I've had worried people (and one nasty anon, no thanks for that) asking me about David. While this chapter provides the beginning of an answer, did you really think me so cruel as to kill him off? I love myself some Daddy Charming, I couldn't keep those two away from each other even if I wanted to! So, yes, we'll see what happened, even if the story will mostly focus on Emma's relationship with her mother, which is why I didn't list David as a main character (yet, maybe?)

People also asked about the time gap between the first chapter's two scenes. My goal isn't to focus too much on that, but there will be more flashbacks along the way, and many clues as to what happened will be dropped here and there. I hope it won't be too difficult to understand, but the story isn't as eventful as the first Princess Diaries movie was anyway.

Without further ado, I want to thank you all for the reviews, favs and follows. Truly blew my mind! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much!


Even as the corset hugs her waist almost painfully, Emma finds herself swaying her hips, delighted with the way the skirt pools around her legs, moving in waves of red satins with each movement of her body. The dress is beautiful, far from the clothes she's used to wearing, especially with the addition of long white gloves and the delicate tiara resting against her intricate up-do. She almost doesn't recognize the woman she sees in the mirror, more used to Emma, American student, than Emmaline, Ealan crowned princess. A sight still foreign to her, yet one she'll have to live with for the rest of her life. The thought makes her sigh.

"You look lovely, Your Highness."

Belle stands in the doorframe of the bedroom, headpiece curled around her ear and huge smartphone in hand, a kind smile on her lips as she takes in the princess in front of her. Emma smiles back, even if the curve of her lips lacks confidence as anxiety slowly creeps inside her belly.

She's yet to be used to those social gatherings, to mingling with lords and barons, members of government and duchesses. So a ball thrown in her honour, where all eyes will be on her and where she is no allowed a single mistake? Ever the bravest would worry, and Emma wishes for her jeans and leather jacket – her armour more effective on her confidence than the gown she's wearing, no matter how pretty it is.

"Will he be here tonight?"

Thankfully, Belle is intuitive enough to know whom Emma is talking about, and so doesn't need details before answering the question. She also goes straight to the point, with a simple "No" that has Emma's smile faltering on her lips. "He hardy, if ever, comes to such social gatherings. His lord father, on the other hand, will be here tonight." There is a small pause, before Belle adds, like an afterthought, "You'd better not talk to him."

That much Emma knows. Not that she'd willingly start a conversation with the man to begin with – Lord George Nolan seems like a dreadful person, never smiling and always throwing nasty glares her way, like she suffers from some contagious infection. Emma has learnt to simply ignore him.

Still, it doesn't stop disappointment from mixing with nervousness within her at the knowledge that her meeting with the younger Lord Nolan still isn't for today. So with a loud huff that says a lot about her state of mind, she puts on her bravest face, straightening her back and raising her head, as she follows Belle out of the room and through the castle's hallways. The path from her bedroom to the ballroom isn't a foreign one, but the empty hallways are a sight to behold, usually full of guests and servants, guards at every corner. It makes for a silent trek, the clicking of her heels on the marble floor and the buzzing of Belle's phone the only sounds echoing against the walls.

Around the last corner, the soft sound of music and chattering come to her from behind closed doors, guards standing on each side of the large doorframe. They slightly bow to her when she comes in sight before putting their hand on the iron handles, waiting for their cue. Belle busies herself with her phone, whispering a small 'two minutes' to them that has Emma's heart pounding faster against her ribcage.

She takes a large inspiration, gathering her wandering thoughts. She'd been part of the drama club in high school, mostly because Ruby had forced her hand, and had landed a role in their rendition of My Fair Lady. But the nervousness she had felt on the first night, waiting for the curtains to open, was nothing compared to waiting behind the wooden doors. Especially when the ballroom falls silent, music and discussions dying at once to leave place for her mother's speech.

"Thirty seconds," Belle says and, on cue, the trumpets start playing and Emma's heart breaks a hole through her ribcage.

The majordomo announces, "Presenting her Royal Highness, Emmaline Eva Ruth Blanchard, Princess of Eala." The guard open the door then and, after taking a deep breath, Emma makes her entrance at the top of the grand staircase.

The ballroom at her feet is full, men in suits and women in colourful dresses, carrying glasses of champagne – but, mostly, all staring at her. She forces a smile she hopes natural and friendly on her lips, even if her cheeks hurt with the effort, and offers her a small wave.

Her mother, breathtakingly beautiful in her pale blue dress and golden crown, raises her glass to her. "To Princess Emma," she says, and people all around her raises their glass too, sharing the toast with her.

It's all kinds of awkward to Emma, and she's certain her cheeks match the crimson of her dress by now, but she accepts it all with a curt nod before walking down the marble stairs, careful not to trip even if she can't stare down at her own feet. When her heels find the floor, she heavies a sigh of relief – the worst is behind her. Or so she tries to convince herself.

Mary Margaret pulls her into a hug, brushing a kiss against Emma's cheek as they share gleeful smiles – their relationship may still be rocky at best, but they both know how to put on a poker face in front of an audience, and nobody would know better by watching them act like the perfect mother and daughter they're supposed to be.

Still, as conversations start again and the attention is no longer on her, Emma downs the first glass of champagne she comes across, hoping the bubbly drink will ease her nerves. No such luck, it seems, so she does a mentally check of her smile – still in place – and her posture – still perfect – before moving toward the first person she sees to greet them, as is expected of her.

By the time a woman wearing a dark dress and a scowl introduces herself as Baroness Cora Mills, a younger voice interrupts them with loud "Emma! Hey Emma!"

With a polite apology for the woman, Emma turns around in time to see a small figure fighting its way through the crowd, pushing and shoving them aside without any trace of remorse. Sparkling brown eyes and pretty dimples appears in front of her before she's pulled into a childish hug, and Emma can only laugh at the overwhelming display of affection.

"Well, hello there, Roland."

He has grown since the previous summer, and she remembers fondly how tiny and shy her was when she first met him five years ago. He shares his father's confidence now, almost smug from all of his nine years of age and looking quite the dashing young boy.

"Daddy says you will have to dance with all the egili – ebilige – elibi –"

"Eligible men," she helps him, barely able to swallow down a laugh. This kid is the cutest.

"Yes, that." He flashes her a grin, all dimples and white teeth. "And I don't have a girlfriend yet, so I'm it!"

The laugh bubbles out of her then, and she kneels down to plant a kiss on his cheek, leaving a beautiful trace of lipstick there. Roland blushes, even as he stands taller and prouder – her heart melts.

"Yes, that one is your son through and through," comes a voice behind the kid.

Emma stands up to greet the couple coming closer, her smile growing more sincere at the sight of Robin, the Prime Minister, and his wife Marian. The beautiful brunette looks at her son with a shake of the head, but both look quite amused at their boy's antics.

"Oh my god, familiar faces at last," Emma sighs in relief as Robin bow and kisses the back of her hand before Marian pulls her into a hug, both laughing.

She had met them before even being introduced to the press and the world as the crown princess, and had immediately grown fond of the couple. Perhaps it is because they are of lower birth compared to everyone else in the room, or perhaps it is simply in their nature, but the Locksleys are less snotty than the usual member of the royal court, pleasant and charming. They had been the first to welcome Emma in that crazy world of theirs, teaching her everything her mother wouldn't think of, and she will forever be grateful for their kindness and patience.

Also for their son, obviously.

"Come," Robin says as his puts her hand in the crook of his elbow. "I will introduce you to the members of my government."

There is no way in hell Emma will remember all those names at once, but she does her best as Robin leads her from one person to another with the ease of many years spent as the Prime Minister. Still, some names stick out in the princess's mind: Anton at the agriculture, Archibald for the foreign affairs, Kathryn as the head of the justice department. The others, Emma will have to learn along the way – her mind is already a mess as it is, anyway, the champagne not helping in the least. Yet, even if their names elude her, Emma takes an interest in each and every one of them, knowing all too well she will have to work alongside the government in only a couple of months. So she asks about every department, about the future projects they have, both nationally and internationally, taking an interest in everything she is told.

Emma is offered a brief respite when the sound of shattering glass can be heard from the other side of the room, followed by a loud "Locksley!" Barely hiding a grin and a roll of the eyes, Robin excuses himself with amused words about his munchkin and I can't take him anywhere.

Him gone, Emma finds herself alone for the first time this evening, and the need to just sit down and slip off her painful shoes is strong. Sadly for her, the night is still young, and it is but the beginning – many a young man still lines up, waiting for the ball to begin so they can share a dance with her. Such a prospect annoys her but, much like a friendly behaviour towards the members of government, she knows it to be essential. It is her Royal Court, after all, the people she will mix with all her life – she can't afford to be unloved.

"Belle?" she asks over her shoulder. The secretary appears at her side immediately. "How many members of the government are left?"

"Only one. Lady Zelena, over there," she replies with a discrete nod to a woman in a vibrant green dress. "You're doing great so far."

Emma flashes the brunette a smile before making her way towards the other woman. Her red hair is as vibrant as her dress and, when she turns around to face the princess, so are her eyes, blue like a cloudless sky. Everything, from her slender frame to her warm smile, makes her beautiful, and she offers Emma an elegant bow, grin growing bigger by the second.

"Lady Zelena, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness."

Her voice is melodious on top of everything else, and Emma wonders how such a woman, obviously part of the nobility if her title of a lady is anything to go by, could find herself into a political career. Not that there is anything wrong about that, mind you, Emma is actually quite grateful for the number of women at the head of Eala, far from the governments full of greying old men other countries are used to. Still, she would have picture a woman such as Zelena as the perfect party animal, not as a politician. But to each their own, after all.

"Excuse me, but I didn't catch which department you're the head of?"

"Oh, it's quite all right, You Highness," she replies with another one of her smiles. "I take care of everything that has to do with the health of the Ealan population. Health care, hospitals, scientific research and the likes."

An important department as any, especially with how efficient Emma knows it to be – it is quite the novelty for her to be at the head of a country with free health care, after having spent all her life in the United States. She is proud of Eala for spending more money on health and education than it does on its military forces, and knows she'll have to get along well with Lady Zelena if she wants things to run smoothly for years to come.

So, with a nod and a smile, she asks for more information about their research labs and the projects they're working on at the moments, as well as their hospitals. Eala may be a small country, but owns two of them, and Zelena goes into great lengths explaining that they have one of the most modern and developed paediatric yards in Western Europe, with renowned doctors within its walls. That's how Emma learns that, more than a politician, the lady is first and foremost a paediatrician, beautiful voice lulling her into tales of her years as an intern.

In the middle of one of those stories, another arm snakes around Emma's, startling her. When she looks to her left, it's to a more familiar mane of red hair and equally familiar green eyes. The newcomer puts her chin on Emma's shoulder like she just belongs there, the princess's lips curling into a grin as Lady Zelena finishes her sentence without even a pause – it doesn't come as a surprise that others are used to the girl's antics.

"But I speak too much. I'll leave you to your party," Zelena finishes, then adds with a bow, "It was nice meeting you, Your Highness. Lady Ariel."

Another bow before backing down with the same elegance she had when speaking, leaving Emma and Ariel to stand next to each other, silent for a few seconds.

"What an interesting woman," Emma whispers after a while, more to herself than for Ariel's sake.

"I know, right?" Another pause before the redhead offers her a high-pitched squeal and hugs her tightly, to which Emma can only laugh in reply. "I missed you!"

The feeling is mutual, of course – Ariel is, after all, Emma's longest Ealan friend, daughter of a close friend of her mother's. The girls had met the first summer Emma had spent in her tiny country, hitting the beaches with Ruby almost every day when they weren't partying. A schedule they kept every summer from then, Ariel introducing Emma to other children of the nobility and to the most beautiful parts of the country under the warm Mediterranean sun.

If the light sunburn kissing her nose and cheekbones is anything to go by, Ariel still hasn't lost her love for the beaches of white sands and the colourful cocktails that come along with it. Good, Emma thinks, she'll be able to take a break away from the castle if needed. But such break will have to wait for, hand in hers, Ariel is already pulling her towards another side of the room, speaking in hurried whispers of all the gossips Emma missed during the past year, before they reach their group of friends. She then finds herself pulls into many a hug, happy to see them all again – Mulan, in her traditional Chinese outfit, Aurora and her snide comments for the older guests, Eric with his arm wrapped around Ariel's waist.

Emma feels herself breathing again for the first time since she entered the ballroom, her smiles taking a more natural edge, her laugh free and loud. She almost forgets the context of such a meeting, or that her friends all wear titles that would have made her dizzy a few years ago. It is her life now and, if she forgets Aurora is a Duchess of all things, it doesn't feel any different from hanging out with her college friends to celebrate the end of midterms. It just comes along with more expensive clothes (with pieces of jewellery Aurora begs her to post on Instagram) and champagne instead of beers.

Perfectly casual.

"Lord Pompous is here," Mulan says all of a sudden, curtailing Aurora and Ariel's discussion about Kate Middleton's latest outing.

In perfectly synchronized movements, they all turn to the person Mulan is watching, standing by the other side of the room. In his black tuxedo and with a scowl on his face, Lord George isn't without reminding Emma of the Baroness she met earlier that evening – they would go well together, she thinks bitterly.

"Look at him," Aurora whispers only to be heard of her friends. "King in the castle."

That forces a smirk out of Emma, the comment all too accurate. He looks down at everyone around him like the aristocrat he is, one of the many reasons she despises that man she has never even met. That sense of superiority, especially when surrounded by people as wealthy and powerful as he is, is one Emma cannot tolerate – and, thankfully, one not many members of the court share, even if many of them are condescending in their own ways. But there is something about Lord George, about everything he represents, that doesn't sit well with her.

"I need a drink", she says, to nobody in particular.

"Coming with you," Mulan adds.

Emma is grateful for her friend's presence at her side and for her quiet demeanour – she likes Aurora and Ariel all right, but their attitude is over-the-top more often than not, borderline on nosy, and nothing she needs right now. When they reach the bar, Mulan asks a waitress for two cups of champagne while Emma doesn't waste time, stuffing two amuse-bouches in her mouth without ceremony.

"Have you any plans of meeting –" Mulan starts, handing her one of the cup.

But she doesn't get to finish her question, Emma downing the glass the only reply she needs on the sore subject, so the Chinese girl offers her an understanding smile and a pat on the shoulder. At least the champagne settles down warmly in her stomach, easing some of her discomfort – still, she wishes for a stronger alcohol like vodka or, better, rum. None of which are served tonight.

"Okay," she says with a sigh, squaring her shoulders once more. "Let's go back to the others."

But she doesn't get to make a single step towards her friends for when she turns around on her heels, it's to collide against someone's chest, strong arms snaking around her waist immediately so she doesn't lose her balance.

When she looks up, all she sees are deep blue eyes.