Monday, August 29, 2011

Day Twenty-One: On her majesty's secret service

Good news to start off the week, diary – I found a hiding spot for you! And it’s not in the rat farms! Those little bastards will never see you again! Or me, for that matter!

... and now the kinda bad news! Somebody ELSE knows about you! And it’s the queen! Isn’t that... erm... isn’t that great?

No, it’s about as bad as the prince knowing about you. How is it that half of the royal family has figured out I have a diary when my own wife doesn’t know? Life’s mysterious. At least it doesn't seem like they're gonna rat on me.

I guess I should explain. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, diary, but the queen doesn’t live in the castle with the king. She’s actually outdoors all of the time, ‘cause she’s stuck in a tree. And I don’t mean in the branches, like a kitten. She’s actually stuck inside the tree.

How’d it happen? I don’t know, to be honest, since she was already there when I came to the castle. From what I've heard, when she first showed up with the king to take over, Queen Daena was walking across the plains to the barbican, tried to skirt past a tree, and just... kinda... stopped. Her legs are still flailing to this day, but the queen’s butt is embedded in the bark. It’s like the tree tried to eat her and couldn’t quite get her down.

The queen likes the outdoors, so she didn’t mind getting left behind, and she refused the king’s offer to have a fortress built around her. A guard gets posted there every week to watch over her, fetch her food and keep her company. And since we have to sleep out with the queen, I, ah, kinda had to bring you with me, diary. So she knows.

But she doesn’t mind! Unlike most people she doesn’t laugh at my desire to write. The queen’s a lovely woman, and she says that people can have a job beyond their job. If you know what I mean. So I guess I can be a writer and a guard, so long as I don’t give up on the guard part. That’s awful nice of her.

The queen’s respectful of my privacy, so she hasn’t asked to read you, diary. She does tell me to hide you whenever ministers come out to talk to her, though, so I’ve had to sit on you a lot of the time. Sorry about that. I brought some cheese out for my shift, so you might not enjoy yourself too much.

Y’know. Because of the flatulence. I want to be honest with you.

Gotta go, diary. The queen wants to chat. It’s my job, you know? Can’t leave her waiting. Hope you like your new home, out here with her little library.


Dragomir the Guard

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