Astoria Wentz watched the execution of Bronx Wentz on replay the evening after it happened. While she'd never met the man, she assumed he was her brother, or at least half-brother, with a last name like Wentz. It was a shame he had to die. No one deserved it, not even the king's firstborn. But that was what the enemy wanted, and that is what they got. Another throne to sit upon and another crown to glitter on their head.
Not that they didn't have the crown already. Finding Bronx had been a stroke of luck for the king, a bonus for the parade they didn't need. They had claimed the throne years ago, and now it seemed like they were more secure with Bronx out of the picture.
But from the whispers that circled around her, she knew it wasn't that easy. Sure they had claim on the kingdom for now, but she was the crack in the plan. Astoria had more claim to the crown than Bronx had simply because she was the daughter of Pete and Patrick, meaning she was the rightful heir. And if anyone should have died that day, it should have been her.
However, several well executed plans starting with Patrick had lead her to grow up in an underground bunker somewhere in what used to be Kansas. The woman who had raised her, along with her boyfriend, another baby named Milo, a robot, and a ban of teens formed the small group of rebels who's main goal was to keep her alive. And so far they'd been doing a good job.
Seventeen years later, Astoria was as educated as she could be on the war that was taking place on her home front. Her kingdom. Something that could be reclaimed if they did it right. She didn't know how they could do it right, hell, no one really did, but they had hope.
"I thought we had more time," Gabe, her stand-in father, muttered.
Astoria leaned forward as if she was interested in the broadcast, but that was simply an illusion. She always knew more than she let on, and perhaps it was because there weren't many unoccupied spaces to be alone.
Her adoptive mother-like figure Taylor sighed. "I did too. Maybe we still do."
"How?"
"Patrick—"
"No. Rumor has it he's dead. Pete never found him, and the building he was last known to be in was destroyed in an explosion. A few scraps of Halsey were found, but nothing else. His body wouldn't have been able to survive."
The two suddenly went quiet, causing Astoria to frown. Who was interrupting now?
"What a cutie," Copeland Fuentes said as she walked into the room. The subject was Bronx, judging by the fact that his photo had been glowing on the screen moments before.
For someone as pretty as Copeland, she had a poisonous personality. Perhaps it was because Astoria had Kellin and Vic—Copeland's adoptive parents—wrapped around her finger. Perhaps it was because Astoria was an actual princess. Perhaps it was just who she was destined to be.
Astoria didn't care how mean of a person Copeland was as long as she wasn't involved. One too many times Copeland had tried to pushed Astoria past the breaking point and one of these days she was bound to succeed.
"Shame he had to die. Maybe if the real threat had given themselves up I could've had a chance with him."
Astoria doubted that, but she was more focused on the underlying meaning of Copeland's words.
To Copeland this was a prison. Living in an underground bunker was not her ideal life, it wasn't anyone's, but no one complained like she did. Notions of what young twenty-something year olds were supposed to be doing had come to her in the form of stolen magazines and found their way into everyday conversations. Today's notion, it seemed, was dating.
Astoria clicked the TV off and stood up.
"Sorry to hear that, Copey. I hate to be such an inconvenience."
Copeland's face turned bright red.
"Don't call me that."
"Why not? Kellin does."
"Fuck Kellin."
Astoria shrugged as if she was actually considering it. "Too bad he's gay."
Mikey had once told Astoria that Patrick was one of the sassiest people he'd ever known, next to his brother, so it was no surprise to anyone that Astoria has inherited such a trait.
Copeland took a step forward, her hands balled into fists as if she was actually going to hit Astoria. There would be a day when she did, no doubt about it, but for now she could only threaten behind closed doors. After all, the bunker was always full.
"Ria!"
Alan Ashby bounded in with a big smile on his face, pulling Astoria into a hug. He was one of her many uncles but by far her favorite. It was just one more thing that pissed Copeland off—Alan and Austin were her godfathers after all.
"Hey, Alan. I missed you."
"Missed you too, kiddo."
Astoria's smile turned into a frown. "I'm not a kid," she muttered, causing Alan to laugh.
"What were you scouting this time?"
"You know I can't tell you," he said.
"Please."
The door opened again; this time it was Vic.
"Dad!" Copeland cheered.
"Hey, Cope. Alan, you're needed in the meeting room."
"Sure thing, Vic."
Vic turned his attention to Astoria. "You too, okay?"
"What? Really?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"What about me?" Copeland whined.
"You'll have to ask Kellin," Vic replied, waiting for the inevitable tantrum.
And like clockwork Copeland was ranting: it was unfair, Astoria got everything, Copeland was always left out, Milo was more involved. The same thing had been said before, and nothing ever changed. Did everyone feel bad? Yes, but unfortunately it was just how the cards fell. No one had any control over it, and they always tried to do what they could for the kids to make them feel involved.
"C'mon," Alan said.
He took Astoria's hand and pulled her out of the room, leaving Vic to talk with Copeland.
"This isn't some joke, is it?"
"Nah. Let's get some seats."
