Royal Accidental Love

We once conceived of monsters as ominous, colossal creatures adorned with sharp teeth, dark eyes, red skin, and a loud roar capable of trembling the very earth beneath them. However, our perception shifted, and we began to believe that these monsters resided within us, manipulating our thoughts and controlling our minds. It wasn't until later that we realized the true monsters were the individuals leading nations.

As I fixate on the TV screen, I daydream about a world where one can rest easy at night, assured that children worldwide peacefully sleep in their beds. Unfortunately, reality starkly contrasts this ideal. My gaze intensifies upon the President of the United States as he waves to the camera; a man I deem undeserving of happiness.

The camera then transitions to Spain's royal family, showcasing King Antonio, a sixty-seven-year-old figure with short grey hair and a neatly shaved beard. In my childhood, I failed to distinguish between kings and presidents. However, as I grew older and discerned the disparity, I regretted my initial preferences for an elected president.

The camera proceeds to the prince, the heir to the throne, behind King Antonio—Crown Prince of Spain. His soft, brown hair complements his eyes, resembling fresh, well-kept sand. My reverie is interrupted by my sister, who excitedly thrusts a newspaper in front of me. It dawns on me that, in the digital age, my sixteen-year-old sister clings to a newspaper only due to a particular prince.

His images seem omnipresent. "Look at this," Grace insists, holding the newspaper close. "He's so attractive; I can't resist. We need to go to Spain."

I point at the TV. "He's also on there."

"Who still watches TV?" Grace retorts, taking a seat beside me.

"Who still reads the newspaper?" I counter.

As we settle into the room, our attention is drawn to the entrance by the arrival of Ben, one of our two brothers. Nonchalantly, he chooses a seat beside us, glancing briefly at the TV before shifting his focus to our faces. With a playful smirk, he questions, "I know Vee here enjoys staying abreast of the news, but what about you?"

Grace, eager to share her perspective, points emphatically at the TV screen where the cameraman seems uncertain about capturing attention by featuring the young and handsome prince. In agreement, Ben responds with a knowing nod and a hum, acknowledging the significance of the situation. "Prince Rex," he remarks, solidifying the shared awareness among us.

In a playful exchange, I toss a pillow his way. "Don't agree with her! They're masking the truth with attractive figures."

Grace chuckles, teasingly pointing at me. "Ah, so you admit he's hot!"

I raise an eyebrow. "I never denied that. I'm saying they're using looks to deceive people like us."

Amid laughter, Grace brings up Donald Trump. "What looks are you talking about?"

"Exactly," Ben chimes in. "You've got to let it go, Vee. Your political obsession won't end well."

Growing weary, I stand up. "I'm heading out alone."

Walking away, I hear Grace scream, "Prince Rex is in the same city as me! Look at the address above. Violet, wait for me! I'm coming with you!"

I re-enter the living room, observing as Grace swiftly heads to her bedroom to prepare.

"Didn't she hear me say I was going out alone?" I furrow my eyebrows, tilting my head.

Ben nonchalantly shrugs, refocusing on the TV. After a few minutes, Grace returns to the hall, donning a short pink dress and carrying a bag of makeup.

"Where are you going?" I inquire, looking down at her.

"With you," Grace grins. "And we're headed to the event where Prince Rex is."

"You do realize Rex is twenty-six and won't notice a sixteen-year-old, right?" I raise my eyebrows, implying her slim chances.

"Have you never watched Princess movies? They were all young when they married their prince," she retorts, fixing her hair. "Ben, we're taking your car!"

"I'm not taking you to—"

She interrupts, "You owe me, Violet Rose! Remember when I covered for you when you sneaked out to go out with—"

I cover her mouth, gesturing to the living room, indicating that Ben might be eavesdropping.

"Remind me not to ask for favors again," I glare at her, pulling her out of the door.

Our home is simple. Dad tends to the front yard, making it appear like the most beautiful house. He planted numerous trees and plants, creating a path to paradise as we enter the house.

"Change into something nice, Vee," Grace insists, eyeing my casual outfit disapprovingly—a white t-shirt paired with black sweatpants. Unfazed, I see no issue with my choice.

"We're not attending the event," I assert, shaking my head. In a surprising move, Grace tosses Ben's car key at me, a skill she knows I lack. The key hits the floor, prompting a screech from Ben. I quickly raise my hands in defense, signaling my innocence.

As Ben retrieves the key, he kneels down and addresses me, "I'm going out later. Find another car."

"You need a car!" Grace protests, casting a pleading look at both me and Ben. "Please drop us off, and Vee's boyfriend can pick us up."

"The one you snuck out with?" Ben raises an eyebrow, smirking and playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes, shooting a glare at Grace for her earlier revelation about covering up my sneaky outing with my boyfriend.

Ethan and I have shared a four-year journey since we first crossed paths during our senior year in school. Despite the impending separation after graduation, we decided to embark on a long-distance relationship.

Our roots were in Fairbanks, Alaska, where we initially connected. While I opted for a gap year and refrained from applying to any colleges, Ethan secured a scholarship to Yale, prompting his move to Connecticut three years ago.

In choosing to stay close to home, I applied to the University of Alaska, an institution that welcomed me with immediate acceptance. Our paths diverged, yet our commitment to making our relationship thrive across the distance endured.

Currently, I reside with my parents, and I'm fortunate that my dad covers the household expenses. Graduating from college in two years, I appreciate not needing a part-time job, as my parents are a reliable financial support.

While having my own monthly expenses may seem appealing, it would likely diminish time for family, friends, exams, homework, and even sleep.

Thankfully, my family, a tremendous support, ensures I have all I need. Grace's plea brings me back to reality. Despite rolling my eyes, I empathize, having gone through a similar phase with One Direction.

"Why are they here?" Ben questions, rolling his eyes as he gets into the car. Eager to claim the passenger seat, I'm halted by Grace, who pulls me back.

"I'm sitting—" I start, but Grace interrupts, "I'm fine in the back, but could you at least change?"

I embody two facets of myself—the girly girl and the laid-back side, indifferent to others' perceptions in transient encounters. My hope is that Grace could embrace a similar freedom, especially when dressing casually for routine outings like the supermarket or our non-existent dog walks.

Without intending to draw parallels, my youth leaned more towards Ben than Grace. I resisted dresses, makeup, and the conventional trappings of femininity, driven by a fear ingrained in our family's beliefs. The mantra persisted: "Girls who wear makeup lack confidence, using it to conceal an underlying truth."

Such judgments, like those cast on girls donning dresses in mundane settings, became etched in our minds. However, I refrain from imposing these thoughts on Grace; my upbringing need not dictate her path.

"Who said I'm meeting the prince?" I chuckle, throwing my head back. "I'll be at the cafe across from the event."

Despite not knowing what event this is, I resent how effortlessly my little sister gets her way.

I get into the passenger seat, and wait for Grace to get in too. She starts to get ready in the back while Ben and I bop our heads to the song that is playing.

I enjoy applying makeup, though Ben insists I go all out every time I leave the house. In truth, my makeup routine, including skincare, consists of sunscreen, moisturizer, sunshine drops, primer, concealer, contour, blush, highlight, and mascara. Boys, as we all know, tend to be quite dramatic when it comes to makeup.

Grace cautioned me, “You better not show your face.” I gave her a look to stop, but she continued, scrutinizing my attire and appearance, questioning why I hadn't made more effort.

Ben interjected, “Can we not talk about looks? This is extreme, Grace. Your comment is unnecessarily harsh. Try using the brain in your head sometimes.”

Grace, undeterred, chuckled lightly, “I'm not lying, though. We're about to meet the prince, and she's looking like that.”

Ben retorted, “Come back to reality. We're not in a fairy tale. You're not meeting the prince, and he's not going to fall in love with you. Besides, Violet looks as beautiful as Megan Fox with or without makeup.”

Grace chuckles, noting, "If you're visually impaired, Violet's hair boasts a light brown hue, and her eyes are even lighter than Megan's."

A frustrated Ben interjects, "Oh my God, when will you just be quiet?!"

Striving to be the supportive sister, I refrain from exploiting others' insecurities to bolster myself. Despite my efforts to hold back, today, I find it challenging to endure her attitude.

"Before lecturing me on appearances, perhaps consider some lessons on embracing your natural self occasionally," I retort.

I advise Grace to ground herself in reality, stating, "No prince will marry you when you appear thirty at sixteen."

Inhaling deeply and gazing forward, I attempt to regain composure. However, Ben, familiar with me, remarks, "Grace, a prince your age won't marry someone with your attitude."

Amidst a tumultuous twenty-minute drive, tension escalated as Grace discovered the event's location in Washington DC, leading to a heated argument with Ben, who expressed frustration at navigating the unfamiliar city.

Acknowledging the discord, I offered gratitude to Ben while inviting Grace to join, an offer she declined with a frown and a decision to head back home, engrossed in her phone.

Nonchalantly shrugging, I exited the car, greeted by Fairbanks' grandest library, my cherished second home.

As an avid reader with a penchant for murder mysteries, my literary passion was ignited by 'A Good Girl's Guide to Murder.'

With the most radiant smile, I step into the library, savoring one of life's finest joys. My initial focus is on the section that captivates me the most—Mystery. As I peruse the titles, my attention is momentarily drawn to a book in another section.

Approaching it, I pick up 'Twisted Games' by Ana Huang, recalling Grace's praise for another work by the same author. Although the title escapes me, the distinctive blue cover triggers my memory.

There it is—'Twisted Love.' Grace had expressed a longing to read a royal-themed book by the same author. In an uncommon display of generosity, I decide to surprise her with this newfound treasure.

Placing 'Twisted Games' into the basket conveniently stationed at the library's entrance, I reflect on the rarity of my act of kindness. Despite owning the library membership, which enables borrowing, I opt to purchase the book for Grace, marking a departure from my usual routine.

Despite Grace's occasional childish behavior, I remind myself that she is, indeed, just a child. Reflecting on my own past, I recall similar squabbles with Ben and Lucas when I was her age.

Understanding the impact of developing hormones, I refrain from placing blame on Grace, recognizing the complexities of her evolving biology.

As I peruse the books, my gaze fixates on a familiar figure who appears to be evading someone. Hood drawn up, sunglasses shielding his eyes, he scans his surroundings with an air of apprehension.

My phone vibrates, drawing my attention to a message from Grace. I read with intrigue as she reveals, "The news we watched wasn't live. Prince Rex isn't in Washington D.C."

A jolt of realization hits me as I look up and find Prince Rex standing right before me.