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.