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April: Short for a drunk uncle.
Me: lol.
April: He is quite the prince.
Me: Oh, that reminds me! Have you heard of a show called Gravenland?
April: This one of your crossword clues?
Me: Yep. It says something about a “favored prince” and “Gravenland.” You know I can’t get into those high fantasy types of shows. The lighting is terrible, and I can’t hear a word anybody says.
April: Lol! I think it’s an actual place. Hang on. Let me Google it.
About five minutes, two Subarus, seven SUVs, and four semi-tractor-trailers later, April texts me back with an answer. What? It’s a lifeline! It’s not cheating.
April: Torben Haart!
Me: Sounds like something you should see a cardiologist about.
April: No, silly. That’s his name. That’s the Favored Prince. He’s an actual person and lives on this tiny island in the North Sea. Or the English channel. Or…I’m not really sure…but it’s somewhere in Europe.
Me: Never heard of it.
April: me neither, but Google says he’s also known as the untouchable prince, the bachelor prince…the nicknames are a lot. Apparently, Torben is next in line for the throne and has just turned 35 years old. He’s unusual because no one in the entire country has been able to bag him yet.
Me: Ha. I should take a crack at it.
April: Sure. You know those royals have gotta be pressing him. Hell, my mama has been yakking at me nonstop since I turned 25, and that was only three years ago, and I don’t stand to inherit shit but a rusty Airstream trailer and her burn-out boyfriend.
Me: Oh, honey, don’t forget about your Uncle Eli’s garage full of moonshine jugs.
April: Ugh, goodbye forever!
Me: How tragic to lose my only friend at the ripe old age of 30. At least I have Prince Humperdinck to console me.
April: You’re 29. You’re not allowed to turn 30 without me there to witness it.
Less than an hour after April helped me with that clue, I’m scrolling through the news on my phone during a lull in traffic. And wouldn’t you know it: there’s a story about the royal family in none other than little ol’ Gravenland.
“The heck? Are you serious?” I say to no one out loud.
I read on, and the story gives a background of the recent fiasco at Prince Torben’s birthday celebration. Apparently, the entire country parties all week around the prince’s birthday because it took so long for the king and queen to conceive an heir. Seven years, to be exact. That doesn’t seem like a big deal to wait seven years to have a baby, but when you’re dealing with palace politics, maybe it is.
According to the article, the four Haart siblings got into a fistfight during a highly public moment. Princess Flora, the youngest of the four, fell off a balcony. There’s a link to another story, which I’ll save for another rabbit hole because now I’m invested.
The main story explains that the king and queen gathered their offspring for a top-secret family meeting.
It’s incredible to me that I have never heard of this family or this tiny country before. Nor about this highly entertaining family.
I need to get out more. That has become a joke among my coworkers—that, like my Mama, I’m a bit of a hermit outside of work. But what they don’t know is I hunger for adventure.
Judging from these articles I’m reading, though, European royalty doesn’t seem all that different from my own pains in my ass.
We have our own drama up on Cooper Holler, and I don’t want any part of it. When it’s somebody else’s drama? Gimme all the tea, piping hot.
I click through endless slideshow photos of the royal family. This drags me down another rabbit hole of scrolling through pictures and articles about them individually. And, holy shit, one is more good-looking than the other.
Princess Flora is a stunning woman in her early 20s and has her mother the queen’s eyes but the same strong chin as her three brothers. She’s not a wispy thing; she’s tall and curvaceous, with an enviable rack and a smile that hides some secrets.
