A/N: This idea just popped into my head, and I have no idea if anyone's going to be remotely interested because it seems like all of Olivia's romances have gone off of the rails as of late. But if you are, please comment/leave kudos so that I know to continue this story. Thank you! =]

P.S. I was totally going in the black princess empowerment direction until I realized that men cannot take the titles of their wives (propriety, am I right?)

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Prince Jacob the Second of Caesar had spent many months in London, the greatest portion of his time allotted to his studies at Oxford. Ever since he'd learned of the college at the age of eleven, Prince Jacob had pestered his father about attending, to no avail. There was always some ceremony or another for the Prince to partake in, some training that his father claimed was not available to him elsewhere. Always, always, always, there was an excuse.

Now, eight years later, the King had finally relented and consented to send his son to London. For his part, the Prince had been on his best behavior, attending all of his lessons, acting as a Prince in front of his father's spies, and writing to the King several times a week.

The academic year was nearing an end, and so Prince Jacob was expected to return to Caesar in a few months' time. He both dreaded and anticipated the reunion with his place of birth. Mostly, he pushed all thoughts of it to the back of his mind, instead focusing on his immediate obligations. Still, those thoughts often crept into his dreams.

Tonight was no different.

Except for the fact, of course, that he was rudely shaken awaken in the midst of said dreams.

The Prince jolted upward, and his source of disturbance, a servant named Thomas, tumbled backward, a candle in hand.

"What is it?" The Prince snapped, once he had regained his senses. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

Thomas cleared his throat and hesitated. Then:

"Your Highness, Mr. Charles arrived not long ago and has requested to speak with you. He is in the drawing room."

The Prince groaned and stretched against the headboard of his temporary bed in his temporary residence in his temporary location of London, England.

"Does he know what time it is?" He said it as if he would refuse Mr. Charles of the gentry, who had been the Prince's dear friend since their childhood; and had thusly been sent to London along with the Prince by the King. Mr. Charles often overstepped his bounds with the Crowned Prince. Seldom was he reprimanded, by the Prince's wishes.

"Indeed, sir, I informed him of the late hour. However, he told me that this is an urgent matter."

"I bet it is," grumbled the Prince. He paused. And then he gestured Thomas away. "I will be there shortly. Allow me to dress."

"Yes, Your Highness."

OOO

Meanwhile, in the kingdom of Voncavia, Mr. Rowan Pope was personally rejoicing. He hid it well, donning a sour expression as his daughter joined him for breakfast. The servants filled the plates of their master and his daughter and were promptly sent away thereafter.

Miss Olivia Pope, always the observant one, took advantage of the lack of company. "Father," she began, as she peppered her porridge, "What is the matter?"

With a gruff sigh, Mr. Rowan imparted the knowledge on her with no contest. "Olivia. The King of Caesar has died."

Her audible gasp nearly elicited a laugh from him. The young girl was duly shocked and mournful for the man who she had never met, but had been told was her father's companion at some time or another.

"Oh, father. I do apologize. I know he was your dear friend."

Mr. Rowan nodded. He pushed his own bowl of porridge away, for theatrics. In a low voice, he responded, "I humbly thank you for remembering this, dear. We will report to Caesar in a few days' time." At her bemused visage, he amended, "For the funeral. And perhaps thereafter, for the Prince."

Sighing, Olivia leaned over the table and rested her hand over her father's. She looked into his eyes with love, with affection. "I will be there every step of the way."

Another grim nod from Rowan.

It was charming, he thought, to think she believed she'd had a choice.

OOO

Not long after Mr. Charles and Prince Jacob met, the two men were assisting the latter's servants in loading up Mr. Charles' ship with their belongings. They were departing London for Caesar, and abruptly so.

Mr. Charles watched his friend quietly as he went, searching for any sign of growing insanity. He found none. Then again, the night was young.

Prince Jacob helped Thomas hoist a particularly heavy trunk onto the ship. It took all of the willpower of both men, who were equally fatigued and working on very little rest.

Breathless, Thomas bent over and rested his hands just above his knees. When he had regained a small amount of his energy, the servant of nineteen years queried, "Your Highness, may you impart on me why we are leaving at such a time, in such haste?"

His face set, the Prince responded, grimly, "King Jacob is dead."