Miss Julia was presenting a slideshow of paparazzi photos taken earlier—images of Prince Hudson kissing me on the forehead, hugging me, and tickling me. I looked away, cringing and scrunching my nose in embarrassment. Meanwhile, Prince Hudson was busy scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious. Until the photo of him of his back and his "friend's" hands on his neck showed, he shifted nervously. I shot him a warning glare.
"Well, well, you did me proud, kids," Miss Julia said proudly.
I rolled my eyes. "Do we really have to go to this party?" I asked, my voice dripping with annoyance.
Instead of answering, Prince Hudson stood up and stretched dramatically, arms reaching upward. "Well, at least I'm getting some alcohol," he said casually as he headed for the door.
"Remember to keep it down, Prince Hudson," Miss Julia called after him, though it seemed like her words went unheard.
She turned to me with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Miss Margaret. I've signed you up for an etiquette class this afternoon. Then, by six, you'll get ready, and at nine, the party starts," she said, her tone gentle but exhausted, as if she sensed my energy draining away.
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The entire afternoon blurred past in a whirlwind. Me being a quick learner paid off when I had to master dining etiquette and social manners in just four hours. As they showed me the blue dress I had to wear tonight, I couldn't help but think how lucky those born into royalty must be. Their world feels so alien to me—so detached from reality—that I don't think this kind of treatment even exists outside fairy tales. I don't even have to lift a finger, yet it saddens me to think how much of all this is paid for by the labor of ordinary people.
My thoughts were interrupted when we finally arrived at our destination.
We were at Everglades Manor, the residence of the First Prince and his family. I've only seen it in pictures, but I never imagined it would be so grand—so colossal and elegant. My mouth must've been agape for a moment because Prince Hudson, sitting beside me in the car, must have noticed. Without missing a beat, he dropped an olive from his martini into my mouth.
"What the—. That's so childish," I snapped, spitting out the olive and tossing it back at him. Asshole.
He erupted into a fit of laughter. "Can't help it. Your reaction is just so hilarious."
I was about to hit him with my clutch, but he had already stepped out of the car and walked around to open my door. As soon as he did, the flashes from cameras never stopped.
"Remember to smile," he whispered, slipping sunglasses onto my face. "Keep those on; your eyes will hurt if you don't. This way, you won't have to worry about blinking or squinting."
Beneath his rebellious exterior, I could see a surprisingly caring and gentle side. He helped me down from the car, gently took my arm, clasped it with his own, and guided me toward the red carpet.
I offered a soft smile to the cameras, trying to block out the noise—the shouted questions, the clicking of countless flashes. The sunglasses truly helped. When I looked up, I saw the towering pillars of the manor looming above us, majestic and imposing.
We paused at the top of the stairs, turning to face the crowd. The photographers shouted and clicked furiously, while across the street, banners bearing my name and Prince Hudson's fluttered in the wind, accompanied by cheers and howls from the crowd. Although I couldn't see each face clearly, their warm support washed over me, leaving a strange mix of comfort and guilt.
I waved at them for a few moments, feeling a strange sense of gratitude and obligation, then turned to step inside the grand estate.
No words could truly capture the splendor before me. The chandeliers glittered like stars, casting a warm glow over the entire hall. An orchestra played softly in the background, filling the air with elegant melodies. Men in crisp black-and-tie suits mingled effortlessly, while women in glittering dresses of every color imaginable glided past, their heels clicking on the marbled floors. Servers moved gracefully, offering flutes of champagne that caught the light as they passed.
I was still trying to take everything in when Prince Hudson took out the sunglasses from my face and slid it into his jacket pocket. He straightened his suit with a rehearsed precision and flashed his brightest smile. Raising his arm, he opened his palm in a gesture of confidence. Without hesitation, I mirrored him—raising my arm and taking his hand.
In that instant, the music stopped, and the buzz of conversation faded into silence.
A man in a crisp suit stepped forward, clearing his throat with authority.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let us all welcome, His Royal Highness, Prince Hudson Albert, Fifth Son of His Majesty the King, accompanied by his betrothed, Lady Margaret."
A shiver ran down my spine at the announcement. I suddenly felt the weight of reality pressing down on me. I couldn't back out now—not after everyone had seen my face, heard my name. I knew phones were supposed to be banned, but I'd seen a few discreetly pull theirs out and snap photos.
Frozen in place, I couldn't move. Prince Hudson turned to me, mouthing softly, "Breathe." I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself. He gripped my hand firmly, guiding me down what felt like a seemingly endless flight of stairs.
When we reached the floor, the women curtsied gracefully, and the men bowed slightly at Prince Hudson's approach. I managed only a shy smile, though I noticed some of the other women's expressions—sarcastic, dismissive, or judging. Others cast wary glances at each other. A commoner like me had no place here, not even with a Prince of the kingdom.
As the orchestra music gently resumed, the crowd around us began to disperse into small groups, whispering among themselves. I watched as they huddled in corners, exchanging hushed conversations, their glances filled with curiosity and suspicion.
Prince Hudson released my hand, letting it fall to his side, and stepped forward to shake the hand of a figure standing directly in front of us. The man was regal, commanding, with traits reminiscent of King Julian—an imposing presence that seemed to command the entire room. I couldn't help but think—another copy of King Julian, or perhaps a mirror of him himself.
Then, the man spoke, voice smooth but edged with amusement.
"Hudson, imagine my surprise when I heard my little brother would be attending my party," said Prince Leon, the eldest son and heir, accepted Hudson's hand and pulled Hudson into a quick, brotherly hug.
Prince Hudson chuckled softly. "Well, Miss Julia can be very persisting," he replied, a playful smirk on his face.
I felt like an invisible shadow between them—an unacknowledged outsider—until Prince Hudson turned toward me, offering a gentle introduction.
"Brother, let me introduce Margaret."
Prince Leon fully turned to face me, his smile warm and genuine. I curtsied politely, my heart pounding. He studied me for a long moment, his gaze sharp yet curious, then turned back to Hudson with an almost knowing look.
Suddenly, the air grew tense. Prince Leon shot Hudson a sharp glare, the kind that carried unspoken words and long-standing grievances.
"You deserved this, Hudson," Prince Leon murmured, voice low. "You're lucky you're still alive. Some people here don't want you here—after all the trouble you've caused."
Hudson merely shrugged, taking a sip from a champagne glass handed to him by a passing server. His expression was unreadable, calm under the surface.
Prince Leon exhaled slowly, then tapped his brother's shoulder with a hint of caution. "Just… keep it low tonight."