So where did i leave it?
She sighed and stepped inside the large Presidential suite and gracefully sat on the soft futon in the middle of the large room. 'Another day, another country.' she thought as she sighed and looked at her hands in her lap.
She removed her crown and gently placed it on the oak coffee table in front of her, then undid her bun causing her long, black wavy hair to cascade down her back. Her blue eyes contrasted with the slight puffy dark circles underneath her eyes, as she tried to rub the tired from them.
She had spent the whole week shaking hands, sitting in uncomfortable conferences for hours to hear what a good queen she will make along with the five million "my condolences" she's heard today. She hadn't even begun to mourn her father's death properly before being whisked off to be paraded in front of the council and her people as the heir to the throne.
She remembered how he looked when she found him in his bed, as if he were in a deep sleep and nothing more. She even smiled when she thought that he was only napping, as a sickness had overcome him so sudden, that she was happy for his well-deserved rest...until she touched his hand.
The moment she touched him, she knew he had passed on. He was colder than ice, and more rigid than a brick wall. She buried her face into the damp material of his pajamas, and began to silently sob, then to a bawl, then all out wailing. She turned around to find her step-mother standing by the doorway, her hand on her chest and no tears in her eyes.
"Step- mother..." she said, barely audible. The woman walked away quickly, shouting down the halls, "Summon a coroner!" The blue eyed young girl merely buried her face into her father's shirt again, a small whisper escaped her lips, "Don't worry daddy, Aarti won't forget you." Then she heard the distinct sound Armani dress shoes walking towards her.
"Well, looks like the old man finally bit the dust, huh Aarti?" he said with the most sadistic smile on his face, puffing a cigarette. He ran his hand through his greasy blond hair, his green eyes roamed her body. "Get out Sasha." He walked over to her crouched form, his 6'3 body towered over hers as he took another puff, " Oh, milaya moya(my sweet), don't worry. I'm here for you." She grasped her father tighter, a small growl escaping from her lips, "Touch me Sasha, and I'll break your arm like I did the last time." He grabbed her arms, and trapped her in a tight hug, "ya skhazshu po tebe s uma... (you drive me crazy)" he whispered huskily in her ear. She ripped herself from his body, and slapped him square in the face, "You're sick! you're my brother for crying out loud!" He drew himself closer to her once more, "I'm your step brother, milaya, we are only related by marriage." He loving rubbed her jaw, then her lips. She slapped his hand away, then recovered to punch him hard in the stomach. He fell to the floor, groaning, accidentally burning himself with his own cigarette.
She faced her father once more, lovingly stroking his cheek, then placed his sheets over his cold body. "Otdyh v mire, otets. (rest in peace, father)" She walked towards the door, her casual dress and her feminine penny loafers echoing when it touched the hardwood floors, "Sasha..." she said, the strength in her voice weakening, as he looked up from his shameful place on the floor, "Ostav'te menja v pokoe.(leave me alone)" She exited the chamber, and stood for a while, taking deep breaths. She closed her eyes for two seconds then suddenly felt hands, dragging her right to the left. In a split second she was in her chamber, having her hair done, a dress fitted as well as her make-up being applied.
She looked at her old nurse, who didn't look a day over 40, who simply nodded to her. "There is much to be done my dear, I am sorry you were unable to mourn your father." Aarti's eyes began to overflow with tears again, but she looked away from her nurse's eyes. "Just finish getting me ready, please, Yelena." The woman sighed, and continued, along with the other servants. They forced a black, pencil tight suit over her over-grown body, places a dragonfly pin over her right breast, added some last touches to her, light caramel skin, placed the sash and her tiara atop her head, and sent her downstairs with four of her usual body guards.
They led her to her limo, and placed her inside, squishing her between the four guards, as they made their way to the airport. "Where are we going, Yakov?" Her russian accent strong, "To Norway, then France, then Spain, then-" "And when do I get time to rest!?" She shouted. He sighed and lowered his eyes from her hot gaze, "I'm sorry princess, you cannot. As you know, with the event of the King's death, you are in line for the throne. You must address all of Europe, then to North America where all the countries will gather to introduce themselves to you, the new Queen of Russia. And invite them personally to your father's funeral and to your coronation." She rubbed her temples, "Fine."
She boarded her private jet, jumping from country to country.
And now here she was, her final stop on her small journey to the throne, in a presidential suite in the Four Seasons Hotel, in Manhattan, New York.
A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. As Yakov moved to see who was knocking, an explosion flew him across the room, out the window. She got up to see all the body guards unconscious and ran over to the hole in the window. She looked down and saw Yakov sprawled out on the curb, like a squeezed out toothpaste tube. She held her head in horror and screamed, "YAKOV! NO!!" Soon, hand trapped her, as a rag made its way to her nose. She collapsed in a heap, and her attacker threw her over his shoulder as if she were nothing but jelly.
"We're gonna have some fun...Princess."
the suspense! great job :)
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