The Secrets of the Throne (sequel to The Girl behind the Throne) - ON HOLD

Chapter 1. (Edited)

 

Freya walked the beaten path to her home for the hundredth time already that morning. The heavy shopping bag she dragged behind her, missing half of the items she had been sent to get. This time she had an excuse for her forgetfulness, the love of her teenage years had been in the queue in front of her, the smell of his cologne and the sight of his broad shoulders causing her to forget most of the shopping list. Her best friend, Louis, found her forgetfulness adorable, but it was unlikely that Freya’s guardian, Aunt Meredith, would find the lack of toilet roll too sweet.

Hitching her large glasses up her nose, she wished- something she did every morning; that Meredith would spend some of Freya’s small inheritance on clothes for her instead of herself, but she knew that it was a lost cause. Most of the money went to keeping Meredith’s frown lines smoothed, an action Louis called “like putting lipstick on a pig”, and Freya, disloyally agreed. 

Running up the stairs muttering the words “milk, bread, toilet roll”, over and over again, in a hope that she would eventually remember the stuff she had to get.

Freya’s reverie was broken by the shrill ringing of her old mobile phone, something she had to work overtime at the local stables to be able to afford. Running and following the noise, like a demented bloodhound, she eventually found it in a plate of spaghetti Bolognese, the remains of last night’s dinner.

Pulling a string of pasta which had crusted across the screen disgustingly, she answered. “Hello?” The line crackled three times before a loud voice answered her.

“Sugar tits! Why does it always take you so long to answer?” Freya smiled despite Luis’s dramatic opening sentence.  “I mean I could have finished my roots in the amount of time it took for you to get to your phone”.

She knew what was coming next, just knew it.

Luis was a walking hormone. She could imagine him, “stealthily” and “subtly” checking out the men in his dance troupe. For Luis, going to New York to dance among some of the best in the business was not merely a good career opportunity, but a good time to “dip his wicket” as he liked to say.

“Oh my god, Freya you should see one of the guys in my class. Girl, I would lather him in oil and use him as a jet-ski”.

Freya smiled indulgently at Luis’s ability to fancy every man on the planet all at once in some way or another.

 For all his romantic interests, Freya had only known him to worship one man so loyally he could still remember his favourite food, birthday and where all the birthmarks are located on his body, all without ever meeting him. The only downfall, Freya mused, was that judging by all the supermodels he had hanging off his arm in the newspapers, he didn’t play for Luis’s team and secondly he was royalty, making the possibilities of Luis ‘running’ into him on the street highly unlikely.

“Luis, I hate to break it to you, there’s not much chance of that happening”. She told him for the millionth time. The line went silent for a minute before a dramatic gasp broke through. Luis, as she knew he would, instantly cottoned onto which delectable male distraction she was referencing.

“Wash your mouth out girl, maybe he’s just in the closet”. He said hopefully making her laugh and forget all the words she had recited earlier.

Freya looked for her house keys on the cluttered table, noticing how the page of Meredith’s latest magazine was incidentally left open revealing Prince Sebastian falling out of a club, at least two girls on each arm.

 “Well in that case he must be so deep in the closet he’s found Narnia by now”. She muttered hoping that Luis hadn’t heard her.

“What was that sweetness? Oh never mind, I have to go, the bitch I’ve been paired with keeps trying to get me into bed, isn’t that a riot?” He gushed; Freya could almost imagine him, his face rapt, and an expression he only used for bitching.