Fan Fiction ❯ Escaping Her Ivory Tower: a Princess’ Story ❯ Once Upon a Time... ( One-Shot )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Escaping Her Ivory Tower: a Princess’ Story

(First revision, 1/17/06)

by Rosy the Cat


Once upon a time there was a princess who was much-admired by many people.

They loved her shiny-white teeth, her perfectly-applied makeup, her sapphire-blue eyes,

and the fancy, figure-enhancing clothes she always wore when making public

appearances.

What a load of pretty bull.

Gloria, the above-mentioned princess, scowled down at the slew of newspapers

spread out on the coffee table in her suite. Each and every one was plastered with

pictures of her “Just Get This Over With So I Can Go Back To Hating All Of You” smile.

Of course, only she would recognize the distinct identity of the smile, as she’d spent

years developing, practicing, and using it. She hardly ever really smiled anymore, so it

wasn’t like there was any way for anyone to tell the difference. Well, maybe the maids,

but they tended not to last long before she had to fire them for snooping around in her

room, rifling through everything she owned. Well, not everything, because you couldn’t

really rifle through an entire country. There were days she missed her departed father.

Then she got over it and back to hating him for dying and leaving her stuck like this. If

he hadn’t died...who knows, she might have had a little brother by now.

Gloria flopped back onto the settee behind her, scowl deepening at the thought

of what her mother would say if she were caught being anything but the epitome of

grace and poise. Mama was such a hypocrite. The woman went on week-long crying

jags to garner up pity from a less than impressed population who would never forgive

their noble-born queen for tricking their beloved king into marrying her instead of his

common-born first fiancé. She was also always on some diet or another even though

she was already far too skinny, and she was always trying to drag her daughter along

for the ride. The stupid cow wouldn’t know a healthy figure from morbid obesity, and

kept insisting that Gloria wear corsets and/or “slenderizing clothes,” whatever that

meant. Gloria knew her mother was in this for the power and influence, and that the

woman would never let her get anything done once she was queen on her eighteenth

birthday.

Not that Gloria wanted the throne anyway. She hated politics and diplomacy,

political science bored her, and history classes lost their charm once she got sick of

hearing just how she was related to each and every monarch who ever lived. The only

reason she passed her history classes was by stuffing cotton in her ears during

lectures, along with reading her textbooks.

She would give every bit of royal trappings up in a heartbeat to her cousin

William who, along with being next in line for the throne after her, not only actually

wanted it, but would make a good and effective king, in her opinion. She, on the other

hand, would much prefer to study music and art and acting, maybe even writing, and

actually earn fame based on her talents, rather than her “talents.”

Unfortunately, princesses weren’t allowed to follow their dreams unless it was

something out of a fairy tale. Fairy tales, in Gloria’s opinion, were overrated. Charming

princes lost their charm, you were more likely to be kidnapped by a human

stalker/overzealous fan than a dragon, fairy godmothers were nonexistent, wicked

mothers were more likely to be your own and ivory towers were not only lonely, they

were boring too.

Realization dawned slowly upon her face, hope tentatively kindling under the

surface. Being a fairy tale princess did not have to be horrible.

Determination set into her entire frame, her eyes lighting with resolve.

It was time for this princess to rescue herself. She had seven months until she

was eighteen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, rescuing yourself required help. Or rather she did, because she

didn’t know anything about creating a new identity on paper or through her physical

appearance. Gloria had managed to talk her mother into letting her stay with Cousin

Will for a month and, once there, humbled herself quite willingly and nervously threw

herself upon the older male’s mercy. The twenty-one-year-old was surprised, but

agreed to help once he understood just how miserable his cousin had become under

the weight of unwanted responsibility. Being less in the public eye than her, he actually

had friends, including a skilled document forger who had taken up that hobby because,

quote, he was bored.

Scary, but useful.

The first thing done was stripping away any and all contrived princess traits and

wardrobe components. The Smile was the first thing given the boot, followed quickly by

the teeth-bleaching treatments, potion-straightened hair, dye-produced highlights and

aided-blue eye glamourie. The result was her hair--whose actual color was seal-brown

rather than the trendy blond-streaked mass it had been--regaining its natural curl, and a

new pair of black-framed glasses that focused gray-blue eyes.

Next, all of her expensive clothes were cheerfully burned in a bonfire, over which

were toasted sausages. The next day, wearing a pair of ratty trousers and an old

button-up shirt, both of which had been offered by a glazed-eyed Tom, a.k.a. Will’s

forgery friend--he was oddly giddy at the idea of a princess wearing some of his old

clothes--Gloria was dropped off for her first-ever marketplace shopping trip. She

acquired two travel bags worth of clothes that largely consisted of cotton and linen,

rather than the silk, satin and velvet of her old wardrobe. She also had fixated upon a

pair of oversized dyed-blue boots to the point that the sales clerk asked her if she

wanted them. Being as they were completely unfeminine, her mind declared them

positively brilliant and she purchased them.

The next day a female friend was brought into the scheme, though for her safety

she was only told that Gloria was “practically family,” her name wasn’t given, and that

she wanted a change in her look. Up until this point Gloria’s hair had been waist-length

since she was ten and more often than not was kept in up-dos. By the time the female

friend--her name was Eda--was finished, Gloria’s hair was a shoulder-length mass of

curls.

Running around playing Capture the Flag and swimming in the property’s lake

with Will’s friends all month left her sickly-pale skin healthily tanned and her contrivedly-

thin body stronger, more solid and showing signs of definite curves that would probably

finish developing in a few years. Eating food that wasn’t kept to miniscule portions

helped as well. The ultimate result was a happy, healthy and utterly teenaged girl

whose extreme steps away from the popular ideal would actually let her blend in rather

easily.

That was the person whose picture was affixed to the newly-created identity Tom

the Forger handed over, smirking through the evidence of several days worth of

sleepless, caffeine-charged work. The smirk turned into a loopy, slaphappy grin when

Gloria hugged him in gratitude.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess Gloria, now Lorelai Casterton--a.k.a. “Lore”, a.k.a. “Music-geek”--stood

outside the home of the man formerly known as her cousin, now her soon-to-be

monarch, watching the sun rise. By noon her bodyguards would be here to take her

back to the palace and, God willing, it would be a few hours after that before her cousin

and his friends’ stalling and misdirection failed and a hunt for her would be called.

Within a few days her notice of abdication would be delivered to newspaper offices

worldwide shortly after arriving in the hands of the Prime Minister, ensuring that a cover-

up would be impossible. In the letter she named her cousin her successor, and for her

last act as Heir all power as Regent would be stripped from her mother, the woman

herself booted back to Grandmother and Grandfather’s estate. Worse came to worse,

the abdication was still valid and would stand up in court, and her fading into obscurity

would take a bit longer and be more difficult. Unfortunately that would result in any

fame she earned being tainted by her past.

‘God,’ she prayed, ‘Please let everything go right for me, for once.’

Sighing, Lore stood up stiffly from her position sitting on the front steps,

stretching with a quiet groan before walking over to where Tom was loading her

suitcases into his wagon. He’d be driving her into town, where she’d catch a carriage to

take her the rest of the way. Soon she would be settling into her new life as a recently-

orphaned emancipated minor, finishing up her last two years of formal schooling

amongst people who had never met a titled person, much less were related to one.

She couldn’t wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two months later and she was rather impressed with Will and his friends. While

things hadn’t quite worked out the way she would have preferred--her mother had

somehow managed to get Parliament to ignore her letter of abdication and retain the

woman as Regent, thus keeping Will off of the throne--no one had found her yet.

Granted, living on her own wasn’t quite as fun an adventure as she had assumed it

would be, but it was far better than existing under her mother’s proverbial thumb. She

liked most of her classes, her part-time job wasn’t too stressful, and she had won a part,

admittedly a small one, in her new school’s upcoming spring musical, “Once Upon a

Mattress.”

One day while helping to paint the castle scenery, however, the just-starting

rehearsal ground to a halt as a suit-clad man barged into the auditorium through the

doors in the back, making a beeline for the director, Mr. Nemodie. Lore did her best to

remain calm, continuing to lay down even brushstrokes of gray paint even as her

shoulders and crouching legs developed a sort of tenseness, ready to bolt at any given

moment. She had recognized the man as one of her mother’s bodyguards.

Guard and director spoke quietly, Mr. Nemodie’s expression becoming more and

more incredulous. Finally, the man snapped out, “You’re crazy! The girl’s a talented

actress, but nobody is that good!”

Well, if that wasn’t a bad sign, she didn’t know what was. After her audition, Mr.

Nemodie had mentioned to her that she was a talented actress, but the qualifier he’d

added then was “but you need to learn not to clomp around while wearing those boots;

it’s distracting.” The fact of the matter was that she had been deliberately clomping as a

sort of after-the-fact defiance of her mother’s rules for being ladylike. That and her

Stompy Boots made her happy.

More hushed glaring, then finally some give: the director sighed in defeat,

though he shot a glare at the bodyguard as well, and called out, gaining the cast’s

curious and nosy attention.

“Miss Casterton, could you please come down here for a few minutes?”

Even as her movements froze up, the doors in back swung open so hard that

they smacked back into the wall on either side, more black-suited bodyguards poured

in, and at their center was evil incarnate.

Her mother. That stupid, stupid *cow*.

“Gloria, darling! Come along, not a moment to lose, we have a coronation to

finish planning!” God, the woman was completely oblivious to the glares of disgust,

hatred and loathing being thrown with wished-for deadly force by her fellow cast

members. Unfortunately the guards weren’t quite so oblivious, and so tightened their

defenses against potential rioting. The Queen Regent was not popular, nor had she

ever been.

Mr. Nemodie sighed in defeat, and said, “Miss Casterton, as much as it pains me

to ask, please stop what you’re doing and come over here.”

Lorelai Casterton finally looked up from her assigned task, her observation of the

room no longer surreptitious. Her glasses had slid down her nose a bit from leaning

over her work, so she pushed them back into place with the tip of one finger, leaving a

streak of gray paint up the bridge of her nose absent-mindedly. Firmly clamping down

on all anxiety other than what would be expected from facing authority figures, she

wiped any remaining paint off of her hands onto her already paint-splattered apron as

she rose to a stand. She nervously tugged at the end of her braid behind her back, the

slight pain focusing her. Carefully stepping around the various unpainted sets, painters

and paint buckets, she made her way to the edge of the stage, hopping down with ease.

“Where is she?! Where is my daughter?! Move, you dolts!”

Though she wanted more than anything to roll her eyes, Lorelai restricted her

outward reaction to raising a single eyebrow in Mr. Nemodie’s direction. He

unexpectedly obliged her by rolling his eyes, which was amusing. Apparently he could

see through her mother’s over-acting as easily as she could. Not that it was particularly

hard, mind you, but it was nice nonetheless.

Queen Regent Marricella, only a viscountess by right of birth, flounced her way to

the front of the room, all but dripping in heirloom jewelry that Lorelai knew for a fact did

not belong to the woman in any way, shape, or form, except for the gynormous diamond

engagement ring that went with her wedding band. In other words, situation normal.

Unfortunately.

The older woman finally stopped about five feet away from Lorelai, her nose

automatically wrinkling at the first waft of paint fumes. It wrinkled further and further,

however, as she took in the appearance of the girl in front of her. Lorelai knew what

she’d see: paint-splattered apron and work dress, dark blue scuffed boots peeking out

underneath the pants, humidity-frazzled shortish curly hair, paint-speckled cheeks, plain

glasses, and a remarkably paint-free green button badge that read, in white lettering, “I

can only please one person a day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow isn’t looking good

either.” All of this was united by a subtly muscular and slightly short frame. The

looseness of her garb hid the majority of her still-forming curves.

All this time, an annoyed sneer had been developing on Marricella’s sharply-

angled too-thin face. The woman whirled about, turning on her guards.

“This is not my daughter! Why do you waste my time on this, this uncouth,

common thing?!”

Ouch. Or, it would be if she cared, which she didn’t. When she’d once told Will

that nobody at court, least of all her own mother, knew her, she hadn’t expected to be

proven correct in quite this fashion, though it was rather useful.

“My Lady, all of our evidence points to this girl, and-”

“Silence! Talk-talk-talk, this is all you do! Find my daughter so that my stupid

nephew does not take what is mine!”

Pretty much everybody but Marricella and all but the youngest few of the Guards

now had expressions of incredulity and/or disgust openly on their faces. It was nice to

know that people agreed with her opinion, for once. As for herself, the only change to

her face was that her single raised eyebrow was joined by its twin, going from

challenging question to utter disbelief.

Could it possibly be that her mother had forgotten just what it was about her that

was real and what had been imposed upon her?

“My daughter is pretty, you idiot; not as pretty as me, of course, but certainly not

that gray-eyed, wild-haired nothing! You’re fired! I’m going! We’re going! This was a

waste of my time! Bye-bye!”

The doors slammed back shut behind the group, the Queen Regent’s shrill voice

still audible for another minute, though blessedly muted.

‘Huh. I guess Mother really is that self-absorbed. I don’t know why I’m so

surprised, though. I’ve suspected it for years.‘

With that, Lorelai Casterton, no longer and never again Princess Gloria, turned

around and hauled herself back onto the stage, returning to her set painting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five years. It had been a little under five years since she had taken her story into

her own hands, defying fate, family and convention to arrive at this place. And now,

here she was: a college graduate with a Bachelor’s Degree in Music and Theater,

Minor in History, near the top of her class and with her first professional project already

lined up to start in two months. The only way she could be happier was if...

She suddenly found herself hugged up against a rather male body, the lips

attached to the body kissing her breathless in a way that curled her toes and made her

want to spin around for an hour with a goofy smile on her face.

...Scratch her earlier thought; life couldn’t be better at the moment, for what more

could she want? Diploma in hand, career ahead and shiny, and her not-so-scruffy-

anymore fiancée’s lips locked onto hers. Weird how it took an ex-forger/scoundrel to

snag the heart of a girl who could have been a queen.

They broke for air finally, only to hear a voice say, “Thomas, could you wait until I

am not around before you try to suck my cousin inside-out via her mouth?”

“Will?! What are you doing here?” For yes, there he was, her cousin and King.

He’d finally kicked her mother out of the Regency three years prior, and was doing quite

well. Sans all trappings of royalty, with the exception of the gold signet ring on his right

hand, his only visible bodyguard was surprisingly incognito, with the exception of a

rather obviously twitchy reaction to the crowds around them.

And yes, they truly did live Happily Ever After.


The End.