The Queen’s Rise

By Heather Waage

The princess had been missing for fifteen years. Yet every year, Queen Viola presents
“the princess” to the noble court. Unfortunately, none of these girls have been the
princess. None have even looked similar to the princess, though the court accepts them
as such. Until this year. Things are different, and I decided to keep this journal as proof
of the Queen’s deceit. My name is Laura. This year? I was the girl chosen to play the
missing princess.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664184336

Heather Waage

Heather waage, Heather was born in 1999. She enjoys reading, writing books, and cuddling with her cat. She also enjoys a cold icee on a hot day.

Book preview

Prologue

Once a year, the Queen presents Princess Loralina to the court so they know that the heir of the Brairuid Kingdom is alive and well. The Queen throws a ball that lasts three days and three nights to celebrate Princess Loralina’s day of birth. The Princess is always in attendance. This year, I will be the fifteenth princess that the Queen has presented. Though the look-alikes never look as the true princess is rumored to, the court accepts them as the princess. After the ball, the look-alikes disappear. I don’t know what happened to the others. I suspect that I’m going to be finding out soon enough. My name is Laura. And this year? I was chosen to play Princess Loralina Brairuid, Heir to the Brairuid Kingdom under the cruel and vicious Queen Viola.

One

I’m not sure why I was chosen as a look-alike this year. I don’t really look similar to last year’s look-alike. She was a brunette, I’m blond. She was plump and kinda short, I’m tall and thin. I suppose it could be my name. Laura, Loralina. Sounds similar enough. Or it could be that the Queen wants to punish my mother. Or me, I suppose. It’s certainly a rough way to punish somebody. All of the other look-alikes have disappeared, without fail, a week or two after being presented to the noble court at the ball. It’s common enough knowledge among the maids and the other palace staff, the servants of the Queen. We know that she makes the look-alikes disappear. After they disappear, most people forget the look-alike’s names, and most of their personalities. I can only vaguely remember what last year’s look alike looked like. Why? We don’t know. How? Also unknown. The palace staff are seemingly invisible, and all but forgotten until someone needs something. We are quiet, unseen, unheard. Ghosts moving through the castle walls. The hidden cogs in the machine. The hidden mechanics that keep things running.

You can certainly play a ghost when you put your mind to it. Gave me quite the scare a few times. I swear you can appear out of nowhere. You have the tendency to disappear just as fast.

I was born a bit over seventeen years ago to a lowly maid in the castle. My mother had no husband, so she was heavily ridiculed for having me, a baby that was so clearly a bastard-born. I know that my mum knows who my father was, (or is) but she refuses to tell me. Now? I may never get to know. I suspect that the previous Princess Loralina look-alikes were killed by the Queen to keep them quiet, but I’m honestly not sure. It’s unlike Queen Viola to leave possible witnesses alive, too much risk of them potentially escaping. Because of this, I could very well be dead, deceased, gone from this earth, kissing dirt, maggot food, swinging by my neck, pushing up daisies, put to rest, meeting the maker, kissed the grim reaper, passed the veil, Taking a dirt nap, Riding on pale horse, Met the four brothers, Wed to the pale rider beneath the willow, kaput, gone, my head on a silver platter, (well you get the picture) before the month is out. I only have a few weeks to learn enough about princessing to be presentable. Then I have my big debut. Three days and three nights of strutting my stuff. I’m sure how well I can act will affect how painful my fate is.

That’s quite a few ways to say kicked the bucket. My favorite was the one about wedding the pale rider. You can be quite creative, can’t you?

This is my story, written in a series of journals that I’m going to hide from the Queen as best as I can. If the Queen finds any of these, then I’m definitely dead, and if you get caught, you probably are too. If she’s still up and kicking, don’t let her catch a glimpse of these. Don’t let her catch you with them. Hopefully, with a bit (or a lot) of luck, if you’re reading this, then the Queen has been stopped and the real Princess Loralina has been found. If not... Run. Get as far away from this corrupt, rotting, maggot-filled castle as you possibly can, as fast as you can. Don’t worry about me. I’m probably already dead. Run. Don’t look back, just get out of here. It’s not safe to stay. If you are found, you WILL be killed. Your head will be separated from your body. Possibly served up on a silver platter. Run. Get out of here while you still can. Pray. Hopefully it is not too late for you to live.

Still here? Well I guess I’d best get on with it. I never was the most patient of people, and there’s so much information to learn and relay. I have a lot of information to cram into my brain, with not a lot of time to process. You, my reader, can at least set this journal down to process for a bit. I don’t get that luxury. I have to perform like a dancing puppet while my brain has a meltdown from information overload. Not the easiest of tasks.

I’m sure that I can manage, my dear. I’ve been able to keep up with you before now, haven’t I? Your concern over my mental wellbeing is appreciated nonetheless.

My dear reader, I have to warn you. There may very well be untold horrors in these journals. I wouldn’t know, as I haven’t discovered them yet. But I can imagine, knowing how the Queen is in public. If you can, share the truth of my story, if not, if the things I discover in the coming weeks are too gruesome, too disturbing, then leave them out and tell my story anyway. That’s not too much to ask, is it? I apologize. I’m not in the right mindset to be writing at the moment. The Queen made the announcement about my forced participation to the castle staff earlier today, and I’m still in the midst of processing things. I knew she was vile, but it seems her twisted claws have sunk unimaginably deep into what was once a thriving kingdom. King Elijah may not have been the best of kings, but he was hundreds of times better than his cruel wife. He at least cared about the subjects that he ruled over.

Two

Are you out of the castle my dear reader? Have you made it out of Andalusia? If not, get out as soon as you can. Disguise yourself among the traders or the castle staff if you have to. Once you’re disguised, you should be able to make your way past the city’s gates. If she catches you, it won’t be pretty. Your life is almost guaranteed to be over. If you have managed to get out, then good. Hide. Disguise yourself. Don’t stop running, or she’ll catch you. She can and will have your head on a silver platter. She’s the right sort of sick to display it, and somewhere public too. Good luck to you, and try to stay safe.

I don’t doubt you, but I am rather attached to my head. And I don’t believe that dishware would be a good look on me,