“Childish?” My voice echoes off the walls. “I have done every-fucking-thing you’ve ever asked of me. I gave up friends, relationships, and any chance at a normal life because you told me that was what the Crown required. And I listened to you.” I’m shouting now. “I smiled for all the fucking cameras when I wanted to scream. I dated women I felt nothing for because of you. I agreed to marry someone I couldn’t stand because you stressed Montclaire needed it. I have been your perfect puppet for thirty-six years, Mother. Whatever you’ve asked of me, I’ve done. Every single thing the Crown has demanded.” My voice breaks, but I keep going because I need her to hear this. “And even after all of that, this is how you treat me? You sent guards to drag Addison away like a damn criminal. They had me on the fucking ground. Look at me. Look at me!” I stop because if I keep going, I may say something I regret.
She waits until I’ve composed myself. “Are you finished?”
“No, I’m not.” I straighten my stance and take a step back from her desk. “I want to speak to Father.”
She sucks in a deep breath. “Unfortunately, no.”
“I require it.”
“His Majesty is not available to you at the moment, and you will not be making any demands as of now.” Her voice lowers. “You’ve proven yourself incapable of acting like the crown prince, Louis. What you did last night had me question everything. This is a PR nightmare, one that you will absolutely dig yourself out of.” She shakes her head. “You will no longer be treated like a prince until you remember how to behave like one.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
She moves toward the door and opens it, and two guards step inside while others wait. They’re not the same guys who brought me here. These are bigger and older, with faces like stone.
“Please escort His Highness to his chambers. He’s not to leave under any circumstances. No phone calls, no communication with anyone outside the palace.”
“You’re imprisoning me?” I can’t believe she’s actually doing this.
“Yes, you’re grounded. I’m giving you time to think about what you’ve done and what you’re actually willing to lose.”
“You’ll regret this,” I warn.
“Yeah? What will you do, son? Renounce your title? Do you think that hurts me? Delphine will be ready to fulfill the duty, if and when necessary. Giving up everything for a woman will be the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Of yours,” I say back to her. “I’ll make sure history remembers exactly what you did.”
She gives me a cold smile. “Get him out of my face. Walk him through the main corridor before going to the east wing. Make an example out of his disloyalty.”
“I want to speak to my father,” I tell her.
She shoos me away, and the guards grab my arms, pulling me away like a disorderly child. I don’t fight because there’s no point. They perp-walk me through the corridors, up the main staircase, in full view of every staff member. I keep my head high, allowing my embarrassment to fuel my rage. Even when we enter the east wing, they don’t loosen the grip on my arms. By tomorrow, the tabloids will have the story of me being under house arrest.
They stop outside of my loft, and I unlock the door, moving inside. I hear shuffling outside, realizing the four of them plan to stay to make sure I don’t leave.
I stand in the middle of my living room and look around at the space I’ve called my own for ten years. Everything is exactly where I left it yesterday morning, when I woke up, excited for our new beginning. I still believed my mother had human decency and wouldn’t go to these lengths to keep Addison and me apart. I thought last night would change everything, and I guess it did, just not the way I’d expected.
Morning light streams through the windows, and I want to put my fist through the glass, but I don’t. Instead, I walk to the window and stare out the pane, seeing my reflection in the glass. I look like shit. The palace grounds stretch out below me, and somewhere beyond the gardens and the gates and the cliffs, Addison is on a plane, flying away from me.
I look around for my phone, realizing someone must’ve taken it from me between the study and here. My laptop is nowhere to be found. It’s official; I’m trapped.
Instead of wasting the day, I grab a bottle of bourbon that I planned to save for a special occasion. I pour myself a glass to the rim and sit on my couch, staring at the unlit fireplace. My mind wanders, and I realize I have an old phone in the drawer in my study. I stand, already feeling the effects of the booze. It’s barely eight in the morning.
The first drawer I open has me shuffling through old letters from Delphine when she was in boarding school and a broken watch I could never get rid of. The second one is full of notebooks of diplomatic meetings. At the bottom sits an iPhone from the early 2010s. I try to turn it on, but it’s dead as fuck. At the bottom, under some papers, is the charger.
“And Delphine told me to get rid of you,” I say, kissing the screen. “If you come on after all this time, I will buy Apple for the rest of my life.”
While I wait, I decide I need music. I flip through my records, stopping at Nirvana. It was the album I listened to on repeat during my angsty teenage years, when I thought my life was hard because I had too many tutors and not enough friends. I didn’t know shit about hard.
I slide the vinyl out of the sleeve, careful not to touch the grooves, and set it on the turntable. The needle drops, and the speakers crackle for a second before the opening guitar riff of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” fills the space. So, I make it even louder. When Kurt Cobain’s voice bleeds through the room, I feel a calm wash over me. It’s angry and tired and perfect for this moment.
I carry my bourbon back to my bedroom, letting the music wash over me. I take a long drink and let the bourbon burn its way down.
The song changes to “In Bloom,” and I’m halfway through my second glass when a chime cuts through the music. I almost don’t hear it.
I’m off the couch so fast that I nearly trip over the coffee table. The phone screen glows in the dim study, the Apple logo fading into a home screen, cluttered with apps I haven’t thought about in over a decade. The battery shows four percent, but it’s alive.
“You beautiful piece of outdated technology.” My hands shake as I pick it up.
