So I've been getting a few messages along the lines of when are you going to write a new story. This storyline is something I've been thinking about for a while.
So here's the new story set after the end of Season 3. Unfortunately I'm not going to be able to update as often as I'd like as I have a new job which is pretty busy but will try and update at least once a week.
It had been nearly four weeks since she'd set foot on English soil.
And after the heat and dust, the noise and the white washed antiquity of Morocco, through her eyes England now seemed a strangely subdued place.
And perhaps it was the effect of the tinted windows on one of the family's Rolls Royce's but as they sped through London's streets everything about the place was muted – no brilliant colours illuminated by harsh sunlight, no bazaars or hawkers trying to hustle a sale, no heated arguments between street vendors but people minding their own business or exchanging in polite small talk.
For the past three and a half weeks she'd thrown herself into the task of visiting Sebastian's eight villas, photographing their current décor which she'd them meticulously storyboarded onto a series of posters. On one side were the photos of the villas as they were now, accompanies by images of their settings, local scenic attractions and bulleted points about their facilities. On the other side were a collage of her design 'inspirations' – colours, photos of interiors, fashion, oriental rugs, lamps, silks and more along with a random assortment of key words like 'harem chic,' mysterious, and funky.
From that she'd drawn her overall theme for the villas with each one to have a separate local flavour. Redecoration of the first one would start later next week and she was both ridiculously excited and nervous when she thought about what could go right or wrong.
The reason she'd come back – just for a long weekend, as she'd informed Sebastian and her family, was to celebrate her mother's birthday.
When she was small, this had always been celebrated in great pomp and style, with gala evenings or royal command performances but in the past few years the celebrations had become much smaller and more discreet.
There was nothing about her mother's preferences that favoured discretion when it came to PR, and Eleanor knew her mother well enough to understand that, after 40, her mother looked on each passing birthday as a reminder that she was getting older. And all the botox and expensive face cream in the world couldn't hold back the tide of time forever.
And Eleanor, who herself knew everything about the scrutiny and spite which the tabloids viewed the women in the family with if they acted or appeared anything less than perfect, actually felt a stirring of sympathy for her mother.
She sat back in her seat and gazed out the window, brooding. The tabloids were going to be a huge problem.
Her left hand nervously played with the long silver chain around her neck. She didn't know which she was more scared of – her Brother the King, her mother, Rachel, the tabloids or the person ultimately responsible for this whole mess - along with herself, of course, because there was no way she was getting out of this without being held culpable for a crime.
Because the thought of telling any one of the names of that list was terrifying, to the extent that her heart had started racing and palms were now clammy just from the thought.
The black car slowed as it approached the Palace Gates, then glided gracefully down the driveway to deposit her in front of the massive front door.
Eleanor waited, clutching her hand bag tightly, for the driver to open the door.
She placed one delicate foot onto the cold stone steps and then another.
As she stared at the imposing building in front of her, the sense of foreboding grew into something that felt almost like panic.
Sooner or later this weekend she was going to have to break the news that she, the newly single Princess, had gone and gotten herself knocked up, and in around eight months there would be a new bastard heir to the throne.
And she was smart enough to know that once she did, all hell was going to break loose.
