Quinn

Justin

Donovan

Rory

 Callum

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away….

That’s how most fairytales are supposed to start, right?

Well… in this particular fairytale, the only thing that really applies is the land far, far away part. (I’ll be honest… that once upon a time shit doesn’t even make sense, so we’ll just leave it out, ok?)

Andosia is an insanely small country off the coast of Ireland.

Never heard of it, you say? Yeah… you and the rest of the world. Like I said, insanely small.

It’s technically an Irish territory, so people tend to lump it in with the rest of Ireland. However, it wouldn’t be too wise to tell someone from Andosia that they’re technically Irish. They don’t take too kindly to that shit. It’d sort of be like telling a Canadian that they’re technically an American.

Don’t believe me? Then try it sometime. I dare ya.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand…

At one point, Andosia was considered part of Ireland. There was a war sometime in the 1700’s, Andosia won its freedom, established a monarchy, and the Irish government left them the hell alone. I could give you details about the revolt, and the politics, but let’s face it… that shit is boring, and chances are good you could care less. Bottom line is… the good people of Andosia decided the Irish government sucked, and they went rogue.

Now, the thing you need to understand, is that our story begins in a darker period of Andosian history.

See… a monarchy usually has a standard operation, one that doesn‘t totally apply to Andosia. In England, for instance, the king or queen is mainly a political figure. In Andosia, the king or queen rules all. The military, law enforcement, the school system, even the financial institutions are run by one person.

For some reason, the first king of Andosia decided he needed to be in charge of every damn thing, and nobody really put up much of a fight about it.

In later years, some would argue this was more of a dictatorship than a monarchy. Unfortunately, the laws were already in place, and those arguments were about as substantial as an American being unhappy with their current president. You can bitch about it, and even have a valid point, but you’re stuck with it, whether you like it or not.

Now, I’m not here to throw political views in your face, or say the monarchy/dictatorship is wrong or right, I’m here to state facts. And the fact is… it’s worked for the last 300 years. Andosia’s done just fine with one person in charge all that time, so chances are good it isn’t going to change. Especially since the Monroe family has held the throne from day one.

As with most Monarchies, the throne has to be inherited. Only a pure-blood Monroe can hold the throne, and that is where our story gets a little complicated.

King Cian the fourth had held the throne since the age of nineteen, when his mother passed away. Most Andosians felt that Cian was much too young to step into the role of King, and that his father would be a much better fit.

That’s where that pesky pure-blood law came into play, and Cian the fourth became king. His father remained an advisor until his death in the early 90’s.

Sadly, our story truly begins the morning of King Cian’s sudden death.

Airports are tricky, a fact Quinn is quickly learning.

Sure, she’s been in plenty of them over the course of her life, but actually navigating one completely on her own? Never.

Ideally, she could stop and ask for help. Unfortunately, logical thinking is something she never quite got the hang of. Besides, asking for help takes time, and that’s a luxury she just doesn’t have at the moment. Time is of the essence, that sort of thing.

She tugs her pageboy cap lower on her head and does her very best to keep up with the massive crowd surrounding her. They all seem to be moving twice as fast as she is and she can’t help the feeling of panic that’s setting in.

There’s at least a million different ways this could go wrong, but she pushes herself forward none the less. She breathes a sigh of relief when she reaches the specified gate, and an elderly woman takes her ticket with a smile.

In a matter of seconds, she’s seated on a plane, headed for Glasgow, Scotland.

~*~*~*~*~

Callum O’Leary is on a mission.

It isn’t an especially difficult one, but it’s a mission, none the less. Part of him isn’t entirely sure what he’s supposed to find, but he suspects he’ll know it once he sees it. For now, he’s perfectly content to wander the streets of Glasgow.

By his best guess, he’s visited nearly every bar on the West End, as well as several art galleries and even the Botanic Garden.

And still, nothing.

But, he’s not worried. His patience has paid off countless times before and there’s no doubt that it won’t fail him now.

He steps into a small, dimly lit pub and takes a seat. His eyes sweep over the other occupants, committing each face to memory. Some of them, he’s seen several times. Passed them on the street, spotted them in this very same pub during the previous three days. But one new face catches his attention immediately.

She’s an average girl. Nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary about her, from what he can tell. If it weren’t for her obvious desire to keep her distance from the other patrons, she probably wouldn’t stand out at all.

Her eyes are intently focused on the thick book laying open in front of her. She doesn’t look up when waitresses pass her table. Doesn’t flinch when a glass shatters on the floor. She’s in her own world and nothing is going to break her concentration.

Callum pulls his phone from his pocket, sends a quick text message and smiles to himself with a satisfied nod.

Mission accomplished.

~*~*~*~*~

“I really, really do not get the point of this trip.”

“How many fuckin times do I have to tell you?” Justin Timberlake heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes at his best friends ignorance. “I feel like I’m suffocating here, ok? Call me a whiney little bitch or whatever… but I gotta get out man. I’m supposed to be writing for the album, and I can’t do that with… everything.”

“What happened to all that ‘break ups fuel my creativity’ bullshit? It wasn’t working, she dumped you… not seeing the big deal, but whatever.”

“In case you forgot… she dumped me all of five minutes before I was going to propose. Kind of a big deal. She’s supposed to be coming to get her shit, and I don’t want to be here. So… you coming or not?”

“Oh I don’t know… I mean… a free trip to Scotland? Doesn’t sound too appealing.”

“Meet me at the airport in an hour jerk-off.” Justin slams the phone down on the receiver and rolls his eyes.

He knows taking off to a foreign country isn’t the healthiest way to cope with a break up, but from where he’s standing, it’s the best option he’s got. Besides, it sounds a hell of a lot more normal than moping around his house alone.

He’ll write, see the sights and if he’s lucky, spend 90 percent of his time in dive bars where nobody gives a shit who he is. It’s a foolproof plan for getting over the bitch who thought he wasn’t good enough.

He shoves the last of his essentials into a duffel bag before jogging down the stairs. He’s checked and re-checked the lights, the locks and the stove at least a dozen time, but one more round can’t hurt. He sets the alarm, takes a deep breath and heads for his car.

Here goes nothing.

~*~*~*~*~

So, I’m sure you’re ten thousand kinds of confused right now, aren’t you? I guess this would be a good time to shed some light on a few things. But don’t go thinking I’m gonna lay all the cards on the table just yet.

If I did, there wouldn’t be a story to tell, now would there?

The small country of Andosia is in a state of emergency, you could say.

Our Queen isn’t eligible to hold the throne, thanks to that pure blood law I mentioned before. Not to mention the fact that she’s more than likely a complete and utter mess, mourning the death of her husband. (By the way, as a proud citizen of Andosia, I can tell you… King Cian was an incredible ruler. I doubt anyone in the country would utter a bad word about the man, god rest his soul.)

Our Prince is a royal jackass, pun intended.

People have certain ideas of what being a royal entails. Elegance, intelligence, an air of superiority. Royals are supposed to be the classiest of the classy. They should be the most respectable individuals on the planet. Sadly, the Prince of Andosia is the exact opposite of what you’d expect a royal to be. And believe me when I say, it’s caused more shit in the palace than you’d ever imagine.

Our Princess on the other hand, could step in as Queen tomorrow and the country would be just fine. There’s just one small problem. The Princess has yet to finish her education. Which, until 30 years ago, wouldn’t have made the least bit of difference.

Remember when I said King Cian was an incredible ruler? Well, here’s a few reasons why.

Until Cian took over, Andosia seemed forever stuck in the dark ages. We were abiding by laws that had been set in the 1700’s for Christ sake. And we’re not talking your run of the mill, Constitution of the United States type laws either.

For example, Article 7 of the Andosian Decree states that no man and woman will inhabit the same residence unless unified by legal marriage, or blood relation.

In layman’s terms… if you ain’t married or related by blood, you ain’t living together. So, we’re talking completely ridiculous, totally old school shit.

Cian knew the original decree was bullshit. In 1990, Cian re-wrote the entire decree, and the country did nothing but benefit from it.

One of the new laws put in place by Cian is from New Article 23, section 6: No member of the Monroe family is eligible to hold the throne until graduation from Keiran Monroe Memorial Academy is complete. The Princess is a year shy of said graduation.

Oh, and did I mention she’s gone missing?

Rory Monroe walks quickly down a hallway that she’s passed through countless times before. However, this could be the first time she’s walked this hallway alone, save the two hulking men flanking her sides.

She’s never been permitted to speak to Parliament without her husband, never been granted entrance into their chambers without him by her side.

Today is the exception.

She pulls the heavy wooden doors open and steps inside. The room looks exactly the same as it has for the last 26 years. Sunlight streaming in from high windows, a large square table in the center of the room, portraits of former parliament members lining the walls. Nothing’s changed, with the exception of the black silk cloth draped over the crown.

She focuses her eyes on the men seated at the square table, doing her best to push aside the memory of seeing that same crown for the first time.

Back then, green and gold silk covered the stand. Back then, looking at the crown brought a smile to her face. Back then, her life was just beginning.

“Mrs. Monroe…” All 13 men rise from their seats and bow, while Rory slides into the open chair at the head of the table. The faint smell of her husband’s cologne is still ingrained in the fabric and she bites her tongue.

She will not break down here, not in front of them.

“Gentlemen… I presume you’ve reached your decision?”

“We have, ma’am.” The older man to her right nods quickly. “We took your petition into careful consideration, and while we do not wish to abolish the law permanently, we will make an exception for the Princess.”

“Is that all then?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Rory nods, and exits the room wordlessly, doing everything she can to contain the smile spreading across her face. She hasn’t smiled in days, and although this is all too bittersweet, it does warrant some celebration.

Her daughter is set to be Queen of Andosia, provided they can track her down in a timely manner, of course.

~*~*~*~*~

Donovan Monroe trudges up the main stairwell of his home and cringes each time the heels of his shoes slap against the marble. He’d hoped to sneak in unnoticed but he has a sinking feeling it won’t happen. Under normal circumstances, the stench of liquor and smoke lingering on his clothes would nearly gag him, but after a four day bender, he can’t bring himself to be concerned about much of anything.

He heaves a sigh as he reaches the top of the staircase and the large portrait of his father comes into view. He stops and stares at it. It’s only been four days, but he’s having trouble remembering the little things about a man he used to know so well.

The grey hair at his temples. The scar under his bottom lip. The dark brown eyes that are so much like his own. He shouldn’t be forgetting these things so soon. Or, maybe the problem is that he’s making himself forget.

His mind reluctantly wanders to the morning of his fathers death and he laughs bitterly.

It was supposed to be so simple. A “routine procedure“, they’d called it.

Parliament had finally convinced the King to undergo surgery to correct an irregular heartbeat he’d had for the last ten years. The world’s best surgeons were flown in. There’d been countless meetings and reassurances. Doctors all over the world performed this exact operation thousands of times a day. There wouldn’t be a single thing to worry about.

Yet, King Cian Monroe the Fourth died on the table from a massive heart attack.

Donovan snorts and continues down the Great Hall, frowning when the door to his mothers room opens slowly. He hadn’t noticed it before, but she looks haggard. The laugh lines around her eyes more prominent, her hair in disarray, the deep scowl on her face making her look decades older than she is.

“Finally decided to turn up, I take it?”

“Looks thata way, don’t it?”

“Damnit Donovan… where on earth have you been? First you, and now your sister…..”

“My sister?”

“Oh yes… your dear sister has disappeared. The Guard has been looking for her for the last two days, and I-”

“She takes off and ya send the Royal Guard after her… I take off and nobody gives a shit. Real nice, Mum. Real nice.”

“I’ve petitioned Parliament and your sister is next in line…. I need her back home.”

“Lovely. Coulda sworn I was the oldest child….”

“Look at you Donovan. You honestly think you‘re in a position to take over….”

“I’m suddenly very tired. That all, then? I’d like to get some rest… got a big day in the mornin… funeral and all.” Donovan snaps and continues his trek down the hall to his bedroom.

~*~*~*~*~

I suppose I failed to mention just what a shit ol’ Donny boy is. I know I covered the basics (the womanizing lush part, that is.) But I do believe I left out the blatant disrespect the kid has for his Mother and the establishment in general.

The thing to understand is, his entire life, Prince Donovan has been groomed for the throne. The day the Prince was born, the whole damn country celebrated. Female leaders haven’t fared so well around here, and the news that the heir to the throne would be a male was a pretty joyous occasion.

As a child, Donovan exhibited all the signs of a great leader in the making. He studied, took archery lessons, sat on his fathers lap with Parliament, at the age of five, he was damn near all grown up.

Then, along came the Princess. And I suppose you could say, the rest is history.

I can’t tell you why, but something changes in a child when a younger sibling comes along. The world loves babies for some unknown reason. A five year old boy isn’t all that interesting when a baby girl shows up. And the Royal family was no different.

All the attention was on the Princess and naturally, Prince Donovan began acting out, a fact that hasn’t changed over the last 22 years.

And of course, the Princess is everything her brother isn’t. Respectful, responsible, you get the picture. The older she got, the more obvious it was that the Princess was a far better candidate to take the throne, and that fact wasn’t lost on Prince Donovan.

Sadly, he did nothing to detract his doubters, and his downward spiral continued.

~*~*~*~*~

Justin and Trace enter the small, dimly lit pub and immediately, both men roll their eyes. After a little more than two hours in the country, all either of them wanted to do was relax.

Justin had assumed he’d spend his first evening in Scotland holed up in his hotel room. Trace, is another story entirely.

However, neither of them planned to walk into a packed bar with not a single seat in sight.

“Dude… fuck this. We’re going somewhere else.” Trace mutters, a look of pure disgust appearing on his face when a large man bumps into him. “I’m not spending my first night in Scotland with a bunch of… Scottish people.”

“Please tell me you didn’t really just say that.” Justin heaves a sigh and shakes his head. “There’s probably seats at the bar man… just… come on.”

Trace reluctantly follows his friend, doing his best to dodge the other patrons. His eyes sweep over the crowded pub, taking in the various flags and posters lining the walls. His gaze stops on a large metal helmet hanging on the wall above a booth.

He isn’t exactly sure what he thought Glasgow would be like. Granted, he’s been to his fair share of European countries, but he’d somehow managed to miss Scotland. In the back of his mind, he assumed it’d be closer to his hometown, but he’s quickly realizing just how wrong he was.

In his hometown, he wouldn’t have to fight for a seat in a bar, that’s for damn sure.

“Would you look at that bullshit? That chick is taking up a whole fucking booth!”

“Umm… did it occur to you that she might be waiting for someone?”

“She’s reading a book. In a bar.” Trace shoots Justin a horrified look and pushes his way through the crowd toward the girl.

She doesn’t look up from her book as he approaches her. Doesn’t so much as flinch when he clears his throat.

“Hey there…. Uhh… hey… wee lass… umm….”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh thank Christ… you speak English.” Trace grins and nods slowly. “Look, uhh… this is gonna sound super weird, but I swear, I’m not like… being a creep or anything. Anyway, um… me and my friend just wanted to get a drink, but this joint is fucking packed and I was wondering… would you, uhh… would you share your table?”

“Oh.. Umm… I guess… I guess that’s ok.” Quinn watches the short man stroll away from her table and shakes her head.

Glasgow is beginning to scare her just a tad.