Twelve Dancing Princes

Sunday: Crown Princess Jenny

Jenny, 20, HRH.
Crown Princess. Duchess of Elska suo jure.
Kingdom of Primavara, Constitutional. Heir apparent.
Being with me comes with a lot of privileges, except that you can't be whatever you want. Consider this a warm warning. Your end goal can only be a servant of the people of Primavara, assuming you are no heir apparent, which I prefer. Yes, you are welcome to change my mind. On a brighter note: Currently in open relationships. Still waiting to be knocked off my feet. This and that aren't necessarily in order and/or related in any way. Okay, I'll stop talking.
Interested in: Men.
Looking for: Marriage.

I squint at my Heaven profile, unamused. Yes, I did the writing mostly, under the strict guidance of Her Highness Princess Anne of Primavara. Don't get me wrong–she's a sweetheart through and through, but also ridiculously naïve. In open relationships but looking for marriage? What kind of creepy weirdo would buy that, other than those power-hungry dukes and viscounts? And don't get me started on her choice of my profile photo. Me smiling diplomatically in my cerulean ball gown and heavy crown, full make-up and up-do hairstyles.

Couldn't be faker even if I desperately try.

While I'm looking for a real relationship on top of marriage. (Yes, I am in open relationships and yes, I am looking for marriage, but that's just the way most royals date, okay? I loathe the idea but as a crown princess, there's not much I can do since I indeed don't have much time to do it one-on-one before my coronation.)

Yes, you'd be surprised of how little freedom I can ask for someone so high in rank.

Luckily unlike Tinder, Heaven (Tinder for monarchs with an in-app 20 questions, basically) comes with much developed features, like personalities compatibility, monarchy and title preferences, and so on. My only hope is for those weirdos to be eliminated in my second or third question.

Ding! A Heaven notification sound pulls me from my daydream. Someone managed to pull through my 20 questions! I mean–not the first time, but still–impressive. And it wouldn't hurt to keep my summer break productive.

You dork.

Not so much as a 'hello'? Huh. Me dork is right. I skim through his profile.

Nap, 24, HH.
Prince. Duke of Praha.
Kingdom of Magnemt, Absolute. Eleventh in line.
No, I'm no prince charming. No, my uncle, cousins, and father will not die any time soon. Cheers.
Interested in: Women.
Looking for: Real connection. Formalities be damned.

He's got an attitude alright. Wait, Magnemt? Thanks to Al, I've pretty much met the big family. I'm pretty sure no one's called Nap, though. Well, I'll fuss over it later.

Who puts his hobby in his name?

You got me. Lovely matching you, princess.

Call me Jenny. And how will you knock me off my feet without being a prince charming?

Did I say I will? I'm more interested in open relationships, if you may. And your 20 questions is questionnaire boring, just saying. You won't filter power-hungry weirdos with those craps.

Ha! Fair. So you might be one?

I very well might. I guess you just have to see for yourself.

Smooth, aren't you?

I try. So, how many?

I'd like to keep them reasonable, so at most, seven. Like, a day in each week. Currently I've only got four.

Not so famous after all, huh?

Can't be helped, I'm a dork.

My dork.

I smile to myself, amused. This guy just claimed me, and I'm not even complaining. I haven't seen him (he's got no profile photo) but his attitude has already deemed him sexy in my head.

Thursday.

Thursday. My place or yours?

Surprise me.

Until then, princess.

Thursday can't come soon enough.