The next day I was bundled out of bed by servants, dressed by servants, fed by servants and then hurled into a weird looking carriage by servants. Needless to say, having servants was something that would take a very long time for me to get used to, as would carriage travel.
Medieval carriage travel wasn't like Pride & Prejudice style carriage travel. It was cramped, uncomfortable and painfully slow with no music to listen to and no mobile games to play, the only thing I could do to pass the time was talk to my two new sisters who sat squashed beside me. I sighed, wishing I'd been transmigrated into the regency era instead, then at least I might have someone steamy like Mr Darcy pressed next to me.
"So, this banquet, is it just for the sake of having a banquet?" I asked, picking at my fingernails.
"No," Jocelyn answered, "There will be a few banquets over the passing days to mark the King's choosing of his heir."
"Ah, are the banquets any good?" I questioned, desperate for some good food.
"You mean are they enjoyable? Yes, they're quite fun, you get to eat and dance and talk to people."
Freya, the slenderer of the two sisters, huffed from next to Jocelyn, clearly there was some kind of past drama with my body's previous occupant.
"Freya if you've got tea to spill just say it!" I blurted out and the two girls stared back at me, dumbfounded. "I mean, if there was some friction between the two of us before I lost my memories tell me what it is so I can solve it."
The two girls sighed in understanding, "If you must know," Freya sassed, folding her arms, "I want you stay away from Prince Damian, I've long had feelings for him, and you always steal his attention away from me."
"Fine, point him out to me and I'll stay away!" I countered, but inside I desperately had to fight the urge to wind her up. "Tell me who else is going to be at these banquets that I should know about."
Freya leaned forwards flicking her straight ginger hair, in two swift movements she cracked her neck and snapped her knuckles. She raised her round brown eyes up at me and they were sparkling with mirth, and just like that I felt a sudden kinship form between our two thrill-seeking sprits. I shuffled forwards toward her, all ears.
"Price Damian, like I say, mine. He's the second oldest son of King and the most charming." She sighed dramatically, sinking back into her seat, "Then there's Prince Arthur, he's the oldest so the next heir according to his birth right but that will be made official over the coming days. Then there's Prince Rupert and Prince George. Of course, their mother, The Queen will make appearances with The King."
"Interesting, who else of interest to me will be there?" I enquired further.
"Oh, the Robertsons!" Jocelyn piped up again.
"Yes, you were engaged to be wed to the Robertson's son, but he died in an accident before you got married. Their son, Fergus, is still an emotional topic for them so maybe stay away from that family."
"Noted." I said nodding vigorously, stay away from dead betrothed's family. "Who else should I stay clear of?"
Freya's expression became awash with mirth. "The brother of Sir Malcolm, Master Hector, is one person everyone stays clear of. He's one plum short of a fruit pie that boy!"
"He talks to plants!" Jocelyn added, "They say he spends all day in his personal gardens tending to his collection."
Wow what a weirdo, I said to myself sarcastically. I wondered what these girls would say about me if they found out I pretended to be a talk show host in the shower. Probably a good things showers didn't exist in this time otherwise I would've already been socially ostracised by this point.
"He sounds interesting, you're almost making me want to talk to him."
The girls laughed, "You can try but I doubt you'll get much from him, he's not very social!" Jocelyn giggled.
Now I really wanted to give it a go, a Medieval nerd, who knew such a thing existed!
Jocelyn opened her mouth to speak again but I held up my hand, "Sisters, I just yesterday woke up with amnesia, I think my brain might explode if you stuff more gossip in it."
"You've been speaking in such a strange way since you fell down those stairs, did you know that?" Freya mused.
"Oh, I know," I said leaning back and closing my eyes, "and I don't intend to stop."
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My father, it's turns out, had travelled to Warresex for the festivities before the rest of the family. Apparently, there was plague spreading in London and so the location had been moved to one of the King's other residences.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and it was a mighty relief to finally stretch my legs. I swung open the leather curtains and jumped excitedly out of the wooden box. The attendants were frozen rigidly, missing their opportunity to help me out as I slid with a squelch into the dirt.
Stood rigidly outside to meet me was a large, weathered man with a massive, wiry ginger beard and a stern countenance.
"You must be..." I trailed off.
"Your father." He answered with a voice that bellowed like thunder. He did not look happy, not one bit. I groaned from within; I had already had my fair share of miserable fathers in my past life without having this one too.
"I assume you've heard of my situation." I said so tactfully that I was actually very proud of myself.
"I was just informed." He glared down at me through narrowed eyes, "Don't think this gives you any excuse to embarrass me these next few days. Behave yourself and stay quiet."
Oooh! He was a piece of work! "What if I don't want to?" I countered, testing the water.
His face reddened and I immediately regretted speaking my mind, this man was scary. Extremely so. He leaned forward and grabbed my forearm with his sausage fingers; he squeezed so tightly that I thought my arm might actually pop off.
"There will be consequences." He growled, and I knew that he meant it.
I nodded quickly, grabbing hold of his fingers and prying them off. "I will keep that in mind."
He seemed placated by that but still not amused by my forwardness. Thankfully though, me and the girls were quickly whisked away to our accommodation to prepare for the festivities.
Now the accommodation was incredible, we had a whole wing of a castle to ourselves! It had kitchens, and lounging areas, and huge bedrooms with giant beds and roaring fireplaces. It was only slightly different to my tip of a room from my past life, only slightly.
Unfortunately, I was not permitted to dress myself again, so I had to grin and bear it as I was stripped starkers and helped into my gown by servants. It was a beautiful dress, a creamy white colour with yellow floral patterns and a waist defining belt that hung low on my hips.
My unnecessarily long hair, which I discovered was ginger and wildly curly in texture, was intricately braided into a tight updo. I could feel that my hair was pulled taught against my scalp and I knew by the time it was set freed I would have an almighty headache.
I felt so regal though! Never in my life had I ever felt so distinguished and fancy. Carriage travel sucked, but this, this I could get used to. As I left the room to join my sisters, I did a little royal wave to everyone who passed by. Everyone looked confused, but I felt right doing it and that was all that mattered.
My anticipation was growing rapidly, in a few moments I would experience a real medieval banquet, and I couldn't get more excited!
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"Presenting the Duke and Duchess of Hertmoore along with their three noble and elegant daughters, Joan, Freya and Jocelyn. Make way for their illustrious presence!"
What an intro! I could've sworn I grew about three feet taller. I strolled into the room, my head high and my stature erect. I was a lady.
The huge hall was curiously lit by what looked like flaming flowers in sconces and decorated all around by creeping vines and vibrant bouquets. It smelled sweet, like incense and honey. There were about five long banquet tables, four were low on the floor and one was placed on a platform with a beautiful canopy draped above it in swaths of brightly coloured fabric.
My sisters and I were seated on one of the lower tables according to our rank and our parents, being a Duke and Duchess, were seated at the head table but far from the centre where the King, Queen and his princes would sit.
Everyone was announced in order of rank and shown to their seats by ushers dressed in simple finery.
"Presenting the talented and chivalrous, Prince George, Earl of Lancaset. Prince Rupert, Duke of Warresex. Prince Damian, Duke of Flintshire."
There was a stir as the three young princes lauded their way into the hall. Jocelyn shifted next to me, fixing her hair and adjusting her clothes.
Prince Damian purposely passed by our table on his way to his seat; he flicked his chin length blonde hair in a display of pageantry as he passed by our table. He turned his head towards us, smouldered his plump, pink lips, and pranced onwards like a peacock —I almost emptied the contents of my stomach on to the table.
I had this distinct feeling that I'd seen him somewhere before and it bugged so much until I realized exactly who he reminded me of. Prince Charming from Shrek 2! No way, he was just like him. All pompous and stupid.
I looked around frantically, wanting to share my amusement with someone. And that was when it struck me for the first time, the loneliness. There was this tight feeling in my chest, almost like claustrophobia, and I suddenly felt incredibly burdened by my knowledge of the future. A pretty intense feeling to be triggered by Shrek I know.
As I tried to collect myself again, the heir apparent was announced, Arthur, Earl of Camelot. He had long blonde hair and blue eyes just like the other princes, (the genes ran strong) but his disposition was entirely different. He was dignified but terribly shy, his cheeks were flushed and he seemed to wither away under the scrutiny of the many eyes that looked upon him. He made his way to his seat as quickly as possible and then sat down, his face glowing like an apple.
After him there was a flurry of fanfare, I shot out of my seat clumsily copying everyone else, and tried my best to fall into a curtsy although I'm sure I looked more like a wounded horse than a delicate lady.
The King and Queen were spectacularly announced with the throwing of petals and loud trumpets. They both wore fine, velvet garments in deep purple colours, embroidered with silver and studded with jewels. The King wore a simple ring of gold around his head and the queen's golden hair was held up with elaborate netting. To put it simply, they took my breath away.
After their arrival the banquet was thrown into full swing, curious bowl-shaped plants were brought to us and at first, I thought we were supposed to eat them, like an artichoke or something. But they shook and steamed until the leaves opened and we could wash our hands in the warm water inside. It felt so good, like a hot tub for your fingers.
After cleaning our hands we ate like kings, literally. Tender venison, hedgehog pies, juicy fruit the size of my head, suckling pigs dripping with grease and other delicacies that I had never seen before.
"That's him!" Jocelyn nudged me and I almost chocked to death on a piece of pork fat.
The girls laughed raucously next to me, continuing to talk as I chewed my way through my last mouthful.
"God didn't put much effort into making that one." Jocelyn jested wickedly.
"Don't be hurtful," Freya chimed in, "Not everyone can be born with a pleasing appearance."
"Who are we talking about?" I mumbled.
"Who you wanted to talk to, Master Hector." Jocelyn said, pointing across the room.
I looked up from my food to see this unsightly creature they were talking about and almost choked to death again. What were they going on about? If he was ugly, what was I? (Or at least my old face).
He was like a woodland nymph with masses of thick, wavy black hair, green eyes and freckles that dotted his skin from the base of his neck right up to his forehead.
"He's unattractive?" I exclaimed.
"Unabashedly!" Jocelyn countered defensively, "He's covered in those dreadful freckles!"
My mouth dropped open, "Are your eyes not working he's freaking gorgeous!"
He was born in the wrong era that's for sure, in modern times he'd be like the next Timothy Chalamet or Tom Holland. There would be a ton of fanart for him, and he'd probably play Spiderman from another, another, another dimension.
I shook my head in disbelief, I was absolutely going to talk to him later, if only to counter the damage done by my sister's hurtful remarks. Gossip was fine but cutting remarks about a person's appearance didn't sit right with me.
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The evening progressed and we moved into a separate hall where the dancing and festivities would take place.
In this regard, my new Mother and Father were like saviours sent from heaven for they had spread the word that I was injured from my tumble down the stairs and as a result could not participate in the dancing. Shame, I was looking forward to showing a Medieval audience the Cha Cha Slide.
Instead, they performed some elegant, but less complicated than I was expecting, dances where some were in lines and some were in pairs.
As the sound of the fiddle and tambourine played a merry tune in my ear and I tapped my foot rhythmically to the beat, I scanned around for Master Hector to find out if he was dancing. Sure enough, he wasn't. True to his character he was admiring an ivy-like plant that swung from the wall in a wicker basket.
As he lifted his finger the green tendrils curled around it like a thin snake and then when he wiggled his finger, they slid off again. The plants in this world really were a whole new level of weird.
I sauntered over to him and positioned myself at his back. "Nice plant." I pointed out, announcing my presence.
He turned around and looked at me like I was a truck traveling at 90mph heading straight towards him with my full beams on. He said nothing but only stared in horror with his round green eyes. I watched as his gaze flickered between me and a tall man with short dark hair, his brother?
"Wow!" I exclaimed taking a step back, "I won't bite, I just wanted to introduce myself."
He turned around to face the plant again and spoke in a low, quiet voice, "I don't want to talk."
I stared at his back, miffed. "It's an interesting plant, what is it?" I asked, trying to make conversation.
"I don't want to talk." He said again.
"Not even about plants? I heard you have strong interest in them."
He swung around his gentle features made harsh with anger. "Is that why you're talking to me, to mock me? Because you've heard what an oddity I am and want to see for yourself? Well, for the third time, I'm not interested in talking!"
I gawked, my mouth agape, he was so rude! No wonder no one liked him! "Well now I wish I hadn't praised your handsome looks so strongly to my sisters. Your face may be pretty, but your attitude is repulsive!"
His ivory skin reddened like a ripe tomato, and he looked around frantically like he was expecting a tiger to pop out and eat him. "Stop jesting with me, it's not funny. Please, just leave me alone."
I conceded at that, he looked so wounded. I didn't know whether to feel angry or guilty. I went back to watching the dancing, but my mind couldn't escape from that unusual exchange.
I was distracted from my thoughts by a flurry of movement, the guests stopped dancing and created space by moving towards the walls. The King and Queen moved to sit up on their podium. The King, with a solemn gesture of the hand motioned for the heir apparent, Prince Arthur to come forward.
The young man moved out slowly to stand in front of all the gathered guests. His head was low, his shoulders hunched and his hands shook violently.
There was the sound of a mighty drum and lively percussion. Obviously, the prince was supposed to dance but he hesitated, his form wracking with visible tremors. Finally, as I watched with bated breath, he managed to grab the sword stationed at his hip and lift it out its hilt.
The blade wobbled vigorously as he awkwardly struck some poses. I looked up to the King, second-hand embarrassment consuming me, would he not save his son from this torture?
Unfortunately, the King just watched, his expression harsh and dissatisfied.
The prince's breaths were now coming in hard and fast, so fast he could no longer attempt to dance. He grappled at his throat with his hands, gasping for air desperately. The veins in his neck bulged and his whole face went beet red.
He dropped to the floor in a heap. I stared in horror as his body convulsed again. Dribble pooled at the edge of his lips, trickling down his face until finally he slipped into unconsciousness and stilled.
The whole room went dead quite as we all processed what had just happened. An extreme panic attack? That was my first theory, the boy had looked uncomfortable all evening among the throngs of people. But everyone else seemed to have a different idea.
"He has an evil spirit in him!" Someone called out.
"Take him away!" The King commanded, "A child of the Devil is no son of mine."
No one seemed to want to obey the King's order, too afraid of the prince's alleged possession. But then, the tall man that Master Hector had looked to earlier stepped forwards, his stature tall and confident. With dignity he whisked the boy away, he seemed very caring and mild as he did so, gently swiping the boys hair off of his perspiring forehead.
After that, the party, stunned into silence were dismissed awkwardly but like children let out after a school assembly as soon as everyone left the building the attendees erupted into lively chatter.
"Who's going to be the Prince of Wales now?" Some said.
"A demon, how terrible!" Others cried.
In short, everything was a massive mess, and I can sum it all up in one piece of advice for future time travellers; don't be transmigrated into the body of a Medieval prince if you have social anxiety.