Prologue
My mother was the Queen of England. However, I wear no tiara and I sit upon no throne. How is this possible? You think I'm lying, I know you do, but it's the honest-to-God truth. The story of my father, though, is why I'm no princess. I clean the princess's boots, that's what I do. Let me explain a bit...
Mother was the type of woman who wanted adventure. She didn't want to sit primly in the castle mending her husband's socks and showering him with kisses when he came home from waging war or whatever it was that he fancied himself with doing. So when the very handsome and dashing privateer Sir Bellamy Roberts came to court to request a Letter of Marques to storm and plunder Spanish port cities during the war, mum saw her chance. What man in his right mind would refuse the Queen of England? Mum was still a young woman looking for some fun, just married at eighteen years old, and Captain Roberts was tall, dark, and handsome...you know, the whole bit. To make a long story short...nine months later the princess and I were born.
Mother took it as a blessing that I was born warm sugar brown and the princess was born snow white. She could hide me as a kitchen girl, a kitchen girl, and raise my sister as the King's daughter. The King must have had a highly inferior intelligence or mum had a rare streak of brilliance because he never knew. I grew up as my sister's maid until I was sixteen, then, everything changed, which I'm glad for. No one knows what it is like to hear someone agonize over the most idiotic things, day after day after day. "Oh woe is me! I should not have had my hair cut, it would have looked so much better with the lavender dress if it were longer!" And, "I heard Prince Charming married some common girl, I hope this is not a new trend, woe is me!" I tell you, I have never met such a pampered girl with so much woe. I held my tongue around Christelle, or Snow White, as she was called. I had to remind myself that she'd inherited mum's lack of judgment, blind trust, and general stupidity; therefore she could not be held accountable for the words that came out of her mouth.
The people in the kitchen called me Sugar Brown, or Gypsy Girl. I have no idea why they called me gypsy girl, unless my mother said gypsies left me at the castle door, which is highly unbelievable. I was a light honey brown complexion with loosely curly dark brown hair and hazel-gold eyes. I suppose I got my height from my father, because I was taller than most women in the castle. Unlike me, Christelle was daintily pretty with a lovely petite figure and long wavy black hair. She had eyes of the purest blue crystal and skin of the palest white...except for two identical rosy red cheeks. She always looked like a pretty little porcelain doll, and since she had the brain to match this was a bad combination. She was doomed the day her mother died.
The day her mother died, the King rejoiced, for he could marry another younger woman who could bear him many strong sons. His new wife was a princess from foreign lands with a falsely sweet smile and a sharp mind. She could get exceptionally jealous, and the moment she saw Christelle a rage was awakened in her. I knew it when she threw me out of the castle because she did not like the way the King looked at me. The woman was insane...the King had never spared me a second glance in his life. Because of that veritable witch I was out on my own with almost no money, only the clothes on my back, and no where to go. You all know my sister's tale...how her stupidity (honestly, who greets a stranger at the door twice after being almost murdered by the same stranger?) found her love? Well, today you get to learn my story.