Royal Catch, page 4
“Hurry before the tide gets high,” a red-haired princess says. And then she rushes into the shallow waves, her net in the water.
The other women follow, jostling each other for space. A few get knocked down and come up sputtering. A fight breaks out, and my jaw drops, eyes wide. It’s vicious. Lots of screaming, flying fists, and hair pulling.
Well, damn, it didn’t take long for the princesses to go Lord of the Flies out there. My lovely royal fantasy is shattered. I shake my head. Ya know, the one thing I was looking forward to in this whole crazy situation was getting the royal experience. Now I know the truth. People are people, even if they’re born with a silver spoon in their mouth. It’s like I just found out Santa isn’t real. No magic left in the world.
I let out a long sigh. I guess I’ll just wait for them to stop splashing around so much, scaring the fish away. I’m willing to bet they give up soon.
~ ~ ~
Gabriel
Immediately following the presentation of the first challenge, I join my mother in the royal chambers, where my father lies bedridden. We’ve kept his health concerns quiet, but he’s past the point where medicine can help him. The TV screen mounted within view of his bed features a closed-circuit view of the women on the beach.
My father is smiling. “Well done, Alexandra. Fishing is the perfect challenge. Everyone should understand how life works around here.” Villroy has a long history of fishing dating back to the early Viking settlers. The original tribe of Vikings was known as the Wild Ones. I like that I’m descended from wild people. I may have squashed those rougher tendencies under royal decorum, but they’re there. I’m a warrior king born in the wrong century.
Those original Vikings sailed down from an early settlement on the Irish islands, bringing their Irish wives. Later, the British took over, then the French. A couple of centuries ago, the Rourke line was reestablished from the original Viking Irish roots. Under Rourke leadership, Villroy became a major seafood supplier. Now, with declining fish populations, it’s more work for less catch, and the fishermen are forced farther out to sea. The younger generation head over to mainland Europe for better opportunities. A population made up only of the older generation cannot survive as a kingdom for long. We need something to keep the younger generation here, offer them jobs and better opportunities than they could get elsewhere. This is what keeps me up at night.
My mother takes the chair next to my father’s bed, stroking his hand and murmuring, “I’m glad you like it.”
It hits me that she’s created her own reality TV show for his benefit. Another reminder that, while my parents began their marriage as strangers, their bond is now tight. Love can make you do strange things. Normally, my parents are the height of decorum and royal grace. My father’s illness has changed them both, knowing they don’t have much time left together.
I have to ask. “And how will this determine the best bride for me?”
My mother turns to me. “I told you we need fresh blood with fresh ideas for the future of Villroy. These challenges are set up to find the best candidate.”
My father nods, his gaze glued to the TV.
“By making them fish?” I ask, not bothering to hide my skepticism. I still think this is all for my father’s entertainment. My bride’s royal duties will not include fishing.
“It’s tradition, Gabriel,” my mother snaps.
“Yes, tradition,” my father echoes.
I clench my jaw. Fishing may have been part of our ancestors’ lives, but it hasn’t been a regular thing for us royals in generations. “Where are the cameras?”
“Everywhere,” my mother replies, her eyes glued to the screen. “Cameras nowadays are so small it’s not hard at all to place them.”
A horrifying thought occurs. “Even in the bedrooms? The bathrooms?”
My mother shoots me a dark look. “Please, Gabriel. You mustn’t think of seducing one of them. That would completely defeat the purpose of the games.”
I grind my teeth. “If there’s a camera in my bedroom—”
“There isn’t,” my mother says. “You think I want us on film in our private moments? The guest bedrooms and bathrooms remain private as well.”
“Don’t worry,” my father says. “Your mother and I thought this out. We’re like TV producers. It was all in the nondisclosure they signed.”
“We’re directors too,” my mother says proudly.
I stifle a groan. When in the nuthouse, do as the nuts do. I return my attention to the screen. The women are splashing in the shallows; the waves are mild at low tide. They’re swinging their fishing nets around wildly, except Polly, who is busy folding up the raft. In her bikini. The round firm globes of her ass point up as she bends to her task. I want to take a bite. Not her. She is the antithesis of what a queen should be—ill-mannered, loud, barely wearing anything. Why must she fold the raft? Why is she wearing a bikini? She should be covered like the other women. I spare a glance at the other princesses, and even from this distance, it’s like a wet T-shirt contest, their clothes transparent. My eyes dart back to Polly.
“That one stands out, doesn’t she?” my mother asks. “I like her.”
“She comes from an island kingdom, which is a plus,” my father puts in.
My eyes are glued to her luscious body. “You mean Polly?” My voice comes out rough.
“Oh, no, not her!” my mother exclaims. “She’d never do as queen. She’s made no effort to blend in with the other women. She’s too much on the outside, and her accent is ghastly. Clearly she wasn’t raised in her homeland.”
Her accent is American—unrefined, bold, and brash. Exactly like her. I shouldn’t like it, but I do. It makes me think she’d be bold in other ways. The kind of woman who’d satisfy me.
“Her accent can be tamed, my dear,” my father says and then breaks off in a long coughing fit. My mother urges him to sip from a nearby glass of water. Once he settles down, he goes on, “Our sources told us she is something of a rough diamond, but we agreed that the fact that she comes from a prosperous island makes for a useful alliance.” He turns to me. “Gabriel’s influence will bring her to heel.”
Nothing will bring that woman to heel. I incline my head, keeping my opinion to myself because I don’t mind Polly being around for a bit if she’s going to keep wearing sexy clothes. And bikinis.
My father turns back to my mother and says in a teasing voice, “You had quite the accent once.” My mother is from a small kingdom off the coast of Australia. Her accent, after working with a dialect coach, is now nearly gone. In its place is proper English with a slight French lilt similar to Villroy’s accent. Many of the islanders of today are from France since Villroy is off the coast of France. English is the official language, though many are bilingual.
My mother shakes her head at my father, like Polly’s accent is a lost cause, before turning to me. “I meant Marguerite, the petite blond, stands out. Did you see her toss the redhead on her ass?”
My jaw drops. The queen does not say ass. I snap my mouth shut, at a loss for how to talk to this version of the queen mother.
“The redhead is Elizabeth,” my father says. He points a knobby finger at the screen. He’s lost so much weight. “Polly reminds me of my brother’s scrappy wife.” His voice is hoarse, and he takes a sip of water. “All their rough lot. Have you heard from my brother?”
My ears perk at this. My father must be in worse shape than I thought to be asking for his older brother. After all the bad blood, I doubt he’ll hear back. My father and his brother haven’t been in touch since my uncle abdicated the throne to marry a commoner—an American from Brooklyn, New York. It was a huge scandal at the time. Never been done in the history of the kingdom. My father was furious he had to give up his dream of becoming a professional football player. He’d just been recruited to France’s team after graduating university. From what I hear, my father was living the high life while his brother did his duty. It was a harsh change.
“Not yet,” my mother murmurs.
My uncle was cast out after he married his wife. My cousins are often referred to as the riffraff despite being half royal. Their family is not welcome in Villroy and remains in Brooklyn. My youngest sister, Silvia, had connected with them while studying at university in the US and reported back to us that they were a gruff lot. Six brothers. Maybe they could’ve been less gruff with my baby sister? Silvia is such a bleeding heart, she didn’t mind. She’s still trying to mend fences that can never be mended. Probably she’s softened in her time in the US, especially after marrying an American. It wasn’t a big deal for her to marry a commoner since she was seventh in line for the throne. For the oldest, me, it matters. I’ve been groomed to carry on the legacy and I will. My wife will be a true queen. In the meantime…
I resume watching Polly’s shapely ass as she works to fold up the raft. Why is she straightening up the beach when she’s supposed to be fishing? Finally, she finishes the task and sits on top of the folded raft, watching the women splashing around in the water. The fish have probably been scared away.
The Polly Show now over, I take my leave.
My parents barely notice.
~ ~ ~
Anna
I’m sitting on the folded-up raft, watching the women’s wrestling show in the water with a mixture of horror and fascination as the claws and teeth come out. Someone screams as her hair is pulled. So much hair pulling. Scratching, biting, slapping, and kicking too. It’s brutal. Someone rips a shirt, the buttons pinging off into the water.
“Anyone catch anything?” I call during a pause in the action.
The red-haired princess holds up her net triumphantly and there’s a small silver fish wriggling in there. Marguerite snatches the net from her and tosses her an empty net in return.
“You bitch!” Red Hair screeches.
The two go down swinging into the shallow water. Hopefully nobody drowns; otherwise I’ll have to do CPR. I’m all Red Cross certified from my previous job as a lifeguard. I keep it up. You never know when it’ll come in handy.
I wiggle my feet deeper into the sand and feel something hard, much bigger than a shell. I kneel down and dig around a bit. A treasure! I pull out a box containing an air pump, the kind you pump with your foot. The servant dropped the raft right over it. They must’ve thought we’d stumble upon it as we worked together to get this raft thing going. I hook the tube into the valve and start pumping. “You guys! I got the air pump. It’ll be easier to fish if we can take it out to the inlet. Dig around in the sand; maybe there’s some paddles too.”
There’s a brief pause in the action before the women go back to their fierce, clumsy battle for fish.
I keep pumping. It’s a pretty good pump and inflates the raft faster than I thought it would. An hour later, I’m drenched in sweat, my legs are burning from the workout of pumping this thing, but I’ve got the raft fully inflated. I’m too tired to dig around in the sand for paddles, if there even are any. The women are scattered around, some of them still trying for fish, a few just sitting in the shallow water, their nets out in case a fish happens to swim in. A few of the princesses are floating on their backs past the waves.
I toss my net and basket into the raft and drag it to the water. “Hop in. I’ll bet there’s lots of fish over by the inlet. We’ll paddle with our hands.” I hold it steady as everyone clambers in, some of them flopping like fish into the bottom of it. I push off and climb in with them. And it works! We’re paddling with our hands and moving in the right direction.
We make it to the inlet, a sheltered spot of sea between some rocky cliffs. I can see the fish just below the surface. Jackpot!
The princesses must be tired because they sit listlessly, their nets in the water. I’m tired too from all that pumping action, but I need to catch up. The most that’s been caught by a princess are three little fish. All I have to do is beat three.
I lean over, looking for a school of fish, hoping to scoop them in one swish, when someone knocks me into the water. “Ahhh!”
I bob to the surface and shove my mop of curls out of my face. “What the hell? After I pumped that raft for you all? Who pushed me?”
The women stare at me. They look like savages, a bedraggled grim lot with their clothes soaked through, their hair a mess from salt water and the previous hair pulling. Nobody fesses up.
Every survival instinct I have kicks into play. They want me off the raft? Then I’ll fish from here in the water, better than they could. I hang onto the raft with one hand and fish as deep as I can reach, slowly moving my net through the water. Come on, little fishie, swim a little closer.
A tug alerts me I’ve got something. I scoop it toward the surface. Holy crap. It’s big, thrashing around in my net, and I can barely hang on. Its mouth has snaggly fangs. I toss it into the raft, where it flops around. The princesses scream, rushing to get away from it. Next thing I know, half of them tip into the water, scrambling too far on the other side of the raft.
The women still in the raft cackle with glee. Nothing like competition to bring out the best in women.
I smile to myself and go back to fishing. I catch something small and leave it in there as bait.
By the time a large motorized raft pulls up to rescue—err, to call a halt to the competition—I’ve caught one biggie and four little fish. I climb into our much smaller raft to snag the big fish I’d tossed in earlier, but it’s gone. A quick scan of the other women’s baskets tells me someone tossed my big fish overboard.
A crew member helps us onto the bigger raft along with our nets and baskets. The smaller raft is tied to it for a tow. Gabriel and the queen are nowhere to be found. We’re deposited back on shore, where three men wait—two serious-as-hell security guards and the servant who gave us the raft.
The servant approaches. “Ladies, please place your baskets in front of you.” He inspects the line of us, counting the fish.
Marguerite, who can’t swim, who spent half her time stealing other people’s fish, wins with five fish and a fish head, which shouldn’t count. I underestimated her with her angelic looks. I’ll have to keep a close eye on that one.
She smiles demurely, still looking angelic despite her raggedy appearance after an afternoon of sun, sand, salt water, and bitch fighting.
The losers are two women who have one fish each. They’re immediately escorted away by security.
Was it a coincidence that there were two security guards dispatched for the two women eliminated? Or were we being watched the whole time?
~ ~ ~
Later that night, after we’ve all had a chance to wash up and refresh, we’re informed we’ll be joining the queen and crown prince for dinner in the royal dining room. Now this is more like it! The true royal experience is finally happening. The fact that it hasn’t been so far—the princesses are savages, the queen doesn’t approve of me, and the crown prince is no prince charming—does nothing to dim my hopes for a royal dinner. I’m a cockeyed optimist, but guess what? It’s gotten me this far in life, and I’m pretty happy with where I’m at.
I pull on the only dress I own that covers my shoulders, white with black polka dots, with a plunging neckline and short skirt. A gold chain belt cinches neatly at the waist. Other than asking the queen for a new wardrobe, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to fit in better. I suppose I could tuck a handkerchief or scarf into my cleavage to cover it, but that’s not who I am. I’m a what you see is what you get kind of woman. But Polly the princess isn’t. I borrow the demure white shawl and arrange it diagonally across me like a long scarf. Cleavage and shoulders covered. Now the question is, nude high-heeled sandals or leopard pumps? I go with the sandals.
The elegant dining room doesn’t disappoint. A long gleaming dark wood table is set with china, silver, crystal, and a huge floral centerpiece. I’m quickly escorted in by a servant and offered a drink. Some of the princesses are already seated. There are small name cards. Assigned seating. I scan the names on the hunt for my own. Francesca, Elizabeth, Sophia, and Marguerite are seated closest to the queen and prince at the head of the table.
I make my way down the table to the other end and find myself at the furthest point away from the royal pair. Marguerite won the competition, so it makes sense for her to be seated closest to the queen. They probably need to discuss whatever the next challenge is. I debated speaking up about Marguerite’s dirty play with the fish, but decided at this early stage in the competition, it didn’t matter that much. I’m still in it, and the risk of getting on Marguerite’s bad side and further irritating the queen doesn’t seem wise. I’m sure the rest of the seating is random. After all, I was second place, and if it were place order, I’d be seated much closer.
I know everyone’s names now, having wrung it out of them on the raft ride back to shore. I’m good with names. It helps in the salon business to quickly warm up the customers. I’m sure the real Polly would be pleased I’m connecting with them. Though I have to say she must not have had much contact with the royal world because not one person questions me stepping in for her. She must’ve been kept on a tight leash. Her reckless undercover adventure makes a lot more sense now. Before, I would’ve said, how could you give up being a princess?
A hush falls over the room as the queen enters followed by the prince. Everyone stands. My eyes are drawn to Gabriel. He’s still too perfect, too haughty and arrogant, but there’s simply no getting around the fact that he is gorgeous. He’s in a dark blue suit custom tailored to his muscular body. I’m dying to get a look at those shoulders filling out the blazer so nicely, but doubt he’ll ever appear shirtless just for my leering gaze. Royal decorum and all that. The queen looks pleased, a small smile on her face as she takes her seat at the head of the table, wearing a long-sleeved pale yellow dress. Gabriel gestures for us to take a seat and then takes his place at the queen’s right.
