He's not afraid (a Scott Hoying & Mitch Grassi fanfiction)

Royalty Living (REVISED APR'22)

Once upon a time, there was a boy in the royal palace...

Ugh. If I begin the story like this, I can't possibly lie. The boy in the royal palace is - unfortunately - me. Fuck.

I was in my massive room. Too big for me. The huge king size bed was in the front, behind a huge window, the huge closet that occupied two fucking walls was across my bed; my television, sound equipment and computer on my desk, all equally huge (that my grandma baptized as the study desk, even though no study ever took place there). I was reading a book: 50 Shades of Grey, obviously hiding it from all the maids and, of course, my grandma. It was during my spring break, although they really never made sense to me because 1) I had to stay in this shit hole against my will, 2) I always had something to do around here, from fucking photography tours (you know when you see pictures of me just relaxing in a Starbucks? Those are Photography tours, call the paparazzi and appeal to the peasants) to etiquette classes every Wednesday and Thursday from 6-8am. Criminal.

"Master Grassi?" Charlotte, one of the maids, called out as she knocked on my door. An audible grunt gave her permission to open my huge bedroom door.

"Mitch, Charlie. And let go of the Master, I'm no Master." I rolled my eyes as I got up from the bed and put the book on my nightstand. Charlotte knew I was reading that, as she herself read the whole saga; she's a kinky bitch, I'll tell you that for free. She kept quiet, surprisingly. "Let me guess: did my Grandma call me to her room?" I asked and she nodded.

I've always hated going to Grandma's room. It was pure torture, I had to hear all those rants about how I'll be taking care of the country and how, someday, I will rule this country and blah blah blah. But, to be honest, she was betting on the wrong horse because I would easily give up the throne to my inbred fifth cousin Darryl and he could rule this place as a incest-riddled heaven on Earth, for all I care. I don't even move a chair in the Royal room, let alone rule this country.

"Mitchell?" I heard her calling as I knocked on the door.

"The name's Mitch, Grandma." I sighed loudly. I don't care if she's the Queen of some make-believe utopia: she's still my Grandma and I don't need all that protocol shit.

"My boy, don't you think you should wear something more... royal? You are the heir to the throne, you-"

"Should always dress royal, I know." I finished her sentence. "Look Grandma, I'm pretty comfortable in these clothes. Besides, they're new! I actually bought them myself, for once." I got up from my seat, showing her my brand new Versace shirt and Moschino jeans. I sat down quickly as I noticed the corner of her lip rising in pure disgust. "But yeah, what is it that you want from me?"

"What do you wish, my dear. It's fancier." I raised my eyebrows, as if I was actively listening to her etiquette. "We shall be dining with the Prime Minister tonight, Mitchell. You need to go as well, as you very well know."

"Grandma, you know how I don't really like getting mixed with the... political affairs of the country. Not that I'm stupid, but... have you actually taken a good look at me? I'm not really the textbook definition of "Heir To The Throne"."

"But you'll be the King someday, my beautiful Mitchell." Another forced smile. "It is imperative you go. If anything, it'll show you how to communicate with AND behave around with the media and the Ministers." I sighed. "Mitchell, I know you have it in you to be King. You are a fierce, brave gentleman. I believe in you, and I know you believe in yourself too."

I sighed.

"Fine, Grandma. I'll do it."

"Marvellous, sweet boy! Katherine will bring you your attire at 4.30PM." she said as I got up. I walked up to her bedroom door, ready to leave, but her voice calling my name stopped me. "Mitchell... your Father didn't really care about any of this. I have only you, my boy. You must learn this. It's important for our family, for our British people... for you." She smiled at me, and I couldn't NOT smile back. "That is all, my boy."

I stormed out of the room right after she said those words: I was on the edge of starting to growl at the walls. For how much longer do I have to show this nonexistent side of me? The perfect side. This isn't me. The minute I find that certain someone... I will finally be free. I need someone other than those posh pussies who are too scared to walk down the halls alone at 4am. I need someone they could take me somewhere away from this.

******

Lunch time at the Royal Palace was equally torturous. I had to wear a different set of clothing for every fucking course meal and I'd possibly starve to death before I knew all the fifteen dishes by heart.

And yes: The lunch table was ridiculously huge as well.

"Aren't you going to use the knife to cut the chicken, Prince Mitchell?" Jake, my Grandma's right-hand man and advisor, advised me. I simply showed him my middle finger.

Stupid cunt.

"Prince Mitchell, I've brought you some brand new clothes to try tonight. I've got three different attires!" Kate, my Grandma's stylist, told me just to push my buttons.

"I have plenty of clothes, one of them has to do for tonight." Well, to be frank, new clothes are always accepted. But only if 1) I choose them; 2) I and I alone buy them.

"Oh pish posh, Prince! You're the heir to the Throne! You cannot be seen wearing the same cloth twice, Prince" she said, adjusting herself to the wooden chair. "Sit straight Prince, your spine is all curved."

I took a deep breath and adjusted myself in the chair, stomping both my feet on the floor.

******

The night finally fell, the Fancy Dinner was moments away. I didn't let that bitch Kate choose my clothes, I had already picked the perfect outfit: my black jeans, my creepers, a black tank-top and my red blazer. I looked at myself in the mirror, checking my hair and if everything was on point.

"Fierce." I whispered as I blew a kiss towards the mirror, a ritual I do everyday.

I left my room and went to the main hall, where everyone was waiting for me already.

"Prince Mitchell you're late, as usual." Jake pointed out, to which I ignored. "Mitchell, are you ready?" he asked. He never really liked me but guess what, I didn't really like him either. "Prince Mitchell you can't go like that!"

"Why not, Jake?" I crossed my arms. But, before he could answer, I proceeded. "Actually, I don't owe you explanations of any kind. I'm the heir to the Throne and, if I recall correctly, you're just another servant." I tapped his shoulder with my hand and, smiling, I began walking away, heading towards the door. "So c'mon, Servant, the limo awaits me."

"Prince Mitchell you are quite the rebel... aren't you afraid your attitude might make your life more difficult in the future?"

"No, I'm not afraid."

******

I arrived at the dinner room, every eye laid on me. I didn't mind it though, most of them were hot as hell... Well, except the Queen, whose eyes seemed to pierce my soul in disappointment. But honestly, the sole reason I agreed to this was to fulfill my objective for the night: to eat and get away as fast as I could.

To be continued...

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