Princess November: One Princess, One Peasant, One Strict Queen

VI. Gold Runs Through Our Blood

Virginia looked shocked; she began to wonder whether November was really like Peter at all now. The green specks of madness in November's sparkling eyes blindsided the Queen; Peter would always question her, but never have argued with the beliefs passed down through generations.

Despite not wanting to admit to it, deep down she knew that Victoria was right. Virginia needed to let go of her past: hated middle and lower classed villagers because of the few who warped her vision of them was unfair.

"November!" Her mother snapped. "We did not bring you up to be a lesbian!"

Yet she just kept yelling at her daughter, unable to admit that she was wrong. The idea that one day her princess was not going to marry a prince was too much to bear. Her daughter would never have the opportunity to live the life that she needed; to carry a child of her own, to have a king by her side. That each morning she wouldn't wake up to the same handsome eyes Virginia was once able to see. November was going to experience life in the castle with... a female lover.

"I know." November sighed, but stood up again and started to speak more confidently. Why should she have to subdue herself just for her discriminative mother? Because she couldn't handle November loving someone that did not live up to her standards?

"But you did try to bring me up to be a snob." She told her mother. The lightning in her mother's eyes retreated, but the stormclouds were still ever-present. One more wrong word and the thunder would start up all over again. "And you failed, Queen Virginia."

A shocked gasp escaped from Virginia's lips; for a while, words failed to come out of her mouth. They all stumbled around in her brain for a while, furiously attempted to string together and form a coherent sentence. This was one of the first times November had ever stood up to her with such deep pride; although she was young, maybe she truly did see herself having a future with this girl.

And even though November was just eleven years old, she was right. The Queen had yet to even meet the girl November was speaking of; perhaps she was judging the situation too quickly. Albeit it was hard to shake off the lingering thought. What if she's just like them?

'It's hard to believe that my daughter has such mature thoughts. She is the polar opposite of what I have raised her to be.' Virginia finished her dialogue with herself, before 'carefully' selecting which words she should use next to scream at her.

"What do you even want from me, November?! Is this your sick way of persuading me? Every single argument, you will try to tear down my ability as a mother! It does not matter how you feel about me! That hurts." Virginia screamed, her voice softening at the last sentence. It did hurt. None of the words sunk in; November was not affected by the lecture laced with guilt-tripping strategies. She was used to her mother's toxicity by now - always using motherhood as an excuse for treating November horribly. Just because someone is your blood, does not mean you have to love them.

"I want for you to finally realise what you're doing." November nodded. Honestly, she didn't know what she wanted forever - she knew one day, maybe when she was a little bit older, she would have to make a final decision. But for know she knew what, who, she wanted. "And to see Rebecca again." She finished her sentence abruptly, giving her mother one last piercing glare.

She stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door on her way. Bang. The satisfying echoes that followed voiced her anger without any words needing to escape from her lips. She walked up the dwindling staircase into her room; she sighed before flopping onto her bed. For a minute, she took it all in. Sometimes it was hard to process. It felt too soon to feel like this.

'I need to sneak out again.' November smiled to herself at the statement that stood out the most, finally collecting all of the ideas that were zooming around her mind, like they were running an important race. 'As quickly as I seem to be moving, you kind of have to risk it for somebody who you think you maybe like a little bit.'