Welcome to my blog Bella!
I'm totally intrigued by The Protagonist and am so happy to share it here today :)
Blurb: Daisy Abbott is an author as eccentric as she is successful. She's also used to a certain rhythm when it comes to her writing: she sits at her desk, the hero speaks, she writes. Book done. After all, that's how she wrote thirty titles and she doesn't expect anything to be different during the working of her thirty-first manuscript. Daisy is convinced the protagonist of her newest book isn’t speaking to her and when he appears in the flesh to challenge her, she is transported to his time and place to better understand things from his perspective. The question is, whose story is it?
“You are late.”
Daisy was glad the first words were something she could respond to legitimately. She also took a complete guess at how to respond. “Yes… Mother. I apologise.” She felt completely stupid saying that. She was also thirty-five. Daisy didn’t entirely look it, but her age contributed to the discomfort she felt being reprimanded – even in a situation from which she knew she would eventually disappear.
The Queen turned around and her dress rustled as abruptly as her body moved. Her entire
manner was calm even though it was clear she was a level just below livid. Her dark face and hair assured Daisy that this was no mother to mess with, no matter how long she was around for.
“Have you no respect? Greet me properly, at once.”
Daisy’s hands went to the sides of her gown and she put her head down as she instantly lowered herself into a curtsey and then she slowly came back up as she’d seen the dismissed ladies do moments before exiting the room.
“I may be your mother but I am still your Queen.”
She assumed the most appropriate reply was, “Yes, Mother.”
Her austerity did not relent with Daisy’s submission, and her expression remained painted across her sharp features.
“Is this about – ”
“Silence!” Her voice had risen slightly. Daisy immediately closed her mouth. She would just have to wait for further information. “You dare to speak first.” Daisy’s eyes lowered. Bloody hell. This was not good. “As late, your behaviour does not reflect well on the monarchy inside or outside of the palace.” Daisy decided not even to agree that time. “Your refusal to marry has caused discord and upset between the King and me, and now it seems the responsibility has fallen to your sister. Since your birth you have known it is our duty to do what is best for the country, or must I remind you of your namesake?”
“No, Mother,” she replied gingerly.
“And what of your disappearance yesterday?”
“My disappearance?” The Queen’s steady expression caused Daisy to think quickly. “I needed some fresh air.”
“The guards tell me you returned only before sunrise.”
Daisy chuckled. “Mother, I am thirty-five.” Her expression returned straight when she saw the Queen was unmoved by the fact.
“And you are the first born daughter of a King you should be grateful to have as a father,” her voice now turned to an angry whisper as she stepped forward once. Daisy’s amusement abruptly faded. “No King before him has allowed his daughters to remain in the line of succession after refusal upon refusal to enter into a marriage treaty, and if she hadn’t married by twenty she was demoted and banished from living at court.” The seriousness was so blatant that Daisy almost felt guilty. Had she really caused the King and Queen such distress? “You will not carry on in this manner. You are next in line for the throne, and I am more ashamed of that fact than I can tell you.”
Daisy swallowed hard. Now it was feeling quite personal. Whilst Daisy wasn’t really a wayward princess, the attack on her character felt very, very real. “Then remove me from the line of succession.”
About the author:
I am a British writer of niche market fiction in the domestic discipline genre. My first duty is to write a compelling story with strong characterisation and dialogue that makes you feel involved. It just so happens that all of these elements are in a genre that is otherwise on the underside of the internet and is given very little credit for its literary merit.
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