Mum kissed each son on the head before their nanny shuffled them off to bed—all while Gus proclaimed the story’s stupidity and that his dragon would burn upthat swanand its feathers.
John, however, even at his young age, believed all the more in the white feather and true love.
Lying in bed, staring through the dark at the faint light coming in from under the door, he understood he was the prince in the old Lauchten tale. Bound by a writ, a law, to marry for the crown, the House of Blue, and a thousand years of Lauchtenland history.
Marriage was amustfor every crown royal in the House of Blue. However, love was not.
Chapter One
Perrigwynn Palace
Port Fressa, Lauchtenland
John
Whoever had penned his love story had a sordid sense of happily ever after. Even worse, the author had left him trapped between the inciting incident of Act One and the noble quest of Act Two.
Nearly a year after his wife’s death, Crown Prince John of the House of Blue remained trapped by grief. It was impossible to go backward, but unimaginable to move forward—however much he’d begun to desire it.
Death. Sorrow. Pain. He wearied of those black clouds hovering over him. Surely sunshine would break through sooner or later. Yet if and when it did, he’d resent it. Of that he was sure.
Until then, he remained under the protective umbrella of his royal duties as a future king, a working member of Lauchtenland’s “Family,” the House of Blue, smiling for the public and doing good, all the while with a tornado twisting inside.
On this particular Friday morning the queen had summoned him to her office. His secretary, Briggs, scheduled the appointment without notes so the purpose of the meeting remained a mystery.
More than likely she just wanted to visit with her son and heir. They’d chat about life—okay, John’s life—while sipping tea and savoring puffs. She called this sort of gathering “checking on things.”
Leaving his apartment, John made his way down the Queen’s Corridor toward Mum’s office, passing through swaths of June sunlight and under portraits of his ancestors—monarchs who’d walked where he now trod. Literally and figuratively, mind you.
He paused under the twenty-foot painting of King Louis V—the royal Blue who inspired the famous—or was it infamous?—marriage writ by which all crown heirs of the House of Blue were bound.
You see, Louis enjoyed his bachelor life and found no need for a wife and child. He preferred his independence, his friendships, his dalliances, his sports, and books. No pleading with him to settle down, marry, and produce an heir came to fruition. So his father, King Louis IV, gave way to drastic measures and manufactured a way to march his son down the aisle.
John always suspected he gleaned his idea from the Family fairy tale,The Swan’s Feather.
And so, it was decreed that if Crown Prince Louis desired to take his place as future king—thus taking the oath of office via the investiture ceremony—then hemustmarry.
However—and there’s always a however—if he chose to carry on as a freewheeling bachelor, there would be no oath, no crown, no throne, no kingdom. He’d risk the monarchy and a constitutional crisis. And no Blue royal hadeverrisked either.
Marriage also, ole Louis IV claimed, ensured the posterity of the House of Blue throne. One of the oldest in Europe, fought for and won by the sweat and blood of their Blue ancestors and the men and women of the kingdom, the Familyandlegacy must continue.
This was all fine and dandy for the nineteenth century, but John lived in the twenty-first, for crying out loud. The writ was archaic and oppressive. As far as he was concerned, the time had arrived to nullify the old ways and methods and live in the new.
Some traditions were worthy of a modern nod, and others were not. Include the writ in the latter.
Besides, he’d found love. Once. He’d fulfilled his duty. Should he be punished because it was so cruelly taken away?
Surely the old writ didn’t apply to him now. Though he’d not yet taken his sworn oath to serve and protect the people of Lauchtenland and be their king. Ah, it was a conundrum.
Meanwhile, as he mulled over the past and present in the red-carpeted hallway, the queen waited. He must get on.
Down the way, John greeted her secretary, Mason, who escorted him into her office.
“What’s Hamish Fickle’s scheme? Do you know?” Mum stood in front of the telly, sipping a cup of tea. “Ever since he was elected to parliament, he’s a regular on the talk shows. You’d think he’d prefer to be a presenter instead of an MP.”
John glanced at the large screen suspended above the fireplace. When Mum wasn’t watching, she’d press a button and the telly would disappear magically into the ceiling.
“What’s he going on about?” Hamish sat on the set of LTV-1’s new mid-morning hit,Tuppence Corbyn & Friends.
