"Fine," she sighs, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. "But I’m being difficult about it."
And for one long, glorious moment, she considers ordering breakfast in bed, canceling the council, and declaring a national nap day.
The lady-in-waiting nods once. She knows the drill. brat princess Isabella Cranky princess has to get up
#bratprincessisabella #crankymorning #royaltantrum #donottalktomebeforescones
"Cranky princess has to get up," she mutters to herself, mimicking her own title with venom. "Cranky princess wants to throw her crown out the window and go back to sleep until summer." "Fine," she sighs, swinging her legs over the
Then reality creeps back in. Crown. Duties. People needing things.
Her lady-in-waiting flinches at the door. "Your Highness, the royal council—" She knows the drill
The royal chambers are still dark. Outside, the first gray light of dawn barely touches the castle spires. Inside, a small figure lies buried under silk and rage.
Isabella pulls the embroidered coverlet over her head. "No," she whispers. Then louder: "NO."
A pause. Then the dramatic flop onto the pillows. The groan of absolute suffering. The tiny fists pounding the mattress.
She sits up — hair a wild, tangled mess, cheeks flushed, nightgown twisted sideways.