Even though she was third in line for the throne, I always had a feeling Elizabeth would be queen one day. And thankfully for England, I was right.

I was in the London area telling some peasant children fairy tales, so she invited me over for brunch. I could tell she was a little stressed because her ruff was extra thick today.

“Liz, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“My advisors keep telling me I need to marry and provide an heir to the throne,” she said. “They say my position as queen won’t be secure until I do so.”

“That’s a load of goose droppings!” I said. “You’re the best monarch this country has had since William the Conqueror.”

“It’s not that I’m against marriage or children,” Elizabeth said. “But have you seen the options they’ve presented me with? And I thought my cousins were inbred!”

“Well, I may still be bitter and burned from everything I went through with your father, but I think marriage is the worst!” I said. “You’ve got a good thing going here, Lizzie. You don’t want a man coming in here and messing it up for you.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “So, what am I to do? What should I tell my advisors?”

“Tell them you are married… to England!” I said. “Say you’ll consider marriage when and only when they can find you a suitable, smart, and handsome prince with no political agenda. Until then, declare yourself the Virgin Queen! Say you’re staying pure for God and for your people’s best interests. You’ll be a rock star!”

Elizabeth thought about it for a moment and then nodded her head—well, as much as that ruffled thing around her neck would allow.

“Now, enough virgin talk,” I said. “Tell me what’s been going on with you and Robert Dudley! Everyone knows he’s got the hots for you!”