CHAPTER 24

Thursday, the 26th of December

Henri Pemberton, Viscount Enfield

For maybe the first time in what probably amounted to years, I was jealous of others for getting to talk to their family.

Usually, I liked to avoid talking to them as much as possible. They clearly wished they weren't related to me, so why should I make an effort to spend time with those who shared my name? It was a ridiculous notion. Whenever the holiday rolled around and I was forced to go to family gatherings, the Christmas Eve party, Christmas afternoon, the random get-together one of my aunts always decided to throw, I spent most of the time sitting quietly in the corner, wishing that it wasn't rude to go on my phone.

Family time was something I tried to avoid at all costs.

But now, after watching the other selected video call or chat with their parents, siblings and cousins, I was jealous.

It wasn't that I was upset at them, it was nice to get some time to talk to their families, they didn't even know. It would have been unreasonable for me to be angry with them over something they couldn't control, something they had no part in.

I was mad at the Queen for taking away my option to actually call my family.

To be honest, I probably wouldn't have done it. Maybe I would have sent a text message to my mother, if I was feeling particularly sentimental, but I wouldn't have called anyone.

But the fact that I couldn't I couldn't take my phone and call my parents, just hurt. I might not be the heir to the throne, but I was royalty for Heaven's sake. This type of stuff wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be stranded in another country used as a bargaining chip.

But here I was.

Clearly something had gone wrong in my life for this to happen.

I don't know what the other guys thought, probably that I was anti-social, but I had at least tried to make it look as if I wasn't completely alone on Christmas. I didn't want their pity. I don't know how many of them bought it, but they all had enough social decency -or obliviousness- to leave me alone for the time being.

I guess I appreciated it.

As much as I could at least.

"Happy Holidays," I mutter to a guard walking past me, frowning slightly as he pauses, registering my face.

"Your Highness, I was looking for you," the guard says, obviously relieved. "Her Majesty wishes to speak to you in her office," he finishes ceremoniously,

Not this again.

"Oh. She does?" I ask, half-hoping he had mistaken me for someone else.

"Yes," the guard says, clearly hoping that I'll come along without making him ask again. Of course I would. I'm not going to make this guy's life harder because I'm mad at the monarchy. He has nothing to do with it, besides from coming to get me. And as the saying goes, don't shoot the messenger.

"Okay," I answer quietly. By this point, I probably know the way to the Queen's office by myself, but as he's obviously supposed to chaperone me until I get there, I conceded to trailing behind him as he leads me through the hallways. By some small miracle, we don't pass any of the other selected. That would have been a tough one to explain.

"Go ahead," the guard tells me. I really should try to learn their names, since they're practically babysitting me at this point. Not that any of them have ever been so forthcoming as to actually inform me of their names, come to think of it.

I nod slightly, "Thank you," I get out, trying my best not to let my displeasure bleed into my tone.

I frown as I walk into the Queen's office, nothing good ever comes from these little chats. At least not for me. The Queen is sitting at her desk like she always is, the only change to the normal scenery is Carrie, sitting there with her arms folded in one of the leather chairs in front of her desk. She barely looks up when I walk in the room, probably sulking. Of course she is, as if Carolynn Schreave, heir to the throne, sitting in the room with her mother, and who most recently received thousands of dollars in Christmas gifts, has anything to be upset about right now.

The whole thing irritates me to be honest.

"Perfect, you're here," the Queen says, probably ready to launch into another one of her obscure small-talk topics that she always leads with. As if that'll help soften the blow when she eventually gets around to telling me whatever it is that she found so important.

"I didn't think I had much of a choice in the manner," I say quietly, more to myself. It's clear that the Queen doesn't hear, Carrie, sitting a few inches to my left though, does from the way her lips quirk into a smile.

She seems to take my perceived silence as an initiative to continue talking, "How were the holidays?"

"Good. They were good," I say, lying. They weren't good, I was miserable for a good chunk of the day, the blow only worsened by the fact that my presents came from people I was actively trying to avoid.

"That's nice," the Queen says stiffly, "Did you watch any holiday movies? I always find that it's nice around this time of the year."

"Not really."

"Not even the-"

"Mom, can you stop?" Carrie finally exclaims, crossing her arms as she glares at her mother.

The Queen purses her lips as I stay silent, not wanting to get involved in whatever drama was going on, even though I was rather sure that it revolved me.

"Darling, perhaps you want to wait outside?" the Queen asks Carrie, her tone making it clear that it wasn't a question.

I wasn't sure whether Carrie was tone deaf or simply just didn't care, but either way she responds, "No. Just get to the point. I can't listen to this ridiculousness anymore.

"Carrie, that's enough," The Queen says dismissively, "Henri, tell me more about how you spent your Christmas,"

I can feel Carrie glaring at her mother as I give a description of yesterday, trying my best to make it sound as though I enjoyed it somewhat, though I wasn't sure whether either of them were actually buying it. I was never good at these types of things, "-I can't imgiange you wanted me here to talk about Christmas," I finally say, nerves coiling in my stomach.

"No, as lovely as that would be, unfortunately, we didn't."

I thought as much, but I don't say anything.

"Now, you remember a week or two go you met with the makeup artist from Southern Angeles?"

The one who put fake bruises on my face? Yeah, I remember. "Yes." I say, not quite sure where she's going with this.

"Now, I never thought we would have to resort to blackmail, but we sent those pictures to your family, hoping that it would encourage them to stop the tirade against our trade ships."

I had assumed as much subconsciously. It was the logical conclusion, one that I didn't really want to admit to myself. Hearing it voiced out loud though is somewhat unsettling. I don't want to be this...supposed leverage in negotiations. My family doesn't even like me all that much, if they were looking for something to barter with, they probably shouldn't have gone with me.

Someone who's own father tried to disown him.

"Did it work?" I ask, not sure what I want the answer to be. Either way, I doubt whatever the answer is will work out very well for me.

The Queen pauses, pushing her lips together, "Well, no, not exactly."

"Oh," I respond quietly.

"You see, they knew you weren't actually injured. I'm not sure how, but they did. And it leaves us in an inadequate situation," she says, carefully choosing her euphemism.

"I guess so."

"Now then, I'm sorry that you have to, be in the middle of all this, but it's the way this country works." It takes most of my willpower to stop myself from pointing out that if the Queen was really so regretful that I had to be involved, she could just as easily find a different way to solve the conflict. Yes, this might be the easiest solution, but it didn't make it right. Of course, I seemed to be the only one with morals in this palace.

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything.

"If this is what it takes to solve the problem, I hope you'll be amenable."

I finally look up, "What are you talking about?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"Henri… Look, I don't like this, I don't, but it's what has to be done," the Queen assures me.

"What has to be done?"

The Queen seemingly ignores my question, "Tomorrow morning, a select group of guards will meet with you in room 08 of the sub-basement, if everything goes according to plan, this should be the last either of us have to deal with this issue for quite a while."

"So, you're going to have your guards hurt me, just so you can blackmail my family?" I ask,finally voicing what the Queen has been skirting around, all while hoping that the fear doesn't come into my voice.

"It's...nothing personal. I don't want you to feel as if this is anyway due to you. I'm sorry, I am, it's just what needs to be done." That might have been one of the worst apologies I've ever heard. And I've heard a lot of them.

"Isn't this all...very illegal?" I ask, not completely convinced that it is. The world worked in mysterious ways when it came to politics, ways I have never fully understood, or at least have never fully been explained to me.

"To an extent, yes. But don't worry about it, everything will be fine."

"That's not…" I shake my head, not sure what else I can say. I don't want to say anything else. To be honest, I feel like I might throw up, the way my stomach feels. It's not fair. It's not, but even with all my connections, my royal title, my supposed immunity, I couldn't do anything

Of course I couldn't.

When could I ever?

Carrie's still sitting there, pouting, though I got the feeling it was more due to her recent scolding by her mother than any sort of sympathy towards me. As if there would be any, she must not have been totally against the idea. Say what you will about the Schreave family, but I know Carrie has a say in matters, more than I do at least.

"Henri, look, it'll be fine," the Queen says again, as if repetition will help in any way.

I shake my head slightly, I want to complain, I want to say something, anything really, but I don't. I can't bring myself to. Anything I ask would be a stupid question anyway. Of course their country is more important to the Schreaves than my feelings. I would be crazy for thinking otherwise. But still, the unfairness of the whole situation doesn't sit right with me.

"Can I go now," I ask, thoroughly ignoring the Queen's half-hearted reassurances.

"Yes, of course. I'll see you tomorrow." the Queen pauses for a second, obviously deciding something, "And...never mind."

Carrie follows me out of the room, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," she says, probably assuming that I'll take her apology, as lackluster as it was.

"Sure."

"Are you mad at me over this?"

"Yes..No..I don't know. Just please, I really don't want to talk to anyone right now."

Carrie disregards my wishes, not moving, "This isn't my fault."

Actually it is, but I don't bother to correct her. It's not as if she would have considered the fact that I was right about this. "That doesn't really help."

"You can't be upset with me over something I didn't do," Carrie continues, folding her arms across her chest and stomping one foot.

"Not really how feelings work," I mutter more to myself then her, before clearing my throat, "Loook, just, leave it be. Please." I say.

"But, ust why? It's not fair. It's not my fault that your family-" Carrie cuts off her words at the last second, shaking her head.

"Yeah. I know." I answer. We could be having this conversation for hours and Carrie wouldn't get it. She would still believe that somehow she was in the right here, or at least, definitely not in the wrong. I guess that's good, to be so sure of yourself. There are times I wish that I had that confidence. Not right now though. Now, I wish that no one did, or at least that no one was so sure in themselves that they were unable to listen to reason without thoroughly ignoring it.

"Okay." Even though my response wasn't exactly accepting it, she seems to take it as such. "Okay. So do you want to watch a movie or something?" She asks hopefully.

I really don't want to.

"Look, Car, I just want to be alone right now." I say, mincing my words carefully, as to reject her in the politest way possible.

"Really?" She asks, sounding somewhat hurt.

"Yeah,"

"But...but people who spend time alone when they're sad are forty-three percent more likely to be mass murderers."

"I really don't think that's true," I say, having to hold back a laugh at her made-up statistic.

"It could be. Science is weird."

"There aren't ever going to be enough mass-murderers in jail during the experiment for them to have a large enough experimental group.' I explain what my teacher told me freshman year in Introduction to Science Research.

"It's probably true anyway," Carrie finishes. "So, I'll see you tomorrow then?"

I frown at the mention of tomorrow. "I guess. I don't have much of a choice there."

Whether Carrie just doesn't hear or ignores the last part of my statement is lost on me, but either way she smiles as if she's accepting a prize and flounces down the hallway.

Yeah, I'm really happy that I didn't inherit her amount of self-confidence.

"Are you feeling alright?" Bas asks me later that evening, standing outside the door to my room, "You missed Miss Van Der Witts' class. I think she was considering suing you, the way she was acting."

"Oh. I wasn't feeling well," I say vaguely. It wasn't entirely false. I didn't feel particularly well, though it had nothing to do with my physical health.

"You okay? I can...try to help. My mom's a doctor." Bas offers unhelpfully.

"No, it's fine. I'm feeling a lot better now."

"I can't believe she made us do etiquette class the day after Christmas anyway. That was not my idea of a good time."

"It sounds a lot like her," I offer shrugging.

Bas clears his throat, glancing down the hallway, "me and Nyson," I mentally correct his grammar in my head, "are going to get a snack in the kitchens if you want to come." Bas asks, though I got the feeling that it was more of a we're worried about you offer rather than actually wanting to enjoy my company. Fair enough. Beggars can't be choosers.

"The kitchens?" I ask, "Are we allowed to go there?"

Bas shrugs, "No one told Nyson that we couldn't go. Apparently he asked his butler earlier." Huh. I wouldn't think the palace would want guests venturing into the sub-basement parts of the building, away from the gilded wallpaper and framed pictures that were probably worth about the equivalent of an average family's yearly income.

"Sure, why not." I agree, following Bas down the hall to where Nyson is waiting for us, scrolling on his phone. I don't think he was hoping that I would come, but he covers it up anyway.

"I'm starving," Nyson says, stuffing his phone into his jeans' pocket. "I brought ramen if anyone wants."

"Ramen?" I ask, "You mean the… microwavable kind?"

"Yeah. I love that. It's my favorite food."

"Oh, cool." I say, leaving out the part that I had never actually tried microwavable ramen. It seemed odd to me like it didn't qualify as actual food, but if so many people liked it, it couldn't be all that bad.

Still, I couldn't imagine myself actually eating it.

In the kitchen Nyson gets a bowl of hot water, spilling half of it on the counter, pours it into the plastic container, and then spends a good five minutes trying to figure out the industrial size microwave.

"What button do you think turns it on?" Nyson asks, looking at the silver buttons.

"Lemme see it," Bas pushes closer to Nyson, 'What do you think terminal heat means?"

"Beats me."

"It's how hot the food is warmed up to. Just set it to the third button." I say from the back, not partaking in the ramen creation. I wasn't going to let them struggle though. I might not be a fan of the food, but I know how expensive kitchenware works.

"Cool. Bas, why aren't you having any?" Nyon asks.

"I'm allergic."

"You're allergic to..ramen?" Bas asks, furrowing his brow. "Is that even possible?"

"Well, not ramen. I'm allergic to soy sauce. That's usually in ramen. If not, it's still better not to take the chance," Bas explains.

"Oh. How bad's your allergy?" Nyson continues.

"I mean, not horrible. I'm not going to die or anything. My face just gets bloated and my eyes get itchy." I inwardly wince at the description, Nyson isn't so polite and makes a small noose of disgust. "I heard that," Bas says, though he's clearly not angry.

"Sorry. I'm sure you still look nice even with a bloated face."

"Childhood pictures would beg to differ," Bas answers good-naturedly. "I looked like a pin cushion. How about you both, any allergies?" he asks in an obvious effort to include me.

"Not that I know of," I say. "Maybe I'm allergic to something, but if I am I've never eaten it."

"Cats." Nyson answers promptly. "Cats and I are a big no-no."

"I like cats," Bas says, "They're cute."

"They're menaces, that's what they are. I've had to go to the doctor three times because of cat allergies."

"Really?" Bas asks, "I didn't think they would be that bad. Are cat allergies just like...sneezing and more sneezing?"

"Try sneezing for three hours straight and you would go to the doctor too." Nyson says, almost subconsciously rubbing the tip of his nose.

"That seems bad," I say, not providing much to the conversation. It's starting to feel a bit too personal, sentimental, almost like I'm intruding on a conversation that I shouldn't be in. Maybe Bas shouldn't have invited me to come with them to eat ramen, though to his credit, I don't think that Bas envisioned ramen either when he was asked to come get a dark lunch with Nyson.

"Yeah. It was awful. Never again, I'm strictly a dog person." Nyson says, grinning slightly. "I really like this ramen. It's good."

"Don't they all taste the same?" Bas asks. "I mean, they're factory-made stuff. It all comes off the assembly line."

"Huh. Maybe the palace water is better than the water there is in Columbia." Nyson suggests.

I really want to interject something about the quality of water, but I doubt that either Bas the art student or Nyson the landscaper care much about my studies in how the distance water travels in pipes affects the taste. Not that I would want to hear about it either, if I was them. I'm sure it's entirely unfascinating. One of the most boring subjects that's ever been discussed. I wouldn't force that on them. They look like they're having fun, and it's not my place to bore them.

"Probably not," Bas says. "Doesn't the country have really good water quality?"

Nyson shrugs. "I have no idea." I do, but I'd doubt they care.

"I heard that on a talk show I think," Bas says, trying to remember.

"Do you really think water tastes different? It's like asking whether water is wet. We'll never know," Nyson adds

Bas, laughing slightly, takes a cup of water from the sink- Nyson's leftovers- and drips it onto his head. "How does that feel? Like high quality water?" Bas asks, watching Nyson squeeze his eyes shut.

"Actually that's not that bad. Kinda lukewarm." Nysion says, shrugging at the water now trickling down his head.

"Wow. Okay then," Bas says. They keep on talking, chatting rather loudly. In fact, they barely notice when I quietly leave, as big as the palace kitchen is, it was starting to feel stifling.

Hello everyone. I know it's been a while since I last updates and I am so so sorry about that. Anyway, you don't want to hear about my personal woes. The ramen scene -which I have never actually tried by the way- comes courtesy of Logan, who I *bribed* for an aesthetic with any scene of her choosing. And here it is. So that's all I have to say, have a great day, and yeah. That's it lol.