This is my second attempt at writing Twi fanfiction. I'm still no expert.

** This story does NOT represent my political views. I hate politics. I just liked the concept and this is meant to be a lighthearted story.

Thanks to my beta Pinkaquaclouds for everything. Couldn't do it without her.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. This story is rated M for impolite language and sexual situations in later chapters.

Chapter 1- This Is Not Happening

You are a criminal, Bella Swan.

This is what I am thinking as I frantically drive down the damp streets of Forks. My wide brown eyes are wrought with paranoia as I repeatedly glance in the rearview mirror for any sign of flashing red and blue lights. Thankfully, there is nothing but the paved road passing beneath my wheels.

I take a deep breath and keep my eyes on the empty road in front of me, continually telling myself that it's okay. No one saw. There was no one around.

Besides, it isn't really hit-and-run if you hit a parked car… right?

I mean, who the hell squeezes a shiny silver Volvo into a small ass space in between two larger vehicles? How do you expect the red Chevy behind you to get out, or the blue van in front of you? Way to be considerate of others, asshole.

See, my crime record is pretty freakin' clean. This is the first time that I have done something that would be considered breaking the law. Actually, I'm not even sure if it is breaking the law. I don't know what it is, that's exactly how inexperienced I am when it comes to crimes.

I'm innocent, really. I had parked civilly right outside of the adorable bookstore in Port Angeles. Once I got out, I saw the fancy Volvo squeezed into the space in between my red truck and a creepy looking van. You know, the kind of van you would expect a kidnapper to be lurking in. There was also another car right behind mine.

So I thought to myself, what the fuck? How in the hell am I supposed to get out of that without hitting anything?

I almost stayed behind to see who exactly the Volvo belonged to, just so that I could smack them around for their stupidity, but my dad was expecting me. Bummer.

I had gotten into my truck and attempted to get out of the space but I ended up pressing on the gas just a little bit too hard, thus causing my truck to heave forward and leave a big ass dent in the back of the Volvo. Its car alarm went off and I almost had a heart attack.

Then, I bolted.

So, clearly, it wasn't my fault. It was the Volvo's fault for being in the most retarded place. Frankly, I'm glad I left a dent in the Volvo's ass. That would teach the idiot driver a lesson…

By the time I reach my dad's little restaurant in Forks, where he is the chef, I have talked myself out of feeling guilty. I feel good again.

That is, until I see the paparazzi.

Paparazzi? In Forks? What the hell…

I have to pull up a good twenty feet away from the restaurant because the crowd of paparazzi with their flashing lights is an intimidating sight. That could only mean that there would be a celebrity in there, but what would a celeb be doing in shitty little Forks?

I climb out of my truck and walk over to the nearest pedestrian, a middle aged woman craning her neck to see more of the chaos.

"Hey, what's going on over there?" I ask her.

"It's the king," she says excitedly, eyes lighting up.

"The king?" I echo in disbelief. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"No one knows," she replies, her gaze locked on the crowd by the doors. There are Secret Service guards trying to keep it under control. "But he was eating in the restaurant."

I am speechless, completely baffled as to why King Carlisle Cullen would be eating in my dad's little eatery. It makes absolutely no sense.

The United States of America has always had a royal family, where the members, the Cullens, are more celebrities than they are political figures. They don't do much except sit on their asses and, if they aren't sitting on their asses, throwing fancy balls with all of the country's elites. The President, Albert Greene, usually made the political decisions, but he was really bad at it. Like really, really bad at it.

The Cullens have been royalty since the beginning of the USA's history, and ever since day one they have been absolutely useless. Now, in 2010, they are just as useless as they had been back in the day.

Carlisle and Esme, the king and queen, seem like perfectly nice people. The only thing that pisses me off is that they don't even try to fix the issues in the country. Now, I actually hate politics. It bores me to tears. But I still feel like the royal family, having the prestige that they do, should step in and tell the president to grow some balls and do something with the power that he has.

I'm not sure if it's that easy, but still. If I were part of the royal family, I'd punch the president in the face and be able to get away with it.

The paparazzi suddenly go crazy as the doors to the restaurant open and King Carlisle comes out, looking amazing in his sharp suit and flanked by at least four Secret Service guards. The scene is crazy as reporters, most of them from Seattle, shove tape recorders and cameras in his face. He keeps completely calm as he is led over to a shiny black car with tinted windows.

Even after he leaves, the paps and reporters linger, a few of them making their way inside.

I wonder if my dad is okay, and I'm also dying for details, so I jog forward and push myself through the crowd.

My dad's quaint little Italian restaurant is almost unrecognizable because of all the people that definitely don't look like they belong. Most of them are journalists and reporters from news stations, and I push my way past them to head into the kitchen.

My dad, Charlie, looks flushed with excitement as he speaks to a few reporters.

"It was a complete surprise, totally unexpected," he's saying. "One second I'm making cannelloni for Mrs. Thorn, and the next thing I know a Secret Service guard comes in and says the king is here!"

I am watching all this in shock when I suddenly have a tape recorder pushed in my face.

"Bella Swan?" I am confronted by a reporter, a blonde chick with frighteningly white teeth. "You're Charlie Swan's daughter, yes? So, tell me, what's it like knowing you get to live in the manor?"

"Um, what?" I stutter. What she is saying has barely registered with me, and once it does I don't want to believe it.

"The Cullens, you get to live with the Cullens!" she says, obviously more excited than I am. "How does it feel?"

My mind is spinning. I can't quite comprehend what's going on. People are talking, this reporter is annoying the shit out of me, and it's all so chaotic that I feel sick to my stomach.

For the first time, I notice the cameraman right in front of me.

Holy fuck, I'm live!

"Well?" the reporter presses. She shoves the recorder so close to my mouth that I almost swallow it. "What do you say?"

"I say… I say I'm gonna be sick." I glance down at her shiny pumps. "You don't value those shoes, do you?" I know that my unnaturally pale complexion will scare her into believing me.

The reporter blinks at me and then suddenly she's gone, leaving me to watch as my dad is continuing his interview with the other reporter.

"… It's amazing," he's saying. "This is going to be a big deal for both me and my daughter. It's going to change our lives."

What is he talking about? I am starting to freak out just as my dad is done talking to Channel 4 News, and he finally turns to me.

"Bella!" he says, walking over to me. "Where have you been, kiddo?"

"Dad, what's going on?"

"Oh man, I don't even know where to begin," he says, and his eyes are bright with liveliness. He looks ten years younger. "The king stopped by, God knows why, and ordered the special. Next thing I know, he's ordering almost everything on the menu. You know what the best part is? He comes in here and asks me if I want to work in the manor! The Cullens' manor, Bells!"

I can't breathe. It's slowly starting to sink in, and I don't think I like it at all.

"What did you tell him?" I ask, and although my voice is barely audible, I know he hears me.

"I said yes! We move in next week. Isn't that great, Bella?"

He pulls me into a hug and I am frozen.

Oh. My. God.

This is not happening to me.

Somebody pinch me so I can wake up from this nightmare.

Unfortunately, I don't wake up from the nightmare. I get more cameras shoved in my face, more reporters harassing me, and more nausea in my stomach.

No one leaves me the fuck alone until I throw up on live television.

I hadn't thrown a tantrum since I was eight and if someone told me I'd throw one at the age of eighteen, I wouldn't believe them.

My dad and I never fight. We're pretty close and it has been that way ever since my mother passed away when I was three. He is my rock, my father, and my friend.

So it almost ruins things between us when he decides that we'd be moving into Cullen Manor. At first I think he has said yes because he's excited. After all, people do stupid shit when they're all keyed up up about something.

Boy, was I wrong.

We argue. We scream at each other. I tell him I hate him and then start crying because that is a lie. We talk and he explains that it would be good for us. We'd be getting paid for our services and once we got enough money we would leave.

Who am I kidding? Charlie wouldn't want to leave. This is the manor we're talking about. This is the royal family. Kings and queens and princes and balls and all that other fairytale bullshit. Except, we wouldn't really be a part of it. We'd be like slaves.

Fine, not really slaves since supposedly the Cullens treat the staff really well. Supposedly.

But I have no choice but to join him. I am a high school graduate with not enough money to afford college. My dad's excuse is that the money from his being one of the palace's chefs and me being a maid of some kind would go towards my education.

How can I say no to that?

Before I know it, I am towing luggage into the back of my truck and wiping tears away as I say goodbye to Forks.

It is with a heavy heart that I get out of my truck in front of Cullen Manor. It was either my truck or my dad's old Subaru. I didn't have the heart to part with my trusty old Chevy.

The Cullens' palace/mansion/manor is… gargantuan.

The second I climb out of my truck, I am floored. It's even more intimidating in person, because of course I have seen pictures of it in all the tabloids and newspapers.

It is absolutely ancient, but it has been renovated a little over the years so that it won't collapse when the wind blows or something. It looks like a cross between a castle and a mansion, not big enough to be a castle but way larger than any old mansion. It is straight out of some seventeenth century English romance novel, with its towering brick walls, narrow windows, peaked roofs, and massive gardens out front. The pathways weave through the gardens and stretch on towards the front doors. Not only are there beautiful gardens and perfectly cut hedges out front, but there is also a massive fountain with statues that squirt water out of one thing or another.

Since the building is located almost in the middle of nowhere, I don't feel like I am in Washington State anymore. I feel like I am in England or France or some other place where old novels take place.

It doesn't feel like reality.

I can hear horses neighing, except I don't see any. There are Secret Service guards standing at the doors, sunglasses on even in the cloudy weather, backs straight, black suits pressed perfectly.

"Miss, your keys?"

I turn to see a man who looks like a bellhop from some fancy hotel, except his uniform is a dark purple and his hat isn't nearly as offensive.

"My keys?" I repeat, confused.

He nods, his face serious. "Yes."

"… Can I ask why?"

He raises an eyebrow at me, unamused. "So I can park it, miss."

"Park it where?"

"Bella, just give the man the keys," Charlie says tiredly. He is straightening his clothes out; why he is dressed in one of his best suits, I don't know.

I have been so enchanted by the palace/mansion/manor that I didn't even notice that more bellhop-looking men are unloading our minimal luggage from the back of my truck.

I hesitantly hand the man my keys. "Don't hurt her, she's old."

The man doesn't react to my comment, so he clearly has no sense of humor.

Once the truck is driven away and our luggage is taken who-knows-where, my dad and I see a woman walking briskly over to us.

She wears black pants and a white shirt under a dark purple blazer with a silver emblem on the right-hand pocket. Her black hair is chopped short in an Ina Garten sort of way, and her face is very serious.

Jeez, does anyone around here know how to smile?

"Hello," she says brusquely. "You must be Charles and Isabella Swan. I'm Kate, head of Palace Services."

Ugh, she called me Isabella… totally do not like her.

"I prefer Bella," I tell her, shaking her outstretched hand. Her grip is firm and I wonder if she works out.

"Get used to Isabella," she replies. "We don't use casual nicknames."

What's got your panties in a twist, woman?

"Please, follow me," she says, and turns her back on us to swiftly walk back towards the building. Charlie and I exchange a glance and follow.

Kate walks fast and it annoys me; my legs aren't that long, and I don't understand how she can walk so quickly with such short legs.

Instead of leading us through the front doors where the Secret Service guards stand, she takes us around a hedge and onto a darker pathway that is hidden from view. It seems like a long walk and I am overwhelmed by the towering building and the trees and hedges and grass that I almost walk right into Kate when she stops walking.

She has stopped right outside a thick door on the side of a building, and she pulls it open with surprising strength, leading us inside.

We step into a small hallway with shiny hardwood floors and velvet- yes, velvet- on the walls.

Apparently simple wallpaper or paint is too lowly for the royal family.

"This is the servants' exit and entrance," she says as she keeps walking. "It is the only way the workers, whether they be maids or butlers or handymen, are allowed to leave and enter the building. Unless you have been instructed to work in the front gardens, of course, then you may exit from the front doors."

"Why?" I ask.

I don't like the idea of being confined to one door. What if there's a fire, are all the workers supposed to go out through one way and step on each other in the fight for survival?

In fact, I'm not so sure I like the idea of serving the wealthy, especially if they happen to be the biggest celebrities in the country. I don't know the Cullens very well, but I do know that they're all spoiled rotten. Who knows how they'll treat someone like me?

I know what it's like to work my ass off for money. I have been working since I turned 15, in order to help my dad pay bills. Even when I was younger than that I had small jobs like selling lemonade or cookies door to door. All the money always went to my dad so that he could support us.

Being dubbed a "servant" and being spoken to like I was shit did not sit well with me.

"That is just how it is," Kate says by way of explanation. "This way, please."

She shows us around more of the basement- since that is where we are, despite the velvet walls – and shows my dad into the kitchen. He is introduced to the head chef and Kate drags me away from them so it is just the two of us.

"This is where the maids meet every morning," she informs me as we enter a large room that looks like a cheap lounge. There are couches strewn all over the place and they don't look very comfortable. The windows are large, though, so the bright light filtering in gives the illusion that the room is cheery.

"7am sharp, you are to report here immediately," Kate says, and she sounds like Trunchbull from Matilda, minus the English accent. "There will be roll call and then you will be assigned your chores for the day. This is also where you will report every Saturday to be paid."

"Slow down," I say, trying to absorb everything. "How many days do I work, and what am I exactly, a maid? I don't really know what's going on…"

"You don't have a specific position," Kate informs me. "You aren't a maid or a cook or anything, as of yet. Since you and your father have been hired last minute, by the king's wishes, there hasn't been a position set for you. You will report to me each day and you will do the chores of the absent, unwilling, or incapable."

"So if someone doesn't want to clean a toilet, I'll find myself on my knees with a toilet brush?"

Kate stares at me, lips pursed, and I know she is not amused. Not in the slightest.

"Not exactly," she says. "Everyone has their issues, however, and we try to be accommodating."

Um… okay. Whatever that means.

She then shows me the other rooms down here, including the rec room and small library, only for the servants. It's small and I am disappointed that I'll be subjected to a small collection of what is probably crap.

Basically, the basement of the mansion/manor is where the servants chill. It's not in poor condition, but it's still dark… and it's still a basement.

I am completely and utterly depressed about the whole thing, so it makes me feel better when Kate leads me out of the basement and onto the first floor.

The first floor of the manor is like Treasure Island compared to the slums of India, the slums being the basement. That says a lot, considering that the basement was far from a slum.

We ascend upon what I assume is the main hall, a massive room with marble all over. It's so much to take in, everything from the carvings in the marble pillars to the high glossy windows, to the massive staircase that curves upwards… it's too much, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed.

"This is the main hall, where many of the balls occur," Kate tells me, her voice bouncing off the walls. "There is a ballroom as well, but for the larger parties, this is the only room that suffices."

"You're telling me this, because?" My tone isn't rude, though it's hard to keep it from becoming so, and Kate stares at me blankly.

"You will be working here from time to time," she says.

"At the balls?"

"Yes. Now come this way."

She shows me around most of the mansion, and I know her tour doesn't even begin to cover half of the building. She takes me up and down in elevators, showing me the rooms I am most likely to work in and clean. One of these rooms is the massive library, and I can't wait to get cleaning in there, just so I can run my fingers over the books. It's much more impressive than the servants' library.

She takes me outside again, showing me the back gardens. Actually, "gardens" is the wrong word. It's more like a garden/field.

I'll call it a Garfield.

The Garfield is even more massive than the front of the house, because there's so much more going on. There are gazebos and fountains and I see stables with the horses in the distance. There is a pond and there are roses and it is all so devastatingly beautiful.

"Will I get to work here?" I ask Kate hopefully.

"Perhaps," she replies. "This area is usually off limits to servants, unless it is for work, as both the Cullen and Hale families enjoy spending time outdoors."

The Hales are Lady Rosalie and Sir Jasper, the niece and nephew of Carlisle and Esme. They're brother and sister and they live in the manor because they're royalty by blood.

Every state in the United States has some kind of nobility with the Cullens being the highest ranking nobles. These nobles aren't as prestigious as the Cullens, of course, but they are still elite. Usually the elite of each state would be the mayor's family, since each mayor of each state is very wealthy. Their children were forced to spend a lot of time with the Cullens and Hales, in the hopes that one of them would be married into the royal family, whether that be to Lady Rosalie or Sir Jasper or the snobby Prince Edward.

It is tradition since the beginning of the government that the Prince or Princess of the Cullens marries a Lady or Sir from any given state.

Prince Edward, for example, was said to have close ties with Lady Tanya Denali of Vermont. He had also been hooked up with Lady Mariah Greenburg of Michigan and Lady Carol Frances of Kentucky, though he was closer to Tanya.

The point was that he'd have to pick a wife from one of the ruling families of any one of the fifty states. It had always been that way, and he'd be expected to do nothing less.

Kate continues to lead me around the Garfield, almost like she's rubbing it in my face, and then she leads me back inside to show me my room and make me sign a contract of some kind.

My bedroom is, surprisingly, not in the basement like the other servants'. It is actually on the second floor, the same floor as the library, and it is all the way at the end of the hall.

The bedroom is not what I would have expected out of a servant's room. It is larger than my bedroom back in Forks, but there are two twin-sized beds so it looks like I will have a roommate. Both beds are covered in thick, cottony sheets and the curtains are velvety. There is also a bathroom.

"Are all the workers' bedrooms like this?" I ask Kate in awe as I run my finger over the soft sheets.

"Yes," she responds. "Your roommate, Alice, is visiting family today since workers have Sundays off. Every worker has a roommate and their own bathroom."

"Wow. I was expecting a mattress in a cold room shared with five other people," I snort, and once again Kate does not look amused.

"I see you think very highly of the Cullens," she says, monotone.

"Oh very highly," I say sarcastically. "I think of them as highly as I think of communists in Asia."

Kate's jaw drops and it takes me a second to figure out what I said that was so wrong.

"I'm not calling the Cullens communists," I add quickly. "Shit, I mean, I just meant… ugh, never mind."

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. When she opens them, she looks tired.

"Have you no filter, Miss Swan?"

I smile sheepishly. "Not usually."

"Develop one, then," she snaps.

"What, do you expect me to grow a censor on my mouth that bleeps out every curse word or something?"

For the first time, Kate's mouth twitches like she's suppressing a smile.

"Be ready by seven tomorrow, Miss Swan. You know where to report to, and your uniform will be delivered in the morning. You are dismissed for the day."

She leaves the room and I stand there, feeling overwhelmed again.

I walk over to the shiny wooden dresser and open the drawers. My clothes have already been placed in there and I cringe at the thought of bell-hoppish men handling my bras and panties.

It is still the middle of the day but I figure out where my PJs are and pull them on. The pants are pink with the Rugrats cartoon all over them. It was my favorite cartoon to watch as a kid, and I wear the PJs with pride. I pull on a tank top in a lighter shade of pink before pulling the curtains closed so that the light in the room is dimmed.

I collapse onto the bed and revel in its softness, feeling exhausted and wondering what my dad is doing and how he is feeling. I realize that I don't even know where his room his, or how often I'll get to see him.

The more I think about my new life, the more weighed down and miserable I feel.

For the first time that day, I let myself cry.

I have cried so hard that it isn't hard to fall asleep and stay asleep. Usually when I cry, I get a headache and that forces me to close my eyes and keep them closed.

When I wake up it is dark and I have no idea what time it is. It takes me a moment to remember that I am not at home but that I am somewhere foreign. The bed doesn't smell like me and it is a little too chilly.

I suddenly become aware of my bladder and how it is about to explode. I groan and roll out of bed, my bladder aching with every damn move I make.

I am still half asleep as I stumble towards where I think the bathroom is. Once I reach the door I throw it open and blindly run my hand along the wall for the light switch.

My fingers meet something solid and I am suddenly blinded by bright light.

"Shit," I hiss, squinting at the bathroom.

I have to pee so bad that I don't even bother to look around the fancy bathroom, what with its shiny tiles and metallic gold lining.

I reach the toilet and I am about to pull my PJs down, when I notice the sign on the closed toilet lid: OUT OF ORDER.

Fuck my life.

I mentally curse Kate for not telling me about the broken fucking toilet so I stumble out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

The hallway is lit with lamps stuck to the wall, and the lighting is dim. I have no idea where the closest bathroom is, but I frantically turn every doorknob in the hopes of finding one before I have an accident like a two year old.

Most of the doors on my floor are locked, so I hastily turn to the staircase at the end of the hallway.

When I reach the third floor, I almost scream.

There is a man standing at the end of the long hallway. He is just standing there, hands folded in front of him.

"Miss?" he says, and I stare back, a little freaked out.

In the dim light I see his suit and I realize he is a Secret Service guard.

God, is his job to just stand there all night? I wonder if the pay is good, maybe that's why he does it…

"Um, I need the bathroom," I say, and voicing it out loud further emphasizes the pressure on my bladder. I bend my knees in a vain attempt to control my needs.

The guard raises his brow and then points in my direction, but a little to the left. "Fourth door on your left."

"Thanks," I mumble, embarrassed, before rushing to the bathroom.

Once I am sitting on the toilet I slowly go back to feeling drowsy. By the time I walk out of the bathroom, I am half asleep again.

Suddenly, I am lost. I don't know where I'm going and there is no SS guard in sight, so it is with great relief that I reach a hallway that looks exactly like mine.

When I walk into my bedroom, it is dark and I can't wait to cuddle up in those soft blankets again.

Sleepily, I crawl onto the bed and get under the covers.

The blankets are very warm and smell different, better, but I can't place how. I don't care; the sleep is catching up with me.

I am on the brink of unconsciousness when I hear the snoring.

Right. Next. To. My. Ear.

My eyes spring open and my head whips to the side as I see the contours of a male face in the darkness.

What the fuck!

Then, I scream.

I'm totally freaked out and I shove the blankets off of me just as the guy in my bed lets out a startled cry of his own and bolts upright.

I get all tangled up in the covers and fall off the bed, scrambling towards the door on my hands and knees.

"Stop," he orders, and the sound of his voice makes me freeze.

The light comes on when I stand, and I blink in the bright light, anxiously trying to make out what the hell is going on.

I look around the room, realizing for the first time that the room is not mine.

I look at the guy in the bed and I am filled with absolute horror.

It's Prince Edward.

His green eyes are tired with sleep, but their depths are still powerful as they gaze at me in bewilderment. His bronze hair is an unruly mess and he is shirtless, his broad shoulders and pecks attracting my gaze.

And that jaw.

That lickable jaw.

Something deep in my belly clenches as I stare at his lips, so full and…

Suddenly, it clicks.

Oh. My. God.

I accidentally got into the prince's bed.

Holy fuck.

Normally, I am never at a loss for words, but now it is like his very presence has stolen my ability to speak.

When I do speak, there is only one thing I am able to say.

"I just wanted to pee!"

With that, I turn and run out of the room.

A/N: Thoughts? Does this story float your boat? I don't know about you, but I like me some Princeward. ;)

Updates: Once a week, probably Fridays or Sundays. The chapters are pre-written so RL won't be getting in the way of updates.

Next Chapter: Sunday, January 30th.

Twitter: I'm xNimC on there as well. Stalk me for teasers and all that fun stuff.

Thanks for reading!