Mother always loved dressing me until i couldn't breathe. She steps back to observe the outfit she has forced me in. "Oh you look so dashing!" She says, opening her arms and hugging me out of nowhere.
"Do you reckon i could unbutton just one button? It's difficult to move." I say to her. She laughs and says:
"Don't be silly Francis. You can move just fine, it's just a wee bit tight is all. We can go shopping for a new undershirt if you'd like." She says in a soft motherly voice. She never seems to get what I'm ever trying to say.
I sigh and turn to the window, peering at all the people depending on me.
Its quite unnerving.
The clock tower rings as another hour passes... One more till i must go to the courtyard to oversee an execution. Tis not always fun being the only heir to the throne, though it helps at times, very few times. Like if i ever need a snack, ten servants have plates of food for me. On the other hand, i can't get a single moment for myself. I used to sit in the courtyard for some time alone, but with the war going on; it's become a graveyard.
The life of a heir to the throne includes: overseeing every little thing that happens in the court, having your father breathing down your neck, maturing at a young age, being every woman's romantic interest, having a bunch of old sods teach you of politics, Mother dressing you in the most queer of outfits, the church requiring you to give them your "blessing" every week and having to cancel arranged marriages for trivial reasons, just to prevent myself from bearing a child at 15 years old.
Father likes to spend most hours of his days standing in front of his war table. I don't understand his fascination with it but perhaps i will understand once I'm king. Its trying, I'm sure, being a king. Everybody looks to you for guidance. I could never imagine that kind of weight on my shoulders.
Meanwhile, Mother stuffs her face with sweets and scoffs and anybody who isn't a duke or of royal blood. I am told that she isn't my birth mother, for my real mother has been executed for adultery.
People often ask for my thoughts on her death, i am told to tell them nothing but my thoughts are oddly blank about the topic. Watching people get their heads chopped off has been part of my life since i was four. Maybe even earlier. I see old friends and even teachers go faster than you can blink.
My father has quite a short temper, not like me. I honestly don't wish death upon everything that stands on two legs like my father.
I arise from my daydream and turn around to see mother looking straight at me.
"Are you excited?" She asks. A odd question considering the circumstance.
"Not really, why do you ask?" I tilt my head in confusion. Her face lights up and says.
"You should be, my dear. Father and i have picked out the fairest young lady we could find." I've heard these words many times. It never works out. My taste or lack there of for women is not known to anybody but me. I suppose it's for the best considering if i bed a man, and the church gets wind of it... At best I'd be killed. At worst... Well, i don't like thinking about that.
I smile at mother and say:
"We shall see, i suppose." Words i say oh so often.
