Her Royal Highness

XX

I stood outside the door to my mothers study, my pulse racing in my ears. The scowl that had adorned my face since the moment we turned home from my cousins Christening the day before remained intact, and possibly intensified the closer I came to this moment. I was already feeling the bubble of anger in my chest, anticipating her rejection, and we hadnt even had the conversation yet.

But Harry was adamant. He felt confident that my mother would listen to my desires, consider my feelings about how I wanted my academic future to go. Again, he proved that he may know me better than I had hoped, but he knew nothing of my life or my family. That just wasn't how it went. We were born to privilege, and with that, obligation. That obligation trumped all personal desires.

But, he held fast, giving me teasing glares and smirks during the christening, knowing that if I wanted him to hold up his end of the bargain, by taking me to a bar the following night, then I had to talk to my mother. We had fought about it since the night in the kitchen, which was almost three days ago now.

Finally, and mainly to get Harry off my back and to prove him wrong, I was here now. I knew my mother was on the other side of this door, reviewing her schedule for her board of directors meetings with the local hospital. All I had to do was go in there, and start the conversation. But for some reason, I was scared.

Because it would go one of two ways: first, the way I expected, of refusal, reminding me of my duties, and telling me the path she had in mind for me was better than my own. Or two, she would agree with me, and let me go in the way I wanted. And as much as I wanted that, it terrified me to think of actually following through.

I knew what I wanted, and yet, the idea of actually getting it was frightening. Probably because I never considered it an actual possibility. There was a safety in thinking that it would never come to be, so I could dream as big as I wanted. But what if I could? What if she let me to go to University of Birmingham, study philosophy, have my own flat away from the protective walls of our manor? What if...

I felt nervous, anxious, scared and excited. And as I rose my hand to knock, my heart pounded in my chest.

Three light raps, and I dropped my hand quickly.

"Come in," her voice called, distant and muffled.

Pushing the door open, I stepped inside. Her study was similar to that of the library, but on a much smaller scale. Books lined two walls, the one at her back featuring a large picture window overlooking the gardens. She sat behind a large wooden desk, the light in the room dim as it was now late evening. Her work was illuminated by the desk lamp at her side.

She looked up as I approached, obviously surprised at my presence.

"Charlotte?" she queried, pulling her thin frame glasses from her face. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," I squeaked, before clearing my throat. I had to seem confident. I didn't want her to think this was an off the cuff discussion. That it was a whim I wanted indulged. Because it was so much more to me. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

My mother was immediately curious, the familiar look on her face coloring her features. Usually, when I said this, she readied herself for a confrontation. I was known for being difficult, and although I wasn't proud of it, it was my first reaction to most things.

I needed to remain calm. I needed to show her I had changed, even just somewhat, if I wanted to get what I wanted in this.

I took a seat in one of the two lush leather chairs in front of her desk, immediately taking my posturing. Straight back, ankles crossed, hands folded in lap. Ever the princess.