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. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
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?