Prologue

Patricia

"Patrizia Grazia! Come on down, it's time for supper!" My mum calls.

"Mum, how many times do I have to you that my name is Patricia, and if you must use my middle name, it's Grace..." I mutter, hopping down the steps. She doesn't reply. I take a seat by my sister, Piper's, side. Twin, to be exact. The long dining table is filled with a bunch of fancy foods, drinks, and candles in the middle. Four chairs surround the table, three holding presence. The fourth chair, at the head of the table, used to belong to my father. He was assassinated a almost eight months ago, by a group of terrorists. It was on the news for about six weeks. 'King of Italy Shot," it would read. That's one more thing: we're royals. My mum, the queen. It's now her duty to watch over the people of our country. Piper and I, the princesses. When my mom passes on, I will become queen. Once I am married first, of course. Since I'm the oldest, I am heir to the throne. When-if- I get married, I either stay here, and Piper has to go find a king to rule with, or, I leave and Piper becomes heir to the throne.

"You may begin eating." My mother coos, as servants lift the covers of our platters. Servants, I hate calling them that. They go through so much trouble just to work here: Background checks, security stalking them for a whole year, it's unreal. One of then died protecting my father, so we are in need of a new one. One of my servants, actually.

"Patrizia-" I shoot her a glare. "Patricia, sorry... Are you okay? You've hardly touched your fried snails..." My mum asks. I gag a bit. Fried snails? I'm so sick of royal food...

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just not very hungry..." I mumble. "I'm gonna go upstairs."

"Patty!" My sister calls, but I am already upstairs.

I reach my room quickly, shutting the door. I rush to my closet, which is about the size of an double average girl's bedroom. Maybe even triple... Anyways, I pull out a big box, and digging through it pulled out a collection of pictures. Pictures of my father. One of all four of us, standing in front of out palace. My father holding us for the first time as newborns, my parents kissing. I wiped a tear from my eye as I closed the lid, and slid it back into it's hiding place. I sigh, as I dozed off and fell asleep.

I wake up the next morning, sleeping on a couch in my closet. I sigh, getting up off the couch, picking out an outfit for the day. I decided on a grey ruffled tank, red skinny jeans, studded combat boots, and my leather jacket. "Good 'ole cold England weather..." I mumble to myself. Yeah, I bet your wondering why on earth I just said England. Well, ever since my father was killed, military thought it was best if we relocated for a while. We decided on Liverpool, England, where we already had a palace built. I straighten my naturally wavy hair, pinning up my bangs, and then hopping down the stairs.

"You don't look very princess-like..." My mom scolds.

"I also don't act very princess-like..." I say, mocking her tone. "So... What's on the agenda for today?"

"Preparations for your birthday ball." She announces. I scoff. "What? It won't be that bad... You'll get to meet new people-"

"I've met all the people of this kingdom already, mum... Most that actually come are just rich snobs." I retort.

"Patrizia! You should be supportive! Not everything can go your way, you know. Besides, this isn't just your birthday..." She scolds once more. I groan.

"Yeah yeah yeah... I'm not getting out of this, am I?" I whine.

"Nope." Piper chimes in, popping the 'p.'

"Fine. If we're having a ball, can it be masked? I would like people to get to know the real me, not the princess me." I knew that after I said that, she would go into some lecture about how 'I am a princess.' And 'The princess me is the real me,' but instead she just said:

"Fine. I will allow it to be a masked ball if it pleases you."

"Yes! Thanks mum!" I say, hugging her.

"Alright, now on with the plans..." She mumbles. We then begin to discuss everything. Invitations, guest lists, decor, wardrobe, everything. We agree that anyone may come, and that Piper and I may pick out own outfits. As long as our stylists approve, and that they are dresses. Normally I would disagree, but I would actually like to look nice for my birthday. After all, I'm turning seventeen. That's a big achievement in Italy. I don't know why I'm even considered Italian, my accent is British. My mum is British, and my most of our workers are too. The only one with an Italian accent is my father. Or, was...

Eddie

"Edison! Come down here!" My father calls.

"It's Eddie, dad..." I mutter.

"Oh yes, I always forget... I was wondering if you were going to that ball... The princesses' birthday one?" He asks. I groan.

"Do I have to?" I groan once more.

"Yes, Edison, you do... Aren't you supposed to begin working there very soon?"

"What? Oh... Yeah... Totally forgot about that..." I mumble.

"Sure you have, that's all you've talked about for the past year, practically..." He laughs.

"I'm just not sure I'm ready, ya know?"

"Well you start the day after, do you not?" He asks.

"Yeah, I guess this ball will get me used to the atmosphere..." I mumble. "But I mean come on, it's just some dumb dance, right?"

"That's what you think..." My dad scolds, sipping his tea.

Patricia

We had almost finished everything. I was only somewhat looking forward to this. "Do we have to be announced? Everyone already knows who we are..." I complain.

"Yes, Patricia, you do." My mum scolds.

"Well I mean come on, it's just another stupid ball, isn't it? We've been to a ton of these..."

"That's what you think now..." Her mum mutters.

Little did they know, both of their parents were right...

Hey! This is my new story:) I'll probably be pre-writing most of it, do yeah... Sorry if this sucked, but it's just the prologue... Update schedule: Sundays and Thrusdays:) Hope you enjoy!