The Royal Weddings Page 2

  “I think it is time for a change,” her father said quietly. Chelsea turned back around cautiously.

  “You do?” she asked incredulously. Her father slowly nodded. Chelsea felt a chill run down her spine—he had never spoken to her with such frankness before. Chelsea looked into her father’s eyes and recognized her own features in the man she barely knew.

  “We deserve to be heard,” he said.

  Emma stared at the annoyingly well-shaped jawline of Tristan Hamilton and willed herself to listen to the inane ramblings he thought were interesting enough to voice aloud.

  “So then, Josh and me, you know Josh right? Well, Josh had this great idea to shoot a firework at the bear, like in an effort to scare it away or something?” Tristan droned on and on, and Emma found herself drifting away into the much more comfortable space inside her brain. She found it downright impossible to take anyone seriously that ended most of their sentences with a question mark, and she refused to validate Tristan with her undivided attention. So she imagined hanging out with her cat Brandy. The image of them lounging on her bed carried her through the more tedious moments of sitting across from this fool in the Royal Date Room, swirling her glass of wine and pretending to enjoy this conversation.

  “And then so we’re up in this tree, right? We’re all the way at the top, staring down at this bear? And the bear is just looking back at us, like he’s going to kill us?”

  Emma let Tristan’s preposterous story fade into the background while she focused on the more important matter at hand: how she would convince this fool to marry her, so that she could be the first Princess to become King.

  Princess Emma George Washington was sensible in every interpretation of the word—from the way she dressed, to the way she ate, to the way she had planned strategically from the age of five to become King. She was a twenty-two-year-old Royal who did not spend her days posturing for the Stream and her nights also posturing for the Stream like all those around her, which had marked her as a nerd of the highest degree. She looked more and more peasant every day, from her thick-framed glasses, to her unshapely pants, to her tightly pulled back hair that didn’t even have any bright color designed to catch the eye. In fact, she distinctly dressed to avoid attention, because she had found that in order for women to succeed in the Royalty they had to scheme behind the scenes.

  As the only Princess of the United States of America, Emma had the delightful position of being forced to deal with archaic institutions, uncomfortable dresses, and sharp criticisms about her weight or lack thereof, depending on the angle. Emma had schemed her entire life to become King and try to inject some youthful change into the aged system she had watched fail, over and over again. But her father, King Jonathan George Washington, had messed everything up. Instead of naming her as his successor as he had promised her he would, he had named no one, citing a very irrelevant and potentially forged loophole in the Constitution that had led her to this very room with this very Duke that she had spent her adolescence staunchly avoiding.

  “Emma? Emma?” Tristan asked, his teeth shining against his taut jawline. It was such a shame that people who were so handsome had to be so horrifically insufferable.

  “Hmm?” Emma asked drowsily. Pretending to pay attention had grown quite exhausting.

  “They’re just wondering if you want more wine?” Tristan asked. Emma turned to see the Royal Butler Bishop with a bottle of wine outstretched toward her.

  “Yes, please,” Emma said desperately. She shot a half-hearted smile at Tristan to try to soften the impact of her intense desire to drink in his company. He seemed not to notice. But to be fair, he really did not notice much. After years of Royal inbreeding, the Royal subjects were not exactly the brightest candles in the candelabras. But they were probably the most handsome candles, due to the sheer amount of Royal Fitness and Diet regimes available to anyone with Royal lineage. Oh, but how Tristan’s handsomeness made her even more repulsed the longer she looked at him.

  “What was that now?” she asked as she realized that Bishop and Tristan were both staring at her.

  “I said,” Bishop began, “you’ll see that this is full-bodied, sharper—”

  Emma could not help it; she just could not listen to Bishop. She nodded vacantly as he spoke and kept her eyes glued to the bottle of wine that he was so slow at pouring. Finally, she grabbed her meagerly half-filled glass and turned her half-attention halfway back to Tristan. He was smiling at her with that full-toothed grin she hated so much in men, the kind that suggested he was probably picturing her naked.

  She eyed Tristan and wondered if she could have sex with him. It would be a struggle. He wasn’t really her type. What exactly was her type? That was a very good question, one that Emma had spent a lot of long nights thinking about recently. She knew she wanted someone who was compassionate, intelligent, gentle, and beautiful. Lately it seemed as if everyone who fit that description also happened to be a woman. But that led Emma down a very treacherous road that she was not sure she was ready to navigate, especially during the insane sprint to find someone to marry.

  King Jonathan had decreed that he would not name a successor until his children were wed and could promise to further the Washington lineage. Emma knew that she had to make some personal sacrifices in order to gain hold of the crown, and one of those sacrifices happened to be pursuing a loveless marriage with a hapless Duke for the rest of her life. But there could be worse things to deal with, right? Some people didn’t even live in a castle.

  “What was that?” Emma asked, when she realized that Tristan had said something again.

  “I said, your eyes are like, really interesting?”

  Emma did not know if this was a compliment. “Thank you?” she responded mockingly, in the same intonation as Tristan. “Did you enjoy your dinner?” Emma asked.

  “Oh, it was delicious, thank you?” Tristan responded.

  “You’re welcome?” Emma answered. He merely stared at her with that stupid grin, and Emma fidgeted in her gown once more. She had been forced to wear a form-fitting black dress by her stepmother, who had insisted that no Royal wanted to marry a girl in pants. Normally she would have politely told the Queen to go to hell, but on special occasions and nights of Stream-worthy declarations of her love, she was forced to acquiesce to the traditions set up long before her time.

  She glanced at herself in the mirror over Tristan’s shoulder and grinned widely at her reflection, hoping to deeply unsettle whoever was watching on the other side. At some point in her family’s past, probably around the time George Washington was the father of a teenage daughter, he had issued a Constitutional decree that all dates with the Princesses had to take place within the Castle. This meant that while Emma’s brothers were able to gallivant around town with their latest conquests, Emma was forced to have stuffy dinners in the Royal Date Room that were almost certainly being observed by her entire family through the one-way glass window, disguised as a mirror.

  But at least the gender-specific language in the Constitution would make Emma the King and not the Queen, and as such, Tristan would be her Queen. She liked the idea of having a Queen, even if it was one who smelled like an overcompensating thirteen-year-old boy after gym class. She smiled at the mirror across from her table with a dangerous glint in her eye, and then turned to Tristan.

  “I’ve had a really great time tonight,” she said in her most seductive voice possible. It was sort of like how she spoke to her cat, Brandy.

  “Me too?” Tristan said. Emma leaned in to kiss him, which proved difficult since they were across from each other at a table that was designed to be too long to make any sort of kissing possible. She stood up and moved closer to Tristan, and he stood up as well. Before she knew it, their lips were touching and Emma felt herself stiffen. She pretended to enjoy the fact that he shoved most of his tongue into her mouth with far too much force. If her family wanted to watch, she would at least give them a show.

  “Oh no. Oh no. Is this where we stop?” Kyle asked with his hands covering his eyes. Trevor stared through the one-way mirror with a strangled look on his face.

  “I don’t know. Dad?” Trevor asked.

  King Jonathan felt so stressed; he could eat a cinnamon bun or eight. The men of the family sat in the observation chamber, watching as Emma made out with that beautiful Tristan Hamilton. There was something inexplicably torturous about watching helplessly as some gorgeous punk tried to kiss your only daughter.

  “Bishop?” King Jonathan said through gritted teeth. In a few moments, his redheaded manservant popped back into the Date Room with his wine, which forced the two lovers to jump apart. Tristan flushed horrifically and smiled nervously, whereas Emma seemed as cool as ever. King Jonathan watched her sit back down in her seat and gaze straight at him with an unsettling smile. If he didn’t know any better, it would even look like she was making eye contact with him. But that was impossible, right? No women in the history of the Castle knew about the Observation Room. They couldn’t even conceive of it. He was just being paranoid.

  King Jonathan had more than enough to be paranoid about these days. Ever since he had announced that he was not announcing a successor, he couldn’t help but feel like his children were always a few steps ahead of him. It didn’t help that his wife Donna had been disappearing for long stretches of hours at a time. He couldn’t even remember the last time they had kissed. When Donna showed him the Constitutional fine print that allowed him to refuse to name a successor on his sixty-fifth birthday, he had done what she said. How could he not? But now he was starting to suspect that maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t exactly been acting in his best interest.

  King Jonathan felt his GlassPhone™ vibrate, and looked down to see that @JonathanLuvr452 had responded to his Chatter with a kissy face. He smiled in spite of his anxiety. @JonathanLuvr452 always knew how to make him feel better, even though he had never met the user in real life. They had connected through RoyalChatterStream, the network that allowed the Royals to proliferate their ideas, actions, and images to the peasantry. In return, the peasants could comment and interact with anything and everything the Royals did. Jonathan had quickly fallen in love with @JonathanLuvr452’s master of well-timed smiley faces and ability to abbreviate full words without any effort. If he was being honest, @JonathanLuvr452 was one of his only reasons to live these days. Every day he thought about running away with his GlassNet™ lover, and every day he failed to work up the courage.

  “Why are you smiling?” Kyle asked, paled beyond what seemed healthy. The youngest of his sons had probably never even kissed anyone, so watching his older sister make out had to be jarring.

  “No reason,” King Jonathan responded, closing his GlassPhone™ hastily and returning to the date. The less his children knew about his personal affairs, the better. He knew he could not give them anything to hold over him in these trying times, especially as each of them was doing their best to oust him from the coveted crown.

  “Oh no,” Trevor said from across the room. “She’s doing it again! Dad, make it stop!”

  King Jonathan watched as Emma and Tristan began to make out once more, seemingly with renewed vigor. He gave the signal to Bishop. The family’s most trusted personal servant nodded in response, and then entered the dating room with a resounding clang. When Bishop announced that it was time for all visitors to leave the Castle for the evening and Emma rolled her eyes directly toward Jonathan’s line of unseen vision, he wondered once more just how much she knew, and just how much she was planning.

  His sons looked over at him, and the sight of their spry young eyes overwhelmed him with jealousy. They had their whole lives ahead of them (to be filled with cinnamon buns, parties, and women, in that order), whereas King Jonathan was desperately clutching onto relevancy as best as he could. He felt like a portly and greying shell of who he once was. His previously flowing black hair was now speckled with grey and thinning by the day. His once muscled limbs were now encased in layers and layers of skin and fat. The sharp jawline of his youth had faded into the pudgy rounded edge of old age. To put it frankly, he was old, and he knew the best years of his life were behind him. Sometimes he was kept up at night with horrific images of his funeral that nobody would remember to attend. Other times, he was kept up at night because his stomach ached from all the cinnamon buns he had consumed. Most of the time he was kept up at night because he was Chattering with @JonathanLuvr452.

  “When I’m King, I’m going to make sure that every room in the entire Castle has one of these mirrors,” Trevor said, his chest eternally puffed outwards.

  “When I’m King, I’m going to make sure that everyone has equal access to the spying chambers, even the women,” Kyle said proudly. Trevor laughed.

  “That’s idiotic,” Trevor announced.

  “You’re idiotic!” Kyle shot back. Kyle and Trevor glared at each other, and King Jonathan wondered once more where exactly he had gone wrong in trying to make these kids turn into rulers. Trevor seemed to have all of the bravado with none of the intelligence, whereas Kyle had all of the sensitivity with none of the self-worth. Trevor had to be, what, thirty-two by now? And Kyle was eighteen, yet they both acted like young boys—always had, and always would.

  “Boys,” King Jonathan said in his most stately voice, “can we please just be civilized?”

  They both launched into protestations against civility, but when the sound of the door opening reverberated into the cavernous room, all three of them jumped to attention. King Jonathan slowly turned to find his only daughter staring back at him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. King Jonathan looked at her, and then turned and looked back at his sons.

  “Oh, us?” he asked in an unnaturally high voice. “We’re just meditating.”

  “Meditating?” Emma asked with narrowed eyes.

  “Yeah, so what?” Trevor said.

  “You weren’t just watching me through some GlassMirror™, were you?” Emma asked flatly. King Jonathan stammered and started to sweat.

  “What? That’s crazy talk,” he said. “We would never, ever invade your privacy like that or perpetuate the gendered rules that you’ve made quite clear you don’t like.” He crossed his fingers and hoped that Bishop had done what he was supposed to.

  “So you won’t mind if I look around?” Emma asked. She marched directly up to where King Jonathan was sitting, and examined the mirror. Emma narrowed her eyes as she touched and tapped her own reflection.

  “What’s the matter, never seen something so ugly before?” Trevor asked with a laugh. Emma ignored him, and turned to face King Jonathan.

  “I’m going to marry Tristan,” she said flatly.

  “Excuse me?” King Jonathan responded. From everything he had seen, the date had been an epic of awkward proportions.

  “He asked me to marry him, and I said yes,” she continued. “We love each other and simply cannot wait, so we must do it as soon as physically possible. He will be my Queen.”

  She shot what could only be a look of triumph at her two brothers, and then walked out of the room.

  “See you at dinner!” she shouted over her shoulder. King Jonathan’s stomach dropped. His only daughter had certainly gotten more than enough of George Washington’s bravado, and it unsettled him, to say the least.

  “I’m getting married, too,” Trevor said.

  “Me too,” Kyle quickly added. “Are you ready for our meeting?”

  King Jonathan sighed; he wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle his family’s brand of crazy—and more importantly, he wasn’t sure how much longer he wanted to.

  Kyle marched behind his father as fast as he possibly could, struggling to keep up with King Jonathan’s thudding gait. They weaved through the maddeningly twisting walkways while Kyle did his best to maintain his steady stream of complaints.

  “You never let me follow my heart, not once, and this time it is real, Dad! I swear! We share something special and I know it’s unorthodox but our love is powerful and strong and cannot be stopped by these silly rules!” Kyle said as he huffed heavily. After seeing just how committed Emma was to this marriage thing, Kyle knew he needed to sprint to catch up. Fortunately, he already had found the love of his life, but unfortunately, she was not a Royal. Also unfortunately, he had never truly spoken to her and Emma had hacked his GlassPhone™ and told the whole world that he liked her; he was still trying to recover some semblance of pride in the aftermath.

  “The fitness coach is not a suitable Queen, son,” King Jonathan said.

  “She’s not just a fitness coach, Dad! Coach Nena is—”

  “You call her ‘Coach Nena,’” King Jonathan pointed out. “That sounds like a fitness coach to me.”

  “Well yeah, that’s her job, but she’s also an incredible woman and a powerful motivator and the country would be lucky to have her as their Queen!” Kyle shouted, his heart rate rising with the combination of fast walking and faster thinking. Sure, Coach Nena was the Royal Fitness Coach, and yes, Kyle had been religiously taking her classes for weeks now without a single declaration of love and/or passion. But it was hard to connect when you were a Royal, and also when you were trapped in Kyle’s horrifically uncoordinated eighteen-year-old body.

  Speaking of being trapped in Kyle’s body, he tripped over a fast-moving maid and sprawled out full-eagle on the floor. He felt the familiar shock of the cold, tiled ground and an instinctual jolt of tears springing to his eyes. Kyle gingerly stepped to his feet, wiping away the involuntary tears.

  “You really have to watch where you’re going,” King Jonathan said. Kyle pushed his full head of dark, illustrious hair out of his eyes and puffed his chest out like he had seen Trevor do so many times before.