Soon after leaving Queen Ji-Yu's office, wandering down the hallways aimlessly to forget about the Report tonight, Roy was swept up by Rudy. He had, apparently, been stalking the palace looking everywhere for Roy, trying to find him desperately so they could start working on his suit for tonight.
"I don't care, Rudy," Roy had said, unresisting to Rudy's hustle. "Put me in a donkey onesie. That's fun."
"Though a, ahem, 'donkey onesie' would certainly accentuate your long, horse-like face, Your Highness, the dress code is formal," Rudy had replied, without batting a single eyelid. "And I don't think the public will take you seriously if you covet the apology dressed as an arse."
Roy couldn't even conjure a clever comeback to Rudy's biting wit. He was that unbothered.
By the time they'd measured him, sewed the materials, added the polish, removed the stray threads and made the suit into perfection, it was ten minutes before the Capital Report would air live to Illéa.
In the studio, armchairs and sofas were placed on tiers of seats. They rose four steps high, wide for space, and shaped like a half-moon. Tall, steel poles flushed the room in refreshing white light. A proscenium with two seats perched in front of the tiers. One for Romilda van der Voort, Illéa's Capital Report host, which was a cream chaise lounge, and her respective guest.
Roy glanced at the empty, red sofa. He'd never been more intimidated by a piece of furniture in his life.
"Face this way please, Your Highness," said the make-up artist – she gently guided Roy's straying gaze back to her, as she dusted him with concealer to hide red capillaries crackling over the surface of his face. The alcohol had completely passed through his system now, so his headache had passed and he felt nearly up to speed, but it had left him, finally, at the stage of cringe at last night's photos.
Rudy continued to remind him, in the driest voice possible, about some of the poses Roy had performed for the partygoers – including one, which had been snapped, where he held a dancing pole and shook his bottom to a beat.
"I believe it is called twerking, Your Highness," Rudy said, as the make-up artist dabbed some fine oil onto Roy's neck. "Perhaps that in itself derives from the word, working. Unfortunately, I don't think this particular dance technique worked for you."
The make-up artist tried not to laugh.
"Yes, thank you, Rudy," Roy said, trying not to wince.
Rudy hid the rest of the photos in his coat pocket. "Something tells me you don't want me to describe the rest?"
"I remember everything just fine." Lie.
He didn't need to look at Rudy to know he was smirking. "Interesting how you can remember everything despite suffering from a human physiological condition called passing out."
Roy snorted in response. As much as the photos made him cringe, and the memories wince, he still didn't regret them. That was the biggest difference – the one thing that made him disdain the idea of apologising. He had nothing to regret, so why say he was sorry?
The double doors opened. Queen Ji-Yu stepped into the room. Roy didn't need to see that, either. Everyone had turned silent.
Instead of her voice, booming and loud, King Merrick spoke in a cheerful voice. "Good afternoon, everyone! Are we ready to make an exciting Report?"
About ten different people chorused strong yeses in response; Roy spotted another load of people approach Merrick, armed with clipboards and manila folders.
The make-up girl stepped back, and bowed. "All finished, Your Highness."
"So quickly," Rudy said. "How ever do you manage to make him look good?"
Roy cracked a wry grin, and jabbed Rudy in the side. "Shut up. You know I can fire you, right?"
Rudy's mouth split in another smirk. "Well, I'm the only loser who wants this job, so good luck finding another butler."
The make-up girl made a soft laugh, before scampering off, no doubt to double-check Ji-Yu and Merrick. Rudy bowed, too, off to sort final preparations for Roy's lines.
Roy fiddled with his tie clip, suddenly aware that he was alone. Today, his suit was pinstripe, with a matching waistcoat and white shirt. The seamstresses had done a fine job, under such rushed conditions. Cameras attached to tracks swept by him, and people in caps and strange earpieces yelled instructions to the runners. The lords and ladies of the court had assembled themselves on the lower tiers of the tiers, fixing hair, dresses, suits, wrinkles. Roy couldn't help but think that Ji-Yu's messing with the Report's airdate had only thrown everyone in the palace into a frenzy.
Something tugged at his arm. Roy looked down. Princess Gail beamed a toothy smile at him, flattered in a mint-green tulle dress that caressed the floor.
"Good luck, Jun!" she piped, in her best Korean.
Roy pet her head. She wasn't even at the height of his waist. "Thanks, you rascal. Remember, though: Princesses don't pick their nose on air. Actually, no one picks their nose. Just don't do it."
Gail sniffled, as if thinking about it. "Lanna told me not to take your advice!" she said. "So I guess that means… I must pick my nose!"
"No, no, bad idea—" but Gail had already sprung away, clambering up the tiers to the very top, and perching on Merrick's lap.
Roy grimaced. Hopefully Merrick would catch her fingers before they neared her nose.
A hand clasped Roy's shoulder, snapping him from his thoughts. Roy recognised Ji-Yu's grip before he'd even turned around. She had changed into another hanbok, this time, a subdued pink hue. It matched Merrick, who had opted for a dark pink waistcoat to match his grey suit.
Roy could still taste the turmoil within him, and he resigned himself to look at her with some attempt at a blank stare.
Ji-Yu pursed her lips. "Good luck," she said.
She was wishing him luck on something he didn't want to do? Roy nearly choked, and he felt his eye twitch.
"It's not too late to cancel, Mother," he said, in Korean. At least no one in the palace beyond himself, his mother, and his sister could understand it.
Ji-Yu stepped back. There was a hollowness to her eyes. "It is. I would not cancel anyway, Jun. You must learn responsibility." She paused. "The extreme is the only thing that seems to work on you."
Roy opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. This case, he couldn't fight. Sneaking from the palace to black out at a random Angeles nightclub did not scream responsible in the slightest. He fought down the urge to march out and lock himself in his room, and met her gaze, but said nothing.
Ji-Yu ripped away, striding with her head high to the top tiers to sit beside Merrick and Gail, who were clapping hands together. Roy bit down a rush of annoyance, trying to conjure his best face.
No matter what he had to say on the air, Roy had to remember. He never made mistakes.
"Okay, places everyone!"
"Your Highness, darling! Please, join me on the sofa!"
Romilda's distinctly husky voice called to him from the small stage. He turned, trying to pull on a happy memory to base a smile on. Puppies. Cake. Sleeping in. Katrina's shoes.
He caught his frown before it caught him. Oh, god, Katrina's shoes—
Romilda patted the sofa. Her slim and bony figure had made her quite popular on Illéa's Next Top Model. Apparently, it translated into television hosting as well. Not that Roy could complain – she was charismatic. Her complexion and hair dark, she dazzled with bright eyeshadows and vibrant lipsticks. Even if she was more his mother's age than his own.
Roy hastily took a seat in the sofa. There was a whir of activity around him, but Romilda's smile captivated his attention.
"Darling, you look gorgeous!" she said, clapping her hands together. "I thought you looked rather amusing in the photos, too, but it appears no one agrees. Have a little fun when you're young. Are you ready?"
Roy leant back in the sofa. "I'm always ready, Rom."
Romilda laughed. "Of course you are, Your Highness."
The producer of the Capital Report waved his hands. "All right, are the lords and ladies of the court, and His and Her Royal Highnesses and Majesties ready?"
Roy gulped. He didn't nod. Still, he could feel Ji-Yu's eyes burn into the back of his head.
Roy never makes mistakes.
"Then we are live, in three—!"
Two fingers. One finger.
The On Air button flashed. The lights shone. The music played. The smiles brightened. Roy pulled up the edges of his mouth, and the camera panned to both him and Romilda.
"Good evening, citizens of Illéa!" she chanted – in such effortless lilt it was hard not to listen. "And may I welcome you to a special edition of Capital Report. I am your host, Romilda van der Voort."
She gestured to Roy. He tried not to shuffle in his seat. A bead of sweat cried down his neck.
"Today, I am delighted to be joined by His Royal Highness, Prince Jun Fitzroy Schreave of Illéa."
Polite claps. The teleprompter began to roll.
He swept into a smile. "Good evening, Illéa," he read. "As prince of our great nation, and heir to the throne, it may have come to your attention that in recent days, I have acted in an inappropriate manner—" he felt something stick in his throat, dry and threatening. But, he continued. "My actions were conducted solely of my own discretion, where I was well aware of the consequences it would bring to me, my family, and to you – the people. Therefore, I come here before you to offer humbly my sincerest of apologies."
The teleprompter told him to bow. He bowed, and rose again, to meet the eyes of millions watching.
He sucked in a stale breath. "It was never my intention to hurt or embarrass anyone. The only person I have shamed is myself, due to my irreverent—" the word rolled down. Ji-Yu had chosen alcoholism. Alcoholism! Roy was not alcoholic! He just liked the parties!
He quickly thought of something else. "Imprudence. Though I may never fully recover my reputation from these reckless events, I ask that you present me a chance to prove myself worthy of your rule."
His eyes passed over the next words. So, here it was. The announcement of his Selection.
He felt wooden and stiff in the chair, so much that the words failed to leave his mouth.
The teleprompter rolled. Roy felt his insides melt from embarrassment. Recover, his mind barked. Roy does not make mistakes.
Romilda prompted him. "How do you intend to do so, Your Highness?"
Roy could feel the sour taste clipping his tongue, but he had no choice but to say it. To make it official.
"By holding my own Selection, Romilda."
The fakest gasps in the history of fake gasps lifted from the group behind him. Roy turned to Romilda, ignoring the teleprompter, and plastered a large smile on his face. "Yes. It is time for me to find a woman who would become my girlfriend and potential wife. I would like for her to equally embrace my extreme hilarity and wit—"
Romilda laughed. Roy continued.
"—but will also remind me of the duties I have to our great country. Our home."
Romilda clapped her hands together. "That is wonderful news, Your Highness. Congratulations on making such a hard decision. We are sure that your Selection will grace you with the presence of a wonderful, and suitable, wife."
Applause – polite applause, at that. No whooping or cheering. Roy dared to slant his eyes to the camera, and beam a smile. Hopefully, it didn't come across as too desperate, or remorseful.
Romilda shifted herself to face the camera again. "Well, there you have it Illéa. Our own Prince Roy will be holding a Selection. Tomorrow, ladies between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one will be sent application forms in the post, of which, you will have a month to complete. Best of luck to all who enter!"
She turned back to Roy. He felt a lump slide down his gullet. She wasn't finished?
"Before we go, I'd love to know: what do you search for in a potential wife?"
"Kissing skills," he blurted.
It was the first thing that popped into his head. Dread poured into him, and a monumental heat rose to his cheeks when he realised what he'd just uttered to the country. He'd just said that aloud! Was he so superficial that his first thought about a potential wife was kissing?!
Unknown Club Girl captured his mind for seconds. Well, that photo seemed to agree.
Luckily, Romilda laughed, taking it in stride, and Roy decided to backpedal before Ji-Yu threw a fit on television.
"… which is the last thing I think about! Of course!" He laughed.
Truth be told, he'd never even thought about it. The prospect of girlfriend or wife seemed so far away in his head. It sat at the back of his mind, there, but never conscious.
"Of course, Your Highness!" Romilda chuckled. "The last thing you think about!"
"Yes, erm." Roy drove down a blush. "I actually mean… a kind heart…?"
It was corny. It was cheesy. But it seemed to work. Romilda softened, as if he'd just offered the moon to his potential wife.
"How sweet! So you do have a soft side!"
Roy cracked a grin. "I watch kitten videos every day."
The crowd laughed – somewhere, he even heard Ji-Yu produce a soft giggle. At least that had worked.
Romilda shifted herself back to the camera. "There you have it Illéa! You heard it here first! Prince Roy searches for a girl with a kind heart… and that he watches kitten videos." She winked, which probably made someone watching melt. "That's all we have time for! Thank you for watching!"
Roy held his smile until the On Air button flashed off. He'd never felt more relieved, yet more tense, in his entire life. The producers began to yell things, but Roy ignored them all.
Now it was official. The Selection of Prince Jun Fitzroy Schreave. Once a free man, now tied down by thirty-five.
Romilda snapped him from his thoughts. "Good job, Your Highness. I think you handled that very well."
Ji-Yu must have descended the tiers at some point, because suddenly she was next to Roy. She wasn't furious, but her lips were pursed and her eyebrows dropped into her eyes.
"Kissing skills, Jun?" she enunciated.
Roy stifled his annoyance and threw up a shrug. "Look, you gave me a load of official stuff to read on the teleprompter when the whole nation already knows I'm not really a serious person. It was my attempt at… humour."
Her arms crossed. "Why do I doubt that?"
Before Roy could feel inflamed, Romilda stood up, and graced a bow. "Your Majesty, I think His Highness recovered very well from his slip-up."
Ji-Yu levelled her glare on Roy. "Yes. You're lucky you did."
He could feel himself desperately wanting to sink into the ground. The silence deafened him. Saving him, Gail bounced out from nowhere and clutched Ji-Yu's legs.
"Omma," she said, "can I have a Selection?"
Romilda chuckled, and Roy felt his lungs expand. Thank heavens Gail was around to diffuse all the tension.
Ji-Yu softened, blessing them with a rare, genuine smile. "No, peanut. Wait until you're older, maybe."
She tugged on her leg. "When I'm ten?"
Ji-Yu's smile widened. "More like twenty."
Gail seemed to take this on, and pumped her fists. "I'm going to count the days! Day One! I am still single!"
She bounced off in usual Gail fashion, probably to battle someone else with questions. Roy met Ji-Yu's gaze, but it had frozen stiff, cold. After watching his sister, it was like suddenly staring into a dark abyss after years of sunlight.
"Don't ruin this for yourself, all right?" she said.
Roy heaved a sigh. "I'll try."
She gave him a firm nod. It was better than having her scold him in front of everyone else. She turned on her heel, and marched out of the room.
Roy could still see the afterimage of her hanbok in his vision. He wondered how she would act when the Selected would arrive, given that she herself was once part of the Selection. Now she took her job as queen way, way too seriously.
Romilda patted him softly on the back. "Don't you worry about her, darling. I'm sure she's nervous for you."
Roy scoffed. "Does a great job at hiding it, then."
"Yes. She's not one for emotion," Romilda said. "I remember watching your father's Selection, certain that this willowy girl name Beatrice Jacobs would win. Nope. His Majesty Merrick was head over heels for your mother all along. He hadn't even whittled his Elite down to seven when he chose her."
Roy shuddered, cringing. His parents didn't talk often about their Selection – but he counted his stars that they didn't. As if he wanted to know about them romancing each other. Ugh.
"I'm going," he said vacantly. The remnants of his headache appeared to be returning, the teleprompter and pressure to do well scattering the effects of the headaches pills. "Are we still having a Report on Friday?"
"Yes," replied Romilda. "I believe there are some issues to address with the nation."
Roy thought back to the conversation with his parents. The rebels. The spies. A shiver ran down his spine. He wondered whether the candidates from Honduragua and the rest of the south would be affected by the unrest. Maybe they were part of it.
"All right, thank you, Rom," he said. Before waiting for a reply, he stepped down from the stage, brushed passed the rest of the staff, and breezed from the room. The suit around him felt too tight, his lungs constricted.
There was part of him that was actually looking forward to a Selection. It was, above everything, a chance to learn more about himself, and get to know people – real, working people. Daughters of Illéa. Different cultures, different lifestyles. Something different from the drab of the palace he had grown up in his whole life.
And then there was the romance. Roy knew he was a sucker for romance, though he would never admit it – he realised, that probably came from Mother. If the girl of his dreams was amongst the thirty-five invited to the palace, then he would at the very least be grateful.
And at the very most… marry.
If he chose the right girl? Great! Parties all year round! Merriment! Dancing! Fun.
But if he chose the wrong girl… what would happen to all the fun things he wanted to do in life?
Roy shut his thoughts and made his way to his bedroom.
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A/N: Poor Roy! Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I have a few questions, actually, that I again forgot to put on the form, lol. Feel free to stick these in the review, though! Are you okay with the following:
1. Your character dying (e.g. through a rebel attack)?
2. Your character falling for another person in the palace (e.g. a guard, a cook)?
3. For the bisexual girls, your character falling for another Selected?
A simple yes/ no will suffice, unless you feel the need to elaborate! To a vast majority of the characters, none of this will happen. But, you know, the option is open if I ever want to travel down these roads! Specifically, characters dying. It's a lot more realistic that there are tragedies in a rebel-ridden world, especially with a dodgy spy about...
(EDIT 14TH MAY 2016: Guys, lol, many of you seem to be under the impression that I intend to massacre a whole bunch of the Selected. No! If I was going to kill a character it would a) be tasteful, and b) not be in vain (i.e., they wouldn't just get shot and die. It would mean something, or they would have sacrificed themself for a greater good). Having said that, I wouldn't want to kill off more than two characters, max. It would be like Celeste's death in The One, y'know? Relax. :P)
Thanks so much for your bursting enthusiasm! I'm so excited that you guys are excited; it makes me hyped to write, hahah. Chapter 4 within the next two weeks (announcement of the Selected! Namedrops and reactions ahoy!). My replies may be slow as I am travelling, but hopefully my posting schedule won't be disrupted. All reviews, favourites, and follows are, as always, appreciated.
~ GWA
PS I have finished The Crown, so if you want to chat about it with me, please do! But I'd ask that you refrain from posting spoilers in the reviews for those who haven't read it yet! Thank you!
