A Politically Royal Matter

Chapter One: You're on your own kid

Leonore

Summer at the castle had always been quite fun – fencing classes, horse riding races, and polo matches. All enjoyable, really. However, things took a different turn when my sister Maddie started focusing intensely on preparing to inherit the crown. Suddenly I found myself wandering the gardens multiple times lately, each visit more boring than the last.

Before I delve further into my solitude, allow me to introduce myself. I am Princess Leonore of Callaway. An amusing name, isn't it? I was named after my great-great-great aunt, Queen Leonore Mercedes the First. I have no knowledge of her deeds or whether she was a competent ruler. The only certainty is that she had no children. Consequently, upon her demise, the throne passed to my great-great-grandfather, who, in turn, will be succeeded by my sister in about three months. My sister, whose company I certainly didn't appreciate enough during past summers, has been preoccupied as ever, leaving me to my own devices. A serious mistake.

"It's only one night," I remarked while I entered her room.

"No, I don't believe it's wise to squander so much time, especially with the coronation being so near," my sister replied" she fired back, nose-deep in some modern geopolitics book. Being a modern day queen is not an easy task.

"Madeleine, please," I begged her, taking a seat beside her.

"You're on your own kid. I'm sorry." She seemed tense. I certainly wouldn't blame her for it.

"But Mom said-"

"No, Leonore. I am of the opinion that venturing forth is imprudent."

"Back at it with the fancy words, huh? Not surprised."

Oh, how I detested that word, "prudent." It seemed to consistently mar every aspect of my life.

Express an opinion? Not prudent.

Stroll in the rain? Not prudent.

Attend an exclusive gala in Monaco? Certainly not prudent, at least as far as my sister was concerned.

This gala invitation was no novelty; our noble lineage guaranteed an invitation to such events. Ordinarily, I would have dismissed it as just another tedious affair. However, this summer had been so dreary that the idea of attending the gala held a glimmer of excitement. Alas, my sister claimed the need to "prepare for the coronation," as if she hadn't been doing so for the entirety of her twenty-one years.

Monaco, a realm of millionaires and opulence. We arrived a few days before the main event, excluding Madeleine, naturally. Our crash pad? The Palais Princier, which is like a fancy way of saying "really posh crib." Monaco feels like one of those dreams that slips away as soon as you wake up, but you're left with a feeling that it was awesome, kinda like Vegas.

Not surprisingly, we're treated to a whirlwind city tour – the casino, gardens, museums, and visiting more cathedrals than I can remember. It was, on the whole, an enjoyable experience, far superior to being confined to Callaway. The castle bore an appearance of serenity, though this illusion was shattered by the bustling preparations for the impending gala.

I befriended a servant, Penny, short for Penelope. She acquainted me with the notable attendees. In other words, she's on the inside scoop. She started dropping names like the U.S. President and his kid – who's just a tad older than me. Now that's some interesting gossip.