by Connie Glynn
Contents
Part One: WELCOME TO ROSEWOOD HALL
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part Two: HOW TO BE A PRINCESS
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Part Three: PRESENTING THE PRINCESS
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
A Note From Connie
Follow Penguin
ABOUT THE BOOK
Lottie Pumpkin is an ordinary girl who longs to be a princess, attending Rosewood Hall on a scholarship.
Ellie Wolf is a princess who longs to be ordinary, attending Rosewood Hall to avoid her royal duties in the kingdom of Maradova.
When fate puts the two fourteen-year-olds in the same dorm, it seems like a natural solution to swap identities: after all, everyone mistakenly believes Lottie to be the princess anyway.
But someone’s on to their secret, and at Rosewood nothing is ever as it seems …
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Connie Glynn has always loved writing and wrote her first story when she was six, with her mum at a typewriter acting as her scribe. She had a love for performing stories from a young age and attended Guildhall drama classes as a teenager. This passion for stories has never left her, and Connie recently finished her degree in film theory.
It was at university that Connie started her hugely successful YouTube channel Noodlerella (named after her favourite food and favourite Disney princess). Here Connie vlogs about her passions, which include comics, cartoons, impressions, video games, cosplay and all things cute. Connie recently passed 700,000 subscribers and has over 56 million views. The year 2016 saw Connie make her first appearance in a cinematic film release as she made a cameo as the voice of Moxie Dewdrop in Dreamworks’ Trolls.
Follow Connie on YouTube, Twitter, Instagram and Tumblr
@Noodlerella
#RosewoodChronicles
For my wonderful family and all the gorgeous witches who’ve charmed my life.
Special thanks to Richard and Mark, who have supported me ferociously in every step I’ve taken, Holly and Ruth for pushing me and helping me achieve my vision, and Evan for the much-appreciated maths help. And one last thank you to my beautiful and kind audience – thank you, thank you, thank you.
Part One
* * *
WELCOME TO ROSEWOOD HALL
Prologue
There are places in our world in which wondrous and whimsical things seem more capable of happening than anywhere else. You can recognize them because they are thick with an atmosphere that seems out of time and place with the rest of reality. Sometimes they exist naturally, such as hidden waterfalls or secret meadows filled with flourishing wild flowers. Sometimes they are man-made, like empty playgrounds at twilight or dusty antique shops rich with history. But occasionally, although it is rare, these spaces exist in a certain type of person. You may have met such a person yourself. They may not at first glance seem particularly charismatic or especially intellectual, but, as you spend more time with them, it seems they possess the power to change and achieve anything …
Princess Eleanor Prudence Wolfson, sole heir of King Alexander Wolfson and next in line for the throne of Maradova, did not live in one of these spaces, nor was she one of these people, but she was in desperate need of both.
‘I am going to this school!’ Eleanor slammed the brochure on the table with a loud thwack, causing the cups of breakfast tea to wobble on top of their saucers.
Alexander Wolfson didn’t even look up from his newspaper to reply.
‘No,’ he said blankly.
‘I am next in line for the Maravish throne. I think the teeny-tiny decision of which school I attend is something I am capable of managing myself.’
Alexander looked up at his wife, Queen Matilde, who was sitting across the table from him.
She shrugged. ‘She does have a point, Alex,’ she said amiably, delicately dropping a lump of sugar into her teacup and stirring it slowly while stifling a smile.
This was not the parental solidarity King Alexander had been hoping for.
‘See?’ said Eleanor. ‘Even Mum agrees with me.’
Alexander remained firmly fixated on his newspaper, feigning an image of complete composure. He took a sip of tea.
‘Edwina –’ he gestured to their maid – ‘would you kindly take the empty plates to the kitchen, please?’
‘Of course, Your Majesty.’ Edwina expertly stacked the crumb-covered trays and exited the dining hall with a skilled smoothness, her feet barely making a sound on the oak flooring. The large double doors closed behind her, creaking softly as she eased them shut.
Once Alexander was sure she was a reasonable distance down the hall, and safely away from any domestic outbursts, he looked back down at his newspaper and said, ‘My answer is no.’
Eleanor let out an exasperated screech and stamped her foot. ‘You could at least look at the brochure!’ she snapped, snatching the newspaper from her father’s fingertips.
Alexander was forced to look up at his daughter.
Eleanor had always been a challenging child. She was anything but a typical princess; she would take fiery political arguments and sneaking out to loud, rowdy concerts over mild polite conversation any day, and more than anything she despised elaborate formal functions – or at least she assumed she did, having refused to ever attend one. But she was smart, she was confident and she was passionate – and for Alexander that was all far more important than any of the traditional values expected of her. Although occasionally he did wish she’d watch her language around her grandparents.
As much as he wanted Eleanor to be happy and live a life free of the commitments of royalty, the fact remained that she would be queen one day and would eventually need to accept that responsibility. He was determined to find a way to make his daughter realize she could enjoy her royal obligations; something he’d had to learn himself when he was younger.
‘You are going to Aston Court, as have all the rulers of Maradova for the last hundred years, and you’re going to like it whether you like it or not.’
Matilde chuckled softly across the table as she sipped her tea.
‘No.’ Eleanor echoed her father’s stern tone. ‘I’m going to Rosewood Hall in England.’
Eleanor’s voice didn’t waver. She was determined. She would be kicking and screaming long before she was caught entering the
gates of Aston Court.
Alexander sighed deeply.
For Eleanor, attending Aston Court wasn’t about simply ‘not getting her way’ as it would be for most teenagers. It would be the end of her freedom as an undeclared royal altogether. She would officially have to come out to the public as the heir to the Maravish throne; she would no longer be able to sneak out or refuse to attend royal functions, and she’d have to stop dyeing her hair and start dressing more appropriately. Her responsibilities would begin and she could never lead any semblance of a normal life again.
Alexander picked up his newspaper and folded it neatly. He prepared himself for the ensuing heated shouting match, a regular occurrence since Eleanor had hit her teenage years.
‘Please, Dad.’
This caught Alexander completely off-guard, so rarely did his daughter plead; she was far too stubborn. He looked up, expecting to see her usual indomitable pout, but instead was confronted with a look of real desperation. He found himself struggling to remember why he was so determined to say no, before quickly reminding himself that Aston Court was the only school that could guarantee her safety once she was officially announced to the public as their princess. There she would be under expert surveillance; she’d be safe and she’d be perfectly prepared for her future. It was Aston Court or nothing. Yet for all his certainty he found himself gingerly reaching out his hand as Eleanor placed the Rosewood brochure in his palm.
She wrapped her hands around his and squeezed lightly. ‘All you have to do is read it, that’s all I ask.’
Across the table Queen Matilde took another discreet sip of her tea before delicately placing the cup on her saucer. ‘You know, it may be the tea talking, but I’ve always been fond of England, haven’t you, Alexander?’ She looked up at her husband, her carefree expression dropping momentarily as her eyes locked with his. The Maravish king held his wife’s gaze for what felt like the longest few seconds of his life. She had that effect on him.
He let out a long sigh before finally giving up.
‘Fine, I will read the brochure, but that’s it.’
Eleanor let out a squeal of delight and relief. ‘Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I know you’ll be happy with it, Dad, I promise.’ And with that she stuffed a croissant in her mouth and ran out before he had time to fully register what had just happened.
The door slammed behind her, leaving Alexander and Matilde to sit in the wake of its echo. He looked up at his wife again as the sound slowly faded to silence. She smiled sweetly back at him.
‘She can’t go,’ he said. ‘It’s too dangerous to have the sole heir to the Maravish throne traipsing around some British boarding school when she should be learning everything she needs to rule one day.’
Matilde turned serious again, delicately repositioning her cutlery in front of her so that each fork, knife and spoon was perfectly in line.
As she looked up, Alexander was acutely aware of the fire twinkling behind her eyes.
‘You know as well as I do that Rosewood is no ordinary school, and, secondly –’ she stopped for a moment, forcing him to look her directly in the eye – ‘as you’ve stated before, she has not yet been formally announced. No one knows she’s the princess, so this may very well be the best way for her to live her last few years as a carefree teenager before taking on her royal duties and I know you wish you’d had that chance.’
Alexander was momentarily taken aback. Was his wife really suggesting what he thought she was?
‘You want her to go to this school undercover?’ he asked.
Matilde instantly smiled again, dropping her intensity like it was as simple as putting on and taking off a hat.
‘Right now all you have to do is read the brochure.’ She lifted her teacup to her mouth, then paused and added, ‘Besides, if things turn sour we can always send in Jamie.’
Alexander stared at his wife in bewilderment and adoration. He chuckled softly to himself. Something told him that reading the Rosewood brochure was not going to be the end of the matter.
1
There is a small blue bakery in St Ives with bushy clumps of wisteria growing on the pebbledashed walls. Through the front windows there lies a visible thick coat of dust over the sheet-covered surfaces that glitters in the air when the sun shines. A faded candy-striped canopy covers the doors with a sign above reading MS PUMPKIN’S PASTRIES, although no baking has taken place for many years. Above the bakery you will find a previously humble home, now crammed with gaudy items and kitsch displays, a futile attempt by the new owner to enhance the homely setting. Yet one room remains untouched by the new inhabitant, a soft haven filled with the house’s happy memories.
Lottie Pumpkin lives in the attic of 12 Bethesda Hill, St Ives, with her stepmother, Beady. There she has made herself a sanctuary, hidden away in the cosy loft overlooking the sea. It is a room of creaky floorboards, walls lined with photos from her childhood and books bursting with fairy tales. But today she will be leaving her bedroom and her house, and Cornwall. Today she will be moving away to live at Rosewood Hall.
‘Lottie!’ Beady’s piercing tone rang in Lottie’s ears, making her freeze as she lowered the last item of clothing into a suitcase.
‘Yes?’ Lottie replied, her eyes involuntarily squeezing shut. She heard movement and Lottie’s stepmother appeared in the doorway. A creamy green mask covered her face, and her red hair was hidden away in a neat towel bun. Beady was an incredibly beautiful woman who took her appearance very seriously. She was also far too young to be burdened with the responsibility of taking care of Lottie and it was extremely generous of her to sacrifice her life for someone else’s kid, which she regularly reminded Lottie about.
‘I completely forgot you were leaving today!’ She said this as if it were extremely amusing.
Lottie gave her a pleasing smile that she’d performed a million times. ‘That’s OK, I’m –’
Before she could finish, Beady let out a loud cackle.
‘I mean, how could I forget? You never shut up about the place –’ she laughed again – ‘although if they’re letting you in it can’t be that prestigious.’ Lottie flinched a little and Beady paused in her laughter. ‘I’m only kidding, Lottie. Don’t take things so seriously.’
Lottie held her smile tightly and attempted a laugh, but Beady’s eyes had moved to the two pink suitcases on the floor.
‘Those are big. I hope you’re not expecting a lift. That’s a lot to ask of someone.’ Beady gave her an injured look, as if she were being very patient.
‘No, it’s fine,’ Lottie replied, trying to be as pleasant as she could. She absolutely did not want to upset Beady: she knew how difficult it had been for her having to look after Lottie when her mother passed away. All she wanted was to make life easy for her. ‘Ollie and his mum are giving me a lift.’
Beady’s eyebrows shot up in a disapproving way.
‘That’s very generous of them. I hope you make sure his mum knows how grateful you are she has to do that for you.’
‘Of course.’ Lottie nodded and that appeared to satisfy Beady.
‘Good, well …’ Beady paused, looking around the room as if taking it in for the first time. She chewed the side of her mouth, turning her gaze to give Lottie a once-over, then she took in a long breath as if preparing herself for what she was about to say. ‘You worked hard … I hope it doesn’t disappoint you.’
Lottie gulped. She knew Beady was happy she’d got into Rosewood; it meant she could have the house to herself at last. Getting into Rosewood not only fulfilled a promise Lottie had made to her mum but it was the greatest gift she could give her stepmother.
‘Thank you,’ Lottie replied.
Beady waved her hand as if dismissing the conversation.
‘Anyway, I need to go and wash off this face mask. Have a safe trip.’
As soon as she was gone, Lottie quickly got back to packing, but it wasn’t long before she was interrupted again.
‘What on earth are
you wearing?’ Ollie’s sarcastic tone drifted into Lottie’s bedroom. He stood leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed as he watched Lottie pack up the last items in her room.
‘Ollie!’ Lottie’s hand rushed to her chest in shock at the sudden appearance of her best friend. ‘How did you get up here? And how many times do I have to tell you to knock?’ Lottie was huffing slightly from trying to squish down her suitcases. Ollie was fourteen, the same age as Lottie, yet even though he was taller than her he’d retained his baby face, which reminded her of soft-serve ice cream on the beach and other happy memories.
‘I had to sneak past the wicked witch. Did you know her skin’s turned green finally?’ Ollie said with a devilish smile.
Lottie giggled, but she couldn’t ignore his comment. She looked down at her outfit, brushing down her dress self-consciously. ‘And what exactly is wrong with my outfit?’ she said indignantly.
Ollie laughed, grinning at her with his signature cheeky smile. Clumps of dog hair dotted his jeans, a permanent feature that he never seemed to care about.
‘Isn’t it a little too fancy for the first day of school?’
‘Too fancy?!’ Lottie couldn’t believe he’d suggest something so ridiculous. ‘Nothing is too fancy for Rosewood Hall. I need to fit in. I can’t have my clothes making me an outcast on the first day.’
Lottie began picking at a non-existent spot on the collar of her dress. ‘Most of the students probably have their clothes tailor-made out of gold or something.’
Ollie casually strolled into the room, taking a seat on Lottie’s bed. He pursed his lips as he glanced around the bedroom. Usually so alive with Lottie’s special brand of handmade quirkiness, it was now stripped bare, everything she owned crammed into two pink suitcases.
‘Well,’ Ollie began, reaching into his pocket, ‘if you can take a moment off from worrying about what other people think of you …’ He pulled out a crumpled envelope and a worn-out Polaroid that Lottie recognized from his bedroom wall. ‘These are for you.’
Lottie reached out for them, but Ollie whipped his hand back.
