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But it’s all a façade. A show we put on to keep the public entertained. To stay relevant in a world that finds the concept of royalty less and less relevant with every passing day.
Nothing about this is real.
It makes me long to feel something that is real, even if it’s fleeting.
“Is my father in residence?” I ask as Oliver leads me through the familiar corridors, everything maintained with the precision and care of a museum. Crystal chandeliers float overhead, portraits of past members of the royal family hanging on the papered walls, reminding me of my place in a life I’d give anything to escape.
“He’s in London through the end of the week. If you’d like, I can reach out to his private secretary to schedule a meeting with him upon his return.”
I force a smile, acting as if the idea of having to go through my father’s private secretary in order to see him isn’t a big deal. Considering my father’s been king for over fifteen years, I should be used to it.
But I still miss when he was simply my dad with no ambition of ever ascending to the throne.
It’s amazing how quickly your life can change.
One minute, we were living a relatively normal life, my father’s only claim to fame being that his father happened to be king.
The next, his older brother and heir apparent perished alongside his wife and all their children in an avalanche during a skiing holiday. My uncle, aunt, and cousins may have died on that mountain.
But a part of me died there, too.
My childhood died.
My freedom died.
My independence died.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll see him at some point, I suppose.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Nearing my grandmother’s study, Oliver slows to a stop and gently knocks, the door immediately swinging open. My grandmother’s private secretary, Lieutenant Colonel Williams, receives me with the same stoicism I’ve come to expect from all members of the palace staff.
Particularly from our private secretaries, who are all former military.
“Your Highness,” he says, bowing. “This way please.” Spinning, he leads me across the sitting room, pausing outside a set of ornate double doors.
I smooth a hand down my hair, taming my long blonde waves as best I can. At least I didn’t put on too much makeup this morning. I’ve never been one to wear an inordinate amount in the first place, preferring a touch of liner around my green eyes and gloss on my lips.
After knocking, Lieutenant Colonel Williams opens the doors and steps over the threshold.
“Her Highness Princess Esme,” he announces, then moves to the side.
As he does, my grandmother turns her cold stare on me from her place behind an oversized desk, no hint of technology to be found. Her lips are downturned in obvious displeasure of my appearance.
“Your Majesty,” I greet with a curtsey, even though it’s not required. The obligation to do so died when my grandfather passed away. Now it’s merely a gesture of respect for her years of service to the monarchy. Service she continues to this day as one of my father’s top advisors on his privy council.
“Take a seat, Esme.” She gestures to the chair opposite the desk.
I do as I’m told and sit, crossing my feet at the ankles, angling my legs down. It’s about as comfortable as sitting with a stick shoved up my ass, but it’s protocol.
“How are you settling back in?”
“I’ve only just arrived. Haven’t even been to Gladwell yet. But it appears everything around here is exactly as it’s always been.”
“Do I sense a hint of annoyance in your tone?”
“Merely an observation.”
