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karahalloway · 26 days

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 19 - Field Day

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: It's off to the bridal boutique, but Harper and Olivia have a secondary agenda...

Word Count: 6,200

Rating/Warnings: M (royal bitchiness, possible emotional abuse, kidnapping, threats of murder)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: So, I have tried to keep everything as realistic and accurate as possible in terms of the locations that are touched on in this chapter. The only thing that is made up is the antique store. As usual, translations for the French and Italian are at the end.

Chapter 19 - Field Day

The five-minute drive to the bridal boutique is every bit as excruciatingly awkward as can be expected.

"What part of we are already running late is so difficult to comprehend?" derides Madeleine before the limo door even shuts. "When I tell you to hurry, I expect you to do exactly that!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Madeleine," stammers Penelope tearfully. "The heel of my shoe became caught on—"

"Save it!" the Countess of Fydelia snaps. "If you cannot do something as simple as totter down a corridor without breaking your neck, then frankly, I do not see how you are supposed to be of use to me."

Penelope's face turns whiter than a sheet. "I—"

"As lest you forget, I took you on as a lady-in-waiting as a favour to your family, given the historically close personal relationship between our fathers," Madeleine reminds her with a steely edge to her voice. "But that does not mean that I cannot send you packing just as easily. And if you do not get your act together, then that is exactly what will happen. Am I clear!"

"Yes," Penelope whimpers, lowering her gaze.

"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And the same goes for the rest of you," adds Madeleine, casting the haughty gleam of her gaze over the limo. "One misstep — proverbial or otherwise — and you are gone. Not just from my employ, but from court as well."

Shifting my gaze over to Hana, I see that she is just as perturbed as I am about this borderline psychotic power-trip.

Talk about being a queen bitch...

Olivia scoffs from her seat in the corner. "How about you try making a threat you can actually carry out..."

Madeleine bristles. "As Queen I will have the authority to—"

"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant."

The Countess of Fydelia's eyes narrow. "That is but a technicality."

"I still wouldn't overplay my hand," Olivia cautions with a smile. "Wouldn't want to get caught out on a technicality now, would you?"

Madeleine glares down the length of the limo like a viscous viper.

"Didn't think so," smirks the Duchess of Lythikos as the driver pulls the vehicle to a stop...

...and the paps immediately descend on us like a swarm of black flies.

"What the—?" I blurt, catching the flash of the cameras through the blacked-out windows. "When did they get here?"

"Five minutes ago," replies Madeleine tartly, slotting a pair of shades on.

My jaw drops. "You... told them where we were going?"

"Of course," she affirms as the Royal Guard who had been riding shotgun manages to squeeze his way through the human press to open the door. "Royal patronage elevates the esteem and profile of any institution. It is only right that the press should be invited to cover the visit."

"Like that's the only reason..." I mutter as Madeleine steps out of the limo and the roar of the crowd becomes deafening.

"Contessa!" several people shout. "Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore!"

"It's horse shite, by the way," Olivia advises as she slides past me. "The only thing she is looking to promote is herself."

"Well, she definitely seems to be succeeding..." I admit, watching the Guards struggle to hold the photographers back as Madeleine sashays her way towards the doors of the boutique.

Olivia scoffs. "It's an act of desperation. Nothing more. She knows she is on thin footing with Christian... and the public."

"Great..." I groan, pulling Drake's blue aviators from my clutch as I, too, exit the limo.

Rather than being an unfortunate one-off, it seems like yesterday's altercation at the Apple Harvest Festival was actually the opening salvo in a concerted campaign of media brinksmanship that Madeleine is determined to win.... at my expense.

Yet, I'm just not sure I have it in me to play her contrived publicity game. The paps have already up-ended my life more completely than I would've ever thought possible, so the last thing I want to do is pander to their voracious appetite for scandal.

"Duchessa Harper! Duchessa Harper!" the photographers shout as I step out onto the sidewalk. "You made it to Italy! What do you think of the city so far?"

"You did not travel with the King and future Queen! Were you forced to make alternative arrangements because of your argument?"

"Will you attend the opera tonight?"

"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to keep my head down and my feet moving forward as the invasive questions zing over my head like bullets. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the photographers press in, trying to get that front page close-up...

...and that's when I spot him.

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat as recognition hits me like a punch in the chest.

Oh, my God, the photographer from Applewood!

He's standing in the second row, regarding me almost casually, like a tourist at a zoo, faded red baseball cap slung backwards over his head, just as in the picture Ana de Luca had saved on the flash drive.

Our eyes meet and I stumble to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away, my morbid curiosity overpowering my senses even as the paps close in around me...

...but then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back and the sound of a familiar voice brings me back to earth.

"Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle," Allard assures me, appearing at my side to shield me from the press invasion.

Glancing up, I see that Schweitzer has taken up position in front of me, using his body like a blocker to force a path through the crush.

Curling into the safety offered by my Guard's no-nonsense attitude, I let them whisk me into the boutique.

"Thank you..." I say sincerely as we pass through the doorway into the foyer.

Allard relinquishes his hold on me with a nod. "Certainement. Vous allez bien?"

"Yeah..." I reply, heart pounding as I try to recollect my bearings. "I just—"

"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Hana, stumbling into the boutique behind us. "That was horrible!"

"C'est le bordel!" agrees Kiara as she and Penelope manage to squeeze themselves through the press before the Guards shut the door. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?"

"She wasn't," Olivia replies flatly, shooting an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Madeleine, who is already being given a queen's welcome by the boutique's owner.

A tense silence descends as we all process this assessment.

"I... I suppose we should go through," Hana suggests eventually.

"Oui," Kiara affirms with a huff, smoothing the front of her dress. "Sa Majesté expects our assistance."

Penelope glances uncertainly towards the fuss being made over Madeleine. "I don't think she's expecting mine..."

"Don't be silly!" Kiara admonishes, looping her arm through her friend's to tug her forward. "She just had a petite éclat. Every bride gets nervous and she is under a lot of pressure to maintain constant perfection. But that is why we need to help her, non?"

Penelope looks like she's about to disagree, before finally acquiescing with a sigh. "I just miss Merlin and Morgana..."

"J'sais..." consoles Kiara, patting her reassuringly on the back of the hand. "Hopefully once the tour is finished, Madeleine will allow you to send for them."

"I doubt it..." Penelope mutters meekly as they join Madeleine in the store proper. "She said she hates yappy little dogs. You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"

"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."

"Oh..."

"I'm sure they have some pretty floral designs, though!" Hana offers encouragingly. "Italian lace is known around the world for its intricate rebrodè detailing."

"Yes, because that's what men care about on the wedding night..." Olivia mutters dryly, turning towards me. "You coming, or what?"

"Huh?" I ask, snapping my head up. "Umm... Yeah. Sorry."

"You better be," she snips disdainfully as she starts down the foyer as well. "I refuse to be the only sane participant in this clown show..."

I glance warily back towards the front of the boutique, where the paps were still battling each other, trying to snap a shot of us through the tastefully curated window displays.

"What?" Olivia objects after a beat. "No snide comment? No wry clap-back? You're not conveniently coming down with a sudden fever, are you?"

"I... I saw him," I admit, tearing my gaze away from the feeding frenzy outside.

Olivia grabs my wrist to yank me to a stop. "Saw who?"

"The photographer," I say tightly, pulling my arms around myself in a bid to stop myself from shivering, despite the record-breaking temperatures outside. "From Applewood."

"Dion Guillard..." clarifies Olivia, staring at me intently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I nod.

Olivia purses her lips. "He could be here on his own volition, or because someone invited him. Either way, we should make use of this opportunity."

"How?"

"By making him an offer he can't refuse," she replies slyly, pulling her phone out.

My eyes widen. "You mean right now? But Madeleine—"

"Has enough sycophants coddling her already," she counters flippantly as she quickly types up a text. "We only have one chance to do this. Do you want the truth, or not?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I do."

"Good," she nods, slotting her phone away again. "You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"

"Umm..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responds, clicking her fingers authoritatively at Allard and Schweitzer. "Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes."

Before I have a chance to respond, Olivia has already spun on her heel and is striding towards the rear of the store, my two Guards in tow.

"'Kay..." I mutter under my breath.

I have no idea what Olivia's plan is... much less how she thinks to arrange a clandestine meeting with the photographer under Madeleine's nose while there's an entire army of paps parked outside watching our every move.

But I've learned during the course of the social season that the Scarlet Duchess is as enterprising as she is resourceful, having pulled a number of successful ploys in a bid to advance herself in the competition. And Drake seems to trust her implicitly, otherwise, he wouldn't have asked her to keep an eye on me while he's off in Dubai.

So, it looks like I'm just going to have to trust her, too.

Taking a deep breath, I move towards the other end of the shop floor, pretending to peruse the various items on offer while I wait for the allotted time to tick down.

Luckily, Madeleine is busy loudly shooting down each and every lingerie option that is presented to her by both the boutique staff and her increasingly frazzled ladies-in-waiting, so nobody really notices when I announce a pretend visit to the restroom.

Slipping back out into the foyer, I move as casually as possible towards the back of the store, knowing that the paps are still watching me like hawks through the windows.

Rounding the corner, I allow myself to speed up a bit, casting my gaze left and right, looking for Olivia...

...when I'm suddenly yanked into a dimly-lit storeroom stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped veils and dresses.

"Hey! What the—?" I protest as the door is shut promptly behind me.

"You're late," Olivia informs me dryly, clicking the lone light bulb on above us.

"Sorry, I had t—"

I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"

"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.

I drop my head in my hands. "I am going to jail... I am literally going to jail..."

"Oh, ye of little faith..." Olivia admonishes, stepping over to the photographer.

He shrinks instantly back from her.

My brows shoot skywards. "Jesus Christ... What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "Yet..."

A chill runs down my spine. Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...

"I presume you know who we are?" she asks Dion levelly, coming to a stop in front of him.

The man nods tightly, brows bunched together beneath the line of his baseball cap.

"And your current circumstances leave you under no illusions as to the lengths we're willing to go to obtain — by force, or otherwise — the clear and unvarnished truth?"

His gaze slips to meet mine for a second before sliding back to Olivia's to give her the barest of nods.

"Good," she smiles, reaching towards him. "Then this will go that much faster."

In one quick motion, she yanks the scrunched-up handkerchief from the photographer's mouth, making him wheeze.

"Sa mère la pute de—"

"Who are you working for?" Olivia demands, folding her arms.

Dion spits on the floor next to her feet. "I'm a freelancer. I work for—"

"We know who you are," Olivia interjects with a wave of her hand. "You're a lowlife slug who's willing to do anything to make a name for himself. You demonstrated as much when you sold compromising photos of my friend here to the press. The question is, who hired you?"

Dion scoffs. "Nobody hired me. I work for myself! That is what I've been trying to—!"

"Liar," Olivia accuses. "We know you didn't just stumble upon this by yourself. Who's your client?"

"Nom de dieu..." he disparages under his breath. "I told you already, I—"

Olivia is suddenly up in his face, knife pressed to his throat. "And I didn't like your answer."

Dion jerks back instinctively. "Your petite friend is correct... You are going to jail..."

"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily. "What little will be left of it, anyway... Because no one here is going to the police. And I'm sure that your so-called friends out the front will secretly be glad for your unexplained loss. The freelance photography business is oh-so cutthroat, after all..."

"Tu es une salle grace..." he snarls through clenched teeth.

Olivia presses the knife tighter. "Then you should know that it's not in your interest to test what's left of my patience..."

Dion laughs bitterly. "À quoi ça rime? You say already that you will just—"

"What if we paid you?" I interject, stepping forward.

Olivia's head snaps angrily around. "Harper, stay out of—!"

"Paid me?" the photographer cuts in, eyes swirling to meet mine with interest.

"To give us the information we're after... voluntarily," I clarify, in a bid to avoid the impending bloodshed. "And to sell us the photos from Applewood."

Dion frowns. "I already sold the pictures to the papers..."

"Not all of them," I correct, hoping against hope that my gut instinct is correct and I haven't just torpedoed Olivia's interrogation for nothing. "You only sold the ones you were told to sell — the ones that fit your client's narrative."

Dion seems to assess me in a new light. "You come prepared... Fine. I'll do as you ask... for five million."

"Ducats?" asks Olivia.

"Euros."

I very narrowly catch my jaw from falling to the floor at the sound of the obscene price tag.

"You've been paid once already," counters Olivia. "The highest we can go is one million."

"Four," insists Dion, somehow managing to find the balls to negotiate even with a knife pressed to his throat. "There are a lot of pictures."

"Which no one else is willing to buy, so two is our best and final offer."

"Three," declares Dion. "And I'll forget this conversation ever happened."

Olivia purses her lips for a moment, before whipping the knife away with a flourish. "Fine. Start talking."

Dion lets out a low exhale. "I received a call some days before the Jamboree. The person had a tip on one of the Prince's suitors, and said it would make big news if it got out. Naturally, I was interested."

"Who was this person?" I ask.

"I don't have a name," he replies. "The tip was anonymous, and the call came from a hidden number."

"Was it a man or a woman?" Olivia queries.

"A man."

Olivia and I exchange a glance. Tariq or Godfrey.

"How did you get into Applewood?" I ask, turning back to Dion.

"A security pass was delivered to my apartment. No return address," he adds before either of us can ask.

"And that didn't seem suspicious?" I press.

"Demoiselle," he scoffs. "I am a paparazzo. I am not going to... How you Américans say? Count the teeth of a dog?"

"Look a gift horse in the mouth..." I correct dryly.

"Once on the estate, I took some pictures of the Jamboree — in the event, you know... nothing came of the tip — but then I received a message on my phone that the suitor in question was on her way back to her room with her paramour, andI should make myself ready."

"How did you know which room to go to?" I cut in.

"There was a blueprint of the manor included in the same envelope that provided me my security pass," Dion explains. "It was your room that was marked."

His words hit me like a kick to the guts.

It's been clear for a while that my run-in with Tariq has been anything but chance. But to learn the malicious extent of the planning that had gone into setting it up makes me want to actually puke.

Who was sick enough to even think up something so twisted?

"What then?" asks Olivia, diverting Dion's attention from my momentary muteness.

He shrugs. "I took the photos, and left."

"How?" I croak in disbelief. "How could you just stand there while—?"

"I am a journalist," he shrugs apathetically. "My business is to be impartial..."

"You watched me get assaulted," I hiss through trembling lips. "There is nothing impartial about that!"

He shrugs again. "Affairs are messy. Maybe you should choose your lovers more carefully."

I feel my fists clench at my sides as I take a step forward. "He is not—"

Olivia's hand pulls me back. "How did you deliver the photos?"

"There was no delivery," Dion counters with the same level of nonchalance that he's exhibited since he started talking. "I selected the best pictures and put them out to offer to the newspapers. The Sun offered the most for them, so I sold to them the exclusive rights to publish."

"That's it?" queries Olivia. "No one else was given copies?"

Dion scoffs. "Absolutement pas! Selling copies to anyone else would violate the license agreement with the most influential tabloid newspaper in the country! Why would I put myself out of business? I am not an idiot..."

"You didn't send any samples to the person who tipped you off?" I press, having finally managed to regain my composure somewhat.

"Non," he insists. "I said before — he was not a client. I have no obligation for him. And even if I did, I have no way to contact him because—"

"—the conversations were anonymous," I finish wearily.

Apart from lending credence to our suspicions that Godfrey may have had a hand in the set-up, this conversation has confirmed literally nothing.

The people involved in the plot have been too careful in covering up their tracks.

Which means that all our hopes now rest with Tariq... and Drake's ability to find him.

Dion nods. "C'est correct. And I told you everything you asked. We still have a deal, yes?"

"On the condition that you hand over all the remaining photographs — including any digital and backup copies — and disappear off to a godforsaken island somewhere," Olivia clarifies.

Dion nods eagerly. "Naturellement. I always desired early retirement."

"Good," she approves, cutting the bonds from his wrists with a cold smile. "Otherwise I will personally ensure that you don't live to spend a single Euro of your newly acquired millions."

The flash of the wicked-looking blade so close to his groin causes the photographer to blanch involuntarily. "Je le jure."

Olivia flashes him a cold smile. "We'll be in touch..."

"You're just letting him go?" I hiss into Olivia's ear as Dion pushes himself up.

"Unless you would prefer to dump him in the Tiber?"

I reel back. "What! No! I just—"

"Your instinct was right," she advises softly, as Dion gathers his bag and Allard escorts him back out. "He is an opportunistic shark. He just had to be made to believe that he was fleecing us."

My eyes widen. "So, you played bad cop deliberately."

"As you said, this is my area of expertise," she smirks. "And I knew you would not be able to keep your sentimentality at the door."

"Umm, thanks... I think..." I mutter. "But where are we supposed to get three million Euros from? We may both be aristos, but neither of us is Jeff Bezos..."

"The Palace has a designated slush fund set aside for these sorts of expenditures," Olivia assures me breezily, slotting her knife away. "Since you are now a member of the royal family, we'll just send the bill to Jonathan."

I slant her a wry look. "I'm pretty sure that's not what either he or Christian had in mind when they decided to clean up my image..."

"Oh, please!" she admonishes, stepping back out into the corridor as well. "As recently as last year, Constantine was authorising expenditures of five to ten million Euros to stop pictures of Leo shagging B-list actresses on top of various vehicles making it onto the front pages. Three million Euros is trump change for the Rys."

"If you say so," I concede, my mind still reeling from astronomical sums of money that had been so casually bandied about. "Let's just hope Dion doesn't screw us over..."

"He won't," she assures me. "Nobody is stupid enough to cross a Nevrakis."

"The people who blackmailed you did..." I remind her cautiously.

Olivia's mouth tightens as we reach the end of the corridor. "Which was their first mistake. And one that they will pay for dearly."

"You never actually told me what they threatened you with on the night of the Coronation Ball..."

Olivia glances at me sharply. "The less you know the better."

"But—"

"It is for your own protection," she insists. "You haven't played this game long enough to know how to handle something so... explosive."

My eyes widen. "What? More explosive than—?"

Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. "What did I tell you on the plane?"

"Sorry..." I mumble through her fingers.

She withdraws her hand. "If — on the very slim chance — I require assistance, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, you should rejoin the bridal parade."

"Why? Where are you going?" I ask as Olivia moves towards the back loading doors.

"None of your business," she ripostes, disappearing outside.

"Bye to you, too..." I snip as the door slams closed in her wake.

Olivia may now be on my side, but she is still as caustic as ever.

Turning back towards the main part of the boutique. I barely make it four steps before Madeleine's shrieks of outrage — and the sound of breaking glass — echo down the hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, no thongs! They are ribald and tasteless!"

"Yeah, no..." I mutter under my breath as I promptly spin on my heel to head back towards the rear of the store.

I don't care what Kiara may have said earlier; I have no interest in spending the rest of the morning being trapped in a bridal boutique, being screamed at by Madeleine. I have much better things to do with my time... and sanity, especially given that I'm still trying to mentally and emotionally process what the photographer had said. And after everything else that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, a small break would definitely go a long way in diffusing my pent-up stress.

Admittedly, a part of me feels bad for leaving Hana behind to suffer the full brunt of Madeleine's tirade, but trying to pull her away as well would only jeopardise my chances of making a successful getaway. I'll just have to think of some other way to make it up to her.

Not wanting her to get into any unwarranted trouble on my account, I decide to pull out my phone to send her a quick text letting her know that I'm not feeling well, and that I'll hopefully see her at the opera in the evening.

Slotting my phone back into my clutch, I push the back doors of the boutique open with a decisive shove, and step out into the sunshine.

Letting my eyes adjust to the brightness outside, I find myself in a small courtyard. On a whim, I turn back towards my Guards.

"Which way to the Trevi Fountain?" I ask, pulling my sunglasses back down over my face.

Allard and Schweitzer trade glances, clearly uneasy with this request.

"Demoiselle, that is not a prudent—"

"—way to get lost in the crowd?" I counter. "I can't think of a better one. If I don't advertise myself, no one will know I'm even there. Especially while the paps are tied up on the other side of the building."

My Guards don't seem convinced. "Commandant Walker left specific instructions to—"

"I'm not planning on disappearing on you," I assure them. "I just want to make a quick detour to grab some pastries, and check out the fountain. So, which way is it?"

Perhaps seeing that I'm not going to be swayed by any cautionary counter-argument, Schweitzer gives Allard a one-shouldered shrug of acquiescence.

Allard pulls a face before finally resigning himself as well. "Par ici," he says, indicating the far side of the courtyard.

"Thanks," I chirp with a smile, setting out across the cobblestones...

...and promptly get the heel of my stiletto pumps stuck in a crack between the stones.

"Eugh," I grumble, as I manage to wrench myself free after a brief battle. "I really didn't think this through..."

"Would Demoiselle require a taxi?" asks Schweitzer as he helps steady me from behind.

"I was hoping to walk..." I admit sheepishly.

"Via Borgognona is nearby," Allard suggests. "It is a well-known shopping street, though quieter than the more famous Via Condotti. Demoiselle might find more... comfortable footwear there."

"Not to mention some more appropriate clothes in general," I gripe, already feeling the tight fabric of my pencil dress start to stick to me. "How far away is it?"

"Just around the corner."

I flash him a bright smile. "Perfect!"

With Allard leading the way, and Schweitzer holding my hand, we manage to cross the courtyard without further incident, and sneak past the paps still thronging the front of the bridal boutique without getting spotted.

Crossing the pedestrianised thoroughfare, my Guards usher me down a narrower street that is lined on either side by cream-coloured buildings casting some welcome shade in the midday heat.

We pass a smattering of tourists and locals, but luckily everyone seems to be too absorbed in their phones or personal conversations to pay any specific attention to me.

And — more importantly — as Allard promised, the street is composed entirely of fashionable-looking independent boutiques.

"Let's try this one," I suggest, indicating the arched entryway of a store with an Italian name that I do not recognise, but which nevertheless seems to have several options for sandals on offer. And — given the scalding nature of the weather — an open-toe option is definitely appealing right now!

Stepping into the air-conditioned entranceway, I am immediately greeted by an immaculately made up woman with a severe ponytail, who starts questioning me in rapid-fire Italian.

"Umm..."

Luckily, I am saved from the embarrassment of trying to cobble together some kind of inappropriate response with the very limited — and wholly unhelpful — Italian that Bertrand had managed to teach me on the plane by Allard, who steps deftly up to my side.

"Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe."

"Che tipo de scarpe?"

"Sandals," I say, having understood the gist of the question. "No heel."

"Prego," the assistant says, flicking her hand towards some minimalist shelving.

"Gracia," I acknowledge with a smile.

Moving over to the indicated section, I quickly assess the options...

...and nearly die when I lay eyes on the price tags.

"Almost a thousand Euros...?" I gripe under my breath "For a few scraps of leather...?"

But then my eyes land on a pair bejewelled, gladiator-style sandals.

Given my limited window of opportunity to sneak in some sight-seeing before people start to question my absence, I don't have the luxury of being able to hunt for a bargain. And if I'm going to end up forking out this much money on a pair of shoes, I'm at least going to spend it on something that I like the look of.

And these sandals definitely fit the bill.

Decision made, I pull out my phone to quickly find out how my normal US shoe size converts to the vastly different European sizing, and turn back to the patiently waiting assistant.

"Size 36, please."

With a nod, she disappears 'round the back.

While she's gone, I take the opportunity to look up the location of the little pastry shop that the President had mentioned.

Since I'm heading towards the Trevi Fountain anyway, and Madeleine had pulled us out of this morning's meeting before the refreshments could be served, I had been serious when I told my Guards of my intent to tackle two birds with one stone. Especially since it's nearly lunchtime, and chances are I won't otherwise see food until the opera this evening.

The assistant reappears with my selection, and after a quick try-on, I give her a nod to ring up the extortionate purchase, being excessively grateful that I still have cash left in my US account, given that I don't actually have access to my new Cordonian accounts yet.

Stepping back out onto the street, I change out my shoes, slotting my pumps away into the high-end bag that I've been given, and dumping the shoebox in a nearby trash can.

My toes flex gratefully in their newfound freedom as I cross the street to the clothing boutique, wondering how much a top and pair of jean shorts is going to set me back...

In the end, however, I am pleasantly surprised to emerge back onto the street in a simple, white wrap-dress, a straw Panama hat, and a matching straw bucket bag in which I've stowed my old dress and shoes, all for under two hundred Euros, which means I was able to make recourse to the money Drake had given me, and still have plenty of cash left over for other potential emergencies.

"Thanks for the suggestion," I tell Allard sincerely. "It has definitely saved me from melting into the pavement!"

"De rien, Demoiselle," he acknowledges with a smile. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Lead the way, Monsieur!" I tell him with a grin.

Taking up poll position with a scoff — with Schweitzer bringing up the rear — Allard takes us left at the next intersection to zig-zag us down various side streets, presumably in a bid to avoid both the ferocity of the midday sun, and the chances of me being recognised on the busier avenues.

But, the back route pays off, and within ten minutes, I find myself standing on the edge of the crowded plaza that serves as the gateway to the romantic monument.

"Wow..." I breathe, taking it all in. "It sure is busy!"

Allard and Schweitzer exchange a tense look, no doubt worried about the prospect of being able to keep tabs on me in the press.

"I'll be fine," I assure them. "Just a quick peek and then we can get moving."

Neither of them look convinced, but they don't try to dissuade me as I plunge into the crowd.

Skirting around wedding parties, tour groups, and other miscellaneous sightseers, I manage to work my way to the front of the throng, and my mouth parts with a gasp at the sight spread out before me.

The four-storey monument rises up from the base of the fountain, framing the dynamically positioned statues from under whose feet the water gushes into the aquamarine pool.

It's like a Renaissance painting brought to life.

But, while I'm glad to have made the trip out here to see it in person, I can't help but feel my chest tighten morosely as I gaze up at the beauty of the world-famous landmark.

I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but part of the reason why I enjoyed my outing in the Cordonian capital so much was because I had Drake to share the adventure with. And it was the same in Avignon — his wry quips and local knowledge had definitely brought the whole experience to life, making me see the city through different eyes than I probably would have had I been by myself... like I am now.

Eugh... I miss him...

Reaching for the ties of my bag on impulse, I pull the fastenings apart just enough to plunge my hand inside. Finding my purse, I snap it open and extract a Euro from the coin pouch.

Squeezing my fingers 'round the warmth of the metal, I clench my eyes shut with a heartfelt wish as I turn back towards the fountain...

...before sending the coin flipping through the air to land in the water before me with a soft plop.

Blinking my eyes open, I am somewhat disappointed to find myself still standing solo by the railing, and Drake has not magically appeared before me like the hot Italian guy did in The Lizzy McGuire Movie.

"Worth a shot..." I console myself somewhat dejectedly as I reach back into my bag to extract my phone so I could snap a couple of pictures to send to my mom.

Mission accomplished, I turn away from the fountain to make my way back to the edge of the square, Allard and Schweitzer falling into step behind me as I scan the various store-fronts clustered around the fountain, searching for the bakery with the pistachio croissants.

My eyes suddenly land on something in one of the window displays...

...and without really thinking about it, I let my feet carry me inside.

The little brass bell above the door jingles as I step into the cramped confines of what appears to be a shop selling a motley collection of antiques and touristy knick-knacks. A wizened old man sporting glasses and a thick head of white hair looks up at the sound of my arrival.

"Buon pomeriggio, signorina," he greets. "Posso aiutarla a cercare?"

"Umm... sì," I say hesitantly. "Hai avo... in the window?" I point at the item that had caught my eye with an embarrassed flush.

The man's face cracks into a grin. "Ah, certamente!"

Stepping out from behind the counter, he ambles his way over to the window display, to pull back the protective glass. Reaching in, he lifts up the silver chain and holds it out to me.

I run the tip of my finger across the edge of the pendant with a smile. "It's perfect."

"For you?" he asks, lifting the chain up to my neck indicatively.

"No," I laugh. "It's a present... Por mi amore?"

His eyes light up. "Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi!"

"Gracia," I say as he scuttles excitedly back behind the counter in search of a box.

Pulling one out with a conspiratorial flourish, he sets about packaging up the piece as if he were swaddling a precious child for a hazardous journey, even managing to dig out a slightly dusty ribbon to tie on top.

"Cento euro," he declares, presenting the completed ensemble to me.

Pulling my wallet out, I extract my card. "Visa?"

"Sì! Ovviamente!" he proclaims, slapping a brand new Square card machine onto the counter, that was starkly at odds with the otherwise Ollivander-esque décor of the place.

Slotting my card into the reader, I complete the purchase, and am just about to reach for the box to stow it away in my bag when I feel a sudden presence behind me.

"This is becoming a bad habit with you..."

I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice.

No way...

The story continues in Chapter 20 (Coming Soon!)

A/N: As per usual, translations below:

At the bridal boutique: Contessa! Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore! - Countess! Countess! Over here, please!

Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle - We got you, m'lady

Certainement. Vous allez bien? - Certainly. Are you alright?

C'est le bordel! Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?" - What mess! What was she thinking?

Sa mère la pute de— - Your mother is a whore of a—

Nom de dieu - Oh, my God!

Tu es une salle grace - You're a real bitch

Absolutement pas! - Absolutely not!

Je le jure - I swear

Out and About Par ici - This way

Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe - She is looking for some new shoes.

Che tipo de scarpe? - What kind of shoes?

Prego - Please

Gracia - Thanks

De rien, Demoiselle - No problem, m'lady

Buon pomeriggio, signorina. Posso aiutarla a cercare? - Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything?

Por mi amore?* - For my love? *This is a completely butchered attempt at Italian. The grammatically correct way to say it would be 'È per il mio amore'. However, Harper is improvising, so she's not going to get things completely correct 😇

Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi! - Ah, lovely! I will wrap it up for you!

Cento euro - One hundred Euros

Sì! Ovviamente! - Yes! Of course!

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

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#harper gale #drake walker #drake x mc #the royal romance #less than noble intentions #olivia nevrakis #hana lee #penelope ebrim #kiara theron #madeleine amaranth #trr fanfic #Spotify

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fadingreveries · 2 months

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The Royal Romance Retelling Masterlist

Series Summary: In this novel-style retelling of TRR, beloved scenes with original commentary from the Choices stories including your favourite group of royals and friends will be expanded upon. Contains extended commentary and scenes from the original story, in-depth descriptions of bonus scenes, and premium choices and outfits.

The Royal Romance, Book 1 🏰 - Bk1 Ch1: Once Upon a Time (part 1/part 2/part 3/part 4/part 5/part 6/part 7) - Bk1 Ch2: Welcome to Cordonia (part 1/part 2/part 3/part 4/part 5) - Bk1 Ch3: Reunited

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lorirwritesfanfic · 5 months

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The Fairytale Ball

Book: The Royal Heir Pairing: Liam Rys x MC (Jade) Characters: Liam Rys, MC (Jade), royal heir (Elise), Maxwell Beaumont, Hana Lee Rating: T Word count: 3415 Reading time: ~13min Summary: The Queen's Ball is the event of the year for the young generations. But Princess Elise isn't as happy everyone hoped she would be on her debut. Based on the prompt: @choicesnovchallenge: National Princess Day

Author’s notes:

Jade Bourbon-Rys, Elise Bourbon-Rys, Charlotte Amaranth, Zain and Gael Maldonado are creations of this author. The other characters belong to Pixelberry Studios;

This oneshot is part of Liam and Jade's universe, but I'm sure you'll have no problem reading it if you never read anything from my TRR series.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three," Hana counted as she passed by, watching every young couple dancing in the ballroom.

"Relax your shoulders, Toshio." Maxwell instructed, gently tapping a young boy's shoulder.

"That's beautiful, Marnie!" Hana praised another girl.

In the corner of the ballroom, Elise counted the steps as she tried to follow her partner's steps. Her mother and godmother always said Cordonian Waltz wasn't that hard. She just had to let her partner lead. Unfortunately, the dance partner Queen Mother Regina chose for her wasn't as good advertised. At least, not in her opinion.

"Ow!" The boy complained, wincing in pain.

"Sorry, Zain..." She said with a weak and apologetic smile.

"Is everything okay?" Hana asked, placing a hand on Elise's shoulder.

Elise grimaced. She knew her godmother wouldn't scold her as her grandmother probably would. But she still didn't wish to disappoint.

"It's alright, ma'am," Zain forced a smile as he continued to dance.

How could he go on, given how hard she stepped on his foot? It was a mystery to her.

The Queen's Ball was an annual ball/cotillion hosted by Queen Jade of Cordonia during Elise’s month of birthday to raise funds for the orphanages and community centers of the kingdom. It was a tradition in which all noble women she knew were involved and her mother was adamant about the princess joining the young couples dance this year. However, she couldn't say she was as excited to join as she hoped to be.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two—"

"OW!" Zain whined.

This time, however, it got a few other couple’s attention. The music stopped.

"Crap... I'm so sorry, Zain..."

"It's okay, Your Highness. I'm fine," the boy murmured.

"Watch out for Princess Klutzy, Zain!" A female voice in the middle of the room mocked. A voice Elise was unfortunately quite familiar with.

Suppressed giggles echoed in the ballroom.

Elise glared at Lady Charlotte, who replied with a smirk.

"That's enough." Maxwell called out, a rare scowl adorning her godfather's face. "Back to your places, everyone!"

"Pay close attention to your partner, ladies. And don't forget your posture," Hana said, roughly straightening Charlotte's head.

Elise pressed her lips together to hide a smile when Zain winced again.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah... I'm kinda beat from football practice."

The princess frowned watching the boy kept dancing, trying to disguise he was limping slightly.

"It's okay if you admit I hurt your foot. We can take a break."

"I'm fine, Your Highness."

"You don't have to play nice with me. And you don't have to call me Your Highness all the time. I don’t call Lord Zain of Bellmere."

"All right... If you let me lead, we'll do a lot better, you know," Zain suggested.

Elise smiled shyly. "Okay..."

Maybe she was overthinking again and just needed to chill. She had tons of dance classes over the years. Cordonian Waltz wasn't that hard after all.

For the next couple of minutes, things went smoothly between them. The princess even started to enjoy the dance and the company of the young Earl of Bellmere.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. Excellent! Now spin!" Hana instructed.

"Ready?" Zain asked.

"Yeah," Elise nodded.

But as Zain lifted her arm for the princess to spin, a couple bumped into them, pushing them both on the floor.

Laughter rose in the ballroom as Hana and Maxwell rushed to help Elise and Zain.

"Damnit!" Zain complained, massaging his left foot.

"I'm so sorry..."

"Are you two alright?" Hana asked in worry.

"My foot hurts..." Zain winced.

Elise frowned.

"I told you Princess two left feet would hurt you." Charlotte snickered.

Something snapped on Elise as she heard Charlotte's voice again. Standing up, the princess stomped her way to the other girl and jumped over her.

"Elise, no!" Maxwell yelled and darted to the princess, followed by the royal guards.

"You stuck-up bitch!" The princess bellowed as she mounted on the girl, grabbing her hair with both hands.

Before Elise could do any real damage, four guards split the girls while the others sent everybody out.

A few hours later

Steps and murmurs reverberated through the walls as Elise sobbed in her room. The Royal guard may be discreet, but the servants loved to gossip. By the time she locked herself in her room, the entire kingdom already knew she got into another fight with Charlotte Amaranth again. But having her name on the tabloids and strangers judging her was nothing compared to Queen Jade’s reaction. And the princess certainly didn’t want to face her mother now.

Just then, a gentle knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

“Go away!” She whined.

Much to her disappointment, the door opened.

“Hey, you can’t tell the King to go away.”

Elise sat up as she recognized the voice. The moment her father sat on the bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Dad!” She croaked.

“It’s okay, my Lil Bunny…” Liam murmured.

“Is it though?”

“I just talked to Lord Zain and his parents. He had already injured his toe during football practice. He just didn’t tell anyone because he didn’t want to be cut out of the team before Junior League started.”

Elise pulled away from the embrace. “But I stepped on his foot over three times!”

“Zain mentioned it, but he still doesn’t blame you. His doctor also said that landing on his feet when he fell most likely was the real cause of the injury.”

“Fine. Now what?"

“As we speak Maxwell and Hana are searching for a new dance partner for you. So now we have another matter to talk about..."

“Ugh…” The princess laid down again, pressing her face on a pillow.

“What happened during the rehearsal?”

“You know exactly what happened," she grumbled.

"I do. But I still want to hear your version of the incident."

Her father had a point. As always.

She then sat up again and began to speak. "I hate Charlotte!"

"Hate is one very strong word."

"It's how I feel about her!"

"Very well. Does it justify you mounting on top of Lady Charlotte to pull her hair and beat her up?" Liam arched an eyebrow.

"She said what happened to Zain was my fault!"

"Elise, you've had spats with her before, but it never came to physical fight. What happened this afternoon that made you cross that line?"

The princess looked down at her hands.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"She is a bully, dad."

"I see..." Liam said, not surprised to hear that Madeleine's only child took after her mother.

"I don't care when she says something about me..." Elise fiddled with the hem of her sweater.

"Did she say anything about something else?"

"Charlotte said Aunt Hana needs to grow a backbone. She put a melted candy bar on Sophie's seat to make it look like crap and mocked her in front of the entire school."

Liam's eyes widened in surprise. "That's why Sophie was upset today."

"The only reason I didn't beat that girl up at school was because Ava and Louis stopped me so I wouldn't get suspended."

"I assume what happened this afternoon was the last straw."

"Yeah..."

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. I don't approve of what you did. This is absolutely not how we raised you and your siblings, but I understand your reasons."

"How bad is the press talking about it?"

"They're loving it. The rivalry between you two is being strongly associated with the one your mother had with Madeleine during my social season and engagements."

"Do they think Charlotte and I dislike each other because of a guy?!" Elise made a face. "Tabloids are so stupid."

Liam chuckled. "They usually are. Little did they know only Jade was fighting about a guy."

"Oh?"

"That's a story for later."

"Okay... What do we do now?"

"You go back to being my sweet daughter and future heir of the throne while your mother and I talk to the Royal Communications department to handle the press."

"But Charlotte's mom is the head of Royal Communications! Lady Madeleine will make it worse!"

"How so?"

"She doesn't like me."

"Madeleine doesn't like anyone in our family except Regina and Leo. But she's still loyal to the Crown."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Whoa..." Elise mumbled in astonishment. "Okay. If you say so..."

"You still have to apologize to her."

"Dad!"

"I'm not asking you to be friends with Lady Charlotte. Just be polite."

"But she—"

"Do it for Regina's sake. Your mother and I will be present to ensure you'll keep it civil."

Elise folded her arms. "How do you know Charlotte won't be the one to start a fight?"

"I was watching the rehearsal from the security cameras when the fight started. She can't win a fight against Sophie's turtle Pabblo."

Father and daughter exchanged looks and chuckled.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

“I don’t wanna dance anymore.”

"Pardon?"

"I'm not going to dance."

"Sweetheart, you've been talking about partaking in the Young Couples Dance for years," Liam tried to reason.

"I lost my dance partner, I'm the talk of the kingdom today... Maybe it's for the best." She gave her shoulders.

"You know your mother won't like this, don't you?"

"Can you talk to her?"

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"I can try..."

"Thanks," Elise murmured, resting her head on her father's shoulder.

About an hour later

"She's not quitting!"

"My love..."

"She's not quitting, Liam!" Jade demanded, glaring at her husband from her vanity dresser mirror. "Our daughter is not a quitter!"

"Elise doesn't want to cause a commotion with the press and the guests being in the same room as Charlotte."

"That's it?! Fine! I'll cut mini Madeleine out of the dance." Jade put down her face cream on the nightstand with full force. "There! Problem solved."

"Jade..." Liam called, staring deadpan at his wife.

"What? No one is gonna miss her anyway."

Liam suppressed a chuckle as he sat on the opposite side of the bed. "Regina won't be happy with this..."

"I don't care!"

"Don't you?"

The couple exchanged knowing looks.

Jade rolled her eyes. "Why do you always have to be reasonable?"

"Somebody has to be. Plus, I know you don't want to have animosity with Regina."

"I created this ball for Elise! I'll be damned if I allow Madeleine's daughter or anyone to get in my daughter's way of having her dance!" Jade fumed.

"Did you truly create this ball for her or for yourself?"

"You know precisely why this ball exists." Jade scowled.

Liam looked back at his wife and arched an eyebrow.

"Sure... Maybe I've been daydreaming about Elise's first dance with her high school crush for years. But I created the ball because she wanted to dress and dance like a princess."

"Jade, she is a princess. It's her birthright."

"This is not about monarchy and titles, Liam. Do you remember when we attended Calenvia's Baile de Debutantes? And the Queen's Debutants Ball in the UK? How mesmerized she was by cousin Manuela dancing with her girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's the only thing she hasn't experienced yet!"

"A fairytale moment."

"Exactly!"

"She was a five year old fascinated by fairytales. And I doubt her fairytale moment would come given how she barely seemed comfortable around Rashad's son."

"You don't get it, do you?" The queen pursed her lips in annoyance. "She has a Pinterest board with inspirations since she was seven. She booked herself an appointment with Galia Lahav to get an exclusive design for her gown. She may not have a crush on Zain, but they looked good together. We all saw the day she explicitly told Zain what type of flowers he should get for her corsage and his lapel!" Jade then stood up and sat next to her husband. "I'm telling you: Elise wants this. She cannot let go of her childhood dream just because that little project of Regina George pissed off my daughters."

"Hmm..." Liam pondered for a moment. "Fair point. But I guess we both know there's only one person who can convince her to attend," he said, giving his wife a knowing look.

"What if she thinks I'm forcing her to do it?"

"You're fully capable of persuading anyone, my love," he said, kissing the back of her hand.

"Okay..." She heaved a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder.

Liam smiled as he once again realized how much his daughter took after his wife.

The next day

As the young princess finished her homework, Elise left the library and walked down the hallway, looking out the window. The Queen's

Ball night was near, so the servants began decorating the gardens, adding snowflake-shaped string lights on the walls and on the maze. The Winter Wonderland theme was her idea and she was completely sure it'd look amazing. Too bad it felt like a dream she would have to postpone for a while.

"Elise?"

The princess stopped in her tracks as she heard her mother's voice. They haven't talked since her mother left the palace to take Zain to the hospital. The queen looked furious then. Was she still mad at her?

The princess turned around to look at her. "Yes, ma'am."

"I heard you have a free schedule now. Follow me to the entertainment room."

"The entertainment room?"

"You'll understand why soon."

Oh, man... Was she going to use one of those educational videos just like the ones her parents showed Louis about STIs? Educational videos were part of her father's style of educating. Her mother's approach was a bit more straightforward.

Once they stepped into the room, Elise took a seat in one of the chairs on the back and Jade followed. On the cinema screen, small clips of Elise as a toddler dancing in the ballroom with the queen, watching her parents dance then joining them, clapping as she watched the first young couples and her dance lessons while growing up.

As her eyes welled up, Jade changed seats to be closer to her daughter. "I know why you don't want to join the Young Couples Dance after what happened yesterday. Facing the press after a scandal isn't easy. But I want you to know why I created and have been hosting The Queen's Ball all these years."

"What?" Tears streamed down Elise's face. "But you always said it's an event to celebrate Grandma Eleanor and Grandma Elaine and help kids in need."

"I know. I'll keep mentioning them and their charity work they did because The Royal Communications said it'd be a good excuse to turn a ball into a charity event and attract more donations. But its first name was Fairytale Ball."

"Fairytale ball?"

"Yes." Jade reached for her daughter's hand. "All I wanted was to give you a fairytale moment."

"Mom..." Elise threw her arms around her mother's neck and hugged her tightly. "Aren't you mad?"

"I should be." Jade replied, stroking Elise's hair. "I should scold you and ground you for weeks. But honestly? I wish I had slapped some people's faces during your father's social season and engagement to Madeleine."

"People?" Elise pulled away and stared wide-eyed at her mother. "Who?"

"Literally everyone in this palace except Hana and Max."

"Even uncle Drake?"

"Oh, sweetie... Drake was the worst sometimes..."

"Really?"

"We can talk about that later. Right now, I want to know what you want to do."

"I want the fairytale."

"Okay."

"But I don't have a dance partner!"

"Actually, Maxwell found three candidates for you. Next?

"Mom, there's the press…"

"Your father and I can handle them. What else?"

"I don't want to be anywhere near Charlotte."

"I can throw her in the dungeon."

"We don't have a dungeon..."

"Well, not in this palace... But my guards can certainly escort Charlotte to Valtoria lower ground floor..." Jade commented with a sly grin.

"Mom!"

"I'm joking."

"You're so not!"

"You say it as if anyone is going to miss her..."

Mom and daughter shared a glance and laughed.

"I want to dance. But I don't want to harm anyone in the process."

"I know..." Jade smiled, glad to realize how much her daughter had in common with her husband. "We'll figure it out. Now, onto more important things." Jade fished her phone out of her pocket and showed it to Elise. "These are your possible dance partners."

"A girl?!"

"And this lovely gender-fluid person who just won a scholarship at The Royal Dance Academy."

"Really?"

"What? We're keeping our options open just in case."

Elise looked at each picture, and though one person caught her eye, she prompted. "Mom, I don't know... Is there a way I can talk to them?"

The queen smirked. "I thought you'd never ask."

A few days later

Purple, blue and white lights tinted the Royal Palace walls as the guests arrived for the Queen's Ball, one of the most opulent events of Cornodia's social calendar. Among the many attractions of the night, young members of nobility and wealthy families across the world traveled to the Cordonian capitol to partake in the Young Couples Dance. Their hopes were to be introduced to the crème de la crème of world society, sharing their accomplishments and plans for the future.

This year, however, the press was far more interested in news about the Royal Heir, Princess Elise Bourbon-Rys. After the incident between the future queen and Lady Madeleine's daughter, rumors about more spats, feuds between the princess's friends and her rival's at school and possible absence of both of them from the ball spread fast. Yet no one from the palace confirmed nor denied any information. Would the princess miss her own mother's ball? Or was it Lady Charlotte who took the fall?

"Your Majesties! A word, please!" A reporter chanted.

The king and queen smiled to the press, signaling for them to step closer.

"Good evening, everyone!" Liam replied.

"We hope you're enjoying the ball," Jade continued.

"Lady Charlotte just arrived with her family. Does it mean Princess Elise is still grounded?"

"Elise wasn't grounded. Queen Jade and I believe that encouraging our children to do volunteer work is a much more effective way to teach them about compassion and non-aggressive methods to deal with their feelings."

"Can we expect the Princess to attend the ball then?" A paparazzi asked.

"Yes. Elise is preparing herself to join the festivities, just like all the other teenagers partaking in the Young Couples Dance," the queen affirmed.

"Aren't you concerned about another disagreement between the young ladies, sir?"

"There's no reason for concern. They've made amends that same day and they've been working together at the senior's shelter."

"Are they friends now?"

"What about the situation with Lord Zain?"

The reporters continued to ask more questions when the Queen's assistant approached her and whispered something in her ear.

"We would be glad to talk to you some more, but the first attraction is about to start. Please join us in the celebration of this magical evening honoring the children of our country," the queen stated before walking away with the king.

After outstanding performances of Cordonian Royal Ballet academy and a play presented by Queen Eleanor's children home, it was time for the Young Couples Dance. All couples were introduced by the herald and as soon as they took their places in the ballroom, musicians played a traditional Cordonian Waltz. The crowd eagerly waited for any kind of mishap or incident. Contrary to all expectations, the young couples gracefully danced to the song, making it another successful performance.

"Maxwell and Hana did an excellent job with the kids this year," Liam commented.

"I know. Aren't they lovely?" Jade beamed as the couples spinned in perfect synchrony.

"They are. But there's one couple stealing all the attention though." The king nodded towards Princess Elise, who was all smiles to her dance partner. "Who is he?"

"Gael Maldonado, heir to the Ducado de Rivas."

"A Calenvian lord."

"Maxwell was betting on Amalas's child, but I saw how our Lil Bunny was like when she facetimed Gael."

"I see... Did Drake run a background check on him?" Liam asked, scrutinizing the boy.

"What would he—" the Queen then arched an eyebrow in amusement. "Are you jealous, Your Majesty?" Jade teased.

"No..."

"Liam..."

"It's just a precaution."

"You don't say..." she grinned.

"Our children won't have a social season. We need to find out more about their possible..." Liam made a face as the boy whispered something in Elise's ear, making her giggle. "...suitors."

Jade chuckled, hugging the king's arm. "Honey, they just met. Let them enjoy the night with no pressure."

"Are you really not worried?"

"Why would I be? Look at them!"

Elise beamed as Gael spun her around and held her with back pressed against his chest.

The king then gave his wife a knowing look. "You already did a background check on him, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Jade reached for her champagne flute to avoid his gaze.

“Uh huh…”

The king and queen smiled proudly, watching their eldest daughter dance.

#choices fanfic #the royal heir #liam rys #liam x mc #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #choicesnovember2023 #lorirwritesfanfic #lorircreates #liam and jade's love story

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monaownsmyass · 8 months

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Protective Hana is so wife I love herrrr

#hana deserves better #she’s so pretty #hana lee #hana x mc #trh #trr #the royal heir #the royal romance #choices #choices: stories you play #pb #pixelberry #playchoices

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poppysimp · 8 months

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suddenly back after 2 years to remind everyone hana lee is the most underrated love interest in the history of choices stories you play like that’s my baby!

#playchoices #choices stories you play #the royal romance #the royal heir #hana lee #hana x mc #trr hana

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shreyamistry · 8 months

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Hey There! I saw this, and I couldn't agree more! Nothing says I love you more than "I'm willing to try this for you." And this works for all kinds of relationships: romance, friends, and family, too.

Would you be able to create something showing this for one of your characters or pairings? It could be a drabble, fic, edit, art - anything at all!

NO PRESSURE AT ALL - only if you want to, but I'd love to see what you could come up with!

Pairing: Hana x MC

Prompt: “I’m willing to try this for you.”

Word Count: 1900+

Summary: Nicole invites Hana to a rock concert when the pair visit New York. Nicole relives the nostalgia of living in New York while Hana lives vicariously through the life of a New Yorker.

A/N: Thank you for the ask! I hope this fits (I was trying to rack my brain very hard to find something that makes sense and this is the conclusion my brain came to). I hope you like it 🩷!! Requests are open if anyone is interested !!

Thank you for reading! I hope you like it!

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Hana dotes on her dress, her slim fingers smoothing down the fabric trying her best to make it look as sleek as she would prefer. The peach colored gown made her feel almost out of place compared to the other outfits she saw - even compared to Nicole she felt like an outcast. She glances around nervously, picking at a stray piece of lint that lingers on her dress. The fabric soft to the touch, cooling and calming - it helped Hana stay grounded despite her nerves.

“Hana!”

She turns her attention to Nicole who smiles brightly, she draws Hana into a quick hug pulling away to hold her at arm’s length. The pair had decided to meet up at the venue as Hana needed to meet with aspiring young men her parents would try to set her up with if King Liam didn’t work out; and Nicole wanted to meet up with her old co-workers. The thought of Nicole as a waitress intrigued Hana, she often wondered what it would feel and be like to be a true New Yorker without a royal background.

“Nicole! I’m so pleased to see you.”

She smiles brightly as Nicole pulls her in to place a kiss on her cheeks, quick and chaste. She sighs to herself happily, the short interaction enough to make her heart flutter in her chest and her mind race with thoughts. Nicole offers her a cup with a weird array of scents coming off of it giving her a puzzled look.

“It’s a concoction of every soda,” Nicole laughs at the concern written across Hana’s features. “Trust me, it sounds gross but it’s - well kind of gross, but that’s half the fun. It’s a New Yorker thing, I guess.”

Hana laughs gently before taking the drink to her lips. She breathes out deeply before taking a sip from the straw, her face scrunching up in disgust before settling into a look of distress. Every polished part of her screams this is nasty and undignified, but most of her is excited. She goes for a second sip getting a squeal of excitement from Nicole.

“I told you!” Nicole laughs, “it sounds gross, tastes gross, but you can’t stop yourself from going back for seconds!”

“I never realized how exciting being a New Yorker could be,” she replies, “you lived such an exciting life before coming to the courts of Cordonia.”

“It wasn’t all glamor, you should’ve seen the giant rat I called my roommate back at my old place.”

“A giant rat? In your home?!” Hana gasps.

“Mhm,” Nicole nods, she leads Hana by the hand further into the stadium they were at. The sound of music grew louder and louder as they weaved through people, Nicole taking lead to make sure she and Hana could get through the crowd quickly. “I named him Derek, I can’t explain it but he looked like a Derek. Though, I think I was influenced by watching Grey’s Anatomy with him.”

Hana shakes her head in disbelief, letting a giggle leave her lips as Nicole pulls her to a stop the both of them watching each other as people talk excitedly around them the overwhelming sound of music and voices nearly drowning them out from hearing one another.

“I’ve never seen Grey’s Anatomy,” Hana whispers, “Is it good?”

“Hmm, think Open Heart with more drama.” Nicole smiles.

“I love Open Heart.”

“You’re welcome for letting you onto it,” Nicole grins, “I have season 3 on DVD we can watch sometime, though be warned it’s not as good as the first season.”

Hana smiles sweetly, her cheeks flushing crimson red thinking back to her marathons with Nicole watching the first and second season. She remembers the warmth of Nicole’s body next to her, the taste of unhealthy American snacks, and the fun they had laughing and crying over fictional characters and what would become of their medical careers. It was different for Hana, before then she’d never even truly seen a film; her family found it a waste of time. A distraction from her studies and her duties as a woman of the Lee family, she only ever recalls watching a single movie in her youth and that being the Titanic because her mother was fascinated by the concept and Leonardo DiCaprio.

She adored this part of life, the contrast different from growing up in New York versus that of growing up in the courts as she did. The fun she felt with Nicole only grew, she made her branch out and try things she never would’ve even considered or thought to be to be done. The sheer amount of American media from film to music to television excited every part of Hana’s brain. There was so much to learn and notate, even media meant for fun consumption Hana found there was something to learn from it. She never thought she’d find herself at a concert in this way — sure she’d been to classical concerts but they paled in comparison to the excited energy around them.

Hana’s pulled out of her thoughts as she gazes onto the stage in the middle of the stadium where a band takes the stage excitedly talking to the crowd.

“Thank you for coming Hana, I’m glad I can share so much of my life with you. I know this is overwhelming, but you’re handling it like a champ!”

Hana grins, “it does hurt my ears a bit, but I’m happy I came. I’m willing to try this for you.” Nicole squeezes Hana’s hand in return, failing to hide a grin in her attempt to be seen as nonchalant. She’s about to reply when the band speaks up, turning their attention away from each other to the front stage.

“Are you ready to rock New York?!”

“WOOOOO!” The crowd cheers, it’s nearly deafening to Hana, as she tries her best to not show it seeing the smile on Nicole’s face.

Before long the concert is in full swing, people mosh and dance around her with excitement. Hana herself is clinging to Nicole’s arm to not get swept away into the craziness of New York’s crowds, enjoying the feeling of holding Nicole’s hand. This is not something she would’ve done herself, she wouldn’t have even considered coming to a rock concert a mere two months ago. There was something about Nicole that made her feel emboldened and brave; it made her a better person.

The bravery she felt with Nicole; it instilled upon her that she could be her own person and face the world with all of her strength and prove herself to her family and friends alike. She studies Nicole, the excitement on her face as she screams lyrics to a song that Hana can barely understand. Hana couldn’t explain it, but despite being unfamiliar and not all that interested with the event, she still felt engaged and she enjoyed herself even. The smile on Nicole’s face was the most important thing to her in this moment; seeing Nicole happy made Hana happy.

Thinking back on this night, Hana would regard this night as the night she truly full heartedly had fallen in love with Nicole Brooks.

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Nicole hunkers down with Hana’s head in her lap, the two of them sitting in the back of a limousine on the way back to the airport. Their four day excursion to New York came to a conclusion, though Nicole almost wishes she and Hana could stay forever and show her all the wonders of New York. Nicole felt comfortable here, it wasn’t all high end glamor and royalty, it was her eating a giant $2 slice of pizza with Derek watching hoping Nicole would drop a few crumbs for him to scurry by and eat.

Nicole longs to be back in New York as much as she won’t express it, so much has changed that she knew she couldn’t just return to New York and pretend she was Nicole Brooks, not Lady Nicole. She wouldn’t know how to settle back into being a waitress with shitty customers, shitty pay, and dull outfits, houses, and friends.

Going to Cordonia reminded Nicole she truly didn’t have many friends or much family to keep up with, she texted a few people in the time she left but none all that important, none that pulled her back to New York. She truly only missed the rock scene, it was her saving grace from her day-to-day life. Long night shifts spent sucking up to rich people for a half decent tip to be able to go see her favorite bands live, to feel a part of a group. Her rock friends being the only few people that would hit her up to see what concerts she’d be at so they could meet up and party together.

She sighs to herself, she wonders what would happen if she’s unable to convince Liam to take her hand in marriage — truthfully, she didn’t know if she even wanted him that much. After everything that happened, everything she’s been through, all the ups and lows, the only constant through it all was Hana. The shoulder for her to rest on and vice versa. She knows she shouldn’t and she knows the possibility is limited; but she often found herself wishing it were Hana’s hand in marriage she was chasing. She shakes the thoughts of her head, Hana and her may have kissed once, but she shouldn’t lose focus now.

She brushes her fingers absently through Hana’s hair, a lingering smile plastered on her features. She hums in appreciation as her fingers glide effortlessly through the strands of Hana’s hair, enjoying the comfort of another person. Her heart giddy in her chest, she never had someone in her life that cares about her happiness like Hana does. Nicole’s many exes would refuse to go on a spontaneous trip or even to a free rock concert.

She remembers the excited, nervous energy bustling through the crowd as they hoisted Hana up to crowd surf. Nicole’s ex would’ve never been caught dead letting herself get crowd surfed, even her ex-boyfriends didn’t appreciate the rock scene as she did. Hana however was different though, she did things Nicole loved without hesitation and Nicole would do the same. She knew her and Hana were more than friends despite the mental turmoil she went through, in the short time she’s known her competing for Prince Liam’s hand in marriage she’s learned more and spent more time with Hana than she did the crowned prince.

She wasn’t sure if Hana returned the feelings, she would be happy just being friends even if they both knew their connection was deeper. She would do anything to keep Hana in her life; she wanted to spend the rest of her life learning about Hana and her interests — as friends or lovers. She wanted to return the favor of doing what Hana loves as Hana does for her.

Nicole leans down to place a kiss to Hana’s temple, whose lips curve into a smile in her sleepy state snuggling in closer to the New Yorker. She strokes Hana’s cheek with the back of her hand; feeling the exhaustion of the night starting to hit her. She herself could also use a nap. Nicole leans back in her seat, her fingers never leaving Hana’s hair as she lets her eyes close hoping her dreams would keep this feeling in her chest alive.

She didn’t know at the time, but this was the moment she truly fell in love with Hana Lee.

#hana lee #hana x mc #the royal romance #trr #choices #choices fanfic #ask #answered #jerzwriter <3 #ty for the ask I do hope it does your prompt Justice 🫶🏻#it’s been soooo long since I wrote for Hana #I miss her so much #she’s my baby #I kith her

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unsettlingconclusions · 1 year

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Upturns

Pairing: Hana Lee x MC (Riley) (mentioned). Hana Lee. Madeleine Amaranth. Summary: While Hana contemplates how everything will change after Riley's name is cleared, she gets some unexpected company. Set during TRR 2. Genre: Angst Rating: T Word Count: 900 Notes: I have always contemplated how Madeleine had feelings for Hana and decided to write this. Set at TRR 2 ch 16 (parallel to the scene Liam proposes to MC). This could work both as Hana's train of thought before the balcony scene (Hana's route) or as a scene to establish Madeleine's feelings for her. I had fun with it! Hope you will.

Warning: it doesn't depict graphic violence, but it may be a bit uncomfortable.

It was a fine night. Or it was supposed to be a fine night. Hana was sure at some place in New York some couple was having the best time of their lives right now.

She chuckles lightly to herself. "Some". She would keep it as vague as possible in her head. If she could pretend she didn't know Liam had planned an special night for Riley, she could lavish in the feeling the woman she loved wasn't far off her reach for just a little while longer.

If only she hadn't read Maxwell's text. Now not only she knows Riley will wake up tomorrow as the future Queen of Cordonia, she'll have to come up with something to justify the note she slipped through Riley's door. With her extraordinary ability of lying.

She hid herself in the rooftop of the hotel that night, and let the gentle breeze sweep through her hair while she mindlessly paced around. Only yesterday she had found herself so close to Riley. They had strolled around New York and Hana delighted in seeing Riley in her element and in being invited into it. Shaking her head, she feels that damn oppressive tightness in her chest yet again, and finds herself fighting the urge to kick some imaginary rock on the tile floor.

She knew cleaning Riley's name would change things. Did it have to take less than 24h?

Clenching her jaw, she looks for a secluded spot where she could sit and just let the hours go by. Her whole plan was to keep the abstract far away down the street New York citizens as her company. It was fascinating observing how time seemed to move differently for all those people, with some idly moving while others dashed swiftly. Were they on their way to change their lives or was it just another ordinary day?

"You think that with your intelligence you would've made a better choice than to handle her right over to him".

Startled by the unexpected voice, Hana's eyes widen as she turns around trying to make out the intruder's face. "I'm- I'm sorry?" her words come out disarranged as she grips the railing of the balcony, her heart pounding.

"Riley." The shadow replies coming closer, a low grumble piercing through the silence.

"Oh, Madeleine." with a tentative smile, Hana holds her hand to her chest as Madeline leans against the wall. "Good evening. I'm not sure I follow."

"Is all that innocence real? Or are you just exceptionally skilled at faking it?"

Hana tilts her head to the side and gawks back at Madeline, opening her mouth ready to protest, although not exactly sure to what. Madeline simply scoffs, narrowing her eyes back to Hana. "You're in love with Riley."

"I, I--" Hana stumbles, only to be cut short by Madeline waving a hand at her. "Yes, you. Save it, Hana. You're far too good to manage to lie or deceive anyone."

Hana blinks and stares down, her head filling with a muffled but sharp sound. The other woman pushes herself off the wall, stiletto heels connecting hard against the floor. "I know you're in love with her. Anyone with eyes can tell that." Madeleine sneers, putting one hand on each side of Hana's, trapping her against the railing. "What gets to me is why did you never do anything about it?"

The smell of bourbon coming off from the blonde was numbing to Hana. It was a powerful contrast to the softness of Madeleine's skin and the floral essence of her perfume. Hana kept moving her face to side to side to try and clear her thoughts "I... I didn't want to impose."

"Do you imagine yourself going any far in life by regarding your wishes as impositions?"

"Why are..."

"And to help her clear her name and become eligible again." Tightening the corner of her lips in a lopsided smile, Madeleine moves one hand to brush away a lock off of Hana's eyes, surprising her with the gentleness of the action. "Just why would you do that?"

"I... I wasn't going to let her be slandered-“

"You weren’t going to let her be slandered," Madeline mocks, disdain dripping through every word.

"...Only because it would decrease her chances of being chosen by him."

Getting impossibly closer, Madeline reaches for the back of Hana's head and brings her voice into a whisper, "How is that serving you right now? You're here pathetically mourning her."

That snaps Hana back into herself. She might not know well how to read people, or she might have grown up sheltered and manipulated, or maybe not. She wasn’t sure of much, but she knew she was so tired of letting people walk over her. She straightens her posture and pushes Madeleine off with enough force the blonde staggers, losing her footing for a moment.

"And how has all your ambition served you so far, Madeleine?" she grits her teeth, now her turn to invade the other woman's space. "As far as I can see, we are both morning the same event, with the exception I at least have made a friend, while you are collecting enemies. Excuse me."

She strides away feeling a renewed sense of confidence. In her heart she knew she meant it, regardless of Madeleine's or anyone else's opinion. Meeting Riley has deeply changed her, and even though she still needed to learn how to navigate through this new side of herself, she could bask in the fact she was on her way to be her own person and nobody would this away.

If she had looked back and noticed Madeleine's expression, she would've seen the woman pressing her lips into a tight line, her eyes not holding still and the rapid up and down of her chest. She would've noticed how this night has changed everything in more ways than one, and that there was also another woman being faced with the path of completely changing herself.

#the royal romance #mc x hana lee #hana lee x mc #madeleine x hana #hana lee x madeleine #madeleine amaranth #hana lee

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uselessgay10101 · 9 days

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We all know Hana Lee loves and treasures Mc whether or not you're romancing her (and I love that of her)

That being said--

Y'all think Mc could make Hana angry with them? Like cold shoulder and everything

If so, what did Mc do?

#Quite honestly #i dont think their fights last more than a hour-#in my mind #they both hate conflict and being angry with each other #but y'all know im a sucker for agnst and that not exclude anything #as unrealistic as it may be #hana lee x mc #mc x hana #Trr #the royal romance #the royal heir #hana #hana lee #choices stories you play #pb

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lover-also-fighter-also · 7 months

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Does it feel weird that while many posts I see about choices thirst over the Bad Boy/Girl type LI's, I fall in love with the Golden boy/girl such as Gabe (Immortal Desires), Hana Lee(TRH), and Caleb (OG: HSS)

#choices #choices stories we play #trr hana #hana lee #the royal romance #the royal heir #the royal finale #hana x mc #immortal desires #gabriel/gabriela adalhard #hss #high school story #caleb mitchell

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masked-alien-lesbian · 2 years

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I'm 3 days late but I finally finished my TRH family Mother's Day card.

#choices #pixelberry #playchoices #hana lee #hana #trr #trh #the royal heir #the royal romance #hana x mc #hana lee x mc

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angelasscribbles · 1 year

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Probably A Bad Idea

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Riley x Hana

Rating: PG

Warnings for this chapter: none

Word Count: 678

A/N: I've always maintained that in the original story if you don't choose Liam, it makes no sense for him to just appoint your child heir. None. It only makes sense if the child is actually his (from a succession viewpoint). At least if you marry Hana, Liam could be the sperm donor, right? But no, PB didn't do that.

It makes sense for Liam to be the biological father. But how would Hana really feel about that?

My other stuff: Master List.

“So our baby, which you will carry, will be fathered by your ex-boyfriend? Do I have that right?”

Riley’s excitement faltered, “I thought we agreed to use a donor that we know!”

“Sure, one that we picked together, after discussing it with each other! Someone who’s a friend, like Max or Drake!”

“Liam is a friend! You and he are close!”

Hana snorted, “He’s more than a friend to you, Riley!”

“Not anymore, and he’s not only willing, but it was his idea! If you’ll listen-“

“Of course it was!” Hana’s voice rose, “This is a way for him to stay entangled in your life!”

“No, I don’t think-“

“How involved does he want to be?”

“What?”

“How involved does he want to be in the child’s life?”

Riley was completely taken aback, “I mean…involved, but I thought we already agreed that since we were going to use one of our friends, whom we see all the time anyway, that if the father wanted to be involved, we were cool with it.”

“Again, I thought we were talking about Max or Drake, even Rashad, not the man you almost married!”

“I didn’t almost marry him, Hana, we never even technically got engaged!” Riley huffed.

“How involved?” Hana repeated.

“Weeeell……” now that Hana was upset, Riley was beginning to suspect the rest of it wasn’t going to go over very well.

“Well, what?” Her wife demanded.

“Pretty involved. He wants our child to be his heir.”

“To the throne?” Hana froze as her mouth fell open.

“Yes….” Riley grimaced.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Just like that? We aren’t even going to discuss-“

“What’s there to discuss, Riley? Your ex wants you to have his baby and he wants that child to be the official heir to the throne. You don’t find that the least bit problematic?”

“No, I don’t. Liam and I are just friends now. I fell in love with you, Hana!” Riley crossed the room and reached for her wife.

Hana pulled away, “I love you too, but I think you’re a little naïve when it comes to Liam. You always see the best in him, Riley.”

“He’s a good person, Hana. I don’t think he’s being manipulative in any way. He just…he needs an heir and he doesn’t want to commit to a loveless marriage.”

“So he can wait until he does fall in love!”

“What if he never does, Hana? What if he never falls in love? He is our friend, not just mine, but yours too! This solves the problem of how to have a child for all three of us. We get the family we’ve always dreamed of, and he gets his heir without being forced into a loveless marriage.”

“And what if we do this and then he does fall in love down the road? What if his future wife wants her child to be the heir?”

Riley considered that question thoughtfully, “If he already has an heir, that guarantees that any woman who agrees to marry him isn’t doing it because she’s a crown chaser who just wants her child to be a ruler. But, if they decided together that’s what they want, our child can be pulled out of the line of succession, because we wouldn’t fight that. We would support it because we only want what’s best for our friend. Right?”

Hana sighed as she considered it seriously for the first time. Riley was right. Liam was under great public pressure to marry and produce an heir.

On the surface, it seemed like the perfect solution for everyone.

She just wasn’t as convinced as her wife was that Liam was actually over her.

On the other hand, she was sure her parents would be thrilled by the news that she would be raising the heir to the throne.

Not that her parent’s stamp of approval was any kind of a ringing endorsement.

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Riley said carefully but she felt like jumping up and down for joy.

After all, what could go wrong?

#one shot #hana lee #hana x mc #choices trr #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week

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karahalloway · 1 month

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper, Olivia and the Beaumonts arrive in Rome... but not everyone is happy to see them

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: None (for once 🤣)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Lots of Italian and random cultural/historical tidbits in this... but, then again, we are in Italy, so the foreign language aspect will be a bit of a running theme through the next few chapters (sorry...not sorry - I actually learnt some Italian in the process!)

A/N2: @aussiegurl1234, before you ask, yes, I HC that Vito bears a striking resemblance to Michele Morrone 😆

Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

"How is it hotter here than in Cordonia?" I gasp as I step out onto the jet's airstairs.

"Italy is a peninsula," Olivia says from behind me, slotting on a pair of Versace cat-eye shades. "It is more exposed to the anti-cyclones that blow up from the Sahara."

My mouth drops as I make my way down onto the steaming tarmac. "This heatwave... is coming from Africa?"

No wonder it feels like the inside of a furnace!

"It certainly isn't coming from the Arctic!" bemoans Bertrand as he shields his face from the intensity of the rays with an upraised hand. "Though what a welcome change that would be!"

"Brr...!" objects Maxwell with a shiver. "No thank you! I've had my yearly fill of sub-zero temps at Olivia's!"

"You're welcome," comes the snippy response as the Duchess of Lythikos strides past us.

"That said, turning the mercury down a few notches wouldn't hurt..." I remark, squinting accusatorily up at the beating sun.

"The summer heatwaves have been growing longer and more intense over recent years," Olivia advises from up front, "leading to consequent effects on food and water security, power generation, infrastructure, not to mention the added burden on the healthcare system across Europe. It is one of the items on the agenda for Christian's roundtable with the Italian Prime Minister tomorrow."

I frown as I arrive at the passenger-side door of the first in a trio of waiting Porsche Macan GTS's. "I thought this was supposed to be an engagement tour..."

"It is," she confirms as a black-suited Italian sporting close-cropped hair and aviators opens the door for her. "But any foreign visit involving a high-ranking head of state is — by its nature — a diplomatic event as well."

"I guess that makes sense," I concede, sliding into the relative reprieve offered by the SUV's A/C system. "Though you said Christian is meeting with the Prime Minister tomorrow... I thought that was supposed to be today. Did something change?"

"No," derides Bertrand as he settles in next to me. "Today, the King is partaking in a meet-and-greet with the Italian President, followed by a private audience with the Pope while the future Queen is fitted for her wedding trousseau, capped off by dinner and a performance of Tosca at the Teatro dell'Opera in the evening. While tomorrow we have been invited to brunch at the Cordonian Consulate, after which the King has a round-table discussion with the Prime Minister, and day will be closed out by a state gala."

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly. "So, the Prime Minister isn't the same as the President...?"

"The Prime Minister is the head of government, while the President is the head of state," the elder Beaumont instructs as Maxwell squishes himself into the backseat on the other side of me. "The roles are quite distinct."

"Of course they are..." I huff under my breath.

Seems like in addition to Olivia's list of influential Cordonian nobles, I will also need to memorise a textbook on European constitutional history...

Though, now I am doubly glad of the business-like, but nevertheless stylish pale pink, high-necked pencil dress that Bertrand foisted on me this morning — it definitely would not have been great to show up underdressed to such a high-level meeting!

"But we must hurry!" the elder Beaumont proclaims. "We are due at the Presidential Palace in just under an hour, and we still need to fight our way through the notoriously infernal Roman traffic!"

"Not to worry," Olivia assures us with a sly smirk from the front passenger seat. "Vito here knows all the shortcuts."

"That sounds ominous..." I mutter, reaching for the seatbelt on instinct.

"I prefer 'expeditious'," she counters, turning to Vito, who has now taken up position behind the wheel. "Andiamo."

"Certamente, Duchessa," he nods, throwing the car forward with a violent depression of the gas pedal.

The sudden acceleration yanks an inadvertent gasp from my lips as I'm thrown back in my seat... just like on that afternoon in Ramsford when Drake pulled the same stunt on the Beaumonts' driveway.

I feel my throat tighten as I glance inadvertently out the window. God, I hope he's okay...

I know in the back of my mind that I'm probably making myself anxious for no reason. Drake is an adult, perfectly capable of taking care of himself... including in close-quarters situations. He's demonstrated that to me plenty of times.

Yet, I still can't help but worry about him. Especially when he's off in a foreign country (all by himself for all I know...), having left with basically no good-bye, and with definitely no assurance of when he expects to get back.

And while I know that he is doing this for me — so we can collar Tariq and extract whatever information he has in relation to the plot to influence the outcome of the social season... and to answer for what he did to me in Applewood — the wait is killing me. I have no idea where he is, what he is doing, and whether he even has his phone turned on, given the high-stakes nature of his self-appointed task.

Which is why I have held off trying to reach out to him (...even though the baser, needier part of me is itching to do exactly that), as I don't want to be the one to interrupt a crucial moment by setting his phone off with an ill-timed call or text, especially considering the three-hour time difference...

I heave a breath.

I just have to trust him. Like he asked me to at every turn of this increasingly bumpy road that we've been travelling since I left New York. And hope that we are finally on our way out of the woods.

Exiting the boundaries of the airport, Vito navigates the Porsche onto a highway where we are able to pick up some speed. Olivia uses the opportunity to open up her phone, throwing some questions in Italian to her associate every so often as we cruise along. Bertrand is similarly occupied, while Maxwell has slipped on some Bose headphones and is bobbing away to the beat.

Which leaves me to stare somewhat aimlessly out the window, watching the scenery roll by in a bid to keep myself distracted.

But the reprieve ends up being somewhat of a welcome one. The various warehouses and road-side auto lots surrounding the airport quickly give way to a tree-lined thoroughfare, and I find myself basking in the calming effects of the greenery, not having expected to encounter such a bucolic sight on the road to a major urban centre.

Eventually, though, the vegetation gives way to the crumbling walls of some kind of expansive estate that we end up following for a good few miles until the asphalt road changes over to cobblestones and we pass in front the gates of a red-bricked stone fortress that looks like it's been plucked straight from the set of Game of Thrones.

"Wow..." I can't help but breathe as I take in the sight of the towering structure simmering under the light of the mid-morning sun.

"Le mura aureliane," advises Vito from up front, catching my awed expression through the rear-view mirror. "Costruita dall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari."

I nod distractedly, craning my neck as we turn a corner to follow the path of the ancient structure that is somehow still standing despite the clear ravages of time and weather.

Nothing lasts like this anymore...

Making another turn, we pass beneath an arched portion of the wall, and the road before us opens up into a leafy boulevard that takes us into the city proper. And from there, it's one jaw-dropping piece of architecture after another jostling for space between more modern buildings and seemingly never-ending rows of trees.

"I didn't expect Rome to be so green..." I admit to no one in particular as I eye up the unusual-looking shrubs.

"You can thank the Ancient Romans," supplies Bertrand without glancing up from his phone. "They planted the now-iconic stone pines in scores along the major roadways in part to serve as ornamentation, and in part to provide a steady supply of pine nuts, which are an essential ingredient in many dishes, including pesto and various pies and tarts."

"It certainly was worth the effort," I agree, watching the evergreens drift past on either side of us.

Though, as Bertrand predicted, the closer we get to the centre of the ancient capital, the increasingly chaotic the traffic becomes, with cars, buses and mopeds all vying for space on the roads, requiring Vito to make recourse to his own horn as well as various offensive gestures in order to narrowly avoid a slew of accidents... and I suddenly have a slightly better appreciation for why Drake drives the way he does. Because based on my experiences first in France and now in Italy, it appears that on the Mediterranean, might equals right when it comes to priority on the road, and unless you're forceful, you ain't getting nowhere.

Managing to finally extricate ourselves from the constraints of a complicated intersection, we end up on a quieter road running parallel to a long patch of bunkered-looking grass on our left.

"What's that?" I ask, tapping Vito on his shoulder.

"Il Circo Massimo," he advises.

My eyes widen. "That's the Circus Maximus?"

"Sì," he nods. "L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corse dei carri."

"Unbelievable..." I murmur, slumping back into my seat in awe.

There is nothing comparable back home — even the oldest still-extant pre-Columbian structures date to only the first millennia A.D. Whereas here we are, casually cruising past a seminal piece of history that is still embedded into the fabric of the city nearly three thousand years after its construction. And we haven't even seen the Colosseum, or the Forum yet!

Rome really is the Eternal City...

Leaving the green fields of the Circus behind us, we enter a more urban-looking environment as we start to climb a hill. The white- and sand-coloured buildings cluster closer together, and the general architecture becomes more uniformly Baroque, until we arrive in a large plaza dominated by a massive, Neo-Classical structure that towers over everything else.

"Il Vittoriano," Vito offers without prompting.

"Is that where we're having brunch with the President?" I ask, slack-mouthed as I stare up at the imposing building.

It certainly looks impressive enough to house the head of a country!

"Of course not!" admonishes Bertrand. "The Vittoriano is a symbolic collection of monuments built to commemorate the rule of King Victor Emmanuel II and the unification of Italy. The President resides at the Quirinal Palace, which is located on a wholly different Roman hill!"

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly.

"Like she is going to know the difference," scoffs Oliva from the front. "They don't even teach The Art of War in her schools... How can you expect her to know anything about Italian history?"

"Italian history is foundational history!" insists Bertrand. "The Romans were instrumental in shaping not just the course of European, but Northern African and Middle Eastern events for millennia! How can they neglect to teach American children about this?"

"Because the focus is on US history," I tell them wearily as Vito navigates us to the other side of the square.

"Surely that is an afternoon's worth of lessons at most?" the elder Beaumont queries sceptically. "Your country was only founded in the conventional sense of the word in the mid-1600s..."

"Most Americans haven't been to Europe," I remind him, watching the rows of buildings flick past on either side of us as we begin the ascent up another hill. "They don't necessarily have a basis of comparison."

"Sounds like your curriculum is somewhat lacking in scope, then..." he surmises with pursed lips.

"Yeah, well..." I retort dryly, "I don't write the textbooks. Though, speaking of education, is there any chance for some sightseeing? It would be a shame to spend two days here and not actually see anything..."

"While I wholeheartedly approve of the sentiment," Bertrand replies, "I am afraid that you will have to make do with the cultural experiences offered by the various host venues on the official itinerary. Which — I admit — are no Pantheon, or Sistine Chapel, but are impressive and important cultural artefacts, nevertheless. The Quirinal Palace, for instance, so named for the Quirinal Hill on which it sits, is actually the sixth largest palace in the world and has served as the primary residence of such notable figures as—"

I let out a low exhale as Bertrand launches into a full-blown historical recital. And while the details are definitely interesting, I didn't come all this way to listen to a one-man rendition of a Roman guidebook.

Which makes me all the more determined to find some kind of opportunity to slip away from the official tour — even if it's just for an hour to toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain — so that I can experience something of the magic that this breathtaking city has to offer.

When, I have no idea, given the busyness of our schedule, but I managed to orchestrate an escape plan to see the capital back in Cordonia, so I'm confident I'll be able to pull something similar... albeit without Drake's help this time. But despite the set-backs, I'm not about to miss out on this kind of once-in-a-lifetime experience...

With my intention firmly set, the car rounds an uphill corner, and we are suddenly on the edge of yet another expansive plaza secured by a rim of strategically placed concrete planters and a pair of police cars.

Vito pulls to a stop and slides the window down to exchange a few quick words with the officer who has come to greet us.

"Passports," instructs Olivia, reaching into her purse.

Opening up the white, Medusa emblazoned Versace clutch sitting on my lap — which I am sure cost more than what I would've ever made in a month working as a waitress back home, but which Bertrand had insisted on as a 'necessary' Italian-themed accessory — I pull out my shiny, new Cordonian passport and pass it to the front.

Maxwell and Bertrand do the same, and there is a couple of minutes of tense silence while the stern-looking officer inspects each document to verify our identities, while another policeman does a circuit 'round the car with a convex safety mirror.

Finally, the policeman hands the passports back with a curt nod, and waves us through.

"Were they not expecting us?" I query as I slot my credentials away again.

"They were," Olivia advises. "But we are arriving separately from the royal delegation, so the State Police are obligated to run a security check."

"Why?"

The Duchess of Lythikos scoffs back at me. "To ensure that we are not terrorists trying to kill the President with a car bomb... Or did that part go over your head?"

"No..." I hit back sarcastically. "I meant why are we arriving separately?"

She looks back at me with an arched brow. "Would you have preferred to deal with the press?"

"I... No," I admit.

She turns back to the front with a smirk. "Didn't think so."

Vito pulls the car to a stop in front of a small courtyard decked out with a red carpet and intertwined streamers made out in the colours of Cordonia's and Italy's flags. Allard and Schweitzer — who had been travelling in the car behind us — appear to open the doors for us.

Bertrand scoots out of the backseat first, before turning back to offer me his hand.

"Thanks," I say with a sincere smile, grasping his fingers to help pull myself up.

"Always my pleasure," he replies with a genuine smile.

Smoothing my skirt, I gaze up at the somewhat understated-looking entranceway, suddenly nervous about the prospect of acting as a newly-minted ambassador of Cordonia. I mean... three months ago, I was bussing tables at a dive bar for less than minimum wage, and now here I am, decked out in clothes that cost more than the rent I was paying for a fifth-storey walk-up, about to have an official meeting with a foreign country's head of state.

To say that I feel like a fraud is a massive understatement.

"What are you waiting for?" asks Olivia, breezing past me with all the confidence of a woman who's done this a hundred times before... probably because she has. "For the grass to grow?"

"I—"

"I heard the President loves chocolate bomboloni," offers Maxwell enthusiastically, linking his arm through mine to tug me down the length of the red carpet.

"What's...that?" I ask, forcing myself to swallow down the sudden dryness in my throat.

Maxwell's face collapses into an aghast look of shock. "Only the best pastry-based dessert! Second only to cronuts, of course!"

"That's definitely a high bar to hit," I admit.

"Think mini doughnuts with gooey chocolate filling, dusted with powdered sugar," he explains. "They literally melt in your mouth!"

"Except we are not here to indulge infantile cravings for sugary treats," reprimands Bertrand as we pass through the arched doorway. "We are here to partake in important discussions relating to matters of state, and t—"

"Pfft," scoffs Olivia. "Speak for yourself, Beaumont. These meetings are dull as shite. I'm here for the sweets."

I can't help but snort at the unexpected riposte... as well as the resultant sight of Bertrand's jaw hitting the parquet flooring. And I unexpectedly find myself feeling better about the whole experience. Because despite whatever nerves I may be feeling, the fact that Olivia and the Beaumonts are with me means that I am not alone in this.

Passing into the coolness of the building, we are greeted by a middle-aged woman who proceeds to lead us through a veritable rabbit warren of ante-rooms and corridors before we finally arrive in an expansive room dominated by a pair of jaw-dropping crystal chandeliers suspended from a vaulted, hand-painted ceiling.

"La Salle Bronzino," informs our guide, indicating that we should step through.

"Wow..." I breathe, trying to take in the opulence with as much composure as I can.

A slew of camera shutters click to life upon our arrival.

Jerking my gaze down from the delicate, celestial fresco above me, I spot the handful of photographers aiming their lenses at me.

I stifle a groan as I plaster a demure smile onto my face. "I thought you said there wouldn't be any reporters."

"This is an official state visit," Bertrand hisses out of the corner of his mouth. "Of course, there will be reporters!

"Just not as many as there would have been outside earlier," Olivia assures me.

My shoulders slump in acquiescence. "Take the wins you can get, I guess..."

"Ah, you made it!" exclaims Christian, striding up to us with a jovial grin. "Traffic wasn't too terrible, I hope?"

"Nothing Vito couldn't handle," Olivia assures him, dipping into a chaste curtesy as the photographers snap eagerly away.

Christian turns to me with a good-natured chuckle. "And Lady Harper... First impressions haven't put you off, have they?"

"No," I assure him, bobbing down politely as well, knowing that everyone in the room now has their eyes on us. "The exact opposite, actually."

"Excellent," he beams, holding my gaze for a second longer than he did with Olivia. "I have to admit that I have a bit of a soft spot for Rome, myself."

"It really is a—"

"Darling," interjects Madeleine with a steely smile, appearing at her fiancé's shoulder. "You really should focus your attentions on the President. He has been gracious enough to open up his home for us, after all..."

Christian's nostrils flare with the briefest flash of irritation as he pulls back slightly. "Quite. Let us go make the necessary introductions."

Madeleine bristles. "That is not what I—"

Deftly ignoring her, Christian extends his arm decisively towards an elderly man wearing a sombre suit and gold-rimmed glasses. "Shall we?"

"I guess so?" I concede, already feeling myself being steered past the silently fuming countess.

"Now remember," Bertrand mutters next to me as Christian leads us down the length of the room. "In the context of a formal conversation, it is always lei — never tu — when addressing your counterpart, so for the love of all that is holy, please do not—"

"Singor Presidente," proclaims Christian as he pulls to a stop. "Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione."

The President raises his head dutifully. "Certamente."

"Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell."

The Beaumonts bow their heads dutifully.

"Beaumont..." the President frowns. "Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso?"

"Sì," Bertrand confirms. "Egli è nostro padre."

The President is nodding in recollection. "Sì... sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui."

"Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte," Bertrand acknowledges.

"E questa è Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos, un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys."

Olivia holds out her hand. "E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente."

The President drops a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. "Il piacere è tutto mio."

"E finalmente," concludes Christian, "questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria."

The President's brows arc inquisitively. "Singorina Harper... You are... American? No?"

"Sì," I affirm as I offer my hand out. "Ma ho praticato mio Italiano..."

The President's mouth cracks into a genuine smile. "And you are doing very well, Singorina! Tell me, have you visited la città eterna before?"

"No, this is my first time," I admit, also switching to English, now that the formalities are over and done with. "But even the ride from the airport was utterly magical! It's like stepping into history!"

"Sì," the President affirms with a grin. "Us Romans are unspeakably lucky to be able to call such a beautiful city our home. It is a place of many treasures."

"What is your favourite part of the city?" I ask.

The President blinks in surprise at the unexpected intimacy of the request. "That is a difficult question... But if I am forced to choose... it would have to be this little forno next to la Fontana di Trevi which makes a very unique — and very delicious — pistachio croissant. It is not for every person, but if you have a spirit of adventure, then I suggest you try it."

"Thank you," I say with a sincere smile, filing the suggestion away. "I definitely will!"

"I cannot say that I have had the pleasure of sampling this treat, either," Christian admits, with a knowing glance down at me. "But Lady Harper has excellent taste in pastries — she was actually kind enough to introduce us to an American delicacy called a cronut. It was a big hit all around."

"A cronut?" queries the President. "I cannot say I am familiar..."

"Don't worry," Maxwell assures him with a conspiratorial grin. "We'll bring you one. If you'll trade us some bomboloni in exchange?"

Bertrand's already sunburnt face reddens further. "Maxwell! You cannot entreat the President t—"

"You like bomboloni, also?" interjects the President with keen interest.

"Of course!" Maxwell affirms enthusiastically. "Anyone who doesn't like them clearly has something wrong with them!"

"Sounds like you have excellent taste in pastries as well, Signore Maxwell!" chuckles the President.

The conversation continues to revolve around our shared food interests for a few more minutes, until an aide clears his throat from behind the President.

"Accettare le mie scuse," he apologises. "But I am being advised that it is time for the photographs and the speeches."

"Of course," nods Christian graciously, indicating that the President should lead the way to the front of the room where a small podium has been set up.

As the two men peel away from the group, I cast my eyes 'round the space and spot Hana standing by one of the large windows. Giving her a wave, I use the brief break in the proceedings to make my way over to her.

"So, what's the view like from this side of the room?" I ask by way of greeting.

"Quieter than your side," she admits wryly. "You certainly seemed to be having an engaging conversation with the President!"

"We discovered a shared love for sugary treats," I admit. "You should've joined us — you could've bragged about that baking championship that you won."

"It's alright," she demurs with a blush. "It's actually been nice to take a moment to step away from the crowd."

"Oh?" I ask, laying a concerned hand on her arm. "Is something wrong?"

She heaves a breath, as if debating whether to tell me. Finally, she says, "I have been fending off suitors."

My brow shoots skywards. "How many proposals have you had?"

"Since I arrived...? Probably twelve..."

My eyes bulge. "Twelve! That's like two a day!"

"Yes," she concedes with a weary exhale. "Lady Madeleine has been extremely gracious in personally introducing me to numerous eligible bachelors—"

"—but none of them are Maxwell," I surmise.

Her eyes flick up to mine before dropping back down sorrowfully. "No. But for the sake of my parents, I must entertain every available option in an honest manner."

"That definitely sounds exhausting..." I concede. "But hopefully now that we're out of the country, you can catch a bit of a break."

"I am not so sure..." she admits. "I have been advised that a number of well-connected Italians will be in attendance at the opera tonight..."

"Pfft...!" I scoff. "Just take the night off... Pretend to be sick... Run off with Maxwell to get some gelato... Actually enjoy being in Italy!"

Hana blushes. "I—"

The chime of a bell rings out across the room, interrupting our conversation.

Looking up, I see that all heads have turned dutifully towards the twin forms standing on the dais as they prepare to address the congregation.

"Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori," greets the President, "È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazione reale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. È passato troppo tempo da—"

As the speech winds on, I find myself tuning out, given that I am only able to understand every third or fourth word. But, not wanting to come across as rude by continuing my catch-up with Hana, I instead try to occupy myself by examining the two large tapestries suspended on the walls.

A round of applause draws me out of my reverie, and I join in on auto-pilot as the President hands off to Christian. Several more minutes of lilting Italian fills the room, during which time I move my attentions to the Roman-looking busts, wondering which emperors they depict.

Finally, the speeches come to a close, and I heave a sigh of relief.

"Did you understand any of that?" I ask Hana as the President presents Christian with some kind of medal, and the two men pose for photos.

"Of course," she nods. "My parents—"

"—have been giving you Italian lessons since before you could talk?" I finish dryly.

Hana's cheeks dimple. "Not quite that young, but yes. I am what they consider 'proficient'."

"Meaning, you speak it better than I speak English," I joke.

She snorts in response. "I wouldn't say that..."

"But it's true," I say with a smirk, happy to see that Hana's time back at court has not completely crushed her sense of humour.

"Ah, I've missed talking to you, Harper," she says with genuine feeling. "The last few days have felt so busy that I feel like we haven't spoken in months!"

"Yeah, tell me about it..." I agree with a huff. "In the space of a week, I've become a Cordonian citizen, been granted a duchy, gone from number five to number one on Madeleine's shit list, and—"

Hana's eyes widen. "It's not that bad, surely...!"

"It's probably worse," I admit. "And being on the front page of the Cordonian Sun — again — is probably not helping matters either..."

"Yes, I saw that article..." she commiserates with feeling. "I'm sorry that the press are treating you in that manner again."

"Hey, it's not your fault," I assure her. "But the press aren't all bad — I managed to convince Ana de Luca to help us track down the photographer who took those pictures of me and Tariq, and she actually came through yesterday."

"That's great!" she enthuses. "I have to admit that I have not had much success on my side... Madeleine does not permit her ladies-in-waiting to handle any of her private correspondence, including her mobile phones and laptop. And she has only talked to us about the upcoming events on the tour..."

"Well, it was a bit of a long-shot, anyway," I concede with a shrug. "But who knows? We might get—"

"Pardon," interrupts Kiara with a pointed cough. "But the Queen requests your presence."

I roll my eyes with a scoff. "She's not married to Christian yet..."

"But she will be soon," she reminds me pointedly. "So, it is actuellement in your interest to remain on her good side, given that you are now a duchess."

I feel the corner of my mouth scrunch into a mou of dissent, but I force myself not to pick apart the many things that are wrong with her statement. "Fine. Where is Her Majesty?"

"Bidding adieu to the President," she advises. "She has asked that in the meantime I gather the ladies who are to accompany her to the wedding boutique."

"Does she really need an entourage to go shopping?" I ask as we start making our way back to the double doors at the far end of the room.

"It is tradition for the suitors who were not picked at the end of the social season to assist the queen-to-be in the preparations for the wedding, including selecting her bridal gown and trousseau."

"Wonder how many times that's gone wrong before..." I mutter under my breath.

"It is a ritual de beaucoup d'importance," Kiara insists seriously. "The former suitors — and their families — demonstrate their public support for the union via the personal assistance they provide the bride and groom in the lead-up to the big day, as well as in the act of taking on key roles during the ceremony itself."

"Let me guess..." I grumble. "We're all going to be maids of honour, too..."

"In Cordonia, the correct term is 'witness'," she corrects. "They are the ones chosen by the couple to countersign the marriage certificate. Mais oui — it is likely that one or two of us will be called upon in such a manner."

"Great..." I sigh, arriving at the entranceway where Penelope and Olivia are already waiting. "All the things we get to look forward to..."

"Oh, Lady Harper!" squeals Penelope in excitement. "I love your dress! How do you always manage to find such super chic pieces?"

"Uhh..." I say, genuinely taken aback by her enthusiasm. "Bertrand picked this, actually..."

Olivia snorts derisively. "You mean Lord Tweedle-Dee? Please... That man has worse fashion sense than Jared Leto."

"Actually, he—"

"If you lot are quite finished with your asinine chit-chit," snaps Madeline as she strides imperiously past us, "you can pick up your feet. We are already running late for my appointment... Which took months to schedule, so don't you dare make me miss it!"

I meet Hana's gaze with a fish-eyed look. "Ever heard the term 'bridezilla' before?"

"No," she admits with a frown. "But it sounds scary..."

"Oh, trust me!" I assure her as we bring up the rear. "It is! Especially since it sounds like Madeleine is planning to take the concept to a whole 'nother level..."

The story continues in Chapter 19: Field Day

A/N: Translations for the Italian below:

At the airport: Andiamo - Let's go

Certamente, Duchessa - Certainly, Duchess

En route Lemura aureliane. Costruitadall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari. - The Aurelian Wall. It was constructed by the Emperor Aurelian to defend Rome against barbarians.

Il Circo Massimo - The Circus Maximus

Sì. L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corsedei carri. - Yes. The ancient Roman stadium constructed for chariot racing.

Il Vittoriano - This is a colloquial nickname for the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II

At the Presidential Palace Singor Presidente. Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione. - Mr President. Allow me to introduce some additional members of our delegation.

Certamente - Certainly

Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell. - This is Lord Bertrand Beaumont, Duke of Ramsford, and his brother, Maxwell.

Beaumont... Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso? - Beaumont... You know, that sounds familiar. Are you related to Lord Bartholemy, by chance?

Sì. Egli è nostro padre. - Yes. He is our father.

Sì...sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui. - Yes... Yes... He accompanied the former king on many occasions. You look a lot like him.

Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte. - Yes, there is a notable family resemblance.

E questaè Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos,un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys. - And this is Lady Olivia Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos, a dear friend of mine, and loyal supporter of the Rys family.

E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente. - My sincere pleasure, Mr President.

Il piacere è tutto mio. - The pleasure is all mine.

E finalmente, questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria. - And finally, this is Lady Harper, the new Duchess of Valtoria.

Sì. Ma hopraticato mio Italiano.* - Yes. But I am practising my Italian. *Italian speakers will note that there is a grammatical mistake here (the correct phrasing is 'Ho praticato il mio italiano'). However, the mistake is deliberate because Harper learnt Italian literally an hour ago, so she's not going to be perfect at it!

La città eterna - the Eternal City (nickname for Rome)

Accettare le mie scuse - [Please] Accept my apologies.

Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori. È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazionereale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. Èpassato troppo tempo da— Your Royal Highness, fellow delegates, ladies and gentlemen. It is my honour to host the royal delegation of Cordonia, our neighbour and ally for many centuries. It has been far too long since—

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