So, when were you supposed to find out you were royal? Were they just going to keep it from you, until you decided just what you were going to do with your life, then spring it on you like it were no big deal?

Well... yes, actually. That's exactly what the royal family of Gotham did. Apparently your late mother had royal blood, and that's all that seemed to matter.

After seven etiquette lessons, you still couldn't get the hang of it; the poise of your pinky as you sipped tea, straightening your back as you walked. Nothing seemed to help, and your tutor, Tim, who didn't seem old enough to have any authority over you, was beginning to get annoyed.

Stifling a groan, Tim stood abruptly from the table, where a mock dinner had been laid out. "Why don't we take a break? Clearly you're not bright enough today to distinguish the soup spoon to the dessert spoon."