Royal Holiday

by McKenna James

  I only had to knock on the door twice before I heard someone stomping in the back of the shop. The second Oliver laid his hazel eyes on me, he broke into a massive smile and exclaimed something cheerfully. I couldn’t hear what he said, but if I read his lips correctly, he must have yelled, Holy fucking shit, you’re here!

  The doors flew open, and I found myself trapped in Oliver’s bear-like hug. He was a few inches shorter than me, as well as a lot leaner, so I couldn’t understand where his indescribable strength came from. Maybe the old saying about dynamite coming in small packages was true. His dark brown hair had grown out since I last saw him, almost a year ago after he graduated early from our college’s fashion and design program. He wore it up in a mini ponytail, a braid stringing from his temple toward the back of his head.

  “About time you showed up!” he said as he dragged me inside, quickly locking up the shop. “I was about to send a search party for you.”

  “Were you really?”

  “Well, no. But you know what I mean.”

  I chuckled. “I appreciate the concern, Oli.”

  “I have a couple of things to wrap up in the back, but then we can stop by Filipe’s.”

  “Filipe’s still in business?”

  “Best fucking burritos in the whole kingdom, I’m telling you. Of course, they’re still in business. Follow me. Please try not to touch anything.”

  “Now I just want to touch everything,” I teased.

  Oliver pumped his eyebrows at me. “Oh, my.”

  I sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

  He laughed, tilting his head back slightly. “Come on, come on. This way.”

  I used to live across the hall from Oliver at St. George’s Preparatory School for Boys on the west coast of Allendes. Mother thought the extra sun and sea air would be good for me, so she spoke with the headmaster personally to ensure I had a room with a view that faced the water. I’d been embarrassed at first. Having my mother demand things and make a big deal about the location of my room filled me with so much embarrassment I wanted to crawl under the bed and hide there until she left. But if she hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have met Oliver.

  We’d spent a lot of time studying together. I was always the bookworm, where he only wanted to mess around and explore the school grounds. Oliver was pretty much the messiest kid on our floor. His laundry was never done, vibrantly colored clothing littering the hardwood floor. His bed was never made, his desk was a hurricane of homework assignments, and his textbooks were organized by color rather than something sensible like subject or size.

  So it wasn’t a surprise to find that his workshop was a complete disaster. I couldn’t even begin to describe the level of disorganization. It was chaotic, cramped, and downright crazy. The room was probably no bigger than Father’s office in the parliament building, but it looked nearly half the size thanks to the massive rolls of fabric that lined the furthest wall. There were silks, leathers, velvet, lace, and crepe in various colors and patterns. It hurt my eyes to look for too long.

  In the center of the room, upon a circular platform, was a completed costume gown. The top was bright pink, and it faded into a soft cream toward the bottom. The bodice of the dress was decorated with an intricate pattern of pearls and golden thread, creating a phoenix pattern—the symbolic bird of the Royal Family. Next to the dress on a tall but narrow display table was an equally ornate magenta eye mask, the edges of which were decorated in a hard line of gold glitter.

  “That’s for Princess Marina,” Oliver explained without me asking. “She asked me to personally design her costume for the ball, can you believe it? I have to drop it off at the palace for her tomorrow.”

  I blinked in surprise. “Marina?”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right. You two go way back.”

  I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the invitations my mother told me to toss in the trash. I grinned, an idea suddenly occurring to me. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to see Marina again. I waved the cards before Oliver’s face, like dangling bait in front of a hungry fish.

  “Do you think you could whip me up a costume?” I asked. “Mask and all?”

  Oliver grimaced. “The ball’s tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take you with me. Haven’t you always wanted to attend?”

  He chewed on the inside of his cheek and furrowed his brows, appearing deep in thought. I’d personally been to my fair of formal galas and balls when I was younger, but Oliver was the son of a butcher and librarian. He was responsible for designing the clothes that would appear at such events, but never before had enough of a reputation to be invited to attend.

  “Think about it,” I urged. “Delicious food, a night of dancing. Maybe you’ll meet your prince charming while you’re there.”

  Oliver plucked the second invitation out of my hands and looked it over, running his fingers along the edges as he studied the elegant calligraphy. “Are you going?”

  “Only if you agree to make me a costume.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea, though? What if you’re caught?”

  “What if I’m caught?”

  “Rodrigo,” he said, in all seriousness, “everybody knows that the Royal Family and the Sabatinos hate each other’s guts. If they catch you, they could–”

  “What? Behead me for crashing a party? That’s a little overdramatic, don’t you think?” I slung an arm around Oliver’s shoulders and pulled him in close. “There’s going to be a lot of eligible bachelors there.”

  He snorted, but couldn’t hide his amused grin. “You’re the devil, you know that?”

  I smirked. “Do you need to know this devil’s inseam?”

  Oliver shrugged me off and laughed. “I already know your measurements.”

  “Wait, how do you–”

  “That’s not important.” He tugged me by the forearm over to his work desk and quickly whipped out a fresh piece of sketch paper and a pencil sharper then a needle. He shook his head and shrugged. “Well, I guess we can always order burritos in.”

  “Thanks, Oli. You’re the best.”

  “Bitch, I know it.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Marina

  “Has anyone seen the Princess?” asked Brandon, exasperated.

  I stifled a mischievous little giggle as I sank even lower into the cushion fort I’d built myself, tucked between two towering bookshelves nearest to the south-facing window. This was one of my collections, filled to the brim with old works. I liked to read anything and everything, from action-adventure fiction to dictionaries to instructional how-to nonfiction. Mother once joked that I’d rather drink words than water.

  “Princess Marina?” Brandon called again from the hallway. “Please come out. This isn’t funny anymore. The King will have my head if you’re not ready for the ball.”

  I sighed in defeat, closing the thick book of fairy tales I had open on my lap. Brandon was closing in, and I’d been letting him run around in circles for nearly an hour. I was starting to feel bad for him.

  Rising from my little nook of blankets and pillows and walls made of tomes, I fluffed up the pink tulle skirt of the ballgown Oliver had delivered earlier that day. We’d been in talks months prior to the Midnight Magic Ball, so I had a sense of what he was going for. The dress was honestly better than I ever could have hoped, and the mask he designed blew me away. I wasn’t one for these costume balls—I’d always had two own feet—but something about the dress and the electric buzz in the air had me hopeful that tonight was going to be marvelous.

  “Princess Marina, where the fu–” Brandon came bursting through the narrow doors of the small library, gripping onto the handles like he was hanging on for dear life. His light brown hair was disheveled like he’d been running, his cheeks were flushed pink, and the top couple of buttons on his white chef’s jacket had popped open.

  I gave him a tiny wave and smiled. “I’m here, I’m here. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

 
He huffed. “Don’t panties-in-a-twist me. I’ve been looking everywhere for you! The ball’s about to begin, and the King’s requested that you enter with him.”

  I raised an eyebrow as I walked over, quickly combing Brandon’s hair back into place with my fingers. I giggled and said, “And why did Father send the cook of all people?”

  “Because he thinks we’re friends.”

  “But we are friends.”

  “Not anymore,” he pouted. “I had to run all over the palace searching for you. Friends don’t do that to friends.”

  “You could have just texted me.”

  “I did. Me and all the staff on your security team. Why do you never answer your phone?”

  I slipped my arm around his and laughed. “You’re not supposed to make noise in the library. Having my ringer on is in clear violation of the posted rules.”

  “Posted rules? What posted rules? It’s your private library.”

  I ignored him as I instead dragged him to the main dining hall of the palace. “Don’t be so cranky,” I teased him. “The plan to sneak you into the party under my skirt is still on the table.”

  Brandon curled his face up. “Yeah, no,” he scoffed dryly.

  “Please? It’s going to be so boring without company.”

  “You’re literally going to be surrounded by hundreds of people.”

  “Hundreds of boring people,” I corrected. “Ugh, I can already imagine all the small talk. Why do politicians always talk about the weather? What’s so interesting about it?”

  Brandon shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me.”

  “Promise you’ll at least stick close by. This is going to be a long night without you.”

  He let out a rare chuckle, the corner of his lip ticking upward into a small smirk. “I’m flattered, Princess Marina. I’ll be by the dessert table should you need me.”

  I gasped, playfully smacking him across the arm. “Chef Bonette’s finally giving you a station? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “To be honest, I forgot. Chef told me last night that our pâtissier is out with a broken wrist. I’ve been scrambling all morning to prepare everything. And then I wasted an hour looking for you.”

  I gave him a genuinely apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t worry about.”

  “Still, that’s amazing! I hope you finally get that promotion.”

  He nudged me in the ribs with the point of his elbow. “A recommendation from Her Royal Highness couldn’t hurt.”

  I giggled. “We’ll see. I’m pretty sure old Bonette would ignore it either way.”

  Brandon and I entered into one of the many hallways that led directly from the palace’s private quarters to the main hall. As we approached, the sound of orchestral music, joyous chattering, and boisterous laughs grew louder and louder. The lights in this particular hallway had all been dimmed, sectioned off with a red velvet rope and a royal guard at each post to keep guests from wandering off where they shouldn’t. The guards dipped their heads out of respect once I drew near, standing at attention.

  I could already smell the delicious five-course meal Chef Bonette had planned for us. The scent of bright mint, rich chocolates, and a combination of rosemary and thyme filled my nose. I made sure to eat a little bit before the ball, having learned from experience not to go to these kinds of events on an empty stomach. The last thing Mother wanted was to find me stuffing macaroons down my throat behind the thirty-foot pine tree in the corner of the reception area like she had when I was sixteen. It took me literal months to get over the embarrassment, and Brandon’s playful, yet constant teasing certainly didn’t help.

  “Six whole of hours rubbing elbows with old people,” I sighed. “Wish me luck.”

  “Six whole hours under Bonette’s scrutinizing eye,” he mumbled. “Wish me luck.”

  I hopped up onto my tiptoes to place a quick peck on Brandon’s cheek. “Good luck. You’re going to knock them dead.”

  “Thanks. Good luck to you too.”

  It was an easy enough task to find Father and Mother in the crowd of three-hundred. Even in costume, Father looked every ounce a king. Even though he was getting on in years, he still stood with a straight back and incredibly strong shoulders. His hair was still thick, though it was beginning to grow white at his temples. Father had chosen to dress up as a train conductor, though the sparkling bejeweled rings wrapped around each of his fingers would suggest he was one who was very well-off. What kind of train conductor could afford such a fancy suit?

  Mother was dressed in a pretty black evening gown with a foot-long train. The fabric of her dress shimmered as she moved, little crystals woven in to give the illusion of starlight. Her long blonde hair was done up in a voluminous bun, several ornate pins threaded through her locks. She had on a silver mask in the shape of a crescent, obscuring one half of her face. Mother had told me earlier that she was going as something grand. I didn’t know her intention was to dress up like the night sky. She looked radiant, but a bit stiff. I couldn’t imagine dragging around a heavy dress like that.

  Mother beckoned to me with a finger, wearing a coy smile. “And what are you supposed to be, darling?”

  I did a little twirl, the skirt of my dress flowing about like it weighed nothing at all. “I’m Marie Antoinette,” I said. “I found an old painting of her in a dress similar to this in one of my books and–”

  “Oh, look who it is, Marina,” Mother cut me off. She held her hand out to the young man dressed as a fighter pilot, who promptly placed his lips on the back of Mother’s knuckles. “You remember Alexander, don’t you? Duke of Wilcher.”

  I fought every urge to roll my eyes. It hadn’t even been ten minutes, and Mother was already trying to push eligible bachelors before me. There was nothing extraordinary about the man. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t even be able to pick the guy out of a lineup. His face was round, his brown eyes were almond-shaped, and he had a bit of a double-chin going for him—hidden beneath a thin chinstrap beard. I managed a small curtsey, just to be polite.

  “I remember,” I mumbled under my breath. “He used to pull my hair when we studied together with Tutor Marshall.”

  Mother giggled nervously. “Now, now, dear. The past is the past.”

  Alexander snatched my hand in his greasy palm and stamped a sloppy kiss on the back of my knuckles. “Princess Marina,” he said, nasally and higher in pitch than I was expecting. His mouth hung open slightly, the scent of garlic resting on his tongue. “Good to see you again.”

  “It’s been so long,” Mother said on my behalf. She turned to me and jerked her head in his direction. “Hasn’t it been so long, darling?”

  “Yes. So long.”

  “I hope you’ll consider young Alexander for your first dance this evening. Wouldn’t that just be splendid?”

  I gave Mother a tight-lipped smile but said nothing. I really didn’t feel like dancing with mouth breather over here. Thankfully, Father swooped in before I had to come up with a response.

  “You look a little parched, dear,” he said, voice low and grumbling and authoritative. “Why not help yourself to some punch? We’ll be getting the evening started shortly.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  I very happily moseyed on over to the refreshments table that was lined up against the far wall, more than grateful that Father granted me an escape. He was just as eager as Mother to find me a suitable husband, but Father and I thought alike. One look at Alexander, and we knew he wasn’t husband material. Besides, I didn’t feel ready to get settled down. I was turning twenty-three in January, but that seemed far too soon to put a ring on it. What happened to being an independent woman? Just because I was next in line to the throne, that didn’t mean I had to rush into things before I was ready.

  A banquet attendant served me bubbly pink fruit punch in a slim crystal glass. A couple of older guests, members of parliament, tried to work up the nerve to come over to speak to me, but I was quick to turn awa
y or look preoccupied with something. The only reason people ever wanted to talk to me was in an attempt to gain my favor. I had the ear of the King, so those looking to find some political leverage naturally gravitated toward me. I’d learned long ago that a princess couldn’t really have friends. In this day and age of social media and gossip magazines, carefully protected secrets could easily be sold for the right price.

  It didn’t always use to be that way. I once had a dear friend whom I thought the world of. But he’d long since moved on, no doubt living his life to the fullest while I remained hidden away in the palace, counting down the days until it would be my turn to sit on the throne. I sometimes thought about him from time to time, wondered what kind of adventures he got up to. He talked about becoming a lawyer, determined to help those in need and uphold the rule of law.

  I managed to find a wonderful little hiding spot next to the tree Father had the servants bring in. Golden tinsel wrapped around the entirety of the tree, delicate red and gold ornaments hanging off of every branch. Beautiful fairy lights spiraled upward toward the brilliant golden star sat atop the tree, but it wasn’t alight. That honor came on Christmas Day when the whole household joined together to celebrate. Beneath the tree sat a massive collection of gift-wrapped boxes, presents for all the palace’s employees from the King.

  Father clapped his hands twice, the sound echoing off the tall ceilings. Multiple frescoes had been painted into the space above, highlighting important historical moments in the history of Brooklandia. The art project had been commissioned by my great-great-grandfather, but there was really no way to tell how old the pieces were because of their pristine condition. A hush fell over the crowd as all eyes fell upon my father.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “welcome to this year’s Midnight Magic Ball. As we enter the holiday season, let us remember all the good that we’ve accomplished together, as well as all of the hard work and sacrifices we’ve made in the name of the kingdom.” Father raised a glass full of champagne. His honored guests mimicked his motion, holding up their own beverages. “Let us keep our soldiers on the Allendesian border in our hearts and pray that we can bring them home to their loved ones soon. Cheers!”