"Don't try to make us laugh. It's not funny, Lucy."

"But I wasn't."

"Not everyone has ta be funny, suga cube. Itz not really ya talent."

To hell with talent, she thought. My whole life is a joke! "Well, it's not exactly you guy's talent to be nice either!" Satisfied with the blow she had given them, she got up and left the room—sneaking some treats as she did—not knowing they actually laughed at the statement. What was so funny about the declaration would forever be a mystery.

* * *

Heading to receive miss "eyes bluer than blue and hair pinker than pink", Lucy prepared some white tea and butter biscuits for the new guest. While doing so, she could not help but be drench in the love surrounding this perfect, mystery princess from the Cryptal nation. It was truly insufferable; she couldn't go anywhere without hearing of her nonpareil beauty.

In the Kitchens, servants would gossip her smile was as warm as the mid-day sun, or exaggerate that a person need not visit the beach if you stared into her ocean-blue eyes, in the servant quarters. However, Lucy also picked up the opposite side of this mass hysteria. A malevolent minority thought of her a bitch whose beauty acted as her best and only quality, and that she most likely consorted with cosmetic magicians to build a face that stops everyone in their tracks. Which to be fair, was plausible.

Why was everyone so bedazzled with her?

There were plenty of female leads with pink hair or blue eyes in Lucy's books, so identifying a specific plot she read of, applicable to this situation, was not a possibility.

"Eric, Eric..." she thought, handling the tray of treats with utmost diligence; any more demerit points would only give her majesty more reason to get rid of her. "The only Eric I know was from the little mermaid. Needless to say, I've never seen the first prince's face since arriving here, so I can't connect any dots."

"You!" She heard a resonating call from behind.

She then turned to see a tall, lean, fair man, approaching at a scary pace. "Have you seen a voluptuous bitch anywhere? She's got crazy red hair, full lips, and looks thoroughly ravished." He let each unbecoming word float out casually from his rich, red lips.

More taken aback by his features than his words, Lucy drooled over the bare skin inching out from his laced, linen shirt, which in turn was being swallowed up by many, many erect, golden locks of hair he boundlessly possessed. She also didn't need to visit the beach—not that she ever had—when she looked into his piercing, bright, blue eyes.

"Are you slow?" He snapped her back to her wits with a nudge on the shoulder, but it had sent the gold serving tray she once held paramountly out and flying from her grip onto the mercy of the ground.

"SHIT!" She cried out loud-way too loud-then began to salvage the mess she had mindlessly created.

"Have you seen her-"

"HAVE YOU NOT SEEN WHAT YOU'VE DONE, HUH!"

"Your Highness!" An appalled Housekeeper bellowed at Lucy's, once again, brash words. "W-what are you doing here? Are you not supposed to be with her majesty, his highness, and princes Cecilia?"

"I would've..." he caught himself pausing and staring at the odd creature crawling the floor, picking up cookies, spilled milk, and whatnot. "But I've lost something of dear value."

"Well, we shall help you find it then."

"That... doesn't sound very reassuring. As you have just witnessed, your service would not be of much use," he snarled, crossing his legs over a crouched up Lucy, and continuing on his way.

"The biscuits..." her hands quivered as she attempted to undo her mess. "There's no use."

"What have you done!"

"He spilled them, ma'am! He made me drop them!"

"He did no such thing—"

"As they always do," she bit off.

"You shall watch your tongue now, or pack your things, young girl!" The elderly woman gnashed her teeth to the point abrading noises could be heard, while pointing a firm finger at Lucy's deviant expression. "You clearly do not value your life and it is only God who sustains you with all the calamity you create."

Pulling her up from the ground, she then tried to clean up her tarnished appearance. "Send for Mary and Catharine to clean this, then ask Abbey to serve their highnesses in your place. Your mien isn't fit to serve our guest any less than you are. Go clean up, girl!"

"Yes ma'am," she complied.

The first meeting with a princess who would soon become the queen of Merthingham was an occasion unfit for a drawing room. This event would be marked by afternoon tea in the royal gardens, with its exquisite overview of the nation's vast fields bathed in an assortment of flowers, extravagant fountains, precious statuary, meandering rivers, designer-trimmed trees, and beautiful, gold paths that formed bridges at river interjections.

On the queen's orders, the place was set up with a prettily gold-accented gazebo and especially massive Alstroemeria flowers to ease the princess' homesick heart. Served were high tea essentials: white tea, an assortment of biscuits, finger sandwiches, and with some traditional fruits, cut and prepared aesthetically for the eye to taste, the day was in order.

"Cecilia, darling," her majesty smiled brightly, watching the young girl curtsy in reverence. "I'm content to see your journey was secure and without trouble."

"As I am, my Queen," she reciprocated the sentiments. "I hope my luck shall aide the continent's war just the same."

"Come now child..." the gregarious woman's face immediately turned dour. "That is no conversation to have at afternoon tea, is it? Did your parents fail in your upbringing?"

"Mother," Eric, an auburn-haired, blue-eyed, strapping young man, interceded on behalf of his future wife. The one word being enough to quench her out-of-check, magisterial superfluousness. "I'm sure she meant no harm," he finalized more than suggested, and the queen read so immediately. Her first son had an odd way of disarming her with his cold, blue eyes; just like his father's. But how she prayed he wouldn't be like her husband one bit.

"I suppose you're right... where is your brother?" She redirected the cheerless conversation that had crept on them unsuspectingly. "I request his presence for not even half a day yet he fails to show. He's always off somewhere across the continent if one cannot manage to catch him at his estate—oh, how my frail heart cannot take it any longer."

"I guess you have failed in my upbringing too, dear mother," The guest of honor finally made his appearance, from out of nowhere.

"Heavens! What are you wearing, child?"

"A shirt... pantaloons..." he took a seat at the table. "Oh! By God, were you expecting I showed up in dittos?"

"Suits, son. Suits."

"You've failed again," he grinned, picking a ripe grape from off the tiered tray and tossing it into his mouth, chuckling at her indignant expression. "So, what do we have here?" His attention dawned on the awkward princess. "Princess, was it?"

"Yes, this is princess Cecilia. Cecilia, Deidrick," Eric took the reign from his exasperated mother in making the introductions. "We will be married in 6 days, in case you missed out on that part."

"You think too little of me, brother."

"How can I not when you bring a mistress home as a 'present' when called on after disappearing for god knows how long at god knows where."

"OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" The queen fumed, slamming the designer fan she used as a cooler onto the table.

The brothers' relationship was a hostile, ongoing war whenever one of them so as opened their mouths. Ever since growing out of their diapers and leaving the palace to seek a higher degree of education across the continent, upon meeting again, one instantly found himself disappointed in the other, and one found the other unrelentingly overbearing. The saga continued, even leading to fighting outbursts, which forced the family to make ignominious decisions.

The king provided Deidrick an estate to live separate from the family at the age of seven-and-ten—prioritized second since he was not going to be the next king, and shunned for his frivolous reputation that stunk up the Merthingham's name.

He didn't mind though.

He took the opportunity to waste money, party, travel the continent seeking adventure, and wholly indulge in lascivious activities to his heart desired.

"CAN YOU TWO STOP IT!"

That was easy for one of them to do. "You really aren't as crazy handsome as rumors cock and bull."

"Deidrick!"

"Rest assured I'm disappointed," he continued with a rehearsed sullen expression, ignoring his mother's affronted protest. "But! I simply can not blame you. We do not get to pick out how we pop out."

"T-thank you?"

"Do not thank him! Do not talk to him at all! I see now that it was a terrible mistake asking that you stayed for your brother's wedding for even one second, you insufferable brat!"

"Your majesty," a parlor maid arrived with some biscuits and tea Lucy had misplaced, bowing, then serving despite the ruckus.

"I swear, you are the bane of my existence!" The weary woman sank back into her seat, fanning the life out of her hand fan.

"Oh. I forgot to mention, we also don't get to choose if we pop out at all," Deidrick saw fit to add, gaining an unbecoming chuckle from the proper Princess—even stealing a smile from the quintessential, conscientious mold a royal maid was edified to exhibit.

_ _ _

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