Author's note:

Thanks to those who reviewed. Onward, onto the story itself! As indicated in the description, this story is going to be full of tropes and cliches, and is meant for those who want to have a little fun with reading some goofy FanFiction. I'm writing this as an exercise to get myself back into the groove of writing after (finally) finishing my university degree and don't intend on making it that serious.

Hope you all enjoy!

Take care,

- Violetrose136

Chapter One

One year, ten months, one week and two days before I became Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales, future Queen of Great Britain and the wife of Britain's "most pinup-able prince" (thank you, Hello!), I woke up hungover and naked, and next to my ex-boyfriend.

It had started as a joke. It really did. One minute I was in Chalkboard with Emma, and the next I was texting Lancelot and asking him if he wanted to, "get it on 'till the break of dawn." The wording aside, the point of the exercise had been simply to show Emma that when it was past one in the morning (and it was), getting laid was not the delicate, fragile exercise it was in daylight hours. I hadn't expected Lancelot to acknowledge my message, and never mind actually respond to it. I groaned softly and threw a hand up to rub at my sore eyes. In my mind, the night replayed.

"Emma, c'mon—you can literally say anything to anybody and get laid." I'd nudged her shoulder. She hadn't moved, instead focusing intently on her phone, like it was a bomb that needed to be deactivated. "Just ask Noah to come and join us."

"No," She drew the word out, so it sounded almost like a howl. Luckily music was too loud, and the other customers were too drunk to hear it.

I put my mojito down. "Go get me another one of these and give me your phone. I'll text Noah and an hour from now you'll be naked."

"Oh my God, it isn't going to work like that."

I sighed and reached for my own phone. "Here, I'll show you that it works."

Famous last words, Guinevere. I thought sourly and turned away from the all-too-familiar mop of dark hair resting on the pillow next to me. That last mojito had been a mistake, and the night had been a complete disaster. I wondered if Emma had returned home okay. I had a vague memory of putting her into a taxi and throwing a handful of notes at the driver, and then Lancelot and I had gotten our own cab and it was a flurry of body parts and sounds that made my stomach churn.

When I sat up and looked around, some vague part of me was surprised to find that we had ended up in my room in Camden. I wouldn't have put it past Lancelot to demand that we made the trek over to his flat in Kingston. Sighing, I reached over to the nightstand and pulled out the first painkillers I could get my hands on. The only ones I had were the enormous disks from Boots that probably would have been better suited to be dinner plates in another life. These required water, and so I slid from the bed and into the ensuite that adjoined my room. I drank three cups of water very fast and brushed my teeth and hair. A glance in the mirror told me that only a shower would remove the streaks of makeup on my face, and so I put that off and returned to my bedroom, pulling my dressing gown around me.

Lancelot was awake and sitting up in bed. When I reappeared, he smiled broadly and held his arms out to me. "There she is, my lady of the night." He grimaced and reconsidered. "My midnight lady?" He tried.

I sighed. "Lancelot…"

"Okay, okay, I know that was bad. I didn't mean to call you a prostitute."

Today was turning out so perfectly. "Lancelot that's not it. I—last night. It shouldn't have happened." I took a deep breath and looked away from his piercing dark gaze. "It was a jo—a conversation that got out of hand. I'm sorry."

He frowned. "So, what if it was a conversation that got out of hand? We're here, together again…"

"Stop please," I sighed, and ran my hand through my hair. I looked at the clock. "Shit! I'm late for work."

"Me, too." He stood up, and I tried to look anywhere else than at him. He rounded the bed and reached for my hands. Against my better judgement, I let him take them. Looking up at him, I felt a thrill snake through me. "I've missed you, Gwen." He'd drawn me to his chest, and I could feel the beat of his heart under my fingertips.

Screw wo—I jerked away from him. "I need to go." I said, looking pointedly away from him. "So, do you." I added, for emphasis.

He sighed and reached a hand up to my shoulder. I yanked away. "Can we grab dinner later? I've wanted to talk to you for a long time."

My lips pursed. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Gwen, I've told you I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "And I told you that I don't care. Please leave now, I'm going to be really late for work."

"Gwen…" He reached for my hands again. "We do need to talk about it."

I relented. "I'll think about it. If you let me get ready for work."

He grinned. "I knew you'd come around." He leaned down to kiss me, and against my better judgement I let him. He squeezed my arm fondly. "I'll call you later."

"Text me. Nobody cool calls anymore." I bit my lip. "I'll see you out."

Once he was dressed, he stood straight and motioned for me to lead the way. I shuffled past him and into the corridor, praying that none of my flatmates were around. My hopes were dashed however, when we found my flatmate Merlin sitting at the aged IKEA table eating breakfast. He smirked when he saw my former boyfriend walking behind me.

"Morning, Lancelot!" He said, deliberately too loud for hungover ears. "Long time no see!"

Both men were oblivious to my glower. Lancelot smiled and held up a hand. "You too, Merlin. How are tricks?"

"Tricks are good." Merlin's eyes sparkled as he looked between Lancelot and me. "You?"

"I've been better." Lancelot smiled ruefully and nudged me. "This one talked me into one too many margaritas last night."

"On a school night?" Merlin's attempt to look affronted was ruined by the mirth in his eyes. "Guinevere, I am truly shocked."

I stuck my tongue out at him and glanced at the clock on the oven. My stomach sunk when I calculated just how late I was going to be. "A school night indeed." I muttered, shooting Lancelot a pointed look.

"Okay, okay, I'm leaving." He held his hands up, this time in a motion of surrender.

When the door shut behind him, Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Well, that was unexpected."

I rubbed my temples, and wondered if the paracetamol was ever going to kick in. "You're telling me." I muttered quietly.

oOo

Throwing up in the shower aside, I managed to leave the flat fairly quickly. The one flaw in my plan was that I had no cash, but luckily the cab I flagged down to take me to work was one of the fancy new ones with a card machine. Removing my card and stashing it in my wallet, I wondered vaguely if I should apologise for not tipping him. Then I remembered that the British don't tip, and then I remembered that my class would be waiting for me.

I hurried away from the cab and up into the school. I found that my classroom was empty and spun around to find Anne-Marie Carroll standing in the doorway. I hadn't heard her walking down the hall, nor had I heard her come into the doorway. Part of me wondered if the woman was a ghost. She crossed her arms.

"Good morning, Miss. Fairchild." The deputy-head said, her Scottish accent clipped and short. Only today I was fairly certain that she had made her accent extra clipped, just to torture my poor head. "I saw to it that your class was taken to assembly promptly and that the register was completed on time. Why were you so late?"

"Traffic," I lied automatically. "I'm really very sorry."

"Still had time to get yourself a cup of coffee, I see." She nodded towards the cup I held in my hand. Coffee was hardly what I would call the instant monstrosity that lived in my cup, but I knew it wasn't the right time to argue with her. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes flashed in the way that struck fear into my students, and into me.

"I really am sorry, there was traffic and I had a huge change in family circumstance this weekend, and since they're all back in Canada I was up quite late trying to stay in tou—"

She held up a hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. "I will remind you, Miss. Fairchild, that lateness is not tolerated in our students or in our teachers. I hope you will take this as a warning that continued lateness will not be tolerated. Haughton House School is a school of prestige and privilege. And I would hope that you would care to remember that, today of all days."

"I beg your pardon… ma'am?" I usually didn't refer to her with such formality, but in the interests of keeping my job, I tacked it on the end.

Her eyebrows raised. "Surely you haven't forgotten what today is?" At my blank look, she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Miss. Fairchild, I would appreciate if you listened more closely in staff meetings. Do your students even know? Today we are being visited by His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales."

Oh, duh. His Royal Highness Prince Arthur, The Prince of Wales was the biggest name Haughton Hall School had on its alumni list. His upcoming visit to the school to open the new sports hall had been all that had been talked about for weeks. I nodded. "I remembered, and I sent home reminders with my students last Friday to wear full and proper winter uniform. I'll make sure to check their uniforms before he arrives. What time is he getting here?"

She eyed me steely. "His Royal Highness is due to arrive at ten-thirty sharp. His security arrives at nine to put up the barriers towards the main entrance of the school. From ten-thirty until ten-forty-five, His Royal Highness will greet members of the school community. At ten-forty-five His Royal Highness will enter the school and at ten-fifty the rest of the school will file into the new sports hall, where His Royal Highness will give an address and formally open the sports hall. He is expected to remain at the school until one in the afternoon, being shown around and talked to about the various projects every class is working on."

"I see, and should I expect disruption in my classroom?"

"I will be showing him around with the headmaster and will perhaps enter your classroom. If we do, he will stay for a few minutes and speak to the children about their work. Hopefully it will not cause too much disruption in lessons. But as a competent teacher, I'm sure you can manage to keep your class in line."

"Of course."

Anne-Marie nodded, her stern expression turning into a half smile. "Have a good day, Miss. Fairchild, and do not be late again."

"Yes, ma'am."

Anne-Marie might have believed I was capable of keeping my students under control in the midst of our royal visit, but anyone who has met six-year-old girls would know that keeping them calm in the face of meeting a prince is a near-impossibility. Their giddiness spread around the classroom like wildfire, and even the boys were hyper and unfocused. With my hangover, it was safe to say that almost nothing got done that morning and it was a relief when Anne-Marie reappeared at the door to motion them to leave.

I smiled and shooed my excited students out of the classroom and stayed behind to tidy. Being Canadian, I felt surprisingly little need to lay eyes on the heir to the throne, even if he would technically be my King one day, too. I figured that I might regret passing up the chance to meet the heir apparent, but my hangover demanded I take the moment of rest. My classroom tidied, I slipped towards the staff room in the interest of finding more coffee. I kept an eye on my watch, sure that Anne-Marie would be checking my room again to make sure I was in my station and set to go. I wondered if she'd ever accidentally had sex with her ex, and then wondered if any man had ever been brave enough to get close enough with her to have sex.

While I was waiting for the kettle to boil for more of that instant "coffee," I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked my messages. One from Barclays—Your online statement is ready to view. Yeah, no thank you. Another from my brother, and another…

"Oh, crap."

Thanks for giving me another chance, Gwen. Ringo's at eight? X

Lancelot's message turned my eyes into saucers, and I felt my heart rate climb. Another chance? How the hell had I given him the impression that he would get another chance? I groaned loudly and leaned forward to bang my head on the cupboard above me.

"Excuse me, ma'am, are you all right?"

I started but didn't turn around. "Yes." I said, a little miserably. "My ex-boyfriend is just a twat, is all."

"Twat how?"

I took my head away from the cupboard door and opened it, reaching in for some instant coffee. "He thinks I'm giving him another chance just because I booty called him last night." I sighed and poured in the hot water. "As if I would ever do that—the bastard dumped me, and a few weeks later slept with my friend. Not that she cared about how it impacted me, of course. They were made for each other, and all of that."

"Are they not still together now?"

I laughed. "Nope. Not even close. Although I wouldn't like to know what her reaction would be if I told her about last night. She might stab me."

I turned for the milk, and as I did, I stole my first glance at the intruder. His face was carefully angled away from me, looking up at the clock. He was wearing a dark suit and had blond hair that just brushed his collar. "Are you Prince Arthur's security?"

"What?"

I grabbed the milk and turned back towards my cup. "You know, the prince who went to this school? Apparently is a huge playboy, if the tabloids are to be believed."

"I wouldn't believe everything you hear in tabloids."

I shrugged, stirring sugar into my coffee. "I don't believe everything I read, but my mother sure does. Where there's smoke there's a fire, she thinks."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?" I turned around, ready to question him, and my words died in my throat. Because standing in front of me was none other than His Royal Highness Prince Arthur, Prince of Wales. I recognised him immediately, of course. Those deep-set blue eyes and cheekbones were iconic. I fought not to drop my coffee cup. "Your—Your Royal Highness."

I just told The Prince of Wales that I had sex with my ex last night. I just called him a playboy. Oh my God, I am so going to get fired.

He smirked. "Good morning, Miss?"

"Fairchild," I said automatically. You idiot, a voice chastised, now he can report you to your superiors by name. Bye-bye, job! "Guinevere Fairchild."

"Miss. Fairchild, it is an honour to meet you." He reached a hand out, and some subconscious reflex made me reach out my own to meet his.

I'd like to say that the first time I touched my future husband's hand, there were sparks and the world turned upside down as electric shocks flew between us. It was nothing like that, and I don't think it was very different for him. He's told me since then that I looked like a deer caught in headlights. He shook my hand warmly, and I gaped at him.

"I—I'm sorry," I said bluntly. "I—I'm sure you're not a playboy, I mean—"

He laughed. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you know better than anyone that a little fun once in a while never hurt anyone. Just be glad your fun doesn't end up in tabloids."

I forced a laugh and tried to pretend that I wasn't dying inside. "Well, it does end up being told to a royal, so I'm not so sure I don't have it worse."

"At least the royal can't sell the information." He shot back, his eyes twinkling.

I was going to reply when a dark-haired man peered around the corner. "Your Royal Highness, the students are seated and it's time for you to open the sports hall."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you, Keith." He turned back to me. "Fairchild was it?" I nodded. "It has been lovely speaking to you, and good luck with your ex, Guinevere Fairchild."

I tried to smile, but I was fairly certain that it looked more like a grimace. "Thank you, Your Royal Highness."

"Call me Arthur."

And with a grin, he was gone.

oOo

"Wait… you told The Prince of Wales that you fucked Lancelot?" Merlin's eyes lit up with humour. "How the hell did you not realise it was him? Was his voice not posh enough?"

"I was really hungover!" I groaned and hung my head in my hands. "And that's not even the weirdest part." My other flatmate, Freya, who was sitting cross-legged on the carpet perked up. I sighed, trying to ignore the tangle of butterflies in my stomach. "When he had mostly left, when my kids were out with the French teacher, one of his security guys—Keith, Kevin or someone—came back and asked me for my phone number."

"Whoa," Freya sat up, and brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "Why?"

I threw my hands up in defeat. "No idea."

"Did you give it to him?"

"I mean, yeah. I was shocked. I just sort of recited it, and then the bodyguard was gone."

"Do you think he gave it to him?" Merlin asked, curling his legs up against his chest and snuggling his tea closer.

"I have no idea."

"Do you think this means he was into you?" Freya mused, biting her lip and staring at a crack in the ceiling.

"I mean, I accused him of being a womanizer, talked to him about my ex and informed him that I'm an easy shot when drunk… so maybe. If he is a womanizer, with no self-respect." I shook my head. "He can have any woman in the world—actresses, duchesses—I have no idea why he'd be interested in me."

"I wouldn't count yourself out of the running so quickly." Merlin said, "You spoke to him like a real human, didn't you? Wasn't Anne-Marie falling over him, you said? 'Your Royal Highness' this and 'Your Royal Highness' that?"

I smirked, remembering the way that a nearly fifty-year-old woman had fawned over the twentysomething Prince. "And the only alternative to her is a twenty-four-year-old teacher who can't keep her mouth shut in front of strangers? Fat chance."

Merlin shrugged. "You never know. The royals are real people too, even if their faces are plastered over every bloody tabloid in the country. Maybe he just liked you."

I scoffed Merlin's comment off and changed the subject to something that was playing on TV. Still, his words weren't lost on me and later that night I couldn't help but wonder if Prince Arthur would call me. I must have checked my phone at least four times before I finally turned it fully off and rolled over to sleep. I hadn't been so nervous about a boy since I was a teenager. What was going on? What would I do if Prince Arthur never called?

And what the hell was I going to do if he did?