March 14

So, I was given this by Queenie. Apparently I’m supposed to write down everything that has been happening to me since my birthday. So, here goes…
I wasn’t born into royalty. Well, I guess I was, but that could also be called born with royal blood. You see, my grandmother was (and still is) Queen Eleanor of England. I grew up with my mum and dad in a small-ish town in northern England. When I was brought to the palace to live with her as her named heir, the known world celebrated that she finally had an heir. I suddenly went from a small town farm girl to a national celebrity in less than a week. This is supposed to be the story of my attempted transition from a tomboy to a princess.
When I woke up on my thirteenth birthday, my first thought was that Mum would be horribly angry when she found out about Seven-leg Joe, a seven-legged spider living in a jar that I’d accidentally left in the kitchen the night before. Sure enough, a minute later I heard a scream. “Syrah Brennon, you get down here this instant and explain this!” she shouted up the stairs. I sighed. “Coming!” I called back as I clambered out of bed. I opened my wardrobe and snatched out a dark blue and silver tunic and some dark grey leggings. This had to be my favorite tunic, with silver embroidering around the collar, sleeve edges, and hem. I tugged it and my leggings on, and slid down the banister and nearly knocking over Dad, who was coming inside from milking. “What is this?!” Mum growled at me. “It’s just Joe, I’ll let him go.” I replied quickly, grabbing the jar and taking Joe outside and letting him out. I walked back in to find Mum holding up a new purple tunic. “Mum, where did you get this? It must have cost a fortune!” I asked, since anything purple cost at least fifteen crowns, as it was really hard to make and only royalty could afford it. “It’s a gift from your grandmother, dear. She has named her you her heir.” I looked at her, wondering aloud what she could possibly mean “Named you her heir.” “It means, Syrah, that Queen Eleanor, your grandmother, has finally named her heir. You.” I was shocked. Speechless. Me? A princess? How? “Mum, does that make you a, you know, a princess?” I asked when I recovered my voice. She laughed. “Yes, my mother is Queen Eleanor. Does that answer your question? Now, go upstairs and pack. We’re going to London.”
March 21
I woke up this morning in a huge comfy bed, sighing. I met Queenie (that’s what I call Eleanor) yesterday, and she was wonderful. She had rushed up to me and squealed like a little girl, “Oh, Syrah! You’ve grown so much!” I was shocked. I had met her? I didn’t remember. I was probably a baby at the time. Anyway, the room I was in was amazing. It was red and gold, and the bed had a canopy and fancy draperies. I turned over, and on my nightstand was a gold circlet. I struggled out of bed, and changed into my birthday tunic and put on the circlet. I  slipped my slippers on and skipped down to breakfast. I felt like a little girl. Eleanor was looking at dozens of different letters, smiling broadly. “The country is celebrating that I’ve finally named my heir. Syrah,” she said looking up from her letters at me, ”You will be coronated when you are eighteen.” Okay. Five years. I could do this. I could be a princess. I mean, the country seemed to adore me, even though they’ve only known about me for three weeks. How hard could it be? As I would soon find out, it could be very difficult, indeed.
March 28
Do you know how hard it is to keep a pet weasel happy and hidden? Pretty hard, or, in other words, absolutely impossible. That is, impossible if you have some nosy housekeeping. I had caught it in the main garden, and it was, heavy emphasis on was, living in my closet. That is, until yesterday, when housekeeping arrived. To say that I was surprised would be an understatement. I guess that I never even thought that housekeeping would look inside my closet, I mean, talk about nosy! Although, now that I think about it, the scratching may have been part of the reason. I knew that I wouldn’t have Fred for long, but, I could always hope, right? AnywaYS, Queenie wasn’t very happy. She said that if I wanted a pet, all I had to do was ask. I just nodded. I didn’t want to be given something, I wanted to go to the work to catch it and tame it. Not have something that was raised in the “Royal Menagerie” which is probably a thing. Even in the time that I’ve lived here, I still haven’t explored everywhere. I can only explore when I’m not having lessons (ugh) or being followed by my personal guards (double ugh) The only time I really get to explore is when I can escape them. I’ve asked Queenie if I can just not have guards anymore, but she said no. I’m going to ask and ask and keep on asking until she gives in. I know that my etiquette teacher would probably murder me for my behavior towards the guards, but, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, will it?
March 29
So, yesterday I spent an hour bugging Queenie about my guards. She told me to go away, that she was busy. I kept bugging her. She glared at me, and finally said that I could stop using my guards. She called them into the room, and told them that they were relieved of the duty of watching over me. I was ecstatic. The first thing I did was run everywhere, as fast as I could, just because there was no one behind me to tell me to slow down. I slid down every single banister that I saw. I went down to the kitchen, and wa given a free slice of leftover rhubarb pie, and some bread pudding. The food here is amazing, I can’t seem to get enough. Mum says that I’m going to get fat, but my daily gallivanting is probably enough to keep me fit. Today I spent three hours trying to climb up the banister before Dad came by, chewed me out, and told me to get my idiotic butt down. I slid down, and then sat down on the stairs until Dad left. Then I climbed back up, and scooted back up the banister. When I got to the top, I wandered over to a suit of armour. I put my arm around it’s shoulder, then looked at it, at the wall, and back at it. “Nice wall, isn’t it?” The armour didn’t reply. I raised an eyebrow, patted it on the back,
and then skipped away, humming to myself.
April 3
UGH! I can’t believe that I’m stuck in this stupid, stupid storage room! I am so, so, so, so, so STUPID! I can’t believe myself! Whew, okay, Syrah, don’t panic. I wish that I had visited the pantry, or at least eaten anything before going exploring. Ugh, I seriously should have eaten breakfast. My throat is hoarse, and apparently no one has heard me screaming for help. I’ve been in here for ages, and it’ll be ages more before anyone even realizes that I’m even missing. I guess that I’ll just have to wait, and hope that they can find me...