The Prince tugged at his collar for the umpteenth time.
"Worry not, Your Majesty. You will do great, sire. It will be a wonderful evening." He picked up another pin and set it into the hem of his trousers.
"Yes, then all I'll need to do is choose the right queen, marry advantageously, and rule this monarchy, following my father's legacy. All things I know nothing about." He threw out a hand in frustration.
"Movement, sire."
"Sorry." He smiled apologetically, straightening up again.
The old tailor smiled. He had heard all this before.
"I want to do right by my people, my family and myself."
"Is it not all the same, milord?"
His face fell, "I'm afraid not, dear friend."
"Well, when I find myself needing to assemble an outfit that is both beautiful and practical, two very contrasting ideas, I always just shut down my head and let my heart work it out through my fingers, sire."
"So you are saying I should listen to my heart?"
He smiled softly, "I'm saying my job is easier than yours, sire."
The Prince burst into laughter. "Touché, Maximus!"
"Of course."
"I really wish I knew what I was doing."
"But first, the ball, my Prince."
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Of Rebels and Crowns
Short StoryKill the Prince. Save the kingdom. It was all so simple...until it wasn't. This is what young Amelia came to realize as the fate of the whole kingdom lay in the palms of her hands. Or rather in the dagger that lay there. And could the Crown Prince c...
