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Part One
The Dubious Prince
One
Alexandra
It took twenty-one years, but I finally attended my first royal occasion outside the walls of the palace where I was born. Serving as Queen for almost seven years, I came to “power” at the tender age of fourteen. Until now, I attended limited royal engagements. Fooled by palace accounts, my subjects believed I attended few events because I focused on my studies or just getting my feet wet.
The reality? My freedom was still tempered by a regency that put my grandmother, Dowager Queen Celeste, in charge of nearly every aspect of my life. From diet to schedule, I did nothing without prior approval. I didn’t attend a module at university without her saying so. I never exercised without her agreement. Since my grandfather passed, it was all the same. Without him as a buffer to shield me from my grandmother’s wrath, I became the target of her interest and anger.
My attendance at a party celebrating the entrance into society for the Belgian heir-to-the-throne surprised everyone. People expected Neandia would send a representative to attend the event in neighbouring Belgium, but my appearance raised eyebrows. I hadn’t been formally brought “out” into society. I never travelled. Grandmother forbid such things. However, as she was ill and no one else suitable was available to do the honours, I earned my freedom for a few days.
On my first day at the Belgian court, the Queen welcomed me with open arms. She understood. She became monarch unexpectedly at a young age, married quickly, and swiftly produced children. She and her American husband were accommodating. Their sons were beyond lovely. It was a nice break.
I was free! I planned to fill these few blissful days with simple pleasures forbidden to me. I inhaled food. I adored pastries, but they were usually prohibited. Celeste feared me gaining weight more than anything. She insisted I avoid anything with carbs. I consumed all the lovely chocolate I could, free from prying eyes.
I luxuriated in adult conversation. The only time I conversed with adults was the short time I spent on campus at my university in Neandia’s eponymous capitol or with my new staff members. Celeste recently allocated me a lady’s maid, a dresser, and a private secretary—all tasked with teaching me how to be a proper royal. I was rough. I longed to be treated like an adult but wasn’t permitted. I took meals with my younger sisters. I loved them, of course, but they weren’t fit for adult conversation any more than a wall.
I began to appreciate my appearance, too. There was the magic of putting on jewellery for the first time and sporting an evening gown. Kitted out in a proper dress—assembled last minute by my staff—I passed for the average ball attendee. Compared to my royal peers, my ensemble was conservative but sufficiently womanly. Everything was terrifying and new.
The ball was spectacular. No expense was spared. A famous photographer—so I was told—took photos of the royal attendees. I was the youngest monarch in the photo of attending kings and queens. It pained me to be iced out of the heir apparent photo. I never had the benefit of being a young, hot princess who got to have a good time. I was plopped at the grownup table—doomed to stay there far from my hot young peers.
Queen Margaux was protective and helpful—almost like an older sister. She sensed my confusion. I appreciated her thoughtfulness. I imagined how I could come back to Belgium to see her more frequently but came up at a loss. I knew Celeste would never let me visit my Belgian friends willingly. It would “give me ideas” as she always said. She ruled with an iron fist.
“You’re enjoying yourself?” Queen Margaux asked.
“Very much, thank you.” I beamed.
“And you won’t dance, won’t drink?”
“I don’t know how to… dance I mean. I have never learned. And I had wine with dinner.”
Margaux pitied me. “Never learned to dance? Darling, that is essential. I will speak to your grandmother?—”
“No, please don’t,” I pleaded. “Look, it will make it worse.”
Margaux took a long breath. “I won’t intervene if it will make things worse for you, Alexandra, but I worry.”
“She is protecting me.”
“From what, darling? At your age, I was in the UK with my British cousins. I was going out and living. Do you ever go out? Do you have any mates?”
I shook my head. “I have my sisters.”
“I have five sisters, sweetheart. It’s not the same.”
It wasn’t. She was right.
“You look beautiful,” Margaux said.
She knew I needed to hear it.
“It is a shame you cannot dance. However, at least go get a glass of champagne and walk about.”
It was another painful reminder I was under house arrest until twenty-five. People expected Celeste would dissolve the regency by now, but that was unlikely. She longed to control and wear me down as long as she could. My sisters and I all understood. We were at her mercy. Do not poke the bear! Doing so led to serious consequences and even more controlling behaviour. My actions affected everyone.
My detail reported everything back to my grandmother. They were spies. My life was never my own and hadn’t been since Grand-Papa died. He made sure I got out to the stables and played tennis. He ensured we could go to the zoo and cinema—even rented places out so we could enjoy ourselves without prying eyes. He allowed us to attend school with other children. When he died, life became a surveillance state. Celeste said it was for my protection, but it was so Celeste could maintain her grip over the court. She finally had what she longed for—absolute power.
