AN: A little prologue to my newest Labyrinth story. Hope you enjoy
this first part. I welcome, okay am obsessed with, feedback! :)
My thanks also to Irene who pointed out that Liechtenstein was a much
better choice.
King Charming: Prologue
Okay, okay, so when you're a little girl playing make believe there's
always gotta be a Prince Charming, right? He's tall and dreamy and
wears this old brandy cologne. He opens doors for you, brings you a
single red rose on your first date, and would gladly rip Armani pants
to rescue a kitten from a tree, or a burning building- your choice.
And he doesn't REALLY have to be a prince because, hello, those are
kinda rare, right?
Well they're not as rare as you might think.
My name is plain old Sarah Williams. It has been for the last
twenty-five years of my life and it will be for, oh, about the next
four months, twenty-two days, and, we'll round and say ten hours.
Because after that my name will be Princess Sarah Luchess Armanda
Raphella and my husband will be Prince Dominic Luchess Armanda
Raphella IV, Crown Prince of Arian. That's right, Arian, that little
country next to Liechtenstein in Western Europe.
I'm going to be its Princess and one day, when Queen Marchella Luchess
Armanda Raphella V kicks the gold plated bucket, I'll even be Queen.
Yeah, I think that's really a stupid idea too. I forget to tie my own
shoelaces sometimes. Me running a country, not so good- for either
myself OR the country. But I'll have Dominic, my real live Prince
Charming by my side, so I can probably count on him to keep me from
blowing anything up accidentally. At least anything important.
And, get this, it was love at first sight. Really. Honest. Of
course, I was sun bathing in front of the library at the University
of Wisconsin in a bikini at the time, but still, Dominic fell in love
with me at first sight. And, even if first sight involved a whole
bunch of bared flesh, he should still get SOME credit. And yeah,
he's exactly my height which kinda makes dancing awkward,
wears this terribly expensive but horrid cologne, is allergic to
cats, and brought me a dozen yellow roses on our first date, but all
that's still just technicalities.
Dominic is my Prince Charming. Plus, he's way hot. No inbreeding
for my fiancé, thank you very much. Yummy.
I sigh though as I stare in the mirror of my dressing table. I'm
dressed to kill in a little, LITTLE, black dress with a plunging
v-neck and, well, flats. It looks funny if I'm four inches taller
than my one true love so heels are a definite no-no. My face has
changed over the years, matured and streamlined. With some make-up
even I'm willing to admit that I'm pretty darn pretty.
I start to pin dangling diamond earrings, a three month anniversary
present, on to match the stunning diamond choker, a six month
anniversary present (Dominic is big on diamonds), when my reflection
in the mirror is joined by another.
The Goblin King lounges, unconcerned, on my bed, pose artfully
arranged to appear relaxed and nonchalant, though his mismatched
gaze is cold and purposeful with intent. I resist the urge to whirl
because I know from experience that he won't be there. Just in the
mirror.
Always in the damn mirror.
I scowl into said mirror, the frown marring my features as I angrily
pin the last earring in. "What are YOU doing here?"
this first part. I welcome, okay am obsessed with, feedback! :)
My thanks also to Irene who pointed out that Liechtenstein was a much
better choice.
King Charming: Prologue
Okay, okay, so when you're a little girl playing make believe there's
always gotta be a Prince Charming, right? He's tall and dreamy and
wears this old brandy cologne. He opens doors for you, brings you a
single red rose on your first date, and would gladly rip Armani pants
to rescue a kitten from a tree, or a burning building- your choice.
And he doesn't REALLY have to be a prince because, hello, those are
kinda rare, right?
Well they're not as rare as you might think.
My name is plain old Sarah Williams. It has been for the last
twenty-five years of my life and it will be for, oh, about the next
four months, twenty-two days, and, we'll round and say ten hours.
Because after that my name will be Princess Sarah Luchess Armanda
Raphella and my husband will be Prince Dominic Luchess Armanda
Raphella IV, Crown Prince of Arian. That's right, Arian, that little
country next to Liechtenstein in Western Europe.
I'm going to be its Princess and one day, when Queen Marchella Luchess
Armanda Raphella V kicks the gold plated bucket, I'll even be Queen.
Yeah, I think that's really a stupid idea too. I forget to tie my own
shoelaces sometimes. Me running a country, not so good- for either
myself OR the country. But I'll have Dominic, my real live Prince
Charming by my side, so I can probably count on him to keep me from
blowing anything up accidentally. At least anything important.
And, get this, it was love at first sight. Really. Honest. Of
course, I was sun bathing in front of the library at the University
of Wisconsin in a bikini at the time, but still, Dominic fell in love
with me at first sight. And, even if first sight involved a whole
bunch of bared flesh, he should still get SOME credit. And yeah,
he's exactly my height which kinda makes dancing awkward,
wears this terribly expensive but horrid cologne, is allergic to
cats, and brought me a dozen yellow roses on our first date, but all
that's still just technicalities.
Dominic is my Prince Charming. Plus, he's way hot. No inbreeding
for my fiancé, thank you very much. Yummy.
I sigh though as I stare in the mirror of my dressing table. I'm
dressed to kill in a little, LITTLE, black dress with a plunging
v-neck and, well, flats. It looks funny if I'm four inches taller
than my one true love so heels are a definite no-no. My face has
changed over the years, matured and streamlined. With some make-up
even I'm willing to admit that I'm pretty darn pretty.
I start to pin dangling diamond earrings, a three month anniversary
present, on to match the stunning diamond choker, a six month
anniversary present (Dominic is big on diamonds), when my reflection
in the mirror is joined by another.
The Goblin King lounges, unconcerned, on my bed, pose artfully
arranged to appear relaxed and nonchalant, though his mismatched
gaze is cold and purposeful with intent. I resist the urge to whirl
because I know from experience that he won't be there. Just in the
mirror.
Always in the damn mirror.
I scowl into said mirror, the frown marring my features as I angrily
pin the last earring in. "What are YOU doing here?"