Chapter One
Sunday, October 3rd, 2399
His Royal Highness, Alexander Nathaniel Schreave, Prince of Illéa
If there is one thing Alex knows, it's that Sundays are for family meetings.
Whoever is at home sits and listens to everything that needs to go down for the week and helps plans for the long term. Planning and collaboration are at the forefront of every meeting and unless you are sick or out of the province, your attendance is mandatory.
It's fairly normal for most family meetings—until you realize that Alex is His Royal Highness, Alexander Nathaniel Schreave, which means that his family meetings are a chance for him to help millions of people and fulfill his—potential—future duties.
He sits in between his election advisor and his father's head advisor. Darius and Canaan are both established men. They're able to handle long meetings, unlike Alex, who sits and zones out, staring at the walls of the windowless meeting room.
Underneath the table, he fiddles with a fidget toy. Just like his mental illness is to the general public, it's unknown, out of sight. The voices get too loud and his brain fogs. There are too many things to look at and the stress builds upon him, like he has the weight of the world upon his shoulders. The device gives him some sort of control, some sort of movement, but it doesn't fix everything.
In the blur of his vision, he sees the presentation Canaan prepared, but the sound of his voice, mixed with the clicker moving slides and the repeated tap, tap, taps on everyone's keyboard doesn't help the growing sense of unease inside of him, flipping and flopping over and over and over again, like a dying fish.
"Alexander," Canaan grips Alex's shoulder tight, shocking him back to the meeting, "Thoughts?"
Alex drops the toy onto his lap, "...On?"
"Pay attention next time." His mother chides, "We were talking about future steps for us. Darius recommended we start to go through with a selection for you and Augustus, jumpstarting preparations for the next generation."
Alex looks at Darius, then at Augustus. Both are sitting straight faced, but Alex wouldn't be able to tell you how they're feeling. He's never really been good at those.
"That would be fine with me." Alex doesn't think about it, what others are feeling, or the consequences of this decision. The meeting has to continue.
His sister's advisor, Lady Francesca—one of their father's former elite—stands, "That wouldn't be good for Estelle and the Election. We have less than two years until then and there isn't any reason why we cannot wait until afterwards."
The Election. Alexander didn't consider it or what a selection would do for the twins. His odds of winning aren't the greatest right now, being second to Estelle, but against Augustus, Alex would win every time.
Nobody says the exact odds. Last time Lady Francesca mentioned Estelle's placement, father scolded her. The kids all know where they place. Decorum, tradition, and respect haven't been Alex's strong suit—not for a lack of trying, mind you. He just always says the wrong thing or gets to the point too fast. But, Augustus hasn't put forth real effort in trying to lead, unlike Alex.
"Postponing the twin's future for Estelle isn't in everyone's best interest, just her's." Darius replies, "And the country is prospering. Think of this as a celebration. Illéa's future is on the horizon and the next generation is reaching out and taking it for the next century and others to come."
Alex looks at Darius. Alex wouldn't have been that eloquent without notecards. And Darius knows it, considering he's proofreading all of Alex's speeches for over a decade.
"Estelle can have one when her time comes," Virginia says, "There's nothing stopping her."
Francesca doesn't say anything in opposition and neither does Estelle.
"All for the selection?" King Ambrose asks the group. He doesn't vote, but there are six votes anyways, an overwhelming majority.
"And with that," he declares, "We will be heading forth with a selection for the twins. Meeting adjourned."
Alex stands behind, watching everyone leave. Silently, he gathers his things and heads out behind them, the Selection being the next big step he's going to take.
From the morning meeting, Alex took a pit stop in his bedroom to change, only to be shuffled into his state car, the black BMW he got last year for his birthday. The old car got auctioned off to charity, but as the leather of this car's seats sticks to his skin, he wishes they'd kept the old one.
Alex peels part of himself off of the leather seat and readjusts, but it's just worse. Luckily, he'll only be in the car for another twenty or so minutes.
"Are you alright?" Darius sits beside him, behind the driver. Alex is behind the passenger's seat, where a royal guard sits and is still looking for threats, even whilst on the road.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"The seats again?" Darius knows Alex better than his twin and even himself.
"Yeah." Alex replies, "Wish we would've kept the old car."
"We'll be there soon." Darius replies, "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Alex…"
"I'm serious." Alex doubles down, "I have absolutely nothing wrong with me."
"What's on your mind, then?"
"Nothing."
"You have to be thinking about something." Darius smiles at him, "Otherwise you'd be dead. And I wouldn't have a job if you up and died."
"Well…" Alex pauses, "I was just thinking about the seats, but you're probably trying to breach the topic of the selection."
"Glad to see your brain still works." Darius smiles, "So, what do you think about the selection?"
"...Will it only be women?"
"I couldn't get Augustus to agree to the selection if it was."
"That was a conversation I missed whilst I was zoned out, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." Darius replies, "You gotta stop doing that. It makes you look unprofessional. The fidget toys aren't working anymore?"
"It's just a lot all at once. The person speaking, the clicker Canaan was using, the keyboard taps, not to mention any breath or cough or drink of water." Alex says, "It's just… too much."
"You can't filter those out, can you?"
"A future king pays attention to everything." Alex weakly laughs, "Even the things that don't really matter."
"You'll be in control of the meetings one day. You can do it sans technology. Stick to pen in paper like they did pre-Illéa" Darius asks, "How are you feeling about the Election, by the way?"
"That's not for another two years."
"Less." Darius corrects, "And people are going to start paying attention to your thoughts and ideas even more now that it's closer. The selection is just going to give you a pedestal over Estelle and a partner to work with."
"Wouldn't it help Augustus too?"
Darius looks at him, but doesn't say anything. This time, Alex knows what this look means. Augustus doesn't want to rule. If he did, he'd be more serious in his appearances and more active in politics. He'd be doing what Alex is doing right now.
"You're not worried about him, are you?"
"Not if you aren't." Alex pauses and shakes his head. Then Darius smiles, "Good. Now let's get you some good will. Childhood literacy rates won't fix themselves, won't they?"
Alex shakes his head and takes a deep breath. Another step forward; another act of goodwill.
The press is the first thing that Alex registers when he steps out of the door. It's hard to notice anything else, when cameras flash in his face and microphones are extended his way. Too many questions are thrown about for him to answer and the light changes from the October sun to the synthetic camera flashes.
He knows why they stand out here. They're looking for something—anything—to print. Prince Alexander said this. Prince Alexander said that. A one second clip that they can take out of context can top news feeds for days, until the Report comes out, washing away any of the negative press. But they'll do their damage anyway. People always remember when you rub them the wrong way.
At their worst, reporters like this are pests. Seeking stories like mosquitos seek blood. A nuisance, but one Alex deals with by ignoring and medicating if the need arises.
Darius and the singular guard walk to the entrance behind him. Smile, wave, move. The double doors are right in sight. Give the journalists nothing but boring pictures. Good press is the only press he can afford.
As soon as he gets inside, Alex takes a deep breath. The walk wasn't far. It wasn't as bad as it could have been.
Two large, imposing staircases curve down to the bottom floor, where the main hall is. The building looks familiar, but Alex is almost positive he's never been inside. Places like these blur together in his mind.
Darius gently leads him from behind. They head down one of the staircases and on the other, a girl heads down, keeping in time with him. She's with a man Alex has seen before, but can't quite make out. He's leading her similarly to how Darius is leading him.
They get down at the bottom around the same time, the guard only a couple of steps behind them. The event's photographer corrals them together, with Alex being pressed arm to arm with the girl. The grey of his dress jacket sits up against her bare arm and Alex murmurs a small apology and then smiles at the camera man.
Alex starts to regain his personal space when the girl catches up with his strides.
"Don't worry about the space thing." She says, "It wasn't your fault. In fact, I'm honored to be seen with you, Your Highness."
"Thanks, Miss…"
"Ledet. Serra Ledet." She says, "from Clermont."
"That's on the other side of the country." Alex notes, "A bit far for lunch."
"Nowhere is too far for charity." She smiles, "I'm assuming you believe the same thing?"
"I do." Alex replies. They cross the barrier into the main hall, a place decked out in light, shimmering throughout the space. Little book details are placed around the area, with an emphasis on children's literature.
They both make it towards the guestbook, where they check for their names. HRH Alexander Schreave? Table Four. Darius Babineaux? Table Four. Serra Ledet? Table Four. Governor Anderson? Table Four.
She says, "Looks like we're sitting together."
"Looks like it." He lets Darius take the lead for them, helping them find table four. A classic children's book has paper flowers sprouting up from it and four seats.
"It sure is lucky that we all came in together, huh?" Alex chuckles.
Serra smiles, "It is, isn't it?"
Darius looks at Alex and then Serra's chair. He gets the hint and pulls out her chair, before slipping into his.
"Thank you, Alex." She says, "Can I call you that? Alex?"
A laugh escapes Alex's lips, "Practically everyone does."
"It suits you."
"Thanks."
Alex leans back in his seat and sees his betting placard. He flips it between his fingers, letting himself play with the item. He isn't allowed to mess with his fidget objects in public, but nobody can fault him with this.
"Excited to get to the auction, aren't we, Your Highness?" Across from Alex, on the other side of the circular table, sits the Governor of Clermont. Anderson, his name was.
"Oh uh, yeah." Alex replies, "Anything for charity, which is what me and Miss Serra were just talking about."
Darius picks up the conversation, "The luncheon first, of course."
"Of course." Governor Anderson replies. He holds out his hand for Alex to shake and he does, before giving it to Darius, "It's an honor to be here with you, sir."
"Thank you." Alex suppresses another nervous chuckle. He never knew how to reply to people who saw him only for his title, who only saw what he could do and what he was born into. Sure, he was born Royal and wants to be King, but he doesn't think himself higher than others.
Darius butts in once more, "We are expecting more events like this soon."
"Are you now?"
"Yeah." Alex nods, "I want to help my country more, expand my outreach."
"My protege and I are doing the same." Governor Anderson says.
"I hope we could do some of these efforts together, Alex." Serra picks up her purse, sliding him a business card, "Or, I at least hope I'll cross paths with you more often."
Alex takes it and smiles, "I do too."
The luncheon lasted all afternoon. That wouldn't be a problem, except Alexander wasn't hungry when dinnertime rolled around. And while King Ambrose put most of his day into his political duties, he tries his hardest to be there for dinner and his kids, when the day ends.
And so, when Alexander didn't go down for dinner, Ambrose came up here, knocking on Alexander's door, with his son's dinner plate.
"Come in." Alex calls. He has a series of hair ties stretched across two bars. He's plucking them, like he cannot do so on the string on his violin. The reverb rocks against the other side and Alex can both see and feel the vibration. He doesn't look up to see who entered. The contraption enraptured him already.
"Hungry?" Ambrose takes the plate and sits it atop of Alex's desk. Alex sits in front of it, with his contraption, ignoring it.
"Not really."
"Have fun at the auction?"
"Yeah."
"Get anything interesting?"
"Some neo-renaissance revival sculpture depicting the love humanity has for computers and the narcissism that happens with someone's relationship with the internet and themself." Alex answers.
"And you're putting it where?"
"It's a gift." Alex says, "For August."
"Anything else?"
"A jewelry set for mom and some painting for Estelle." Alex answers, "I'll have someone pick them all up for me, after everything has been sorted out."
"Alright." Ambrose says, "Anything for me?"
"No." Alex finally puts his fidget toy down, "Did you… want something?"
"No." Ambrose briefly laughs, "No, I didn't."
"Good." Alex pauses, "I didn't get anything for myself, either."
"Nothing of interest?"
"Not really." Alex says, "It was all highbrow, pretentious stuff."
"And you're above it all, right?"
"No." Alex corrects, "It's just not what I'm interested in."
"But you liked where the money was going, correct?"
"Yeah." Alex says, "Everyone deserves to learn how to read."
"I don't think there's a single person who disagrees with you." Ambrose sits on an ottoman and Alex spins around to face him, "Is there… something you need?"
"Are you alright with the selection?" Ambrose asks, "Truly?"
"I mean… yeah?"
"I want you to be sure of this." Ambrose says, "You're allowed to not do this, alright?"
"You were already married to mom at my age."
"And I was fixing to run a Kingdom too." Ambrose replies, "I'm still young. I have time."
"You're not young anymore." Alex says, "You're forty-three."
"That doesn't make me old!"
"Young and old are a false dichotomy." Alex comments, "You are neither. Middle age, in fact."
"I'm going to tell your mother that you're calling me middle aged."
"She is too."
"Just wait." Ambrose says, "I will circle back to his conversation when you're forty-three."
"If you remember."
"I will." Ambrose says, "I'll be sixty-six, not senile."
"Alright." Alex comments, "Okay."
"Okay." Ambrose echoes, "Can you eat some dinner? The luncheon was hours ago."
"Alright." Alex replies, "Is there anything else you need?"
"No." Ambrose says, "Enjoy your dinner."
"I'll try."
"Goodnight. Love you."
"Night." Alex replies, "Love you."
AN: Hello, hello! It feels like its been a while! Anyways, the form is on my profile and I'm only accepting 15 slots,, with one already being reserved. Please do not hesitate to contact me with questions and remember to make your ocs diverse!
