DEAR DIARY,

I fear this may be my final entry. The conditions of my travel are absolutely horrific, and should things fail to improve I will likely pass from this mortal earth. Sir Rosewell insists that the conditions may soon improve, but I hold out little hope. Extreme heat has dogged us consistently for the last week, turning this carriage into a death trap. The maids take turns waving fans, but all they are managing to do is blow hot air around. No doubt it is all they are good for; I hear them gossiping and whispering to each other in the night, disturbing my sleep. Not to mention the tea they offer; it is simply dreadful. It tastes nothing like what I was served at home; either they have been using foul creek water, or their discipline has been slipping since leaving the Royal Palace. I must give them a good scolding later; Father would be most disappointed in me if I could not keep my subordinates in line.

I do hope I won't let Father down. I must confess a secret, dear diary: I am rather… worried. What if I fail to meet Father's expectations? What if I cannot find a good man to marry? I must aid Father as much as I can in increasing the power of our Kingdom, yet I worry that… that no man will want me…

Ah, I let slip my thoughts again. It is unbecoming for a Princess of Ladisa - Mother has never let slip her emotions, and I should learn to do the same. Perhaps I should seek advice from the Elf; she sits in absolute silence when it is her turn to ride in the carriage, staring morosely out the window. I tried engaging her in conversation several times, but I suspect she is either deaf or mute; none of my appeals were ever met with any kind of response.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

As for my other female companions, only one is of any interest. Her name is Anna Maybell, an A+ rank summoner. Despite her experience, she is bright and cheerful, engaging me in long conversations about romance novels and other such things of interest. It is delightful to find a confidante in the world of literary love, quite unlike the girl named Fena, who constantly needles me with harsh and unnecessary remarks. She is quite the miserable fellow, and I sorely regret demanding she join me in my carriage. Hardly the first time my mouth has gotten in front of my senses, I admit… it frustrates me how I seem to lose control of my words in the presence of others. It is a flaw Father has harshly criticized me for; rightfully so, as I doubt any prince would want a woman with a wagging tongue.

Oh diary… perhaps I ought to find another way to make Father happy. Perhaps if I brought back a priceless treasure or a heap of gold Father would be pleased enough to forget that I am an unmarriageable woman. Who would want someone as childish and bratty as... I?