Prince Rainier

I wish I could have just pulled that orchid bush up by the roots and thrown it over the cliff into the sea, watched the clear blue water swallow it deep. But Father won't hear of it, he's grown too fond of it, wondering why we never had an orchid bush here to begin with and now every morning when I look out my window that's the first thing I see. I can't stand it. I have my window covered one day and I don't take that cover off.

But in a way, having the cover on is only making it worse because now I look at that blocked up window and I remember why it's covered and the impact hits me hard. Leaving my room isn't an easy task, though. Too many people out and about and I'm not interested in talking to anyone. Just the girls. They're still here, still magical, but recent events have made them sort of lackluster.

"I don't see why you don't just pull down that cover," says Vivian, sitting up groggily and rubbing her eyes. "Get some sunlight in here in the mornings—it's so depressing." She wraps her arms around my waist, hugging tightly. "You should eat something," she says. "You're dropping weight."

"Don't talk," I say.

I hate the sound of her voice. It was one of many things that have been off in my life. Vivian's voice is too high, nothing like hers. But you have to compromise somewhere, don't you? She's the closest match to her that I've found so far. Same hair, same skin type, same height, roughly the same features.

"Alright then," she says. "What shall I do?"

"Go back to bed," I say. "I'll be there soon."

She clicks her tongue irately, but she obeys. I'm left again by the window, and I know I'll do it again, what I always do. I pull the cover back just a peek and try to keep my eyes trained on the water just ahead of the grounds, but my eyes catch a flash of that horrid bush right before they land on the water.

Look at that water, Rainier. Look at that clear blue mass of nothing. I can smell it from here, I can feel the breeze it brings. Don't drag your eyes back to that bush down below. Though my eyes betray me and trace the outline of that awful flower in the moonlight and I have to pull the cover back into place so I don't do something stupid, but I can already feel my chest clenching. I sink to the floor and huddle my knees to my chest, burying my face in my arms and taking deep breaths. It's surprisingly effective.

I used to be so excited to wake up and look at that fucking bush. Now it's just sucking the life out of me. How easy life was before when I could just pop open my window and smile at the world and breathe in that salty sea air. Clear blue waters, sunny skies, breezes and the giggles of a nightly companion or two. When did it get so complicated?

It turns out that love hurts. It hurts more than it did the two times before. Father had been right—it's dark down here in this deep, bottomless abyss. Except it doesn't feel bottomless. It feels like I've hit the bottom and it's so dark I can't see my hands in front of me.

She might be a beauty and she might be a phantom and she might be the most ethereal puzzle I've ever seen but she's a still a terrible fool of a person. To think that all this time the only thing that was barring me from her was her own reservation. She'd walk away from me—from us and from the prospects I represent—for a life of spinsterhood in that big marble house to watch her stepfamily roll in the mud and bark for her amusement? What about that makes sense?

But why am I surprised? Nothing about her ever made any sense to me. I suppose that was why I was so enraptured by her. I mean—think, Rainier. You've loved women your whole life…why? Because of their air, of their life, of their natural glow and their laughs and their sweetness and their joy and their charm. That's what drew you in to her—the fact that she had none of those. She had no such life, nor such a glow, nor a laugh or sweetness or joy or charm. She is the opposite of what you love about those fantastical creatures and you should have been repulsed by her but all you can do whenever you're around her is drink her in because those fantastical, magical creatures are so free and happy and pure and she's so not. She's a caged, wounded bird. There's no joy in her, no love and no glow and no light. She's a disaster. She rolled into your life with the force of a tempest and left nothing but destruction in her wake.

You should have stepped back that day. You should have stepped back and walked away and maybe then you could have kept your peace. Now you're stuck here in this deep, dark hole and the world around you is still spinning but it doesn't feel like you'll ever move along with it again. Because the sad truth is that this love of yours is toxic, poisonous, noxious, lethal, venomous, mephitic and that monster is dangerous, hazardous, perilous, menacing, treacherous, malicious and you were too innocent, naïve, immature, infantile, juvenile, unripe to see that it was going to consume you—that she would consume you, leave you bitter and empty and heavy and sore wondering if you'll ever be able to pull back this cover and let in the sunshine again.

So close your eyes and dream until then, Rainier. Dream of clear blue waters, of sunny skies, of a high tide that brought her to your door once before. Think of the days that you loved her, not the moment you lost her—the moment you realized that you never had her. Because the moment you lost her is too gray, and the moment you realized you never had her is too black, but the days that you loved her were bright and clear and they could be your strength down here in this hole. Think of rosy cheeks and diamond eyes and the ever present, delicately fluttering life in her voice. Remember her as she was, not as what she's become.

Though it won't be easy. Because I can still see it when I close my eyes. I can still see a battered face, bleeding hands, bruises and cuts and no forgiveness. Though I suppose if I think on it—if only for a moment—I would not have forgiven it so easily either.

It's that moment—just that one moment that I think on it—that makes it all clear to me.

How many times has she been beaten like that in her life? How much more than just beatings has she taken? I know what they took—her joy and her youth and her hope and her worth—she said it herself. But did I really understand that? Or did I just hear it?

Her very soul lingers there in that house somewhere, waiting to be found. Those were her words. And then it seems to click in my mind.

I can't give her back her joy. I can't give her back the years they've taken from her. I can't give her back her hope and her innocence and her happiness. Because I'm not the one who lost it in the first place, and these are things that a crown just can't give you. It's hard and it hurts, but nothing she does or the way that she does it is ever easy or simple, so why should this be any different?

And if she's wanted that house for so long, and she's wanted to be an Allendale for so long, then why would she ever give it up to be with me?

I lift my head and look up, peering into the dark. There's some distant sense kicking in, old words I'd heard not too long ago and had been too stupid to pay attention to them.

'For some girls out there—a very rare few—being a prince isn't good enough.'

I can't just be a prince. Because she doesn't want that. To be honest with myself, I'm not entirely sure what it is that she wants. But I do know that whatever it is, it's not me as I am now. I think back to that day at Royce Manor, with the grand golden carriage and the king as a witness to a suitor and the piles of diamonds and gold I had sent to the apartments I planned to be hers. How stupid I was to think that would sway her. It was probably God's way of punishment—for only turning to ask in such a haughty way.

I turn back to the cover, pull it away, and look out at the pale moon.

"I'm not as persuasive as I thought I was," I say into the night. "And it turns out I'm not as tempting as I thought I was, either. It turns out that I'm a lot of things I didn't know I was—most of them not very good. I don't know what it is that she wants, but…I can only ask that maybe I can be something she'll consider. That perhaps You can help me to understand her, or help me to change her mind….Amen."

I can't help but laugh at Father's words. He knew. I was bound for failure and he knew it before I did. He knew her before I did.

"Aren't you coming to bed, my prince?" Vivian's voice cuts through the darkness. I had forgotten she was even here.

"No," I say. "I have to go."

It's clear to me now, what I have to do. Some ray of clarity pierces through the dark as I realize that what I loved about women that she never had—that lack of any sort of life or magic—makes her feel more alive and magical to me than any of them ever could have.