The Heir And The Spare

#9

NINE

'In the past people were born Royal. Nowadays, Royalty comes from what you do.' – Gianni Versace

"I think I'm scarred for life," I groan into the palm of my hands, twisting my body away from Lucy who has been braiding my hair and placing my head onto the dressing table. I haven't stopped thinking about how badly this morning went. Mum gave me strict instructions. Patrol the room, make your introductions, make small talk, and leave. I managed to barrel down late, dressed inappropriately, and have a spat with a girl with fantastic hair. I don't know how I'm going to come back from this, especially with the press making appearances.

"From what everyone's been saying, you put that girl in her place. It's all anyone's been speaking about. You're overthinking it."

"Lovely," I grimace and lift my head. There's nothing more I'd love to do right now than bury my head in my bed sheets and come back up on my next birthday. "Sometimes I really don't know when to shut my mouth."

"But then we'd miss all the pretty stuff you have to say," she grins at me in the mirror, and I smile back and sit up straighter so she can finish braiding my hair, her fingers working expertly to tie the strands together. The perks of having lady's maids that know how to do hair.

"I can already tell she's going to be a problem," I sigh more to myself than anyone else. "She's not going to be one to back down and if I am helping James maybe I should throw her at him. They'd be well matched."

"But then you would have to see her at every international event for years to come," Lucy tells me pointedly.

"You're right," I shiver and pull a face that quickly falls. "And what she said about Luke..." I trail off, not able to repeat the words she said. I can feel the air around me stiffen as if the memory is trapping the air. I bite down on my bottom lip to stop the collection of tears gathering in my eyes from spilling out.

"That was uncalled for," Lucy agrees, her voice soft. "There's a line you don't cross and she practically hopped over." Lucy places down the hairbrush onto the vanity and starts to put things away. Her hands move mechanically, almost robotic and she hums something under her breath as she tidies.

"Luce?" I spin in my seat to face her, and her eyes catch mine.

"You don't think...Henna, you don't think what she said is right? That everyone thinks I'm jumping from one brother to another?"

Lucy appears surprised by the question and her brows furrow. "You're not serious?" she asks.

"Deadly,"

"I think it can look however it wants to look. You, I, and anyone else that matters knows that you have no interest in this," she swats her hands in the air, "thing your parents have got you involved with. It doesn't take a genius to spend five minutes in your presence to know that the only Prescott you will ever love is gone." Lucy places down what she's holding and closes the space between us, and she grabs my hand, squeezing. Her words feel like a gust of cold air but I know what she is saying is right. I have had the press dictate my narrative all my life, nothing has changed now.

"Besides," she attempts a small smile, "you're a princess. You can decide what people think. They should be afraid of what you will say about them. Your words carry weight."

"It doesn't work like that anymore," I chuckle and drop Lucy's hand. My friend smiles up at me and shrugs her shoulders. "There's a thing called social media now and we thought the press was bad."

"Think of it this way, Eva, what do you have to lose?"

*