by Vivian Wood
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I know how you feel. But you will regret this if you don’t muster up the courage. Come, my son. It’s time to say goodbye.”
She took my hand and gently led me to the intricately carved, heavy oak door, but she didn’t enter. I gave her a questioning look, and she responded with a saddened smile.
“This is as far as I can go,” she said gently. “I’ve already said my goodbyes, Olivier. Now it’s your turn. Go on, my son. There’s not much time left.”
I nodded, watching as two servants silently opened the heavy doors without a single creak. It was silent inside, silent and dark.
The faint sound of a cough made me hyper-aware of the atmosphere in the room. The thick velvet curtains were drawn, and it was dark. The room I had known so well had become my father’s prison.
In the past few weeks, my parents’ bedroom had been stripped of everything. My mother left first, since father slept so fitfully now and kept waking her up. The stack of tomes on the rich mahogany side table was replaced by boxes of pills with frightening names. And worst of all, the view was nixed thanks to the heavy eggplant-colored curtains. It was such a shame. I always thought the sight of his kingdom sprawled right outside his bedroom window made my father a stronger, braver man.
It smelled like fucking death, and I hated being in there. But I had to do this. I owed it to my father to say goodbye one last time.
Too nervous to look at the man in the bed, I walked over to the French doors leading out into the balcony and pulled the curtains open. Amber-colored light filled the room. The sun was setting. The end of another day awaited, perhaps the end of more than just daylight.
It was the end of a kingdom.
“Olivier?”
I turned around, blinking away the trace of tears in my eyes. I couldn’t help it. The sight of him filled me with words unspoken, my throat too constricted to let them out into the open. I feared I’d never be able to tell him how I truly felt.
“I’m here, father.”
I approached him with slow steps, stopping next to his intricately carved cherrywood bed. I took his hand in mine, noticing how frail he looked but not saying anything about it. He knew he was dying, everyone did. It would be no use for me to bring it up now.
“Thank you for… coming,” Dad managed to get out. “I know you were abroad… I’m glad you took the time to come and visit me, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense,” I muttered, the weight of staying away for so long making me feel smaller than I was. Mother hadn’t told him I’d been around, just too much of a coward to come and see him. “Of course I would come… How could I not?”
An uncomfortable silence lay upon the room and I struggled to breathe in the stuffy room. My eyes went to my father’s, and for the first time in years, I allowed myself to look at him the way I should have from the start.
He looked like an old man.
My father had looked youthful and handsome his whole life, but now, his age and his illness had both caught up with him. His hands were covered in liver spots, his skin sagging. He’d had a full head of hair, but it was gone now, lost to the treacherous illness that was about to claim his life, too.
“I’m so sorry, father.”
I tried to convey just how heartbroken I was with those few words, though I had a feeling nothing I could say or do would ever be enough. I’d been a bad son. A bad example. All my father had ever wanted was to have a worthy heir, and I’d let him down every step of the way.
“Don’t be,” he said hoarsely, putting his hand on mine. “None of us knew this would happen.”
It was true.
When he was diagnosed with cancer six months ago, we’d been told it was treatable. He’d started chemotherapy right away, but didn’t respond to it well, and soon enough, he was given a terminal diagnosis. That was when I put my life on hold to return to Luxuria. To say goodbye to my father. He had mere days left when I arrived, and it took me three full days to muster up the courage to see him. Only when the doctor told me it was now or never did I pluck up the courage to see him.
I was a coward. But worse than the knowledge of that was that I knew my father thought so, too.
I knew my father had been disappointed in me, his heir, too many times to count. And if I was being completely honest with myself, I’d been dreading this conversation.
The throne would be my mother’s after my father passed away, but as per Luxuria’s tradition, I would inherit the kingdom once I married. I knew my parents already thought it strange that I was still single, but I was enjoying the bachelor life too much to settle down.
Lavish parties, drugs, booze and women were my kryptonite. I let myself be pulled into the dark underworld of my rich friends, drinking away the worries that nagged me when I was sober. It was a way of putting it all off. I only realized it one night, lying in my own bed, two women tangled around my own naked body and an empty bottle of Macallan dripping its last precious drops on the Oriental carpet on the hardwood floor.
Things needed to change.
However, with my father’s looming death, everything would change. I would be expected to step up, find a wife. And there were so many traditions for me to honor along the way.
After a few moments of silence, my father spoke again. I could tell how much effort it took for him to speak, and I squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him that everything would be okay.
“I don’t want to be the horrible old man who asks for things on his death bed,” he managed. “But it looks like I don’t have a choice.”
I stared at him, the numbness I felt at the thought of losing him spreading through my body. It was too soon, with so much left unsaid. And yet now, when my last chance to speak to him arrived, I found myself tongue-tied around my father.
“My son,” he went on. “I know you’ve had your doubts about the royal life you’ve been born into. I want you to know, you are free to marry whoever you want. I know your mother will try to meddle… But rest assured the choice is only yours.”
“Thank you.” I was grateful, and I squeezed his hand again to show him how much it meant to me. His knuckles felt sharp under my fingers. He was so fragile now. So much different to the strong, powerful leader I remembered.
“I do want you to honor Luxuria’s tradition,” he went on. “There are so many rich, incredible rituals in our history. I want them to survive for generations, and I want you to teach your children the same things I have taught you. To always honor your past.”
“Of course, father.”
“Especially with the selection process,” he went on. “You know I chose your mother. I want you to choose your wife in the same way I did.”
“I will,” I promised him. “Anything you want.”
“And I also have something for you.”
He pointed to the nightstand after realizing he was too weak to get it himself. I paled at the thought of truly losing him. Of my father being gone forever. But I didn’t have a choice in the matter. The cancer was going to claim him soon, and nobody could do a thing about it.
“I wanted you to have it,” he said weakly as I picked up the item off the nightstand, weighing it in my hands.
“You will get so many things once I die,” my father said. “You will get the crown… my scepter… I wanted you to have something else.”
I weighed his signet ring in my hand, fighting back the urge to scream bloody murder.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fucking fair that I was twenty-four years old and about to lose the man who had raised me. The man who had taught me everything I knew, and who’d brought me up to be an honorable man despite my best intentions to be anything but.
He’d stopped wearing the ring months ago, when it became too big to fit his fingers. After the initial few adjustments when we thought he was still getting better, he finally accepted that it would keep getting smaller and smaller until he died.
“I can’t take this
,” I managed. “You know what the tradition says, father.”
“I don’t want to be buried with it,” he said stubbornly. “Of course, you could have a new ring made. After all, it is tradition… But you will inherit so many royal items. So many things that should mean something. But really, this ring is the one that matters.”
I stared at the metal circle in my hands, the signet embossed with our herald.
“I sealed all my documents with it,” Dad said. “Love letters to your mother… Even your birth certificate. This ring has been with me since I became the king, and I want it to do the same for you, son.”
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Put it on,” Dad insisted, and my fingers shook as I slipped the ring on my finger.
I looked down at my father’s ashen face, surprised to see a proud smile pulling the corners of his lips upward. I hadn’t seen him smile like that in so long. For a second, I almost managed to forget about his illness.
“It looks good on you,” he managed.
I could tell he was on the verge of tears himself, and I fought my own emotions off. I couldn’t show him how much I was hurting now. I needed to be strong. To stay standing through this whole ordeal and replace my father on the throne once the time came.
“There are more things I could tell you,” he went on. “But I fear we don’t have the time. I do believe I’ve raised you to be a good king, and more importantly, a good person. When I leave this world…”
“Dad…”
“No,” he insisted, raising a weak hand to stop me from going on. “When I leave this world, I will do so confidently, knowing that I have left an incredible heir to the kingdom, and an even better man to a woman who is out there just for you, Olivier.”
“Thank you,” I managed. “You don’t know how much it means to me. That you still love me, trust me, that you still believe in me after all this time. After I’ve let you down so many times.”
“You haven’t,” he said, squeezing my hand again. “Everyone makes foolish decisions, Olivier. You’re still so young. Please, don’t rush into anything. Love will find you, and one day, you will make an incredible ruler to Luxuria. I have faith in you, my son.”
A massive weight rolled off my shoulders.
I was half-expecting him to say he’d chosen his other son, Bruno, as the heir to the kingdom. On one hand, it would have been a relief… but on the other, I would feel ashamed beyond belief.
“Oh, I never doubted you,” Dad said with a weak smile. “I knew you needed the time to come around. And I don’t blame you for not being here when I found out I was sick.”
I was rendered speechless. He was such a kind, good man, and I had a lot to learn from him still. But I would have to make do with what he’d taught me before this fateful moment.
I leaned down next to him to whisper in his ear, “I hope one day I can be half the man you are.”
When I pulled back, we both had tears in our eyes, and my father chuckled, dabbing at his eyes – dark brown, a mirror image of mine – with a handkerchief.
“One last thing,” he said. His breathing was so labored now he started coughing, and pain twisted my stomach into a million knots. I couldn’t bear to hear him hurting like that. “Promise me one more thing, okay, Olivier?”
“Of course,” I said softly.
“Never start smoking,” he said, and I grinned at him. With his last vestige of power, he motioned to the nightstand again. “Open that drawer, would you?”
I did as he asked, revealing a hidden packet of Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes and the Berluti lighter he always used. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, shaking my head as I took the cigarettes out.
“Go on,” my father encouraged me, “One last smoke.”
I hesitated before withdrawing a dark brown cigarette, placing it between his paper-dry lips and lighting it for him. He took a long huff of the smoke, grinning weakly at me.
“That’s the stuff that would make a dead man come back to life,” he muttered.
“You’re not dead yet,” I said, the words heavy and harsh on my tongue. I touched his cheek gently, and he exhaled. “You’re still here.”
“Not for long,” he said shakily, giving me an apologetic smile as I removed the cigarette. He was wheezing. “I’ve done my best to be a good father, Olivier. I know you will do the same with your children. I love you, my son.”
His eyelids grew heavy and my grip on his hand tightened. But it was too late. He was already slipping away, and this time I knew it was to a place darker than just the land of sleep.
“Sleep well, father,” I whispered, bowing to him for the very last time.
There was no answer.
“Prince Olivier?”
I turned in the direction of the voice, snapping back to the present. I’d let the past pull me away again, but now, it was time to pave the path that led into my future.
A servant stood in the room behind me, and I realized I hadn’t even heard him walk inside.
“They’re ready for you, Your Highness,” he said, bowing and stepping aside.
I took a deep breath and followed him downstairs.
Chapter Three
Amber
The few hours after I climbed out of the car passed in a blur. I was escorted into the castle by a tight-lipped maid named who wore a stern smile and didn’t say very much at all. I hadn’t even had enough time to admire the stunning castle. Instead, I was ushered into the foyer, an elegant hall with marble floors, and up the impressive staircase onto the first floor.
I barely got the chance to drink in the splendor and glory of the winter castle. It was kitted out in luxurious, expensive fabric, chandeliers that looked like they belonged in an opera house, and works of art even I, the layman, recognized. I didn’t dare wonder out loud whether they were real or not. I had a feeling the truth would make my mouth gape open in shock.
The woman, who introduced herself as Melanie, showed me the west wing and explained all the competing girls would be living there. I had used the time during the tour of west wing to get a good impression of her. She was pretty in a doll-like way. Her eyes were large, clear and gray, just like Bruno’s. Her lips were full and pouty, and she had the palest skin that looked almost translucent, with the smatterings of freckles over her skin giving her an ethereal beauty and offsetting her chocolate brown hair. If all the women in Europe looked like this, I was in deep trouble.
While we were walking around, I caught glimpses of young women snickering and walking around in peers. My competition! I thought to myself, biting my bottom lip. Hell, it was better than nothing, and better than my poor nails.
My heart sped up at the thought of having to compete for Prince Olivier. I didn’t want to do it. A selfish part of me wanted him to send traditions to hell and just pick me. But here I was nonetheless, with twelve other women competing for the Prince’s heart. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to turn down the offer. I would do anything to have him back… and I would do even more for his hefty wallet.
Melanie explained there was a common dressing room as well as a powder room, where all of us were supposed to get ready. Our introductions would happen that evening at seven p.m. in the royal ballroom.
I felt shivers going down my spine as I nodded my understanding to the maid.
“You will be ready at six,” she reminded me. “We won’t wait for anyone, and we don’t tolerate any disobedience.”
“Of course,” I smiled politely. She seemed pleased by this too and hesitated before taking a step forward and motioning for me to come closer, too.
I leaned in and she whispered in my ear, saying, “I think you’re more beautiful than any of the other women here. And I know you’re Olivier’s first choice.”
“Thank you,” I managed, finding it hard to hide my surprise. “Are you… close with Olivier?”
Sudden images of Olivier with Melanie appeared in my mind. She was beautiful, thin and tall where I was curvy and petite
. Even in her maid uniform, she was unforgettably beautiful. And after all, I was nothing more than a girl from the wrong side of the tracks… just like her. Maybe Olivier had a type.
“No, not really,” she admitted, and I glared at her, trying to find the trace of a lie in her face and coming up empty. “It’s just a rumor around the castle. You are the thirteenth girl, aren’t you?”
I hesitated before grinning. “I suppose I am.”
She nodded with a conspiratorial smile before retreating. She gave me one last look over her shoulder and left me in my room where my luggage was already waiting. Once she left the room, I finally let myself exhale the breath I’d been holding in since I stepped into the castle.
I was convinced I’d run into Olivier, anxious with the thought of seeing him soon. The need to impress him was so intense it made me clench my fists as I explored the bedroom I’d been given.
It was like something out of a magazine, decked out in luxurious fabrics and opulent decorations. It screamed of money and taste, a beautiful testament to the decorator as well as the Luxurian royal family.
The room was decorated in tones of plum, rich cream and champagne with golden accents. The centerpiece of it was an enormous bed with a frame made from beautiful white wood, overlaid with gold leaf. It was decked out in huge purple pillows with pearls embroidered into the fabric, and a matching duvet. A chandelier hung above the bed, adorned with a golden rosette and even more plum silk creating a gorgeous effect on the ceiling. A curled futon stood in front of the bed, and opposite of it, there was an oversized vanity with a plush champagne-colored velvet chair in front. The room screamed of money and good taste, and I was gaping as I took a good look at everything.
From the light fixtures to the marble tub in the en-suite rose-marble bathroom, it was spectacular. We’d been strictly forbidden from bringing cameras or phones, but it made me wish I could snap a few pictures, so I could show them to Rose afterward.