Born to Rule (2 page)

Princess Alicia of All the Belgravias dismounted her pony and stepped into the courtyard. It was her first season at Camp Princess, and her heart was beating as frantically as a hummingbird’s. She was used to being surrounded by her sisters, cousins, and servants. But now, as she stood in this throng of laughing, happy princesses she didn’t know, she felt very much alone. Alicia was glad when a tall woman with a crown took charge.

“Princesses, Princesses, may I have your attention? Please be quiet while I announce your turret assignments in the royal castle of Camp Princess. When your title is called, kindly step up to the footman and receive your welcome scroll.”

“That is the Queen Mum,” another princess said to Alicia. “She is Camp Mistress.” Alicia smiled at the girl and moved in closer to listen for her name. If they went in alphabetical order, she would certainly be one of the first to be called. But alas, the assignments were by turret.

“East Turret, Princess Zelenka from the Dominion of Thrallnork, Princess Parisiana from the Majestic Realm of Chantillip…” The list went on. There were three girls assigned to each turret. After the East Turret came the North Turret and then the West Turret.

Princesses all around Alicia were chattering away. “I hope I’m not in the South Turret!” one princess exclaimed.

“Me too. I wouldn’t want to live in a turret that has a ghost,” another said.

“Is it true that your turretmates are also your teammates?” someone else asked.

“I think so. Do you want to be a Purple or a Crimson? My sister was on the Crimson team, and they’ve won the Color Wars three years in a row. I really want to be a Crimson. There are all sorts of contests and competitions, you know, jewelry making, archery.”

“I heard the Crimsons were all snotty,” someone said.

“What’s the first contest?” Alicia asked.

“I’m not sure, but the big one this session is the songbird competition. It counts for a lot. We only have two weeks to catch and train a songbird.”

“Holy monk bones!” Alicia exclaimed. “That’s not much time!”

“Look at her,” Alicia heard one of the princesses whisper rather loudly and then point at a new arrival. “That feather in her riding cap—that is so over.”

“So five minutes ago!” another said.

Alicia’s stomach turned. She had a feather in one of her riding caps. Luckily she had not worn it today.

Just then she heard her name called. “South Turret, Princess Alicia of All the Belgravias, Princess Gundersnap of the Empire of Slobodkonia, Princess Kristen of the Isles of the Salt Tears in the Realm of Rolm.”

A pretty princess with jet-black hair turned to another girl. “I’m glad I’m not them! I’d be afraid of the South Turret ghost!”

“Oh, heavens, Princess Rosamunde, that ghost is just a rumor from two hundred years ago!” the other princess answered confidently, though Alicia thought she saw her give a little shiver and look around quickly.

Ooh, I hope she’s right, Alicia thought. She stepped forward to receive her welcome scroll. It was a sheet of parchment rolled up and tied with a purple ribbon.

“This must mean we’re on the Purple team—duh!” said the princess named Kristen, laughing. Tall and lanky, she was wearing very high, soft suede boots trimmed with fur. Her tiara was made from gold-dipped sawed-off antlers, and her fiery red hair was clipped with a barrette made of some sort of animal’s tooth studded with sapphires. She wore not a wisp of silk or satin, but Alicia admitted that this princess was stylish in a barbaric sort of way.

Princess Gundersnap, on the other hand, seemed to be a complete disaster. She was stumpy and squat, with pimples and mud-colored hair that sprang out like corkscrews from under her iron tiara. Not a pretty sight! Alicia thought. She looked grumpy as well. Great, thought Alicia. Grumpy and stumpy—and then, of course, a stylish savage. Where do I fit in? She looked down at her own beautiful pink brocade riding skirt festooned with ribbons and lace, and wondered if she looked as odd to her turretmates as they did to her.

Just as Alicia was contemplating her predicament, she heard the Camp Mistress say, “Now, Princesses, in case you are of a mathematical inclination…”

“Math, no fair,” said Princess Kristen in her lilting accent. “No schoolwork, just fun here.”

“I agree!” said another. “I’m here for jewelry design and dances with Camp Burning Shield.”

Burning Shield! Alicia had heard from her older sister, Lorelei, about the boys’ camp across the lake. There were bunches of cute princes!

The Camp Mistress continued, “You will notice that there are forty princesses, and not all the turrets are the same size. We’ve done some juggling and doubling up, but it seems that with all my computations, we still have one turret with room for an additional one-third princess. All the others are full. So, you might ask, who is one-third a princess? Well, Your Highnesses, she is a full and royal princess, but she is quite small.”

At that moment all eyes turned toward a truly tiny princess who wore a teeny-weeny tiara. She appeared rather frightened, and her eyes glistened with tears. She was the only one who had not been assigned a turret. “Princess Myrella of the Marsh Kingdoms, will you step forward, please?”

The tiny princess walked up to the Queen Mum, who bent way down and said, “My dear little princess of the Marsh Kingdoms, we shall squeeze you into North Turret.” She handed her a rolled parchment with a purple ribbon.

“Fat lot of good she’ll do the Purples,” someone said in a nasty voice. At that moment the eyes of the three princesses of the South Turret met.

“
Sctonken
meanie!” muttered Gundersnap.

“Go suck a conch!” Princess Kristen blurted.

“That is really royally rude of her to say!” exclaimed Princess Alicia.

The three young princesses looked at one another and knew in that moment that although they were different in many ways, they were the same in an important one. Their hearts went out to the teeny tiny Princess Myrella of the Marsh Kingdoms.

Chapter 2

HOMESICK

Alicia looked around her room. She’d brought small touches of home that reminded her of Belgravia. Her glass bottles with her best perfumes sat on the dressing table, and a painting of her royal family hung above her bed. Still, she missed her own castle, especially now that it was quiet time and she had a moment to think about things.

Some princesses brought their favorite stuffed animals to camp, but Alicia had her favorite book,
Love Letters of a Forgotten Princess
. It was a birthday present from her beloved aunt, the Queen of Albermarle. Almost every night she read at least one of the letters. It was on her nightstand now, adding a cozy touch to the room. Knowing it was there made Alicia feel just a bit less homesick.

She sat down at the gold writing table, chose a quill, and dipped it into the crystal inkwell.

Dear Mum and Pop (or HM and HRH),

I think it is really stupid that they have this rule that I cannot call you Mum and Pop in a letter but must address you as Her Majesty and His Royal Highness. Why do they care what I call you in a letter? So I’m doing it both ways, which means that I’m not quite following and not quite breaking the rule.

Well, I don’t mean to complain but…guess what else? It’s not summer. You told me that the weather was “odd” here, but holy monk bones, it’s just started to snow! It was spring when we rode into the camp. Then spring turned to summer, which lasted for about an hour. Mum, Pop, I hate to tell you this: it’s the dead of winter now.

A wave of homesickness hit Alicia. She put down her pen and gazed out the turret window. When her big sister, Lorelei, had come here five years earlier, she had told Alicia that it had mostly been spring and autumn, with only one day of winter in the first session. But she had also said there was “no telling” in a place like Camp Princess.

The young princess sighed. Things like weather never upset Lorelei. She was brave and didn’t get homesick. Alicia picked up her pen again and continued writing.

So, Mum and Pop, I am including a list of what I need:

• Silver-fox muff (not the red-fox one; it’s not as warm)
  
• Earmuffs (I look stupid in them, but I’ll look stupider if my ears freeze and drop off.)
  
• Please, please send me those new-style snowshoes with rawhide laces. I want to be able to hike over any kind of snow.
  
• Ice skates
  —
  the latest models with the unprocessed staghorn blades
  .
  
• Also, send my extra pair of high-top, fleece-lined suede boots
  —
  the purple ones. I’m on the Purple team for the Color Wars
  .
  

Alicia paused again in her writing. She wondered if she should tell her parents about the rumors she had overheard about the ghost in the South Turret. Her mother might worry. And her father would call her a “puffball princess.” Oh, well, better not mention it, she decided.

Why would a two-hundred-year-old ghost show up now, anyway? She’d certainly be out of fashion! Totally medieval! Alicia thought, trying to make a little joke to set her mind at ease. She went back to her letter.

My chambers are all right. I am in the South Turret. I share it with two others, a Princess Gundersnap from Slobodkonia and Princess Kristen, who is from somewhere called the Isles of the Salt Tears in the Realm of Rolm—wherever that is. I heard it’s a very wild place. She has the best boots, though!

I miss everyone so much. I think of you all having breakfast in the lake pavilion and watching the swans glide over the crystal-blue water. Meanwhile, I’m here snowbound in June in a stone turret! Does that seem quite fair?

Alicia hastily crossed out the last sentence and wrote, “I’m going to try very hard to get as much as I can out of what Mum calls ‘the Camp Princess experience’ and give it what Pop calls ‘the old camp try.’”

Rah-rah, she thought miserably.

“Well, I shall say good night,” she wrote, and then signed the letter.

Yours truly,

Alicia Quintana Mariela Margarita, Princess of All the Belgravias

P.S. Please be sure to take Gryffie out for a good fly at least twice a week.

P.P.S. Please send me my falconer’s glove because someone said the ones here are made of inferior leather.

P.P.P.S. Please don’t let little Isabella play with my best jewels.

Chapter 3

TURRETMATES