Rock & Royalty

Chapter 1

"Follow @The_Royal_Beaver on Twitter."

Queen Helena's lips were pursed as she read the final line of one paper's front page story out loud. Sitting behind her desk in her bedroom, she was like judge and jury in haute couture and a bad mood.

Princess Eleanor let out a laugh, folding her arms across her braless chest and ignoring the pounding in her head. "You have to admit, Mum," she began, "it's sort of funny."

"Your vagina has a Twitter account, Eleanor, and you find it sort of funny?" Helena spat out the last three words before rising to her feet.

She walked around the desk, a formidable form in her heels. The black sleeveless Versace dress she wore just about skimmed her knees and clung to her figure. Her chocolate-brown hair hung over one shoulder, dipping just past the diamonds around her neck. Helena looked her best, regardless of the time, and right now, at eight o'clock in the morning, she looked runway ready.

Eleanor wanted to gag.

Instead, she pointed out, "I was wearing undies this time."

"She was, Your Majesty," Rachel, the Queen's head assistant, piped up from somewhere behind Eleanor. She was tapping away at her iPad screen, scrolling through the online newspaper editions as if her life depended on it. "Royal purple, with black lace, but at least her...beaver was covered. This time."

"Are we really having this conversation?" Eleanor wanted to know, relishing in the fact that her mother was red-faced with fury and, for a moment, looked less than perfect. "Because I am incredibly hung-over and desperately need to take a piss."

"I won't stand for this sort of wanton behavior," Helena said, her voice quiet. "Your father will not stand for it, either. You are a princess and what you do in your spare time - as abundant as that time may be - reflects on all of us. Robert, included."

Eleanor certainly didn't want to hear this. Each time she fell from grace in public, her mother would mention her dead brother, as if to remind her that she could never live up to what Robert had been.

Who he had been.

Eleanor knew she would never be enough for her mother. Now that her twin, Prince Liam, was the heir apparent, he had shot up light-years in her mother's regard, while Eleanor became the afterthought. She could deal with that. She was used to that, when it came to her mother, but now that her father was in a coma and her older brother was dead, she felt more alone than ever.

"Honestly, how many times will we have this conversation?" Eleanor rubbed at her temples, her headache starting to get the best of her.

"How many times will you flash the public? No - don't answer that. I'm afraid you'll give me an actual number." Helena stood right in front of Eleanor, so close they could have embraced. But hugging was the last thing on the Queen's mind.

"Listen to me and listen to me well, Eleanor," she began, her voice eerily quiet. "When you are old and gray and riddled with all kinds of diseases they have to find names for, you will remember that once upon a time, you were a part of a family that meant something to the world.

You will remember that despite your mother's best efforts, you wasted your life away on drugs and meaningless sex and that you hated your mother for wanting the best for you. You will remember all this and you will want to press rewind and go back to this very moment, and when you realize that you can't... I don't want that for you, Eleanor."

"Do you know what I like best about that picture you painted?" Eleanor turned to leave, calling over her shoulder, "You'll be long dead, Your Majesty."