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By Sam Craven

The king huffed in his velvet red coat in front of the long oval mirror set into the palace wall. He checked his reflection as he nestled himself into a rickety wooden chair apparently used by the king regularly with evidence from its worn age. The king looked down at his hands in between legs splayed apart in mental concentration. He was worried. Worried for his two daughters, April and Jane, whom he could hear giggling as they layered make-up on themselves in one of the castle's many bathrooms. His shoulder-length hair covered by a large, bejewelled crown and ginger beard were knotted and frizzy and the deep purple rings under his eye's suggested that he had been wide awake, day and night, to find a solution to the complication. The cause?? He was going away, to a land far, far away from England that daughters are unable to be taken: Africa. He was to fly in his red and white private jet, take tours of the city to inspect the stability, travel to many exotic places for grand openings, all for six months. The complication??? Six months was a number too big to leave his 14 year-old girls alone. Who would look after them? he thought. Steadily, the king heaved his huge body off the rickety chair, (which collapsed right behind him as he did so,) and started to pace around on the white marble floors. His huge black boots made echoing vibrations on the polished stone as he paced. The ruby red back drop matched the curtains draped from the exotic window emmitting a soft glow as he marched, deep in concentration. Apparently, as the last ray of light pushed itself under the horizon, the king had come to a solution, and he settled himself into the left throne set upon the platform, where many jewels and parchments and unimportant documents littered the gaudy green cushion. Opposite him, a much cleaner velvet was set upon the throne, where jewels sparkeled at the top of the very top. “I miss you Molly.” Molly, the one whom the villagers of England loved so dearly, the one who he'd loved so dearly. The name brought fat tears to the king's eyes and he irritatedly wiped them away with the sleeve of his satin pyjamas. But he remembered the matter at hand, and racked his brains once more to remember the solution. Suddenly he found it, the person with whom he was able to trust the responsibility of the palace and of his two beautiful daughters: The Governess!

By Sam Craven



Brian Falkner Books