Happy new year folks. Here's a fic based on a prompt I received on tumblr.

The Pretender.

Madge was eleven years old the first time she had played for the queen. She had been so nervous that minutes before going on stage she had thrown up all over her pretty new dress. Her mother had scrubbed her clean with toilet paper and Madge had performed in a smelly, damp dress.

At twenty-two, Madge has a much better handle on her stage-fright, but there was something about being back in the Garden Palace, performing in front of Queen Consilla and all the leading dignitaries of Panovia that brought back that age old terror. With minutes to go before she was due on stage, Madge was leaning over a sink in a powder-room, angling her body to keep her gorgeous red dress for out of the splash zone.

She dry-heaved a few times, but managed not to throw up. She did a few breathing exercises to calm her nerves and checked her appearance one final time. "Woman up," she told her reflection, before straightening up and leaving the sanctuary of the cloakroom. She intended to march confidently to the green room, but instead she barreled into a solid block of somebody else and almost hit the floor before a pair of hands caught her.

Madge glanced upwards and her apology died away on her lips. She was staring into a pair of piercing grey eyes. Slowly she took in his features; his heavy brow, his clean shaved cheeks and the square cut of his jaw, his plump and chapped lips, the perfectly combed black hair. Even in her four inch stilettos he towered over her. She noted the way his Adam's apple bobbed, the white tie at his neck, his broad shoulders, the lilac sash draped across his chest. She became aware of his hands, still holding her arms. His grip was strong, his skin warm.

Her eyes traveled up to meet his again and saw he had been examining her too. He dropped his hands suddenly.

"Miss Undersee."

Madge frowned, how did he know her name? Then her name came again, from behind her. She swung around to see an usher waiting impatiently. "Oh, yes." She hurried towards him, then stopped, realizing she had broken about fourteen different rules of protocol, but when she turned back, the secret prince was gone.

The usher led her to where the other performers were waiting anxiously and without a moment's pause they were led out to their chairs at the side of the stage. Her seat gave her a great vantage of the room. Though she tried not to pay attention to the size of crowd, she spotted her father, two rows from the front sitting beside his brother-in-law Coriolanus Snow. She nodded discretely to them.

Madge could see the cameras and the reporters pushing for the best position in the balcony. The foreign journalists easily outnumbered the small contingent from Panovia. It was probably the first time Queen Consilla's birthday celebrations had ever been attended by a foreign journalist. Madge eyed the television cameras and wondered how many people were watching tonight. Earlier, she'd been watching the news and they'd said that millions were expected to tune in around the world. Her stomach rolled and she pushed that thought out of her mind immediately.

The crowd fidgeted impatiently, eyes focused on the doors. Delays were unheard of at the Garden Palace. Then finally doors were thrown open and the crowd rose to their feet. The journalists elbowed each other excitedly. A few minor royals made their way first, then Crown Princess Elena on the arm of her husband, and then last of all Queen Consilla being escorted by her grandson, Prince Gale.

The audience craned their necks and stood on the tips of their toes, in the balcony the journalists were flashing their cameras. Everybody had risen for the queen ostensibly, but all eyes were on her escort – the secret prince. For most of the crowd it was the first time they had seen him in the flesh.

There had been paparazzi pictures of course, photographs lifted from friend's social media sites, and old school yearbooks. None of them had done justice to him. None captured how tall he really was, how piercing his eyes were, how handsome he was. Certainly no photograph had shown how striking he looked dressed in his formal suit.

The royal family took their seats and the first performer, a ten year old violinist, took to the stage. She played with a breathtaking maturity but Madge almost felt sorry for her, because not one person in the room was listening to her, except maybe the prince himself who watched the young musician with laser focus attention. Everybody else was watching him.

For the first eighteen years of his life, Gale Hawthorne had been the eldest son of a widowed cleaner. He had lived in a small town in America, and outside his family and friends, nobody knew who he was. Then the Queen of a small country far way in Europe had made an extraordinary announcement. Her son, the late Prince Leopold, had fathered a child while studying in an American university. The queen intended to legitimize her grandson and award him his full title. The palace hadn't released any information about him at the time; but of course, the story of the 'Secret Prince' had become a sensation and eventually he was tracked down by the press, despite many pleas by the Panovians to respect his privacy. Gale had attended college in America, but now aged twenty four and a college graduate; he had come to Panovia to spend time getting to know his grandmother and to take on a more official role. Tonight was his first official appearance, and the eyes of the world were on him.

The young violinist finished her piece. The audience snapped to attention and applauded her, far too moderate for how well she performed.

The queen took to the stage and after welcoming everybody, began handing out the medals and honors to the various recipients. The Panovian journalists watched dutifully, the foreign journalists looked bored.

Madge studied the prince. His expression was stern, and he was watching the proceedings with great interest. He facial expression was calm, but he was sitting rigidly in his chair, his left knee jiggling nervously, and his fists curling and clenching. He never took his eyes from the stage to look around the room. Madge wondered how well he is able to follow what was happening. Reportedly, he has been learning Panish. Every so often, Princess Elena whispered something to him, but Madge didn't think she was interpreting.

After the young mezzo soprano sang, the queen resumed her position on the stage. There was a buzz of excitement in the room. All the journalists leaned forward. It was time for the highest honors of the night.

First there was a cousin of the queen, an elderly duke who' seemed to struggling under the weight of all his medals and pins. Then it was time for Prince Gale. He rose to his feet and knelt before his grandmother. Cameras clicked furiously as the queen pinned the Order of the Amaryllis medal on his sash. He recited the oath in a deep, clear voice. His Panish was impeccable. The queen said something to him in a low voice and he nodded solemnly.

The news had replayed the clip from his father's medal ceremony earlier that day. Prince Leopold had sniggered and laughed his way through it. The TV presenters had wondered how the young American would behave, but he had shown the ceremony the respect and gravity it deserves.

Prince Gale returned to his seat, and Madge could see the relief on his face and in his posture. Princess Elena and her husband leaned over to congratulate him. Then Princess Elena whispered something in his ear. Whatever she said, it made him laugh. The effect was breathtaking. He was handsome before, but his smile made him beautiful. Madge sucked in a breath, and from the balcony came a furious wave of cameras clicking. The prince's smile faded.

There was a moment of silence, and then the girl beside Madge nudged her. She was so busy watching the prince that she had missed her name being announced. She took her seat at the piano, and played her piece. Only when the last note was fading, did she remember her stage fright. She stood up, her legs shaking, and curtseyed to the queen. As she straightened up, her gaze flitted to the prince. He was clapping, his gaze intent upon her. She stumbled a little, but caught herself.

The ceremony concluded shortly afterwards, and the performers lined up to meet the queen. Princess Elena and her husband left, but Prince Gale accompanied his grandmother.

The queen reached her first and smiled warmly. "Miss Undersee, it's always a pleasure to listen to you play. I am sorry you do not intend to play professionally, but I do hope you will continue to play."

"Of course, Ma'am."

"I remember when you were only the size of our little violinist," the queen said with a fond smile. "It's been an honor to see you blossom into the beautiful young woman you are today." Madge blushed. "Thank you, Ma'am."

Queen Consilla moved on to the next person, and Madge waited for Prince Gale to approach. He had spoken to the young violinist for some time, crouching down to her level and making her giggle. She felt her stomach clench with nerves as he came closer to her.

"Miss Undersee," he said with a nod as he came to stand in front of her. He kept his eyes on her face, his gaze intense. He appeared uncomfortable.

Madge curtseyed. "Your highness."

"I really enjoyed your piece. It was really beautiful."

"Thank you. Hendra is one of my favorite composers, it's always an honor to perform her music."

"I really enjoyed it," he said again. Then he visibly winced. "Well, thank you." He turned abruptly and moved to join his grandmother.

Madge exhaled slowly.

The musicians were led to another room to have their portraits taken. By the time Madge was finished, most of the guests had departed. She found her father and uncle speaking in low voices in a corner.

"Madge, darling, you were wonderful," her father beamed. He threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "Well done. Doesn't she look beautiful, Cor?"

Her uncle didn't even react to his loathed nickname. He ran his gaze up and down her body. The way he looked at her wasn't sleazy, but it made Madge feel uncomfortable in a way she couldn't put her finger on. "Yes, very beautiful," he drawled at length. "Bring her with you," he commanded, before turning on his heal and walking off.

Madge's father frowned.

"Bring me where?" Madge asked. Her father shook his head and led her outside to the car.

On the drive, she checked Twitter. She had a couple of hundred new followers and several dozen notifications from friends who had watched her online, they were all congratulating her and asking about the prince. Most of the people she followed were gushing about how handsome he looked and several of them had shared pictures and GIFs of that moment when he had laughed. She checked the trending topics, and 'Prince Gale's smile' was the top worldwide trend.

Madge watched the GIFs play, feeling butterflies in her stomach as Gale smiled over and over.

The car came to a stop in front of her Uncle's mansion. "Why are we here?" Madge asked.

"Coriolanus has something he wants to discuss in private," her father said.

They were admitted to the house and brought to the library where her uncle and a handful of other men were waiting. Madge recognized several of them; they were all high-ranking government officials.

So why the hell had her father been told to bring her? She glanced at him and could see that he looked unhappy.

When everyone was assembled and had been served a drink, Snow gestured to the Minister for Internal affairs to speak. "I was informed today that Princess Elena's cancer has returned. She will receive treatment, but I am told that she's not expected to recover, and that the treatment is to prolong her life rather than to cure her cancer. We don't know how long she has yet, but doctors estimate at most, three years."

Madge's eyes filled with tears. She greatly admired Princess Elena and felt desperately sorry for Queen Consilla who now faced the terrible ordeal of burying a child for the second time.

When Madge looked at the others in the room, she saw that she was the only one who was upset. The men looked angry.

"I knew that bitch was up to something when she legitimized that mongrel," her uncle spat.

Madge shifted uncomfortably. "Coriolanus," her father said sharply. "That's inappropriate."

Snow glared at him. "Bastard, then?" he drawled. "American?" He said the prince's nationality with the same venom he had said mongrel. "She plans to put her bastard, American grandson on the throne. The very thought of it, a vulgar American sitting on the throne of Panovia?" He swiveled around to the minister again. "Tell them, tell them what you told me."

"The boy had never even heard of Panovia before he met his grandmother. When he was told that the queen wished to legitimize him, his exact words were 'fuck off'. He only accepted his title to get his hands on his inheritance."

"Money," Snow slammed his glass down on the table. "Money, that's all he's interested in. He doesn't care about Panovia. What does he know of our history, our culture, our language, our struggles? I, for one, am not going to stand idly by and watch an American be crowned our next king. I love Panovia too much to see it be sullied in such a manner."

The other men in the room agreed loudly.

Madge's father nodded in agreement, but he waited until the others had quietened down before speaking. "I have no desire to have an American king either, but he is Consilla's grandson and has the strongest claim. Who else is there if not him?"

Snow raised an eyebrow. "A true Panovian, I should think."

Madge understood at once what he intended. When Elena had first been diagnosed with cancer, several newspapers had run pieces to determine who would be next in line if Elena decided to step aside for health reasons. Panovia did not have a strict line of succession, with heirs being chosen by the reigning monarch and parliament. There were a few cousins who all had equal claims in the event of Elena dying childless, but they were all older than the queen. One of them was the elderly duke who had been at the awards ceremony tonight. Madge could not see him outlasting the queen. Coriolanus Snow had been given an outside chance at the time. But with the probability that the other contenders would be too old by the time Consilla passed, Snow's chances looked better. He was a high ranking politician with favorable ratings and a great many connections in parliament.

Snow had his eye on the throne and now all that stood between him and it was Prince Gale. Madge had no great wish for an American king, but she did not believe Snow was the best choice.

"Elena has a few years left," Snow said. "Either she steps aside before she dies, or the queen waits until she's gone, but at some stage Consilla will need to name her new heir and parliament will have to approve her choice. We must ensure that the American is not it."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Henri Undersee asked. "Have you seen the coverage he's been getting? People love him, he's the most obvious choice and he has the strongest claim."

Snow waved his hand dismissively. "People don't love him, they think he has a nice smile. We simply need to show the country that he is not worthy of the throne, that he is nothing more than a charlatan taking advantage of his grieving grandmother." He took a sip of his drink and his eyes landed on Madge who was sitting quietly in the corner, biting her tongue an trying to remain unnoticed. "And that's where you come in, my dear niece."

Madge startled. "Me? What?"

"We need somebody to get close to him, to be able to report back to us."

"I can't... how would I even get close to him."

"They need a cultural studies teacher for him," the minister spoke up. "He's studied Panovian history and politics, the palace wants him to learn more about Panovian culture – literature, art, music, what have you. It's up to my department to appoint someone."

"Perfect," Snow said, his face morphing into a smug grin.

Madge looked to her father for guidance. He frowned, considering his brother-in-law for a long moment. Then he nodded once.

Madge sighed. "OK."