A/N: Finally. I'm replacing all my baby hyphens with eM dashes.
.:*:.
PRINCESS SERA
I'm in a foul mood today.
I don't know why, though. Like, with everything that's going on—a bunch of random girls in the palace, my realization that I'm actually terrible at gaming (and Seb's comment on how it took me so long to realize that fact), the cameras doubling in amount, the impending Report in which I'm expected to answer a bunch of nosy questions, and a certain French prince that keeps getting on my nerves—it's only natural that I feel out of my zone. But while all this always annoys me, I've never felt so... terrible about such topics before.
As for now, I'm currently wandering down the hallways with no particular destination in mind. I want to go outside and shove some fresh air in my nostrils, but the weather today is as cloudy as my mood.
I'm considering a trip to the kitchens, fantasizing about the new chocolate souffles the chefs promised to have ready, when I spot the perfect guy to take my frustration out on. It's none other than His Highness Crown Prince Maxime Gabriel de Sauvettere of France, who's strutting down the hallway with a bored look gracing his oh-so-royal features.
I snort, my heart pumping with glee at the very thought of being the one to wipe that smug look of the bastard's face.
"HEY!" I yell, sliding in front of Maxime and forcing him to stop in his tracks. To my indignation, he completely ignores me, pushing past with a disgusted look on his face.
I glare after him, weirdly offended—and before I know it, my hand shoots out to grab Maxime's arm. "Wait!" I call after him. "Uh, I don't know if you have the brain cells to remember, but I'm the one that called you a retard in the guest palace."
The French prince frowns ever so slightly, displaying his irritation. I inwardly grin. Success.
"By the way," I continue, "I'm not forgiving you for your actions towards Anna. Or rather, the lack thereof."
Again, Maxime moves to walk past, but I block him once more. "Uh uh, you're not escaping now."
The prince utters a rather creative word in French.
"Well, that wasn't so nice, was it?" I purr viciously, "You disappoint me, your highness."
He looks decidedly uncomfortable, but refuses to speak, further provoking me.
"You better be nice to Anna," I sing, "or you'll definitely regret it. Oh, definitely regret it you will." I stifle a laugh, instead choosing to emit a sinister giggle that I know will scratch at Maxime's tolerance.
And scratch it does.
Maxime glowers murderously. "I would like nothing more at this moment than to rip out that... generous mouth of yours."
"Yeah? Well, I would like nothing more at this moment than to pluck those smug hairy caterpillars you call eyebrows off your forehead."
"You're really getting under my skin," he seethes furiously.
I flip him the finger. "Well deal with it, b*tch."
The look he gives me is hilarious. Maxime is silent for a long moment, then he purses his lips and leaves. I glance after him, grinning widely.
When he's out of sight, I do a small victory dance, celebrating my... well, victory.
I'm about to leave when—out of the corner of my eye—I notice a camera floating not far away.
Sh*t.
Why hadn't I seen it sooner? I realize that Maxime would've already known about the presence of the camera, hence his refraining from his usual snide remarks.
I inwardly facepalm. Well, I'm done for.
...
Sure enough, two hours later I'm staring at the latest news.
CROWN PRINCE MAXIME OF FRANCE AND PRINCESS SERAPHINA OF ILLEA: WHAT IS THEIR RELATIONSHIP?
Today at 2:38 PM, the two Royals were seen in a brief moment of quarrel.
Below are two pictures - one of me giving Maxime the finger, and the other of me in the middle of my victory dance. I cringe when I see them. Mother is already going to slice off my tongue for yelling at Maxime, and now she will chop off my entire head as well!
Their confrontation was captured on camera, which led to quite an argument on what their relationship exactly is. Some theorize that the princess is hurt because of Prince Maxime's betrothal with her sister, Princess Annaliesa. They claim the princess has held a favoring for the French prince for some time—
Wait, what?
—and that the betrothal sent her into a state of distress. Others say the princess is disapproving of the prince's behavior toward her sister. Prince Maxime is known to be surly and quite dour—
Dour would be a bizarre understatement.
—and some have even described him as condescending. If that is the case, Princess Seraphina would possibly feel offended by his gruff actions directed at Princess Annaliesa. However, this is an unlikely theory, as many people believe the prince and princess have a loving relationship.
I scoff. What a weird choice of words.
Those who believe in the Royals' love allege that the prince's unfeeling manners are exactly why his betrothed fell in love with him—that, in fact, Princess Annaliesa is the only one the French prince is affectionate towards.
That's it. I shake my head and slam my screen down on the table. It's always baffled me how people came come up with the craziest theories and wild assumptions just by a quick glance into someone's life. I wish I could reveal the truth the next time I appear on screen, but that's never been allowed—it's considered rude and unmannerly for the princess of a nation to tell a couple of citizens that they're wrong. There's nothing I can do at this moment, other than pretend to be okay.
.:*:.
PRINCE ALEXANDER
The cool air of the hallway brushes across my skin. I walk along the hallway, not stopping until I reach the entrance to the family quarters. I slide the panel up, nimbly entering the lengthy passcode before the doors glide open with a small click.
Like expected, the main hall is completely empty at this time of day. I cross the circular room to the two sets of doors – one that leads to my parents' room, and one that leads to mine and my siblings'. I enter the latter, letting the sensor at the doors scan my ID card. Yet another hallway greets me, and I quickly walk over to the end, passing a few other rooms before I reach the T-shaped junction with multiple sets of doors lining it.
I stop in front of the doors with the gold letters PRINCE ALEXANDER gilded on the surface. Another panel is set into the wall next to the entrance. When I hold my card to the surface, the screen blinks and displays a keypad. I insert my passcode, then, when the doors slide open, finally enter my room.
Setting down my things on the desk, I'm planning to lie down on my bed and get a dose of well-needed sleep when I hear a faint rustling noise from outside. I narrow my eyes – I don't remember anyone saying they would take a break from their daily activities – but before I can figure out who it is, the doors leading out slide back closed.
I get up and leave my room again, walking out to the hallway just in time to spot the doors to Sera's room gliding shut.
Wondering what's going on, I lean over press my ID card to the panel. "Access requested," a mechanical voice speaks from within.
"Access denied," comes the reply.
I'm used to Sera's bouts of temper. I scan my card again.
"Access requested."
Almost immediately: "Access denied."
"Access requested."
A long moment of silence, then: "Access granted."
I grin, giving myself a mental pat on the back as the doors glide open. I poke my head in to see Sera—or rather, a lump in the blankets that is estimated to be Sera—on the bed at the far side of the room.
"What on Earth are you doing? You'll smother yourself to death," I tease.
No answer.
"Hello? Since my little sister is apparently not here, may I ask what the Sera-shaped lump on the bed is?"
Again, silence.
"Sera?" I quietly call. "You asleep?"
"...Yes."
I smile and shake my head. "Make sure to wake up before dinner."
She loudly snores in reply, effectively shooing me away.
...
.:*:.
CORDELIA
Dinner is a disaster.
Several girls haven't arrived yet. We've sat down at the dinner table, each of us in carefully prepared dresses. We've greeted the royal family and exchanged small talk as the remaining girls appear, one by one, and do the same.
Eira arrives, followed by Julianne. Piper also comes in a few moments later, in a stunning blue gown and heels. Savannah and Elizabeth walk in together, both with slightly apprehensive looks on their faces.
Then comes Grayson.
And Kaitlyn.
And Star.
Now, most of the attendees have arrived, with the exception of only two: Veronica Irene Sonnenfeld...
...and Prince Sebastian Schreave.
When minutes tick by, the chatter dwindles, replaced by an awkward silence. Veronica is known for being "fashionably late" to many events, and so is the prince—but neither of them have been this late to an evening meal.
As time passes, even I start to feel slightly apprehensive.
The King and Queen exchange worried glances. The French crown prince, who has dinner with us most days of the week, shakes his head and sighs, obviously irritating the Royals. Normally, it isn't considered proper etiquette to have your screen up on the dinner table, but Queen Genevieve pulls out a screen and quickly types in a message. Soon after, a guard arrives, the queen giving a command in a low voice. The guard nods and leaves, swiftly.
Not a minute has passed since his leave when the tense silence is broken.
"Psst," says a voice.
Heads turn. I narrow my eyes and tilt my head, seeing others do the same.
The voice came from above... somewhere near the ceiling...
"Y'all. Up here."
Gasps of shock pass through the hall. We look up to see none other than Prince Sebastian hanging off the ceiling by nothing but a rope and a single hand. In his other hand is a glass of wine, which he's sipping leisurely. He's dangling precariously, but when I squint up, I can see that his expression cannot get more relaxed or confident.
"Son," the King says in a low, dangerous voice, "I order you to come down this very instant."
"Huh? I can't hear you!" his son replies, keeping his voice low as to keep from being noticed by the cameras.
"COME DOWN THIS VERY INSTANT!" Princess Seraphina yells frantically, "What on Earth do you even think you're doing?!"
"...Hanging off the ceiling?"
"Sebastian," the Queen replies smoothly, "Come down."
"Too late." The prince grins as the guard walks back into the room, escorting a woman by his side.
Once again, Veronica Sonnenfeld's maids have managed to outdo themselves. She's wearing a gorgeous champagne dress with a plunging neckline, paired with gold accessories and golden heels. She steps onto the carpet leading to the table—walking as though on a catwalk—and slightly bows, pinching the sides of her dress in lieu of a curtsy. The King and Queen seem skeptical, but they too lightly incline their heads in response.
Veronica hasn't seemed to notice the prince hanging off the ceiling yet. I wonder what her reaction will be when she does.
"Lady Veronica," the queen begins, "Thank you for coming. May I ask the cause of your extended delay?"
"Yes, your majesty," Veronica murmurs, "I... had already ordered my dress for the evening meal, but when I received the dress this morning, it had been a... strange khaki color that's nothing close to the scarlet I ordered. As you can see, I had it ordered again..." she trails off, her eyes flitting to her own dress.
Queen Genevieve gives Veronica a slight nod. "I understand your distress, Lady Veronica. Henceforth, I recommend an inspection of your prepared attire before the day of any event."
Veronica beams brightly. "Yes, thank you, your majes—"
Suddenly, a shower of red liquid falls from the sky and splatters all over Veronica. Multiple girls scream at once, and Veronica loses her balance—she'd have banged her head on the floor if it weren't for the quick reflexes of the guard behind her.
Immediately, the room erupts in chaotic frenzy. The cameras, previously lying on the tables and floors, fly up and shoot around the scene, their rotor blades whizzing in the unexpected burst of action.
"AHHHHHHHH!" Veronica's shrill scream pierces the air as yet another drizzle of liquid is poured down her dress, drenching the fabric... splattered on her shoes... and her face... and her hair... everywhere.
King Maximus has already stood up, his glare fixated at the ceiling. Princess Seraphina has jumped up too, along with her siblings... but while Prince Alexander is shouting something up to his elder brother, the blonde princess is grinning maniacally, the look on her face indicating that she's trying her best not to laugh.
Funnily enough, Prince Maxime of France isn't even showing the slightest bit of alarm; instead, he's crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the scene with his expression conveying bored irritation.
Several girls have stood up as well. Some rush over to help Veronica, others dash for the doors leading out of the hall, and most simply stand still and stare. I've also stood up, narrowing my eyes at the situation in front of me and trying to determine if any action is needed.
It seems like things are pretty much under control. Prince Sebastian has already slid down the rope, hidden his (now empty) glass, and strode over to pretend to help an unsuspecting Veronica. The rest of the girls are being reassured, and the ones that fled are being escorted back. I slowly sit back down in my seat, trying to gather my thoughts and get a grasp of what just happened.
When, at last, the mess is taken care of, we all shakily sit in our seats, trying to ignore the two maids wrestling with the bold red stain on the carpeted floor. Prince Alexander comforts an upset Veronica as she glowers at the ceiling.
"I—I just—I simply cannot—Whoever dared to do such a thing—" Veronica pauses, looking as though she would like to shriek her head off, but she takes a shuddery breath and seems to calm herself. "I just don't understand, your highness," she whispers, and her enticing eyes water with tears. As her gaze flits down to her ruined dress, droplets of shimmering liquid gather on her lush eyelashes.
The guard standing behind her seems to be following her every move, beguiled by her elegant yet so heartrending behavior. He seems to be sympathizing with her feelings, wanting to protect her and solve her problems for her. Hell, even I want to protect her. It's like a natural instinct that wells up whenever you see Veronica crying.
I'm actually more interested in Prince Alexander's reaction to this rather than Veronica herself. The prince seems to be at a loss for words—and not in the Oh my goodness how can a human being be so beautiful kinda way, but in a lost, hopeless, I don't know how to deal with this situation and it's freaking me out kinda way.
I'm used to seeing the prince look so confident in his own skin that this scene just makes me want to crack up. I guess even the great prince of a country, one who's trained to become King and has even blocked off several battles, is helpless when it comes to crying girls.
It's honestly really cute.
...
.:*:.
PRINCE ALEXANDER
"Sebastian," Father raises his voice furiously, "Can you kindly explain WHAT ON EARTH HAPPENED BACK THERE?!"
Seb doesn't even flinch. "I poured my wine on a member of the Selected."
"And why did you choose to do such a thing?"
"Oh, you wouldn't be interested in the reason for it."
"SEBASTIAN!"
"Okay, okay, I needed to prove a theory of mine."
"Excuse me?"
"A theory! I was trying to prove it."
Father growls, "You're dismissed."
"Wait, what?"
He ignores him and turns to his desk, going back to the paperwork. Seb stares at him for a moment, then shrugs and turns away. "If you say so."
He brushes past me on his way back, not stopping to acknowledge my presence.
When he's gone, Father speaks up again. "Son."
"Yes?"
"What has gone wrong with your brother? Your mother and I thought we raised you equally... Is that not the case?"
I look at Father. "Why did you call for me? To witness you shouting at Seb? Or to listen to your endless complaints about my brother?"
"Alex." Father sighs. I haven't noticed how tired he looks these days. "The Rebellion is growing stronger by the second."
I stand still. I meet my father's eyes, and try not to notice the dark circles gathering under them.
"...How long?"
Father is silent for a moment.
"Not much."
I feel the darkness crush my heart, a heaviness I've rarely experienced before. When I find my voice again, it's quiet and raspy.
"I'm prepared to take the blow."
"So am I... and your mother... and hopefully the rest of your siblings. But that is not the question." He stops to take a shaky breath.
I inhale sharply. There's no need to say it aloud and give it a voice—we both know the real question is, is the Selection ready to take it?
Are the citizens?
And the media?
What would they sacrifice to avoid the unavoidable?
Escape the inescapable?
What could they sacrifice, really?
"You know, Father, I'm willing to forfeit the Selection to—"
"No." Father's voice is weary, but resolute. "We've already talked about this, son. You simply cannot sacrifice the future of a nation to save the present."
"But if the present doesn't survive... what becomes of the future?"
"That is not a question with an answer."
"Father."
"I know, son. I know."
There is no harsher, crueler emotion than one that comes of knowing and waiting for your own doomed fate. I resist the urge to unleash a bomb in the palace and simply leave this world before I'm forced to face the inevitable.
"Father," I croak, "how will we endure this disaster?"
"...The single option is to go with what comes."
"And the Selection? What of the twenty girls that remain here in the palace? Their families? We can't take such a big risk for the sake of an unknown future, Father, you know it."
"Then what do you propose we do?" Father retaliates, "What is your solution? Give me a plausible alternative, if you wish to change the measures."
For the first time in months, I'm at a loss for words. Father eyes me tiredly, then exhales and picks up a sheet of paper.
"On a brighter note," he begins, "there will be an event held four days from now."
"Horseback riding," I reply, "The plans were given to me a few days ago."
"Yesterday, I received a message informing that you intended to go horseback riding with Lady Piper Lockwood for your date tomorrow?"
"Yes. She suggested that we do soㅡI've gathered that she is quite fond of the activity. However, I hadn't yet known of the planned event. Will the repeat of events be a problem?"
Father slowly shakes his head. "I do not believe so."
I nod. "Then we will proceed as planned."
Father agrees, then continues, "Several days later, at the start of summer, we will hold another event at the beachㅡ"
"Here in Anveires? Are you talking about the artificial one?"
"No, we will be traveling to Tanmer for the event."
Makes sense. They have the largest, most luxurious beaches in all of Illéa.
"The travel will take about a week or two."
I raise an eyebrow. "It can't get longer than a two-hour flight, if I know correctly."
"For this event, we will be traveling on carriage. Stopping at various other locations, as well."
"They're hardly even used anymore."
Father shrugs. "We plan on giving the Selected the best palace experience."
Which also makes sense. I give my father a single nod of agreement.
"Can't wait."