CHAPTER 20

Friday, the 13th of December

Henri Pemberton, Viscount Enfield

"Again?" I ask the guard who had come to get me this morning. No offense to him and I know it's not his fault seeing as he has to answer to the Queen, but I would have thought that I would have been able to sleep in on my birthday, not be dragged to the Queen's office at the crack of dawn.

"Her Majesty requires your presence," the guard replies woodenly, not giving me much of an answer.

What else could I expect?

"Do you know what it's about?" I ask. Maybe it's some sort of surprise birthday party or something along those lines, not something to further my humiliation in still being at the palace.

I'm being ridiculous. Of course it's not for my birthday. I know better than that. I doubt the Queen is even aware that it's my birthday if she was then she probably would have decided that this thing, whatever it was, could wait till tomorrow. Say what you will about her but I know that she wouldn't want to purposefully try and ruin my day.

"Her Majesty will inform you," the guard says, leading me down the hall. I follow him, trying to make my footsteps light. I wouldn't want to wake anyone up so early in the morning. It wouldn't be fair to them.

Instead of taking me to her office however, the guard steers me towards the report studio in the first sub-level of the basement. Oh. Maybe I was overreacting, letting my imagination get the best of me. I know Tex had to do interviews for his birthday, this was probably just something like that.

All that worry for nothing. I knew I was being ridiculous. I guess I should learn to trust myself more.

Still though, when I enter the report studio the perky blond host is noticeably missing. More than that, the Queen is sitting in a chair, looking far more put together at the early hour then I felt. Sable is standing towards the side, looking over some papers. There was only one camera man in the room, and a woman wearing a smock who had her hair tied back.

Maybe this wasn't a birthday special

"Perfect," the Queen says, looking towards me. "Thank you Taylor," she says dismissively. The guard turns and bows, leaving me in the room. I feel a momentary rush of discomfort at the sparse setting, clearly whatever it was that this was, it was meant for very few people to hear.

I don't think I like being one the few who are privy to be able to hear.

"Now then, Henri, sit down and I'll explain to you what's going to happen," the Queen motions to the seat next to her, the one in front of the mirror where a large collection of makeup products and brushes are placed.

"What do you mean?" I ask quietly.

"I hoped that we could resolve this matter without involving you," the Queen starts, looking a bit sad. "It doesn't seem that your family is being that amicable to our attempt to talk to them though. So, we're going to try another strategy to get their attention."

I pause, considering her words, "What do you mean, another strategy?"

The Queen looks down for a second before answering me, "I want you to know that this was the best alternative I could come up with, and I think it would be in both of our best interests for you to comply."

That doesn't sound positive in the slightest. Both of our best interests? I've lived in this world long enough to know when someone says that, you don't have much choice in the matter. I don't have any choice in the matter, I hadn't had a choice in anything for the past few weeks. I've had my cellphone and laptop taken from me, I've been forced to attend interrogation sessions with Sable, and the cherry on top was that I've had to sit there and keep my worries to myself, because Carrie is in the middle of a selection where she's kissing other guys.

Maybe I am a little bit angry.

And, I feel justified in it. That's what scares me. I know well enough that even justified anger never leads to any good results.

"Comply with what?" I ask smally. I'm sure my voice sounds nothing like what anyone expects of me, embarrassing really.

The Queen takes a deep breath before answering me, gesturing to the woman in the smock, "This is Gianna, a very talented make-up artist, from...what was it, Northern Angeles?"

Gianna nods quickly, "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Gianna is going to be doing your make-up today," the Queen says, causing me to furrow my brow. How is doing my make-up supposed to prompt my family into calling off whatever it is that has the Queen so worried. Of course, I wasn't allowed to hear the details of what happened, besides from a vague outline of a tradeship.

"I'm sorry, but, how exactly is that going to help? No offense, but I don't think my cousin is going to particularly care about eyeshadow."

"Yes, well, hopefully, they will believe that it's real."

"I don't get it." I state bluntly.

"Henri, though I hate to overgeneralize things, you would be considered a bargaining chip in this treaty. We both know that, despite what you may think, your safety is high on the list of your family's priorities. If they believe that it is threatened, then they will react in the only way logical," she explains, her voice cool and emotionless.

Though the reasoning behind her plan sounds solid, I can't help but feel as if I'm being...I don't know...exploited. No one wants to hear that their life has been whittled down to the value in negotiations.

"Oh," I say quietly, not sure what to tell the Queen in response.

Luckily though, she doesn't seem to be looking for much in the way of an answer. "Yes, I wouldn't worry too much about it. We should be done within the next few hours. In time for the party my daughter has planned for you."

"Party?" I ask questioningly. I'm sure she means it to be a good thing, but somehow the Queen knowing it was my birthday and still forcing me to do this does little to settle my nerves.

"Yes, well, I believe it was supposed to be a surprise," she laughs lightly to herself, "I'm sure we can keep this between us then, and you'll do her the favor of pretending?"

I don't have much choice in the matter, not that I have a lot of choices in anything nowadays, so I only have one answer to give, "Of course." That's nice of Carrie, though I can't help feeling annoyed at her blatant favoritism. I don't feel like having Tex complaining about why I got a party and he didn't, or any of the other guys' whose birthdays are bound to roll around over the course of the selection. It's almost as if she completely misses the point that the public isn't supposed to know that the whole thing was rigged, though I was more worried about my fellow selected rather than the media's reaction.

"Close your eyes, please, Your Highness" Gianna tells me, opening a palette of something I don't know what it's called.

I cringe at the feelings of the wet makeup brush against my cheek. It's an unpleasant sensation to say the very least, and though I'm sure Gianna is very talented, I can't imagine anyone actually liking to have this applied to their face.

"I swear, my new intern is a moron," the Queen comments. I'm not sure if it was directed at me, but since Sable is all the way across the room, she must have meant it for me to answer.

"I'm sorry."

"You know we do a college internship program, right?" she asks.

"Yeah, I've heard about it. Some kids from my school apply every year. I think it went to a boy from Kent this year, right?" I had never applied for it, political science wasn't my major, but plenty of students from Stanford made themselves crazy over the opportunity. I had personally witnessed a girl crying when she found out that she had been rejected...2 years in a row.

"Yes, Tyler or whatever his name is. He'll be gone in January, thank God."

"That's good."

"So, tell me," the Queens says, and though my eyes are closed I imagine that she's propping herself up on her elbow, "How is your new laptop working? You can access your email accounts right?"

"Yeah, I can use it to submit my work if that's what you're wondering," I answer.

"That's good. I was worried something might have gone wrong in the process, technology can be a fickle thing, or so I'm told."

The Queen attempts to make conversation with me as Gianna does whatever it is that she's doing to my face. It's uncomfortable, and by the time Gianna starts to use some pencil-like thing, my cheek feels like it's burning. I don't say anything though, not even to whine or complain at my situation. I'm sure she would pretend to be sympathetic, but I doubt the Queen would really do anything to address my discomfort. She might like to pretend otherwise, but it's rather clear that she doesn't care much about how I feel.

"You've got to be kidding me, Farrah," comes a loud voice, that I believe belongs to Prince Lucas. Makes sense, he's the only one I can think of who would address the Queen that way.

"You're late," she admonishes, fully ignoring him.

Prince Lucas seems to disregard her comment, "If I had known you were doing...whatever this is, I would have made sure to be on time."

"Luke," the Queen starts, "You're being ridiculous. I specifically told you what was happening." Of course she's skirting around the fact that, oh I don't know, she decided to apply fake bruises to my face in an attempt to trick my family into thinking that I was hurt. Yeah, I could see why she wouldn't want to say that out loud. I doubt she even admitted it to herself.

"No you didn't. You said we were going to work on the message to England."

"And we are, I'm sorry you're too daft to read in between the lines," the Queen replies smoothly.

"This is not…" Prince Lucas doesn't seem to finish his sentence, his footsteps echoing around the room, "It looks realistic, I'll give you that," he finally says. I open my eyes, tired of being in the dark, besides, from the sound of it, Gianna must have finished or at least come close enough.

"Hey, Henri," he starts, "Have you ever had anything like this on your face before?" he asks, his question startling me.

"No."

"I think you might be having an allergic reaction," he says lightly,

Great. As if my Birthday couldn't get off to a worse start. "Probably," I concede, "My cheek feels like it's burning."

"Maybe you should see the doctor after we're done here. Just to be safe," the Prince suggests.

Under normal circumstances, I would take him up on his offer, but not today. I already spent the first part of my day getting fake bruises applied to my face, I'm not about to go have the palace doctor examine me next, while the rest of the selected work on a 'surprise' birthday party.

"I'm sure it's fine," I say, waving his concerns away.

"Just leave it Luke," the Queen says, also standing up. "Come Henri, you're done. We can just get the pictures taken and then finally have breakfast."

"What does Max say about all this?" Prince Lucas asks, watching me.

"He doesn't know. I'll tell him later," the Queen replies quickly.

"And Carrie?"

"Nothing as far as I know," the Queen says, looking annoyed. Huh. Who would have thought that this is where Her Majesty decided to cross the line on what was public knowledge. She told her brother but not her husband. Personally, it seemed like a bad idea to me, but I'm not the one in charge of a country, so I can't judge. Maybe it's different when you're a ruler, let alone married.

Besides, I'm just some kid. What do I know?

It's, simply put, weird to have cameramen take pictures of me in this context. I'm used to having paparazzi snap photos -though, I don't particularly enjoy it- and having to pose for official pictures with my family that would be released to the public. This is just different. I guess it's some bizarre form of modeling, where instead of trying to sell a product I'm trying to convince my family I'm in pain.

The only pain I feel is the burning on my cheek and an ever growing annoyance at having to spend my birthday this way.

Once we finish, and Gianna uses some form of makeup remover while I try not to look in the mirror (I don't want to see what I look like), Prince Lucas approaches me as I go to leave.

"Here, this is from Garnet, he wanted me to give this to you because he was in school today," he says, handing me a brightly wrapped package.

"Thank you," I say, finally smiling for the first time today.

"Happy birthday. I know it got off to a rough start but…." Prince Lucas' voice trails off, "Well, you don't turn 21 everyday, now do you?"

"I guess I don't."

With the surprise part of my surprise birthday party ruined by Carrie's mother, I know what to expect when apparently Miss Van Der Witts needs everyone' presence in the dining room. It's a good cover up though. If I hadn't been clued in this morning I would just have assumed that someone had forgotten my birthday.

Nice to know that it wasn't the case.

"Henri, there you are." Divesh says, running to meet me. "You're okay?" he asks, though it sounds mostly like he's speaking to himself.

"Yeah...what do you mean?"

"Nothing..just..uh...your cheek looks kinda red," Divesh stammers out. Oh, that. The swelling had mostly gone down, but I guess it was still noticeable.

"Yeah, I had an allergic reaction earlier. I think it was something at breakfast." I say vaguely.

"Oka. If you say you're fine…" Divesh's voice trails off. "Lady Van Der Witts says that we're having class in the ballroom today. Apparently it was a last minute switch. Something to do with the New Year's Eve ball, probably."

"Maybe." I'll give him that, it was a pretty convincing lie. Maybe Divesh should go into the national security bureau, given his obvious talent for it. He could be the next Sable Reddlyn.

On second thought, maybe not. I don't think the world needs any more Sable Reddlyns.

I assume that someone had sent Divesh here to stall me, seeing as he's making his footsteps as small as humanly possible. "Are you waiting for something?" I ask bluntly. I doubt Divesh is going to break his story, but he's walking really slow. I don't want to put him in an awkward position, he probably didn't volunteer for this. It's just getting annoying.

"No...I was just looking at the painting," Divesh says, gesturing towards the picture to our right. I swear, sometimes it's like this palace is made out of nothing but paintings, paintings, and more paintings. "Anyway, let's go. I think Lady Van Der Witts will actually kill us if we're late."

"I don't think she'd go that far, but she would definitely maim us." I answer, laughing.

"Oh, definitely."

The doors to the ballroom or shut firmly, probably to hide whatever the staff had set up for the party. Even though it was technically Carrie's party, I would be willing to bet a hefty amount of money that she had no part in actually organizing the tables or decorating the room. She considered those things to be too...pedestrian for her to help with. Which, now that I stop to think about it, isn't exactly the nicest thing to say. It's not like moving furniture is so far beneath her that she can't even help with something that she created in the first place.

Or maybe she did help and I'm just overthinking things.

It's probably better for me not to know. I won't ask any questions and I can go about enjoying the party in blissful denial.

Divesh pushes the door open, the room is as dark as it can get during the middle of the day. Which isn't all that dark considering the ridiculous amount of windows that line two sides of the room, emptying onto a balcony. Before I have time to register what was set up in the room, the light's flick on and a chorus of voices yell "Surprise," with varying degrees of enthusiasm

Tex, of course, is on the lower end of the spectrum, looking jealous. I guess I would be if I was in his position. He got to go out for dinner for his birthday, I got a whole party for mine. Not exactly the fairest trade in the world, but I didn't make the rules. Despite that, I don't think Tex is going to blame Carrie when it comes to him not getting a party.

On the other end, Nyson is clapping his hands together, looking pleased with himself. Bas is standing next to him, clapping him on the back. They both seem genuinely happy that they're here, but maybe something to do with it is that neither of their birthdays are anywhere close to December.

Carrie pushes forward, holding a shiny gift bag. The second present I got today. And probably the last too, as I really don't think that the Queen wouldn't let any gifts from my parents through security. Assuming they even thought to send any, which was highly doubtful.

"Happy birthday!" She squeals, pushing the bag into my hands.

"Thanks," I say smiling, "Thanks everyone! This is really something."

Something was probably not the best word to describe it, but I couldn't think of anything else. Given the short time frame, they had done a great job. There were a few tables lining one wall, holding snacks, a large cake, and glass flutes of champagne, since now, I was officially old enough to drink in Illéa. Not exactly the 21st birthdays that some of my friends had in college, since this one involved actual plates -not those paper ones- and cutlery, but it was better this way. I never did like having to use plastic forks and spoons.

"Come on, you have to blow out your candles," she says, pulling my arm over to the cake I had noticed earlier. It had white frosting with small dots placed around it, and Happy Birthday Henri! written on it in dark blue.

A butler brings out a lighter, and lights all 21 of the candles. It was a miracle that the palace didn't burn down considering the sheer amount of fire on my cake.

"Happy Birthday to you…" everyone sings, some still looking happy others looking like they would rather be force fed cabbage. Tex was definitely part of the cabbage group, and Nishav, despite trying to put in effort, simply looked bored.

"I didn't know you were only 20," Nishav says to me later, as well all eat our cake. Turns out that it was chocolate ice cream with a vanilla cake base under it. I should probably write a note to the palace chefs letter thanking them for making me a cake, since I doubted anyone else was going to do it.

"Well, I'm 21 now. Hence the cake." I answer, looking towards him. "How old did you think I was?"

Nishav looks unbothered as he considers this, "I'm not sure, definitely above the drinking age."

"How old do you think I am?" Carrie pipes up, picking at her piece of cake.

"I know how old you are, Princess." Nisjhav replies, his annoyance barely contained. At least he put in some effort to conceal it.

"Okay and…?"

"You're 21 as well." Nishav finally concedes.

"How about me?" Divesh volunteers.

"I have to say, I was surprised to see that you were almost 22, I would have pegged you as around 18 or 19." Nishav states bluntly. Oh, I actually didn't know how old Divesh was. I had flicked through the articles on some of the other selected a bit in the week before I was supposed to go to the palace, but I never had gone so in depth besides a basic knowledge of some of their names.

"I get that a lot," Divesh concedes, looking unbothered.

"Wait, you're 22?" Carrie asks. "Nishav's right, you don't look it."

Nishav didn't look particularly satisfied with being told that he was right, something that I found surprising. I guess he gets told it a lot, whether by Mr. Brooms or whoever else he has to report to when he's not in the selection. It probably gets tiring after a while. In the way that someone can get sick of always winning. Not that I would know anything about that.

"Yeah...I don't know. Genetics I guess."

"Shouldn't you know the most about genetics, Mr. I-go-to-med-school?" Carrie asks.

"Biology was a fun time," I interject. "I think I almost failed my genetics test when we did that unit. I always liked math better"

"I..I uh, still don't really have it memorized, but it makes sense to me, you know?" Divesh asks, seeming somewhat embarrassed by the revelation.

"No." Carrie says, finally stating what we were all thinking but too nice to say, "Maybe you should talk to my dad about it though. He was going to be a doctor before he married my mom."

"I don't think he'll be interested in what I have to say. I'm sure he's a very busy man," Divesh says quickly, fidgeting with his fingers.

"You never know. My dad likes hearing about things like this for some weird reason," Carrie says, sipping for a glass of champagne. "Maybe he'll want to know about your little gene things."

"I don't know, maybe." Divesh says, shrugging. He looks scared at the prospect, but I have the feeling that he'll take Carrie up on her offer. After all, having the Prince Consort help you with your science homework is something you can brag about for a very long time. Divesh doesn't exactly strike me as a flaunter, but still. Who in their right mind would turn down the opportunity?

"What about you," I ask Nishav, since Divesh is starting to resemble a wounded puppy, and it's actually quite sad, "You graduated right?"

"Yes. I'm taking a year to look at graduate schools," Nishav tells us. "Though I haven't been able to do much with the selection taking up most of my time."

"I apologize this is cutting into your busy schedule," Carrie deadpans. "Can't you even pretend to be happy that you're in the palace?" Oh. This seemed like something she had been thinking about for a while. Carrie wasn't one for confrontation, and for her to finally say it, she must truly have some pent up anger over Nishav

"I am happy, I'm sorry if it's not coming off that way." Nishav says, in what might be the most passive-aggressive apology I've ever heard - and I was raised around politicians.

"Whatever. Let's go play ring toss." Carrie decides, leading our small group over to the booth manned by a woman in the maid's uniform.

"I love carnival games," Divesh volunteers. "I'm not not very good at them though."

"Don't worry," Carrie tells him, literally waving away his concerns, "This one's really easy. It wouldn't work if everyone left the party miserable now would it?"

"I guess not."

"Henri, you go first. It's your birthday." Carrie says, handing Ke a small bucket of rings. "5 dollars you won't make it."

"I'm not taking that bet." I tell her. Sure enough, all of my rings miss, just as I knew they would. Even the palace's modified version is too hard for me. Not exactly my proudest moment, especially considering the half the room was watching me. Divesh managed to get one of his rings to land, and Nishav didn't even bother to try, simply shaking his head when his turn came around.

"I like that game," Divesh says, grinning.

"So, did you have a nice birthday?" Carrie asks, standing in my room a few hours later.

"Definitely one of my better ones. Though I don't think anything will truly top the magician my parents hired for my 4th birthday."

"Oh please, you don't even remember that!"

"I have a very good memory." I answer her, looking at the gift card that Garnet had given me. I didn't know what I was supposed to use it on, but I guess that's a problem for later. It was nice of him, even though I can make out the words Merry Christmas on the top, though it had been colored over with a dark pen

Carrie is silent for a moment then she turns to face me, "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"Car...It's complicated, alright?" I say, not wanting to get into this discussion on my birthday of all days. Maybe I am mad at her, well, at her family more aptly, but I knew it was somewhat irrational. I shouldn't blame ethem, but I do, and I don't really know how to get around that.

"No. I know I haven't asked you about it, but I don't like all this stuff."

"What stuff?" I ask, knowing that she's skirting around the question.

"Ugh, you know. The other parts of being Queen. I can handle budget reports and food assistance programs, but actually having to like...I don't know… see my decisions be carried out I guess."

"You mean decisions that hurt people?" I ask.

"Yeah that stuff. Okay, so, I'm sorry," Carrie finally admits. Knowing that Carrie never apologizes, it was nice of her to try, as insincere as it might have come off.

"You should have said that a while ago." I tell her.

"I know, I know. I'm really bad when it comes to apologizing." Carrie says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I should have told you instead of my mom, but I didn't. So I guess I'm telling you now. Anyway, I'm sorry that you couldn't talk to your parents today. And about the presents. Actually, I'm sorry about a lot of things."

I don't point out that if Carrie really was sorry that I'm sure her phone isn't restricted with the numbers that she could call. She could have called my mother for me.

But she didn't offer.

So that's that.

"It's fine." I say, shaking my head, "Let's not talk about this."

"You're right," Carrie says, coming closer to me, "Talking is overrated anyway."

With that she pushes her lips against mine. I wrap one arm around her waist, the other behind her head. I know that a few days ago she was in this same position with Tex, and that she didn't tell me about it. And that she probably kissed other guys, ones who had enough humility not to say anything in front of the group. I try not to think about it, focusing instead on the girl in my arms.

Carrie pushes her hands under my shirt, lifting it up. Her hands feel soft on my skin, she's a princess after all. I'm sure Jenna spends hours every week with moisturizers, making sure that they're perfect.

"You want to do this?" I murmur, pulling away for a second.

"Of course I do."

A/N: Hello everyone. I know it's been awhile since the last update, and I'm really sorry about that. I was busy with the holidays and then the first week back to school, but whatever. That's done now. So here we are back with another chapter! Yayyyyy. Okay, that's all I really have to say in this A/N. See you all on Friday