The Prince and the Punk [EDITING]

Chapter 6

Xavier

God, party planning is boring.

I'm standing in the center of the palace's ballroom, gritting my teeth in an agony that almost feels physical.

Before me stands our official party planner, who goes by Wanda. Just Wanda. She's barely over five feet tall, and her hoop earrings probably weigh more than she does. She's worked for us longer than anyone, and I love her to death, but if she says another word, I swear I'll tear my hair out.

Her hand shakes as she takes notes on her tablet, and I can't understand a word she says because she mumbles and drawls as she slowly lays out decoration ideas. I say yes to everything because I don't care, while internally I'm cursing my parents for pawning this off on me. They're holed up in another war meeting, probably receiving even more bad news to take out on me.

Between an asinine course on etiquette and planning for the ball, I haven't had any time to sneak out and see Janice. Thinking about her reminds me of the asshole that hurt her, which makes me even angrier. I can't explain it, but there's something different about Janice, and I feel so protective of her that I think I'd literally kill anyone who harmed a hair on her head. I wonder if I'm just so starved for human connection that I've latched onto the first semblance of a friend I've had in years, or if she really is as special as she seems. I shake off the thought as my parents enter the room and the employees bow.

Generally, my parents look strong and regal, but stress has taken its toll on both of them. My father's dark hair is grey at the roots, and the wrinkles on his face make him look years older than he is. His small beard is meticulously groomed, his suit is expertly tailored, and the gold watch on his wrist is polished and shiny. If not for the crown on his head, he could be mistaken for any old trillionaire.

My mother wears a crown, too, though hers is more like a hair clip. It's a tiara that can only be described as dainty, woven through her raven-black hair. She's probably one of the most gorgeous women in the world, despite her own signs of stress. She's tall and Italian, and when she speaks it's with a slight accent—a lingering trace of her heritage that hasn't faded despite a lifetime of speaking English. I can't explain why, but something about her has always reminded me of an owl.

The two of them walk wearily into the room, but my mother seems to brighten when she sees Wanda.

"Your Majesties," Wanda croaks, dipping into a small curtsy.

"Wanda," my mother says sweetly, "how lovely to see you."

"How goes the planning, son?" my father asks.

"Good," I lie. "Wanda has some great ideas."

"Let's hear," my father says, calling my bluff.

"Well... uh..."

Wanda saves my ass, chiming in and excitedly detailing her many intricate plans. She's thought of everything, from tablecloths to streamers to the exact shade of black the string quartet will be wearing. God, I hate string quartets. If I hear Ode to Joy one more goddamn time...

"Aren't you excited, honey?" my mother says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah," I lie again.

She isn't convinced. "This ball is all about you," she reminds me cheerfully. "Maybe you'll meet a pretty girl..."

"Mom, stop," I snap. "I don't want to meet a pretty girl." I can feel myself getting angry, so I take a breath, trying not to think about how much I hate everyone and everything.

My mother sighs. "Xavier..."

"You know what? I think Wanda pretty much has everything squared away here, so I'm gonna take a break. Thank you, Wanda," I say quickly, and leave.

As soon as I'm out of the ballroom, I run up the numerous flights of stairs that lead to my bedroom. Lately, I've been ending most of my conversations with my parents this way.

I slam the door to my room as hard as I can, then lean against it and slide to the ground, running an angry hand through my hair. This fucking sucks.

There's a tiny knock at my door. "Xavier?" I recognize the voice as my sister, Katie's.

I move away from the door and open it. Katie comes in and closes it behind her, then sits down on the floor with me.

Everyone who likes their little sister thinks she's a princess, but only I have the luxury of saying mine actually is. Katie is eight, which makes her eleven years younger than me. The only explanation I can think of for the age gap is that she was either an accident or a publicity stunt. But I'd never tell her that; she's my favorite person in the world. Sometimes I think she was a gift for me, because even at eleven I was an angsty, lonely little kid.

Regardless of the reason, I'm glad Katie came along. No one who's ever met her has disliked her, and the media can't get enough of her. There's even a news segment called "Princess Katie" in which the public gawks at how utterly perfect she is. My parents fucked me up, but with her, something went right. Unlike me, she has hordes of friends and worldwide adoration.

She's the only blonde in the family, but she shares my father's electric blue eyes. She's tall for her age, and her height is accentuated by the pair of high heels she swiped from my mother. Her bright pink fairy wings match her bright pink dress.

Just seeing her sit down next to me starts to make me feel better. She wraps me in a hug because she knows I need one. I hug her back, careful not to bend her wings.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"I'll be okay," I sigh. "Just... never get older," I add, imagining Katie in my position. The day that happens is the day I stage a coup, parents or not.

"Are you angry because Mommy and Daddy are?" When I give her an inquisitive look, she adds, "I hear them arguing in the black room."

Katie calls the war room the "black room" because it's the only room in the palace with black doors. No one has the heart to explain icky things like war and violence to her, so she just knows it as the source of much, much yelling.

"No," I tell her, "not really."

"What's wrong, then? Maybe I can help."

"Sometimes..." I search for the words. "Sometimes parents stink. They think everything is okay when it's not, and sometimes they just don't stop to think about how their actions affect us. It's just not very considerate, that's all."

It's a hell of a lot more than that, but I'm not about to unload all of my emotional baggage on Katie. She hugs me and tells me everything will be okay, and for a moment, I let myself hope it will.

++++

The ball fast approaches!! What do you guys think will happen?

Also, Katie Cullen is very fun to say out loud.