The Lost Rose

Chapter 4

- Huh!

I take my head in my hands and lie back in my chair.

- This is the most boring thing I ever had to do!

It's been a week since I started my lessons: manners, etiquette, dancing, politics and even conversation. Who wakes up someday and thinks "Oh, I'm going to be a conversation teacher and teach people how to talk with other people!"

I've been trying to learn and remember all of these things about economics and politics. I've learned about the state of our kingdom and its history. History was nice, it was interesting but this... I don't understand a thing!

People need to pay taxes for this and that and I learn about the most stupid laws that were ever created. Who wrote those?

I look at the law book. The last thing that I've just discovered is that there is a law that says that "Members of the noble families are not aloud to use the bathroom of the four palaces, when invited there."

What the heck is that? Do they think they are going to get their bathrooms dirty? Can't people pee in peace?

I didn't mean to do a play on words by the way.

There are also the etiquette and manners lessons. How can I describe this?

Let's say that my teacher clearly made me understand that my manners, whatever they were, were practically nonexistent.

Why are there so many forks and knifes around one plate? I still don't know honestly. I know what we use them for now but I know I'm still going to use the same fork for the whole meal.

I learned about the good manners. Apparently, I have been raised like a wild kid. I swear sometimes it feels like Misses Clark, my teacher, thinks I was raised by wolves.

I can't help but hear her annoying voice in my head.

"A princess has to stand up straight and smile. Always keep smiling." But for me, she stands so tall and straight sometimes that it almost looks like she is actually stuck in that position.

"A princess doesn't swear. Ever." She has these kinds of little eyes that pierce through your soul but in a scary way, you know.

There is also my dancing teacher: Mister Johanson.

I like to call him Racoon Man.

Because he looks like one. He does.

He's got dark brown eyes with bushes for eyebrows. But there are always bags under his eyes. He is old and smells bad. Like he isn't sweaty or anything (although he is losing gallons of water through his hands every day) he smells... well, he smells old.

Like you know that one blanket in your grandmother's house that hasn't been washed in ages?

That's him. Racoon Man smells like an old blanket. Dusty and humid.

I don't think I even need to speak about my conversation teacher. The fact that he teaches freaking conversation, says everything about him.

Here Misses Clark would be like "We don't swear Lady Roese. Do you want people to mistake you for a simple peasant?"

Nice. It's not like I was raised on a farm.

I had my dancing lesson yesterday and because Racoon Man can't be here today, he asked me to train alone this afternoon. There is only one problem: I can't dance.

This is no news for me. I have two left feet. He knows that and we didn't really get far.

I fell. Enough for me to be embarrassed. Enough for me to regret laughing about the boys I was teaching how to horse ride.