher and Charles. We wear it to remember them.' She tells me, as if somehow I could not know this. She's only small, I wonder how she knows this already. Do they teach them in schools about the royal tragedy? Does her mother cry at Christmas for the princes?

'You keep this one for me, okay?' I tell her, 'Keep it really safe.'

She nods and makes the cross sign over her heart. I stand back up, and smile at her mother who has tears in her eyes. I reach out my fingers and squeeze the hand that rests on her daughter's shoulder. She bows towards me, and panicked at forgetting, her daughter follows her.

I look at their bowed heads and know that I have done nothing to deserve their respect yet. Without thinking it through, I cross my legs and curtsey back towards them, far longer and lower than I should. I hear a few people gasp and someone is definitely taking photographs now. I am going to earn their respect and admiration, but they have earned mine beyond belief.

I take Asher's arm and he leads me away from the crowd without saying a word. I know he won't dare to say anything but he's probably already deciding whether or not that was a good idea. He'll probably write a paper on it when he gets back to Thorne, with a whole new insight into the princess.

We walk in absolute silence through the rest of town for a good half an hour. Asher occasionally mutters a polite 'excuse-me' when he accidentally bumps someone and a couple of times we have to stop to smile and wave at people who recognise me. He keeps his lip trapped between his teeth for most of the time we walk, as if trying to understand something.

Probably everything, considering that Asher's mind runs a hundred times a minute.

The agents lessen in numbers as the afternoon floats by, and the crowds get thinner as the air gets people, and most people finish their Christmas shopping, and go home for dinner. There's fairy lights strung up between the streets and I like the feeling of walking with my head back, catching glimpses of stars in between.

Even though I didn't think it at Alissa's, I've actually had the best afternoon.

'We should probably be getting back, your grandmother said dinner was scheduled for six.' Asher says eventually, breaking the sound of our footsteps echoing in the empty back lane. The sun is just about set over the horizon and it has painted all the cobblestones with a beautiful orangey-pink tinge.

I'm about to agree when all of a sudden we hear blaring applause from a tucked away pub at the end of the road, hidden between a building and a fountain. We both turn to look at it and see that there are people hanging in through the windows, people blocking the entrances and some only able to listen to the noise.

For a moment, I think that maybe it's just a sports game, or a meeting for some group like keen golfers. But as we get closer I realise that it is something far more sinister than a basketball game or a putting club.

A flag hangs out of one of the windows upstairs and someone else dons a scarf with the same colours. They're muted red and white and it takes me a moment to remember that those are the colours worn by our political opponents. The Moreau clan. The family that have been trying to steal the crown from us from the second it was put on my ancestor's head.

I pondered aloud once that maybe they could be behind the Chris' murder but I was warned very sternly by Emilio that this accusation with no factual basis was a very dangerous thing to play around with.

But here a large group of them are, with the Duke and Duchess, Baron and Marquess right in the middle on a projected television screen. The family appears near perfect, a mother and father who are still together (they like to rub that one in) and two children who are both still alive (another thing they like to remind people).

Their eldest child is a graduated lawyer and their youngest isn't far behind, and the family are world known for their philanthropy. They like to appear on public interviews a lot and because the press has always been a threat to my family, they're usually praised for their openness and honesty in contrast to the Castille's. I've met them at most royal events since I was little, and I have never seen a family talk more out of their arses than the Moreau clan.

The Duke and Duchess, Axel and Juniper love to fault my family for having the first royal divorce in my bloodline, when every member of high society knows that Juniper has been sleeping with almost every important male Alanian clan member since before she even married Axel.

And to make matters worse, Axel isn't the most faithful to his wife either, and happens to have had another daughter, Clementine by a separate woman, nine years into his marriage. I met Clementine once at a gala before I realised who she was, and maybe it was because we were only eleven, but it truly felt she didn't hate me just yet.

It was only when Chris pulled me aside and asked who I had spent all night exploring with that he told me we weren't supposed to talk to Clementine, in fact she wasn't supposed to be there at all. Surprisingly, an illegitimate daughter doesn't bode well for the 'family values' political slogan.

When I asked Chris why I wasn't allowed to talk to Clementine, he gently told me how if the press were to see her, they might start asking questions, something he said could hurt her. I didn't want to hurt anyone at eleven, but I can't help but feel that maybe if the truth had come out, she'd be in a better place now.

The country doesn't know Clementine, and I don't expect them to ever find out. Especially when the only person who can corroborate Clem's claim is her mother, who killed herself two summers ago. I sent Clem flowers, but with no return address, I didn't expect to hear back from her. All I hoped was that Axel would help her out.

Yet here he is, on national television, with his perfect family and wife, talking about the happiness they want to share with my country. His children, Natalia and Tinsley sit between him and Juniper and they smile at the interviewer as if they're genuinely happy to be there.

Asher tugs on my arm and looks around, clearly realising just how unwelcome we are here. I pull my arm away from his grip and move towards a gap in the crowd where I can better see the screen. I notice that their interviewer is the very same who saw my return to the country, Alexi.

I roll my eyes, of course it's her.

A tag line runs underneath where they sit on the screen, Coronation day; Moreau clan to attend? I want to stand up and tell everyone that we didn't actually invite them in the first place but I don't know how that might help me here. The bar has fallen quiet and they're listening to the family as they rattle on.

'...Of course we would like to be there to support the crowning of the new king, however our family is already tied into other arrangements. If the royal family had been a little more transparent about their plans instead of planning it all within the month we might've stood more of a chance.' Juniper tells the audience.

'How do you think Percy will perform as king? Given the peaceful and prospective reign of Myron and Thelma, do you expect him to follow along that path?' Alexi asks, who wasn't calling us controversial when she was sitting in our house.

'I would hope that Percy is able to follow through with the rulings of his father, however given the return of his daughter recently, I imagine his focus will be split and the country does not need distracted leadership at the current time.' Natalia tells the interviewer and I scoff under my breath, given that I know she's always blackmailing her father for her own gain, and I imagine that could be worse for the country.

'Hey! It's the princess!'

My eyes snap away from the screen to meet the voice, a man with his hand around a beer, the other pointing at me. Asher wastes no time in grabbing my arm and dragging me away from the pub, just as other cries emerge from the pub. There are flashes around Asher and I and I realise with a sinking feeling that they're filming me.

The agents that have kept themselves hidden all day, spring from alleyways and doorways and surround us. I try not to panic when I'm suddenly enclosed between large shoulders and stern faces, and keep my face down, making sure that I don't lose my feet from under me.

Well, it's not like it could make this any worse really, is it?

Asher's grip is ridiculously tight and he begins talking away into his sleeve, where I'd almost forgotten he'd kept his microphone. We pace down another street when a car comes screeching in front of us, the door flying open to rescue us from the mob that's following us with their phones in front of them.

Asher slams the door and we begin driving through the streets away from the crowd. I've never been so thankful that these agents drive like experienced mad men, because we're behind the palace gates in minutes.

'That was not a planned rally.' Asher spits, furiously typing away on his phone, 'Someone should have warned us what we were walking into.'

He's right of course, but it doesn't change the fact that I chose to stay, and this is absolutely my mistake.

I bet it's only minutes before my grandparents will hear about this, and will undoubtedly have words to say about it, so I mutter to Asher that I'm going to bed. I spend the rest of the evening with a pillow and blanket I've laid down in my closet to keep myself away from the bed that is king size, but was made for a me that is six years too late and would've never made that mistake.