Yours,
Fabiana Fontaine xx
#BowAndTellAll
#RoyalAimGam
#PrinceOnPoint
Valentina
I finishmy edits and check the video, syncing it to a trending sound that works perfectly with the content. In the opening image, Max is holding his bow taut, his eyes focused on the target, his broad shoulders accentuated by the twist in his torso.
He looks good. Very good. Confident, athletic, handsome.
My followers are going to lap this up.
I add the hashtags #RoyalAimGame and #PrinceOnPoint before I publish it to several social media platforms. Within seconds, the views begin, and people start to like and comment.
The first few are super positive.
Robin Hood, but royal
Excuse me, who gave him the right to look that good with a bow?
Bullseye? More like heart-eyes
The comments are peppered with some less than positive, too.
Cute. Now, someone get the man-child a juice box before his nap.
All biceps, no brain.
Someone had better take away the sharp objects.
He might be able to hit a bullseye, but can he hit a day’s work?
Something twists in my gut, something I’ve not felt before when it comes to my coverage of the prince. If I’m not mistaken, it feels a lot like guilt.
Guilt? Why? I can't be responsible for every singlemember of the country’s perception of this man, nor the fact that people make up their minds based on what they see.
But I have been the leading media voice about the prince’s playboy ways. It’s hard not to think I’m somewhat responsible.
I scroll down through more comments, most of them the usual mix of royal worship and criticism, when one catches my eye. It's from @MThorneThePost.
Great technique demonstration, HRH! @Fabiana_Fontaine has certainly captured you.
At first glance, it seems like an innocent enough compliment, but something about it sets my teeth on edge. I click on her profile and see her name is Miranda Thorne, a journalist fromThe Post. I scroll through her other recent comments on my posts.
Beautiful video of the Blue Drawing Room. You captured the morning light perfectly. You clearly know the best angles at the palace already.
This wasn’t your first visit to The Throne Room, was it? Because you look so at home there.
Her comments could be read as professional admiration, but together they feel like something else entirely. It’s like she's noting how familiar I am with the palace, how easily I navigate spaces that should be foreign to me.
I click my phone off. I’m being paranoid. I’ve heard of her, of course—Ledonia isn’t exactly huge—but she doesn’t know me.
I dismiss it as just my fear of being discovered rearing its ugly head.
