Bound By The Crown

Chapter Eight

Lisanna Moore's P. O. V

Glancing around the quickly filling hall, I take a deep breath as I take in all the various reporters gathering in the spacious area, each one looking just as eager as the next while they take their respected seats. Other staff members run around like headless chickens, already knowing that this has to go as perfectly as planned if not better otherwise it's our necks on the line and ready to be chopped off.

I peel myself away from the partition that lets you see onto the makeshift stage where a single podium stands proudly with a microphone attached into which the prince will be speaking into very shortly. Turning around, I come face to face with an equally nervous Rose backstage as she gnaws on her pointer finger, waiting for me to tell her what's happening in the main room.

"Well the chairs are filling up so I guess in another half an hour we can expect Mr. Sinclair to make his presence known and then the press conference will begin." I inform while simultaneously taking a deep breath, hoping against hope that this goes exactly like how we planned this. I can't even count the amount of times I ran through the questions repeatedly when I wrote them out with Samantha who then showed them to the Prince so he could practise them on his own.

Chewing viciously on my lower lip, I barely take note of the fact of me eating away my lipstick as I glance down at the watch strapped to my wrist, the time ticking by as Rose takes a peek herself, eyes widening at all the people sitting down along with various bodyguards scattered all over the room.

Just one glance can tell you how much of a profile client this man is, sitting aside the fact that he's the prince of course but the mere number of guards puts one on edge even if they aren't guilty. Even I feel antsy as if I'm going to get body slammed to the ground and beaten up for looking at Mr. Sinclair in the wrong way.

"Lisanna!" A rushed voice calls out to me causing my head to snap up while relief rushes through me at the sight of a windswept Samantha. Her arrival meaning one thing and that being that the prince has actually arrived on time and not running late like he was originally. The repercussions of the man coming late basically a noose around my neck since that wouldn't look good for the nosey reporters as well that prowl around for blood in shark infested waters.

I might be exaggerating a touch but that's what they seem like to me as of now since even one bad word from any person in the room could set this whole thing ablaze with days of hard work getting tarnished within a few seconds.

"He's here?" I ask in an equally hurried voice to which she nods, hooking a thumb in the direction behind her while assuring me that Mr. Sinclair is just getting a few finishing touch ups done to himself before he can appear on camera. Nodding my head, I follow in the direction Samantha points me at so that I can have one last word with the man before he goes public and faces the entire nation.

If I'm feeling nervous right now, I don't even want to imagine how the Prince is feeling at this very moment.

Knocking gently on the sturdy wooden door, I poke my head in through the gap once I get an affirmative answer only to be met with Mr. Thomas' scowling face. Ever the charmer. Passing him a forced smile, I make my way over to the man of the hour and greet him in the way I've been taught to which thankfully, as of yet, is the normal way with no curtsey or bowing on my behalf. For now that is, I'm sure it'll change within the week where I'll have to be practising in front of a mirror every day so that I don't end up making a fool of myself to him in person.

"Mr. Sinclair, they're ready for you so whenever you want to come out on stage, just let me know so that I can alert the rest of the staff." I inform while discreetly trying to glance down at my watch, hoping he doesn't take longer than absolute necessary. Fifteen minutes max should be more than enough.