#gossip queen tabloid

[havenroyals]

Breaking news: Dymond Joy is divorcing Titus Rawkis.

Hours after Dymond Joy's rep put out a statement that the R&B diva is divorcing fellow singer Titus Rawkis, he is spotted with actress Judith Ward. The singer and Hollywood royalty were seen leaving a restaurant for a "lunch date." Sources close to Judith have spoken about their "concerns" for this new "relationship."

One friend said, "The way they got together is a bit sweet, but I still cannot support them. Titus reached out to Judith to check on Diana - after those disgusting photos came out. Judy was so touched and drawn to him. She's been single for a decade, but he is not right for her."

Fans of Titus have taken to the internet to express their rage. Not rage over his split and rebound. The fans are outraged that Titus is in a relationship! Full stop. Not a care that his wife is reportedly divorcing him due to infidelity. Not a single concern that he was accused of shooting Dymond by Gina Rawkis.

The T-lovers - the names of his fanbase - have flooded Judith's socials with hateful comments and weapon emojis. Titus has not spoken out to calm his fans, and they are full-on pissed that he is not available for one of them to snatch up.

Ending on a positive note, Dymond has shared the first photos of her baby boy. No name has been shared, but her PR team has stated the little guy has his mother's surname and not Titus's.

Come back to Gossip Queen for more messy celebrity news.

GQ | Previous | Next

[lorirwritesfanfic]

Happy one year!

It's been one year of @beyondsimsreality 🥳

[anotheruserwithnoname]

From the Jenna Coleman archives comes this little chestnut from Ireland. A tabloid there regurgitated the Daily Fail's (long-debunked) speculation about Harry and Jenna supposedly dating back in 2015 simply based on the two being photographed talking at an event. This rumour even made it into a biography of Harry that was published ahead of his wedding to Meghan Markle (trivia: Jenna once read for Meghan's role in the TV series Suits!). And while the Irish Mirror didn't go so far as to suggest a royal wedding was imminent like SOME media did at the time, it did give them an excuse to run a retrospective of Jenna's career up to that time since she wouldn't have been well known in Ireland beyond Doctor Who.

In the article, they include some images of images of her from Emmerdale and Waterloo Road I haven't seen before. Which is as good an excuse as any to post this link. Even if it's a story based on polo pony poop.

[jackoshadows]

It's so confusing and weird that Bridgerton introduced in world racism both with Lady D and Simon in season one of the show and in Queen Charlotte and at the same time they also want the audience to accept that somehow Marina Thompson or the dark skinned Indian Kate Sharma has more privilege and power than Penelope Featherington?

Kate Sharma was also poor, so much more than the Featheringtons. She depended on Lady D to host them. The Sharmas were looked down on by the ton because Mary Sheffield married an Indian. The Sharmas were disowned and ostracized by the Sheffields.

Kate was also an unmarried spinster. No one was asking Kate to dance. As much as Kate wanted love and romance and to dance at a ball wearing pretty dresses, she got none of that. She was also the woman on the sidelines watching as others danced and fell in love.

Racism and colorism is also very much a thing in eurocentric notions of beauty considering the setting and characters of Bridgerton is 99% white.

We got so little of Kate's backstory, of who her parents where - we didn't even get their names!! - of the trauma (explained for both Simon and Anthony using flashbacks) that had Kate overlooking her own happiness for that of her sister.

Despite bragging nonstop about the diversity of Bridgerton the showrunners thought that the white Featheringtons needed more screentime in season 2 rather than the South Asian family.

And Kate was planning on going back to India and work as a governess to pay for her livelihood. Because, you know, there's more honest ways of being a 'working woman' than running the equivalent of the regency 'Daily Mail' dragging other women down. The modiste Madame Delacroix, Kate planning to teach and Sienna in season one are all working to pay a living. Black, brown and lower class women looking to alleviate poverty.

And considering how much harder Kate already had it as an outsider in the ton, it wouldn't have been easy with Penelope using her gossip rag to describe the unmarried Indian woman as ' a Spinster of a beast'. What did Kate do to Penelope to warrant this? Nothing. Just a way for Penelope to make money at Kate's expense.

That's the thing I dislike the most about the way the character of Penelope is written on the show - her victims don't deserve her vitriol and are often in much worse circumstances than her. From Kate Sharma to the unnamed seamstress who apparently lost all her customers because Penelope wrote falsely about their work in the her tabloid as a bribe for Madam Delacroix.

And I think that's what I find problematic about the writing of the show and even the discourse surrounding it - when characters like Marina Thompson (the poor black cousin who would have ended up destitute on the streets because of Penelope) and Kate Sharma arguably have it far worse than Penelope Featherington as per the show's writing and yet we are supposed to have the most sympathy for Penelope because her crush Colin didn't love her back and she's a curvy white woman?

I guess that's the difference between how I perceive this world and these characters as a woc and the majority white female audience for this show and it's such a huge disconnect for me. I guess this is also partly because the show has this badly written and 'strangely toothless racism' as Ash Sarkar beautifully put it. As in the racism is treated in this world as a little problem solved by handing out a few titles to black people instead of being a white supremacist ideology which treated black and brown people as inferior, serfs and slaves.

From what little we got from season 2, Kate Sharma definitely did not have it easy navigating the ton as a poor outsider and that certainly contributed to her poor choices. She is also put through the wringer, treated like the other woman, is miserable for several episodes, had to apologize again and again and nearly die before Edwina forgives her!

In contrast Penelope's actions have hurt so many and yet she gets a pass by both the show and a fandom that wants Colin to grovel before her because of a single offhand remark and because he didn't return her affections.

Also making it clear here that I am not comparing Penelope to the male characters who always get the better writing, flaws and all. I am comparing Penelope to the female characters of colour - Kate Sharma and Marina Thompson.

I mean, Marina Thompson gets so much vitriolic and sexist hatred for not having told Colin Bridgerton the truth of her pregnancy. How dare Marina hurt this privileged white man Colin Bridgerton. When she was desperate to not end up destitute on the streets or get raped by old white men. And yet Penelope gets a pass for hurting women like Marina and Kate.

It continues a trend of white female characters never being held to the same standard as female characters of colour. Daphne sexually assaults Simon in season one and that was not even addressed on the show. Male rape is apparently no big deal because Daphne wanting children is what's important. It's Simon who has to apologize and within one episode resolve his trauma and accept being a father. This is despite both Daphne and Penelope having more screentime and more writing that builds their character unlike the stick thin writing given to Kate Sharma in season 2.

So yeah, I will be checking into season 3 to watch the ten minutes we get with Kate Sharma since we got so little of her in her own season and it's so singular to get dark skinned south Indian characters in a period drama romance like this. It's just the way the writing on the show, the production and even the fandom treats it's characters, especially characters of colour has been disappointing to say the least.

[jkbunny2001]

HASBIN HOTEL: Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader

Pairings: Lucifer x Fem!Reader

Genre: Lucifer adoring his precious little duckie

Rating: 21+

Summary: You’ve been feeling like you shouldn’t be with Lucifer due to public eye, thinking you’re not enough. Lucifer proves you wrong

Warnings: dom!lucifer, daddy k!nk, edging, orgasm denial, sub space, fingering, eating out, blowjob, demon forms, slight ch!king kink

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was hard for you to not be in Hell’s public eye. Dating the Lord of Hell kinda makes you in the media’s camera line. Not that you minded really, you were just happy to be with him and Charlie when needed. You manifested into Hell a couple of years before Charlie was born, and with her mother leaving, she viewed you as a sort of “motherly” figured for lack of a better word.

However, with the fame, comes the drama. Recently, tabloids have been running all throughout Hell about how you even got to be with Lucifer in the first place. At first, you believed it to be just the random gossip of the week. But, after a while it started to stick.

Main headlines read, ‘Is this demon really suitable for the King of Hell?’, ‘Y/N… Hell’s next Queen? Or Tramp of the Week?’ Charlie kept telling you not to listen and that they had no idea what they were talking about. You asked her to not say anything to her father. He would light the reporter on fire for writing what they did.

As you walked around the mansion Lucifer lived in, you kept noticing the servants gossiping about things, but the minute you were in line of sight, they were quiet. You started to grow self conscious. You knew Lucifer loved you, there was no denying that.

But were you enough? You stared at yourself in the mirror of your master bedroom.. ‘is it my horns?’ You thought to yourself examining your own face and body. ‘My red skin? Are my boobs too small? Or.. is it because I’m not powerful enough?’ A million questions were rubbing through your head, you started to cry, tears running down your blood red face…

As your head was down, Lucifer walked into the room. “Hello my little duckie, what’s- are you crying?!” Lucifer was clearly worried and upset. Who made you cry? Who did he have to kill? You quickly wipe your face turning away from him. “Um.. no I’m okay! Just something in my eyes!” You tried to make an excuse know it probably wasn’t going to convince your boyfriend.

Lucifer placed his hand on your shoulder, turning your face towards him. You were about a foot shorter than he was, you always felt petite next to him…. but now you just felt small, in a bad way.. almost insignificant.

“Duckie what’s wrong?? Talk to me angel..” Lucifer held your face in his hands, him towering over you kissing your cheeks. His gentle affection started to make your cry more. His thumb caressed your check and you open up to him. “I’m sorry Luci… I’m sorry that I’m not enough.” That statement stung him. He was so pissed and yet hurt that anyone would make you even remotely think that.

“Shhhh… it’s okay my angel, don’t you ever think that again.” Lucifer held you close, kiss the top of your head as he stroked your hair. “Don’t listen to any of those shit talking idiots.. you are more than enough..” he kissed the side your cheeks, “you’re my beautiful angel..” he deeply kissed you wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You wrapped your own around his neck, the kiss initiating some excited between the two of you.

Lucifer pulled away, slowly growing in his demon form, and looking you deep in the eyes, cause yours to slowly come out. “I’m gonna make you believe it.”

Almost immediately, he grabbed your thighs, making you cling to his body tighter, as he shoved his tongue into your mouth again. You moaned at the sudden intrusion, as he carried you to the edge on the bed, holding you down with his own weight, slowly rolling his hips against your own.

Lucifer started to get more aggressive, nibbling at your neck with his fangs. You moaned out loud, subconsciously clenching your legs together, only for them to be pulled apart forcefully my his hands. “You better keep those legs open for daddy..” he growled in your ear. Your body shivered with excitement, you loved his daddy kink because when it comes out, you know how the sex is going to be. Rough, intense, and fucking amazing.

As you both get more heated, your true forms slowly started to merge out quickly. Your horns started to wrap around your head and ears, your tail getting longer, wrapping itself around Lucifer’s leg tightly. By the time he was grinding down in you, Lucifer was already in his full form. He reached to your chest and start to rip your shirt with his nails. You felt the tiniest scrap of his claws on your chest, arching your back getting more excited that you let out a small moan.

He chuckled at your reaction. “Oh poor baby, the fun has just begun and you’re already so sensitive..” once your shirt was fully ripped, he snapped his fingers and a rope appeared in his hand. He levitated you to the best of the frame and tied your hands to the bed post, using the sides of your shirt to keep your arms in place.

Again, your legs clenched with anticipation and lust. Out came his snake like tongue, almost giving out a little hiss before he dove his head into your cunt. “OH FUCK!” you shouted in pleasure, feeling that tongue glide across your folds, Lucifer’s hands holding your legs apart.

“Good girl, scream for daddy..” he groaned licking deeper, his fangs scraping on the top of your clit. You throw your head back in pleasure, moaning his name like a mantra. “Fuck yes.. please!” Your tail wrapped around his arm, tightening the closer you were. “Please what baby girl? Tell daddy what you want..”

You sat up to look him in the eyes, “Please daddy.. I want more.. give me more..” you whimpered at the loss of feeling his tongue. Lucifer smirked as he pulled you further up on the bed. He started to undress his own clothes, a snap of his fingers made the shirt wrapped around your wrists disappear. Laying next to you, he flipped to you your hands and knees, putting you a 69 position.

You yelled at the sudden movement, but seeing how hard and big Lucifer was made your mind go blank. “Get to work, duckie.” You didn’t even hesitate in pleasuring your king. You swirled your tongue around his tip, licking from the slit around. He groaned in pleasure as he licked up your slit.

You moaned as you wrapped your lips around his tip, moving your head up and down. Hearing Lucifer groan in pleasure made you want to keep going, taking every inch of him. But it was a struggle when he continued to lick up your pussy, sticking a little bit of his forked tongue in you with every lick.

Lucifer loved to see his little baby struggle, taking every inch down your throat. He stopped licking to push your head down further, making you gag at the sudden push. “Fuck duckie, there you go. I know you can take it all in. Service daddy properly.” He smirked watching you slip into a sub space, your mind starting to go blank.

The reporters and headlines you were worrying about was long gone. All you could think about was Lucifer… your king, your daddy, your lover… and making sure he was satisfied. You relaxed your throat, taking Lucifer so deep, his balls were touching the tip of your nose.

“Fuuckk, good girl! Such a fucking good slut. You want daddy that badly? You want me to fuck your tight, little hole?” You moaned on him, trying to nod your head with him still reaching the back of your throat. Slowly you lift your head up, catching a breath. Lucifer kept you in that position before running his fingers across your folds.

“Shit, I might not even need lube baby.. you’re already so wet for me..” you moaned loud, feeling a finger slide inside. The top half of your red body was faced down into the sheets. How can one finger feel so good? Lucifer groaned at your face, tongue out, drool staining the sheet, your body twitching at the sudden intrusion at another finger being added.

Your tail curled around your leg, looking something to grip onto, feeling your body getting closer and closer to a release. It was very obvious to Lucifer, he knew your body more than you did. “Are you close angel? I barely touched you and you’re already so close.” He asked in a teasing way.

You could barely nod your head, you were so close, just tittering on the edge… then you feel nothing. You whimpered and whine, looking around you for your lover. “Be good..” Lucifer slapped your ass, making you through your head back in agonizing pleasure. “You cum when daddy tells you to cum.”

Your body shivers as you feel him line his cock at your pussy, leaning backwards to feel as much of it as you can. Only for it to result in another smack from his hand. “You don’t beg that way. Ask properly.” You gasps, your head feeling so light, you were saying things you normally would be so embarrassed to in the right state of mind.

“Fuck me daddy.. please, I want it!” You kept grinding back against him, earning you more slaps, leaving you dripping. “You want what? Say it properly!” “I want daddy’s cock in me, I want daddy to fuck my tight puss-AHHHH!” You screamed in pleasure as Lucifer stuffs his cock into your cunt.

“Fuck baby, always so fucking tight for me.” He growled, starting off fast and hard. Your body trembled in the please it was receiving. Your tongue hung from your mouth, babbling nonsense. All that came out was his name. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. DADDY! “Fuck me daddy! Fuck it feels so good! RIGHT THERE! FU-AHH DON’T STOP PLEASE! FUUCCKK!”

Both of your tails intertwined with each other, your claws digging into the sheet, while his threatened to break the skin on your hips. “Good fucking girl, that’s how you beg! Fuck you feel so good around Daddy, nice and fucking tight.” His eyes started to turn fully red, his climax coming too.

He grabbed your arms and pulled your body flushed against his, one hand holding your wrist behind your back, and the other around your throat, squeezing ever so slightly. “You gonna cum baby? You wanna cum with daddy?” He kept thrusting harder with every question.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, leaning back on Lucifer’s shoulder. You turn your head to him to say, “Yes please! I wanna cum! I wanna cum with daddy! Cum in me daddy please! I want it!!” your eyes turning red, feeling that same knot in your stomach come undone.

He growled, shoving his tongue in your mouth, kissing with sloppily. Lucifer’s thrusts started to get more and more erratic, chasing both of your highs. “You fucking slut, cum for daddy. Do it now!” You both moaned into the kiss, you almost screamed from the release. You squirted all over his cock, as he pumped his seed so far into you that it leaked out onto your thighs.

Your body went limp against Lucifer. Twitching from the shock of the pleasure he gave you. He groaned as he slowly pulled out and laid you on the bed. He ran to the bathroom and grabbed a warm towel, cleaning every part of your body.

You looked at him with loving eyes, thankful that he takes the extra measure. Lucifer climbed under the covers with, holding your body close and he stroked your hair. “Did I prove it to you?” He smirked, looking down at your body. You giggled back holding he cheek.

“You prove them wrong.”

[mariaofdoranelle]

Of Rumors and Bodyguards

CO-WRITTEN WITH @leiawritesstories

Written for Rowaelin Month’s Forbidden Love day; @rowaelinscourt

We’re just two writers sharing little evil giggles and big plans, that’s all.

Warnings: swearing

Words: 1,2k

AELIN GALATHYNIUS CHEATING SCANDAL: SPOTTED IN INTIMATE MOMENT WITH BODYGUARD!!!

“QUEEN OF GLASS” STAR SHARED EMBRACE WITH SECURITY GUARD! DORIAN HAVILLIARD IN TEARS!

Aelin Galathynius caught cheating on Dorian Havilliard with bodyguard! Hollywood’s Darling Has How Many Darlings??? See New Photos

After the third ridiculous headline, Aelin dropped both the stack of magazines and her phone and flopped backwards on the hotel bed with a groan. Her publicist had woken her up with coffee and the tabloids, and she wished she had time to wake up before she had to look at the absolutely crazy stories that the gossiping tabloids spread. Even though she had been acting for years, she still wasn’t used to their prying and the constant cameras clicking in her face, even when she wasn’t trying to be noticed.

Besides, that garbage about her and her bodyguard? It was pure nonsense.

Well, mostly nonsense.

The photos they had taken were true enough, because Aelin had hugged her bodyguard last night. However, there was absolutely no romance involved—Whitethorn had been physically supporting her, keeping her on her feet.

Because he’s her bodyguard. He was guarding her body, that’s all—and a lot less than she would like.

She had been about to collapse after she had received a very brief, very shocking call on the phone she rarely used. The voice on the other end had been low, curt, and to the point. There was an accident during a job. We haven’t heard anything from them. That was two weeks ago.

The implication—they could be dead—made Aelin’s whole body go weak, and her security guard’s rapid reflexes were the only thing that had kept her upright. For a moment, she let him hold her, let him stabilize her, leaned into the solid strength of his Kevlar-covered chest. And then she pulled herself together, put away her burner phone, and stepped away from Whitethorn’s hug. She’d given him a nod of thanks, and he nodded back in quiet understanding.

Simple support, and not even an emotional one. That was all that had happened.

Leave it to the tabloids to take that moment out of context and start rumors that spread like wildfire across the Internet.

And Dorian—he was probably too busy with the boyfriend he was definitely hiding from the tabloids to notice the Rumor of the Day, but his publicist would surely give Aelin a piece of her mind soon.

Elide stuck her head into Aelin’s hotel room, rolled her eyes when she saw the magazines discarded on the floor. “You know they’re a load of crap,” the publicist said as she walked over and picked them up. “Also, I need you to read this one.” She flipped one of the magazines open and laid it across Aelin’s lap.

“Why?” Aelin glanced quickly down at the pages, scoffing at the grainy, zoomed-in photos splashed onto the glossy paper. “Gossip pisses me off, Ells.”

“Yeah, I know, but you need to read the actual words so you know how to respond when the people today ask you about it.” As usual, Elide had a good point.

“Fine.” Aelin frowned, but she began to read.

Is Aelin Galathynius Taken By Someone Else?!?!?

The “Queen of Glass” star was spotted last night in an intimate embrace with a man who sources say is her current bodyguard, Rowan Whitethorn, who has been on her security team since March, when Galathynius began this press tour for the newest season of the Netflix hit series.

Sources report that Aelin and her co-star Dorian Havilliard are often seen getting cozy together outside of press appearances, and an exchange in a recent interview confirmed that the pair’s wild, explosive chemistry on-screen has spilled off the screen too. Fans all over the world were overjoyed to hear of the star’s new romance.

But the photos from last night tell an entirely different story. Could it be that the actress has more than one man after her heart? Or could she be keeping something secret?

Last night, sources say that Galathynius was walking back to her hotel with Whitethorn as her escort when she stopped briefly in a nearby park. Only minutes later, she was spotted in her bodyguard’s arms! Looks like a romance is brewing, or even already in progress! After all, her incredibly popular character in “Queen of Glass” spent the whole first season secretly in love with Dorian’s character until they finally brought their romance to light. Is life imitating art?

According to an eyewitness, the embrace lasted for several minutes before the actress moved away from her bodyguard and began walking to her hotel again. At this time, we do not know any additional details, but with the ongoing press tour, we are certain that she will make an announcement soon. Keep your eyes on our social media for the latest, hottest updates!!

“They’re such vultures.” Disgusted, Aelin threw the magazine at Elide, who caught it before it could smack her in the stomach.

Elide huffed. “It’s their job to stir up the people. Be prepared for at least half the interviewers today to ask you about this.” She launched into her daily spiel about what Aelin should expect during the press that she, Dorian and a few of their castmates were filming. “And above all, don’t you dare let Dorian answer any of the questions they’re going to ask about the plot of this season. You know better than anyone how much of a spoiler machine he is. He gets one spoiler this time. One.”

“I might have to tape his big mouth shut,” Aelin joked. “Bet the press would eat that up.”

“Honestly, it might give them something else to yap about.” Elide straightened, one finger up as she recalled something. “Pap walk! We’re doing a round of pap walks to get their attention somewhere else. I’ll text the details, but so far…”

Elide flipped through her notes, and Aelin was about to ask a few follow-up questions when there was a rapid, firm knock on the door.

“What?”

Rowan Whitethorn cracked open the door and stepped into the room. “They’re ready for her in hair and makeup.” He scanned the room, his gaze sharp, alert. “Morning, Miss Galathynius.”

His face was perfectly neutral like it always was, making it impossible to tell if he knew anything about the new rumors. He probably did, but Rowan was so professional, it got unnerving sometimes.

“Morning, Sergeant Whitethorn.” He’d never been in the military, but she called him “Sergeant” anyway. Mostly because it made him delightfully grumpy.

True to form, he frowned, but instead of his usual snarky retort, he just held the door open for her and walked her across the hall to another room, this one full of stylists. She was swept into their whirlwind, and by the time she turned around, her bodyguard was once again outside the door, on watch for any potential mishaps. Rowan really was an excellent security guard.

Too bad he was also a highly wanted criminal.

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I discovered my best friend is following ARO on Instagram. When I confronted her over this horrific betrayal, she said, “I think I like her now!” My devastation knows no bounds.

I was discussing this with my boss, a fellow royal watcher, and we decided I need to make a PowerPoint presentation, complete with citations (we are lawyers, after all), “shining a light” on MM’s numerous atrocities and proven lies over the years. I thought you would be invaluable in such a venture. Any suggestions to include would be very much appreciated!

Old ask from March 18th

Ok, so I didn't mean to sit on this one for (checks calendar) 6 MONTHS. ohhh, that's worse than I thought. Sorry, anon. Your ask got completely buried.

Anyway. I actually have been keeping a list of Meghan's lies and falsities. I don't remember when I compiled it (I feel like it might've been a 2022 thing) and I forgot I had it for a very long time. We'll probably need to crowd-source some updates to this list.

So buckle up, y'all.

Grew up an only child

Never had relationships with Sam or Tom

Grew up poor eating Sizzler buffets for splurge dinners

Didn't know who Diana was

Didn't know that Diana did Panorama interview

Lied about having a SAG card to be cast in Suits

That she was being written off Suits because she was marrying Harry

Doesn't have any family except Doria

Paid for college herself with student loans

International relations and theatre degrees from Northwestern

Merch tour of Aussie with Jess

Didn't want to serve Archie on a silver platter

Couldn't do a photo call at the hospital after Archie's birth

Wasn't in contact with Oprah

Wasn't working with UK Vogue

Lilac blazers

Couldn't wear the same color as anyone else

Could only wear neutral clothes

Wasn't dressing her child like a Victorian ghost doll

Going to get her UK citizenship

Gave up her Hollywood team

Spectacle wedding for the public

Eloped three days before with the Archbishop of Canterbury

Loves her engagement ring

Received permission from Queen to name her Lilibet

Loves Africa

Loves charity work and philanthropy

Red carpet for wedding

No tabloids in the US

All Americans have a 5am work ethic

Paparazzi chases

Plagiarism

Korean spas as a kid

Collaboration with Scobie on FF

People letter

Archewell donations and income

Family she never had

Gave up everything

IVF twins

Pregnancy announcement not at Eugenie's wedding

Loves kids

Dog too old to fly

Dog hit by car

Couldn't decorate with royal collection

Kate made Meghan cry

Warm friendly relationship with Queen

Best boss ever

She made her own banana bread

Suicidal thoughts night of Cirque du Soleil

Advised by Obamas

Children refused titles because of racism

She refuses children's titles

Pen pals with Hillary Clinton

Witnessed the LA riots

Independent grassroots journalism

Hit the ground running

5'5

worked at the embassy when she only attended a study program

Didn't know she had to curtsy to the Queen

Didn't know how to curtsy

BRF took her passport, car keys

Not allowed to go out unless just for work

Climate change/private jets

Evicted from Frogmore

Royal Family refused to help Meghan with her mental health

That Meghan was silenced

Privacy in LA

Archie was denied 24/7 protection because he wasn't a prince

Family gossip about Archie's skin color

Palace forced Meghan to take her name off Archie's birth certificate

Egg in wedding food

Not allowed to have scents in church

Meghan said the palace was locking up the birth certificate

Angela refused hair trials

Bond girl

Fire in Archie's nursery

Linked, not ranked

Archie too young to fly (summer after his birth)

Lied about her age (to work in Hollywood, narrative since corrected since marrying in)

Belly padding

Bot farms on social media

Miscarriage

Zoom calls with Cambridges during lockdown

Zoom calls with the Queen during lockdown

Flowers on Philip's casket at funeral were from Sussexes

Sussexes were invited to the Beckham wedding

Royal christening for Lili

Lili baptized

Invited to the diplomatic reception before The Queen's funeral

BFF/dog-walking buddies with Jennifer Aniston

Photoshops the children's appearances

Jimmy Fallon interview in Dec 2022

Time 100th Anniversary coverage

Bodyguard 2

she’d have 40 photographers taking pictures when she did Archie’s school run.

Sussexes declined invitation to Westminster wedding

She made the strawberry jam herself

50 jars of jam

"The Bench" was a bestseller

Visiting/staying with Oprah (Oprah was across the country at her father's bedside)

All the times she said she'd be a secret presenter at Hollywood award shows

Uvalde

Can't tailor her clothes to fit because they're from small brands/labels.

[theroyalsims]

"A DISGUSTING INVASION OF PRIVACY" PALACE CRIES FOWL OVER ANYA AND GUS PHOTO LEAKS

Our favourite newlyweds are currently on their secret honeymoon, but it looks like it's not so secret, after all!

Last night multiple paparazzi photos showing Anya and Gus on a beach were posted by a Champs Les Sims tabloid on their website and social media accounts. The photos also predominantly feature on the gossip rag's latest issue, out today.

The photos were released with the headline:

"SEE ANYA AND GUS' TROPICAL LOVE FEST!"

Snippets of the article are reproduced and translated below:

"Brindleton's future Queen should reconsider and ditch her dowdy long dresses and stuffy coats, especially since the whole world now knows what she's hiding underneath her grandma outfits. Maybe flash some more cleavage! She should throw a palace pool party and wear that tiny red bikini again so her royal subjects can get a better look!"

"Brindleton need not wonder why Anya waited so long to marry so she could track down Gus - look at him! Wonder what he's hiding under his flashy green shorts?!"

A total of five different photographs were published by the tabloid. The grainy snaps, clearly taken using a long-range lens, show the couple enjoying what should have been their private vacation. Included in the released photos are intimate pictures of Anya and Gus kissing and hugging.

The article claims that the photos were taken on a private island, off the coast of Enamorada. The tabloid also admits to using high-power telephoto lenses from a yacht to capture the photos.

The Palace is reportedly outraged, and a well-placed source claims:

"There are now serious talks about what legal remedies the Prince and the Crown Princess may seek against the magazine. They have spoken to The Queen and their legal team.

Their Royal Highnesses feel betrayed and disappointed at this disgusting invasion of their privacy. After a very public wedding, they were hoping they could finally privately enjoy their new life together, even for just a little while."

Several women's groups have also shown their dismay and called out the rag for being "demeaning and utterly misogynistic."

Side note - look, we know that Gus has tattoos but we didn't know he had this many! Is that a massive pair of wings on his back!?

Okay, back to the important matter - we're hoping TRHs sue the crap out of this tabloid because this is so abhorrent and incredibly upsetting! Leave these two be! They're on their honeymoon, for crying out loud! They already gave us a very public engagement and wedding - let them enjoy each other's company in peace!

[royal-confessions]

“I think it’s hard for William and Kate to balance being regal/royal and also giving in to the demands of the world for them to be more open. I think the world is too demanding of them tbh, because a lot of people still view them as gossip fodder or like people they wanna gossip about in the most salacious, scandalizing way. Like, they went through a health crisis and of course wanted to protect their privacy during that difficult time, but look at how the world reacted. I think William and Kate with the video they released are simply trying to be “look, this is our world, this is the way we live, we’re letting you in a bit so please leave us alone now”. It’s pointless to compare their position/situation to the King and Queen because Charles and Camilla also went through a period where they (+ Diana) were the tabloid fodder. Honestly, much of the pressure on William and Kate is because of Charles and Camilla’s actions (and Diana’s).” - Submitted by Anonymous

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟏𝟎   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   NAKAWE, OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

The costume party’s aftermath—and it had, finally, been confirmed to have been a costume party, a basic clarification that quieted some of the clamor around the princess’s attire—reinvigorated interest in the last several months of Leonor’s life. A disastrous spectacle had that kind of effect. It made observers ravenous, and they scavenged the bones of past controversy even after the latest scandal was picked clean. Old news received new scrutiny. Yesterday’s gossip, gossip from six months ago, took on a whiff of freshness by association. And, it was impossible to talk about Leonor’s unprecedented behavior without calling the obvious trigger for it all by name.  No one actually talked about Safya, however, because they wanted to talk about Renzo instead.

❧ i've had this scene in my head for a long time, and i am just ... i love the domesticity of it ! i love the juxtaposition of beatriz doing serious policy homework while she watches garbage television, mocking matias in one breath and calling him a genuine term of endearment in the next,

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

The costume party’s aftermath—and it had, finally, been confirmed to have been a costume party, a basic clarification that quieted some of the clamor around the princess’s attire—reinvigorated interest in the last several months of Leonor’s life. A disastrous spectacle had that kind of effect. It made observers ravenous, and they scavenged the bones of past controversy even after the latest scandal was picked clean. Old news received new scrutiny. Yesterday’s gossip, gossip from six months ago, took on a whiff of freshness by association. And, it was impossible to talk about Leonor’s unprecedented behavior without calling the obvious trigger for it all by name. 

No one actually talked about Safya, however, because they wanted to talk about Renzo instead. 

He was a man in triplicate: the evocative film actor to whom Uspana’s culture critics were warming thanks to an unexpected performance with international acclaim; the subdued, even sedated, interviewee whose quiet remarks revealed his humble upbringing; the tempestuous, aggrieved celebrity whom cameramen provoked in the streets. Popular attention focused on the latter without fail, and this predilection went into overdrive once he acquired an unlikely sidekick. They might have imagined their princess attached to other versions of him, smiling at film premieres and taking a sudden interest in arts patronages. It was astonishing to see her consumed instead by the one they knew best. 

How had she so quickly and thoroughly become part of this sensational scene—become comfortable clinging to the worn sleeve of his jacket while he shouted at photographers, offering them vacant and conciliatory smiles as she wobbled on foal’s legs. It was astonishing, and it was thrilling. Very few saw the sight firsthand, but published pictures and televised clips made, for the masses, an introduction. Abbreviated in the tabloid headlines where she now lived, Princess Leonor, their heir’s heir, their queen’s “little shadow,” had become “Princess L.” Respectable outlets still reported on her work alongside her uncle. Yet, Uspanians didn't much care. They were far more likely to see Princess L., illuminated by flashbulbs and inseparable from the man her aides refused to call anything other than “a friend.” 

Daytime programming uncorked these discussions and asked the questions neither straight newscasters nor late night hosts could truly entertain. Foresa led that pack for a reason. Her show was entertaining, but she invited Uspana’s midday viewers to join her conversation as if she were an aunt pontificating in their living room instead of a stranger on a screen. Laughing and ribbing her studio audience, she kept the tone light and playful. Her words themselves were flippant and careless and cutting—“a mishandled knife,” one of those culture critics had once said of her. A callous aunt attacking a neighbor might rub her relatives the wrong way, but Foresa’s targets were fair game. Shaming only went so far with the nation’s richest and most powerful, but it did make her humble viewers feel good. 

Queen Beatriz was no humble viewer, but she was a faithful one. Her schedule made it impossible to watch Foresa during her recurring daytime slot, but the queen had been one of the first people in the country to acquire home taping devices in the 1970s; she watched VHS recordings of daytime talk shows in the evening, preferring it to dignified evening news and late night comedy hours. Although her family knew well of her interest, the world of daytime television only had vague, unsettling hunches. Beatriz had met Foresa at a party once but pretended to have no idea who she was or what she did. It was plausible. She was still clawing her way out of obscurity at the time, trying to convince her channel executives that 1988 would be her year. At the end of the conversation, Beatriz commented innocuously on a segment in last airing. Foresa stood red-faced and silent as the queen abruptly walked away. 

She didn’t share her relatives’ discomfort with the shows, but Beatriz understood it. They all had thick skin. They were not, however, the kind of masochists who enjoyed hearing dozens of voices laugh while a nobody bullied them by name. Or, they had more discipline than that. Whatever curiosity they had, they stamped it out to protect themselves. If it was worth knowing, it would come summarized in a report the next morning. Beatriz didn’t fall into those traps either. What she had was a perverse ability to laugh along with the cruelty. She was shameless. No one said anything she wouldn’t say herself, but their room of writers and impeccable comedic timing ensured it was much funnier. That was what their queen wanted at the end of a long work day. She put her tired, abused feet into comfortable slippers, curled up with briefings for the next day of work, and pushed in a tape. She wanted to be entertained—to have light made of problems that aggravated and vexed, to be given permission to exist outside of her role as matriarch.

TRANSCRIPT:

[Television intro music]

FORESA (O.S.) | The royal experts are saying it’s a “suffocation” method. What an exciting term! And for something so boring. They’re just shutting up and hoping we all forget. The fire metaphor does suit the drama, I must say. I’d like to do my PR with that kind of flair.

FORESA (O.S.) | Anyway, look, I want to talk about them. That’s right. Because there is a “them,” isn’t there? You know it. We love it. Why be so coy—[Audience reacting] That’s what I’m saying! Come on, lovebirds.

FORESA (O.S.) | He’s had a good publicist for the last six months or so—her doing?—and this Sharon Greenwater—she’s Simerican, too, I guess—refuses to say a word. What’s he paying her for? To say “We’re waiting for the right project” or “He wasn’t charged for that, actually,” over and over again? [Audience laughs] Meanwhile, Princess L.’s been mute, too! So, we don’t know. Really, we don’t, but we can spec—

BEATRIZ | Do we know? MATIAS | Know what? About—? Ah. Well, she doesn’t talk about it—not to me. When she answers my calls, oh, it’s exactly what you’d expect. BEATRIZ | No, we don’t speak on the telephone. What does that mean?

MATIAS | Reticent, I suppose. I gather she doesn’t want me to worry, and she doesn’t want to be honest about things that she imagines I would find objectionable. Which, I do find that unfortunate, because I like to think that I’ve always tried to be— BEATRIZ | Uh huh.

FORESA (O.S.) | We always get these fun photos of them out and about. Doesn’t it just make you jealous? If I got hit with a flashbulb at one o’clock in the morning, on the way out of a party, no less, I wouldn’t look that cute! [Audience laughs] Eightieth birthday party, actually! Renzo Ledford is friends with the Josèp Amador. Small world, huh?

BEATRIZ | I like him. MATIAS | [scoffs] Of course you do. BEATRIZ | It makes sense to me. He’s real. Arturo? I did not get that.

FORESA (O.S.) | —thinking that we might get our royal wedding after all! Of course, I’m sure she’ll be wearing some kind of trashy sheer mini dress instead of a princess ball gown—and mini dresses, on a girl with legs like that? Someone break the bad news to her—and he wouldn’t wear nice patent leather shoes if his life depended on it, but still—

BEATRIZ | A man like that is not joining this family. MATIAS | What, now you wouldn’t have him? BEATRIZ | Ah, ah. He wouldn’t have us.

BEATRIZ | There are always contingency plans. A page from the Blanca playbook, I would think: stint at the Bancroft Center, cry for Inti Rivera at six o’clock, out to pasture, a foal or two— MATIAS | Birdie …

BEATRIZ | If you think your “help” is working, fine. Foresa is right. Still, oh, maybe she’s the exact same little girl—not a damaged orphan of a woman, like she seems—and is just waiting for old, gentle, credulous grandfather to make it all better. One more awkward phone call ought to do it. Doubtful but, well, it’s not my time to waste, is it?

[havenroyals]

Famed prosecutor Diana Ward has stepped down from the celebrity trial of the decade: The State vs Rawkis. R&B singer Titus Rawkis is only a witness, but the drama has him at the center. The main question: who shot Dymond Joy on August 18th? As the trial approaches an end Diana has been deemed unfit to prosecute due to some racy photos.

Hours ago, Gossip Queen was given an exclusive from an anonymous source about the daughter of famed Hollywood actress, Judith Ward. A stack of photos depicting Diana with an unknown man is circulating the internet. While the images are steamy, the true gag is that Diana is completely bald.

Diana - who we thought had the same gorgeous blonde hair as her mother - apparently wears wigs when out and about. As a legacy baby and a celeb in her own right, Diana's image has been important since birth. We all remember when Judith called the press to the steps of the hospital hours after labor - like she was that princess she named Diana after.

Now, we're learning the famous lawyer is a wig wearer. BALD! Full shiny dome. And she likes to get down and dirty without her wig on.

The Del Sol Valley District Attorney’s Office released a statement:

"Diana Ward's private life is no one's business but hers. It is a tragedy her life outside the court is being scandalized. She worked hard on this case and will remain a key figure in our offices. Her stepping down is not because she is not fit to prosecute this case as the defensive has claimed. Diana is taking her deserved time. This is a crime and those responsible will face justice."

We will continue to give you the developments of this case. Stay tuned to Gossip Queen for more messy celebrity news.

*Editors note: We apologize to Diana Ward for taking part in posting her private images. This article will not be deleted but will be locked from public view.

GQ | Previous | Next

[leoramage]

competition + part one

⊹ masterlist ⊹ taglist ⊹

⊹⊱ trigger warning - [being shady af, slandering, tune in for plot twist!]

⊹⊱ theme - [social media au]

⊹⊱ pairings - [ex!mick schumacher x thai beauty queen!y/n x ?]

⊹⊱ face claim - anntonia porsild

⊹⊱ keywords - [rumours. "i promise that you'll never find another like me." emotional scars trope. "you're talking shit for the hell of it." girl fight. "anything you can do, i do better." bitterness and envy. "who do you think you are? are you better than me - no."]

INSTAGRAM

mickschumacher posted a story and a photo

liked by pierregasly, estebanocon and others

mickschumacher 🤍

truemickfan Wait, did I miss a whole season? Mick and Y/N were just together during Miami Grand Prix, and how's he's all cozy with someone new? 😳

estebanocon 😍😍

⊳ racedaydreamer estie bestie, explain what happened to my parents! 😭

⊳ speeddemonette I AM DISAPPOINTED BARFING, CRYING, HAVING SEIZURES RIGHT NOW!

mickfanatic Is it just me or does anyone else feel like Mick moved on way too quickly? Y/N is not just a casual fling!

micksupporter YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH Y/N WAS ALMOST 4 YEARS MICK! 😭 4 YEARS!

gridgirlgossip Goodbye, I am sending you my therapy bills.

cornercruiser #downgradeofthecentury

NEWS FEED

TWITTER

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The night was alive with the glow of twinkling stars, casting their silvery light over the event you had just finished hosting the glamorous charity event, Your radiant smile never left your face as you effortlessly guided the evening. The applause echoed through the grand hall, and for a moment, you felt like the world was yours as you were dressed in elegance and grace, embodying beauty and poise like no other, leaving behind a trail of flashing cameras and clinking glasses. But as you retreated backstage, reality caught up with you.

Your phone buzzed insistently in your hand, a notification lighting up the screen. You anticipated it to be a congratulatory message, a reminder of your brilliance on stage. Instead, it was a photo that sent shards of pain through your heart.

Mick.

There he was, smiling broadly, his lips on her cheek and an arm wrapped around a woman – you realized who she was – the Instagram model whose presence had been splashed across tabloids and gossip sites recently but whose ingenue beauty was unmistakable.

Your heart sank as you realized the truth: he had moved on like you and him never happened.

3 years of being with him – going 4 years – all thrown aside like a trash.

You were with him, in his ups and downs.

You were there when he lost his F1 seat.

You were there when he questioned his ability...

His talent...

His whole being...

And the pressure of him being the racing prodigy after his father.

You were there when Mercedes took him in and welcomed him as a reserve driver. You celebrated late at night and cuddled by the flame drinking beers while Coldplay plays on the background. It feels like home to be with him but...

Where could have you possibly lacked that he found another one so easily within two months?

Were you that ugly?

Were you that unworthy?

Were you that replaceable?

Were you not enough?

The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring your vision as you crumbled into a chair. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the deafening silence of your pain echoing in your ears. A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you – hurt, confusion, and an undeniable sense of loss.

He said that he won't break your heart, let alone shed tears because of him. Yet here you are, a sobbing mess because he found a replacement 2 months fresh after your break up.

You hated him. No... You loathed yourself that you've ended up this way with your heart and soul. Yet a part of you feels guilty and loves him despite letting you burn yourself in the process. He said he'll protect you but...

He had set fire and left you alone - sacrificed yourself for your ever-unsalvageable relationship.

It simply costs you. Your being.

You lost yourself so that he could find himself.

You didn't know what happened. One day he wasn't the Mick you knew.

He changed that was all.

It felt like a betrayal, a stark reminder that he had moved on while you were still grappling with the aftermath of your breakup. The break had been raw, an ache that had haunted you since the day you parted ways. Two months had passed, yet the wound was far from healed. The emotions you had been pouring up for weeks seemed to return like an overflooded river, and the dam you had so carefully constructed - every week you put on a brave smile and face the world - finally crumbled once again.

You completely lost him.

Amid the tears and the sobs, you allowed to release the anguish that was held back. It was as if the universe had given you permission to feel, to mourn, and to heal.

You clung to your friends, letting their unwavering support become your lifeline, traversing the caverns of your own heart. Your friends rushed to your side, their faces filled with concern.

And a new familair guy was there too, like a true friend. He knelt in front of you, his big copper eyes locking onto yours. "Y/N," he whispered, "I'm so sorry... You don't deserve this." The sobs wracked your body as you buried your face in your hands before he pulled you into an embrace that lulled your lamenting and already ravaged heart. But the pain was too raw. It was misery that had been festering for two long months, a pain you had hidden behind your dazzling smile.

You thought you were fine, that you were strong enough to handle seeing Mick with someone new. But in that moment, all your strength crumbled. It felt like your heart had been ripped out and stomped on.

His hand grazed your back with your face buried in his chest, his voice was low but soft but filled with empathy. "He doesn't deserve you, Y/N." His accent was thick upon whispering in your ear, feeling bad that you had to go through this.

As you cried, you realized that the pain wasn't just about Mick. It was about the weight of expectations, the pressure to always appear strong, and the fear of being alone. It was about the depression that had been silently eating away at you.

You had been wearing a mask for so long, pretending to be okay when you weren't. It manifested from you losing weight, skipping meals and even your sleeping schedule had been hell. And now, in this moment of vulnerability, you felt like you were breaking free from that suffocating facade.

He whispered soothing words, reminding you that you were loved and that your worth wasn't defined by a relationship.

As the tears continued to flow, you realized that healing would take time. But for the first time in months, you felt like you were ready to take on the path to recovery. The pain was real and there was nothing for you to do but it shouldn't be stopping you.

You promised that you would be stronger than you had ever known.

TWITTER

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Morning aftermath...

As the morning sun filtered through your window, you found yourself still wrapped in the cocoon of sleep, the weight of last night's breakdown lingering like a heavy fog. But as your phone began to buzz with notifications, reality swiftly came crashing back. Friends had texted you, their words a mix of concern and reassurance.

"Hey, just wanted to let you know that there's a tweet going around. We're here for you, always." — F/N1

"Some fan or paparazzi sent a picture of you crying backstage last night to a Twitter account. They're all with you. We are always here for you, Y/N." — F/N2

You sighed, sitting up and staring at your phone. It didn't take long to locate the tweet they were referring to – a photo of you, vulnerable and raw, with your friends surrounding you to comfort you. The tweet had gained traction overnight, becoming a symbol of empathy and support from fans all over...

As you scrolled through the replies, you were taken aback by the outpouring of compassion. Fans of both Mick and yours had come together, expressing their concern and sending well wishes. The sight of your shared pain resonated with many, they felt upset for you over a single Instagram post of Mick that drew out all the vitality in you last night.

With a sigh, you knew you couldn't remain in bed all day, wallowing in the events of the past night. You were stronger than that, and you owed it to yourself and your supporters to show them that you were okay. Taking a deep breath, you decided to update your fans through an Instagram story.

You snapped a picture of yourself, the gentle sunlight casting a warm glow on everything it touched. Typing out a caption, you chose your words carefully.

With a sense of purpose, you tapped the post button. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a step forward. The response was immediate – an influx of messages, hearts, and encouraging words flooded your inbox. Each notification felt like a virtual hug, a reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

INSTAGRAM

yourusername posted a story • 4 mins ago

seen by carlossainz55, lewishamilton and 962,820 others.

Later that day...

As the sun began its slow descent, you found yourself deep in thought, your mind weaving through possibilities and aspirations. The idea had taken root within you, a flicker of determination that refused to be extinguished. You wanted to show the world that you were more than just a single pageant title or relationship and that your journey was far from over.

The world felt a little brighter, and the weight on your shoulders felt a little lighter.

With a sense of purpose, you reached for your phone, your fingers dancing over the keys as you composed a message to your pageant coach, RL Duangkong. Your journey to a bigger goal is just about to start.

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Author's Note: THIS POST HAD BEEN UPLOADED WAY TO SEVERAL TIMES THAT I ALMOST LOST PATIENCE. The effort I poured onto this fic is ungodly. Which is why I appreciate smau!writers out there. I was having an internal monologue on how the lines would be distributed properly. I honestly loved making this - it is such a challenge and a struggle to be fair. Please do not repost or take the edited pictures without my consent. Some media in this post are mine and it's hard to do photoshopping/photo manipulation. Any kind of support is appreciated as I continue writing as long as I keep dreaming. Until then, stay updated for part 2! 𔘓ฅ[⁠ᓀ⁠˵⁠▾⁠˵⁠ᓂ⁠]𔘓ฅ

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created by the user in response to a creative writing prompt. Any resemblance to actual events, persons, or entities, whether living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The characters, events, and dialogue portrayed in this fanfiction are products of the user's imagination and are not meant to infringe upon any copyrights or trademarks associated with the Formula One sport or any real-life individuals. This fanfiction is solely intended for entertainment purposes, and the author acknowledges that the depicted scenarios are not endorsed, authorized, or supported by any official Formula One entities or the individuals mentioned.

[wardenparker]

The King's Queen - chapter 9

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Lots of mystery related content this chapter, so no warnings in order to guard against spoilers! Summary: As the weeks progress, the investigation into King Miguel's death is stalling out. Until an unexpected conversation renews your suspicions about a particular member of court. Notes: We're winding down toward the end of this story, folx and thank you all so, so much for reading! It will probably be one more chapter and an epilogue -- so for now have a gif of Lucas and Javi for ✨atmosphere✨

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

In the weeks following, the palace falls into a rhythm. The ongoing investigation is the dark cloud that covers the planning of the royal wedding and coronation, but life goes on. You've accompanied Javi on multiple public outings as Crowned Princess now and the press coverage does seem to be reasonably positive. Maisie and Gabriela have made a few gossip headlines along with you, including one tabloid photo of the three of you visiting a recently opened café owned by two young women in downtown Palma. The photo op had been chosen very strategically by your brother working together with the palace's security team, and you had insisted that the business they selected for the three of you to patronize needed to meet certain standards. The small shop had served you one of the most fantastic lunches you had ever had, and you were sure to tell the women so. The photo of you savoring your crema catalana had gone up on your official royal Instagram account that night.

You're settling in, is really what it comes down to, and at Javi's encouragement you've decided to clean up a room in the palace that hasn't been used much in the last few decades to turn into your receiving room. The Queen's office is one thing. That's a separate space in the working wing of the house, and your brother's office is adjacent to it. But a room for you to receive guests in or have meetings in...it's something that the palace hasn't needed since Javi's mother passed away.

“Your Highness, the furniture movers have arrived.” Despite having an abundance of nicknames for you growing up, and being your brother, Sebastian insisted on making sure that during working hours he addresses you by your title rather than any nickname. Wanting there to be no slip ups in protocol, or for visiting dignitaries to believe that they could also address the future Queen so informally.

“Thank you, Sebastian.” The room had been emptied of its former furniture set and divested of its previous rugs and trinkets. The fireplace had been scrubbed and all of that. Curtains taken away to be replaced with the set that you had chosen. Now the team from the palace steward’s office will be bringing in that expansive set of blue velvet upholstered walnut wood pieces, with their silver accents and silver-embroidered curtains to match. It will be your space and yours alone, just the way you like it. Even the paintings that are going up for decor were your choice, and the collection of Spanish impressionists that will hang on the walls is stunning.

"Of course." He smiles slightly and nods his head in deference to your position. "They have also located a rug for the space, I have told them to bring that first for your approval." The storage for the palace holds all of the furnishing through the years.

Just as he defers to your title during working hours, you’ve kept yourself to using his full name during those times as well, not wanting any rumours to build around why you hired your brother for this position — or even fuel the incredibly stupid theory that went around at first that he isn’t your brother at all. Some tabloid had printed that they thought he was your secret lover but thankfully that had gone nowhere with the people. You look far too much alike for anyone to not realize you’re related. “Do we know when Maisie and Gabriela are due back from their appointments?” Your ladies had gone into Palma for something that you hadn’t quite caught the explanation for but you’re hoping they will be back before dinner. The two women really have become you close friends in almost no time at all. And you’ve noticed a little bit of flustering on your brother’s part around Gabriela that is very sweet.

Sebastian looks down at the tablet in his hands and checks the calendar. Any appointments your ladies in waiting have are also kept by him so he can inform you. "They will be returning to the palace in thirty minutes."

“You are a font of useful information.” And you’re so incredibly glad that he’s here. Having someone nearby who just knows you as a person — what makes you tick and what makes you anxious — on staff is so helpful.

He smirks and holds up the tablet. "You just like me for my schedule." He teases playfully.

“Honestly?” You waggle your eyebrows at him, aware that until the movers from the steward’s office come into the room, the only people who will see or hear this interaction are the security officers watching the cameras that have been discreetly installed around the room. “I’m starting to see why so Dad was mad that I stole you away.”

"You understand and appreciate my work." Sebastian smirks, preening slightly. "Dad's new assistant isn't completely incompetent, but apparently he's not me and that infuriates the old man."

“C’est la vie, I guess. That’s why you should always appreciate the people who make your life easier.” As if on cue, a set of four workers from the steward’s office appear. They’re toting an enormous rug with them and look a little apprehensive.

“Y-Your highness?” The first man holding the rug bows his head. “This was – for your approval? If you do not approve, we will carry it back to the storage.”

“I’m sure you’ve made a wonderful choice.” And considering you know next to nothing about rugs, you’re willing to bet that they made a decision far more educated than yours would be. “Will you let it out, please? I’m very excited to see your choice.”

There’s a grateful smile on the third man and they begin to quickly unroll the rug. “It, uh, the blues and silvers in the rug could work with the furniture.” The first man explains.

"Then it will be perfect." You and Sebastian step back to give the men room, and soon enough the enormous Turkish carpet is rolled out to reveal its intricate patterns and subtle colors. It's exactly the right thing to bring warmth to a room that was once stark whites and ladylike pinks and pale greens, and you smile gratefully. Your color palette is slightly more robust than the last queen's, but there's nothing wrong with that. In fact, this piece will be what ties the room together. "Que maravillosa," you hum, seeing it all laid out. "Gentlemen, you have made the perfect selection. I could not have done better myself."

The pride that filters out from the men's faces would make Sebastian think that you had just knighted them. He hides a small smile and nods, stepping forward. "I think that it is safe to say that the Queen will keep the rug that you have chosen with her upmost gratitude." He tells him.

“We will return shortly with the first truck of furniture.” The seeming leader of the group tells you, bowing his head politely before he herds the others out to the hallway. They have two large, motorized hand trucks to bring down the king palace hallway and then they will arrange the pieces to their princess’ satisfaction.

"They chose well." Sebastain comments as he examines the plush rug. "Almost as if they were eager to please the crowned princess or something." He has felt the love the palace staff have started to extend to you, finding less pushback on his requests than he had once expected.

“I’m grateful it hasn’t been difficult,” you admit, smiling softly as your engagement ring winks in the late morning sun. “Javi is already having a hard enough time with the investigation still ongoing. I can’t imagine if he was fighting pushback in the press, too.”

"They still have found nothing substantial, and the King is growing impatient." He nods. glancing around to make sure no one else has come into the morning room.

“Remarkably, the investigation seems to conclude that it may have been accidental.” You keep your voice low as well. “But I still find that conclusion…unsettling.”

"As do I." Your brother hums, even if he agrees quietly.

The men from the steward’s office stay with you for the better part of an hour. It turns out that moving the furniture about takes seemingly no effort at all when it’s done by four men who could probably bench press you, and soon the seams of 1920s artisan-made study furniture is set precisely around the room in the perfect way to make it look nonchalant yet elegant. You didn’t even know furniture could look nonchalant, but now there is an art deco chaise lounge in your morning room ready to prove you wrong.

"Should I have tea and a light snack brough in?" Sebastain asks, knowing that you would want to settle into the room, get a feel for her. "I have some paperwork that needs attending, and you have nothing on your schedule until after lunch."

“Bring me everything you need me to sign,” you sigh dramatically in resignation but flash your brother a grin. “And if you could ask the kitchen for a tea tray, I would be eternally grateful.” In the last few weeks, the palace chef has gotten the contents of your personal tea tray down to a science, and you swore up and down to Javi that night that this is true luxury. Having your favourite snacks on hand at all times is what it’s all about.

"As you wish, your highness." Sebastian bows gracefully and sends you a small wink before sailing out of the room.

The room is better than you had envisioned it would be. The paintings are light and bright and bring a sense of invitation to the art deco furniture. It's a mix of styles so it doesn't feel too stuffy, making the room feel a little bit more personable. You sit down at the writing desk by the fireplace, admiring the elaborate carvings and the personalized touches. The men from the steward's office had also come in with a case of your personal stationary and a set of the pens that had been ordered with the emblem of the Crowned Princess of Mallorca on them. It had all been very overwhelming at first, but you're starting to settle in to it. One sheet of stationery and one of the pens find their way out of their cubbies in and into your hands, deciding that you'll write a note to be delivered to Javi as he goes about his work during the way. Your little notes make him smile, and if even a moment of smiling eases some of his burden, then they are well worth the few minutes they take to write.

He watches you from the shadow, frowning and furious. About to step out and speak when the silly little maid arrives with a tea cart. Making him curl his lip in disgust. You would have everyone believe you were an English queen with your teas and little treats.

You thank the girl and smile when she curtsies, knowing that being on your best manners with the palace staff is everything. The tea tray is laden with a mix of things and you sip your cup with a happy sigh. Until Sebastian comes back with your paperwork, it's just you and your tea and your love note to Javi.

"Well, aren't you just settling in nicely?" The voice comes from the far exit, carrying across the room. "Already changing things, causing disruptions."

If his voice causes a slight twitch in one eye, it isn't your fault. It's just that Lucas has been a needle in your side since the day you met him and there is nothing you can really do about it except be overly kind to the point of making him uncomfortable. "Lucas." You turn your head, setting down your teacup and folding your hands in your lap to offer him the most witheringly perfunctory smile you can manage. "Or shall I start to call you cousin? After all it won't be much longer before the wedding."

“Yes…the wedding.” He walks into the room as if he owns it, sniffing as he looks around the room. “Very…quaint.” He decides. “How fitting.”

"Is there some reason you have sought me out this morning?" He has a tendency to try to bait you into debates or arguments with polite insults, but you are in far too good of a mood today to be bent out of shape by petty words. "Can I offer you a cup of tea?"

“No.” He scoffs the word, almost close to a chuckle as he strolls around the room. Taking pains to touch different things, adjusting them to his own liking. “I have to admit that I’m surprised you are still here.” He glances up at you and then down the small Tiffany music box on a table. His finger running over the gilded lid. “Perhaps the prize is too large to let go?”

“Whatever gave you the impression that I might leave?” There hasn’t really been a serious moment since meeting Javi where you’ve considered it. Is the job difficult? Of course. But Javi makes every single second worth it. And you would never disappoint him by leaving — or so coarsely abandon the man you love.

“The king is dead.” He shrugs slightly. “Unless an arranged marriage is something you actually wished for.”

“King Miguel is dead; may he rest in peace. But King Javier is very much alive and well.” His refusal to accept that his cousin has ascended the throne is something of a curiosity to you. Like there is a full block in his mind that prevents him from accepting it. “And happily I will tell you, as well as anyone else who wishes to hear, how very much in love with my fiancé I truly am.”

“Come now.” He tuts and sends you a pitying look. “No one would be in love with Javier. Expect perhaps my wife.”

“I think it would be more difficult to find someone not at least a little in love with him.” A pinched, derisive smile makes you tilt your head. “The only exception seems to be you, cousin.”

“I have known Javier my entire life, believe me, there is nothing special about him.” Lucas sneers.

"I'm very sorry that you believe that," you reply placidly. Lucas truly has a talent for getting under your skin — and it's really all to do with his attitude toward Javi. He seems to think his cousin is the least remarkable man in the world, which is a thought process that you just can't wrap your head around. Javi's goodness is what will make him a kind and sympathetic leader. "Javi's ability to be kind in the face of an unkind world is one of the most special things I have ever witnessed in a human being. It seems to me that you might not know your cousin as well as you think after all. But that is merely an observation."

There’s a mean little grin on his face, making the classically handsome exterior appear almost rotten because of the evilness inside. “I think you might actually believe that load of horse shit.”

He truly seems to have come to see you just to be cruel today, which is rare, but it isn’t the first time. Lucas taunts and intimidates and spits venom as his surest means of communication. It is who he is. But he is also exceptionally talented at hiding his true nature, which leads to unfortunate circumstances like the group of loyal followers he still has here at the palace. Allowing yourself one more sip from your teacup, you set it down again and give him your patented Senator’s-Daughter placid smile. “Is there something that you needed, Lucas?”

“I was wondering if you had heard anything about the investigation?” He picks up a book that has been strategically placed and smirks as he opens it, glancing up and you and snapping it closed loudly.

"I am not at liberty to discuss the investigation," you remind him, interested in what he might have to say about it. Lucas has been relentlessly present during the investigation.

He rolls his eyes and snorts. “There’s no one here.” He huffs and lifts a brow. “I’ve heard your investigators have been probing, asking very pointed questions.”

“Well of course they are, a king has died.” You don’t say that he was killed, always very careful about your wording with Lucas — but something about his wording strikes you a moment later. ‘There’s no one here’ he says, blatantly encouraging you to speak liberally with him. As though you are entirely in private. Lucas…does not seem to know that your morning room has already been wired for security. “Of course…” you venture, keeping your breathing even and your voice steady so he doesn’t sense any change in your whatsoever even though your heart rate is now racing. “We will all be very glad when the matter is resolved. The country deserves to heal. To move forward.”

“It will, with a new king.” He is very certain of that and straightens slightly. “I understand the pressures of the throne might be too much for my cousin. He has always been a follower. Meek.”

Not so long ago, insulting the king so overtly would have been enough to have Lucas censured or even stripped of his title, but you bite your tongue on that point and simply tilt your head. "Do you really think so little of your own flesh and blood?"

“It is more that I know my own flesh and blood.” Lucas chuckles. “He is not the brightest Gutierrez, unable to figure out what is right under his nose.”

It's like Lucas wants to keep talking. Now that the topic has been breached and you are not shutting him down immediately as you usually do, he seems to be as unstoppable as the enormous boulder that chased Indiana Jones. "King Miguel believed in his son. He named Javi his heir and paved the way for him to take the throne. You think you know things about Javier that his own father did not?"

He smirks and shrugs slightly. “Miguel had to have faith in his son.”

"Had to?" That piques your interest, and you fold your hands in your lap even as you turn toward him a little more fully. There is a camera and microphone built into the clock above the mantel of the fireplace and you want to make sure this entire conversation is very firmly in the line of sight and sound. Though you doubt Lucas would ever overtly incriminate himself, he is being fairly damning if anyone ever called his loyalties into question. "King Miguel could easily have named another heir if he felt it was the best course of action."

“That would never have happened.” He hisses, face twisting into an angry scowl. His fist tightening in fury.

It might be the first time you've ever wanted to reel back from one of Lucas's outbursts, but you hold yourself steady in your chair and try not to make it obvious that you've just swallowed hard out of discomfort. "Never? Then King Miguel must have believed in Javi quite a lot."

“Not because he believed in him.” Lucas sneers. “But because the old bastard wouldn’t stand the shame, the humiliation of having such a weakling for a son.”

There will be time to take umbrage with Lucas's characterization of Javi later on. Right now, you have to stay laser focused on what is being spit out right in front of you. It is absolutely no secret between you and your fiancé that you both believe Lucas had something to do with King Miguel's death. But you still have no idea how to prove it. "And so...you believe that the late king would rather...gamble with the future of his country? Surely he would have wanted Javier to have help if he thought it was necessary."

“He had changed it.” Lucas growls, the fervor in his eyes nearly manic. “I saw. He had changed his directives – but the bastard guarding him refused to let me read it.” He curls his lip in disdain. “More of a lap dog than an assistant.”

"You think that Julius had something to do with the king's death?" That would be a grave accusation if it were true. Or, hell, it's a grave accusation anyway. Thankfully it will never be given any credence because of how hard Julius has worked for Javier.

Lucas barks out a rough laugh, throwing his head back. “You are made for my cousin!” He chortles. “Just as dim witted.”

You have no choice but to swallow the insult, finding your heart beat faster every second you are more and more hellbent on getting himself to cough up something that you can have to the investigators that will incriminate him. "It seems obvious that my mind does not work the same way yours does."

He chuckles, sending you a pitying look. “It’s a shame that you are so wrapped around my cousin’s thumb.” He tells you, “it would be fun to take another of his toys away from him. He’s already lost so much to me.”

"He already has the throne, Lucas." Not dignifying that idle threat with a response is causing you actual physical pain but sitting in your chair is currently taking enormous concentration. Anywhere else in the world and you would rather be wringing Lucas's slimy little neck. "Everything else is a trifle."

“Does he?” Lucas tilts his head and smiles. “Perhaps. Long live the king.” He intones sinisterly.

The irrevocable shiver that his tone sends down your spine is withering, and for a second you almost close your eyes against it but you are somehow convinced that taking your eyes off of him physically for even a second would be a terrible mistake. "He does," you state again, watching Lucas carefully. "And our child will have it after him. That is how the line of succession works. I know that you know this."

“Unless my dear cousin suffers the same fate as his father.” Lucas counters, waving his hand as if offering a solution. “Before you make that child.”

"How do you know we haven't already?" The surety in his voice is chilling, but you have to keep your own tone even.

“Because any child before your vows would be a bastard.” He hums. “Ineligible for the throne. Then the line of succession falls to…” he perks up and feigns excitement. “Well, me.”

"That is only true up to a point," you challenge, pressing the point if only gently. "Javi will not be dying of a heart attack anytime soon."

Lucas only stares at you, his dark eyes lifeless as he stands there quietly for nearly thirty seconds. “Of course not.” He says after that silence is up, his body relaxing and his face shifting into an innocent expression.

It might be the most unsettling and least reassuring ‘reassurance’ of all time, and the sinking feeling in your chest and stomach makes you feel positively sick. “In time,” you swallow bile as it rises in your throat. “You’ll see. Javi’s goodness is what will make him a great king.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugs as if the past few minutes of conversation hadn’t happened, and he shoots you a charming smile. Or it would have been if there wasn’t malice layered under it. “I will leave you to enjoy your new room then. Princess.”

“Good morning, your Grace.” You don’t stand, nod, or give him any other formal acknowledgement, but you definitely breathe easier when he turns and strides from the room. It’s like being in the same space as a cartoon villain, and you’ve found out that that is much more disturbing than you ever imagined.

“Your highness?” The maid who had been sent to check on your tea hurries into the room and her eyes are glancing around worriedly. She had seen the man most of the staff loved but she loathed walk out with a dark look on his face, one she is well acquainted with, and was concerned.

“Ah, Beatriz.” There is no choice but to shake off your unsettled nerves and pretend everything is fine, even though the sinking feeling in your stomach is sinking that much harder. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you—” she bites her tongue, knowing the question is inappropriate for the Princess. “I am checking to make sure you did not need anything, your highness.”

“I suspect that is not the only question you wish to ask me, Beatriz.” There are some members of the staff who have been more or less assigned to you, like your ladies’ maid and a few of the stewards or other staff, and you have generally been trying to get to know them and have them be comfortable with you within the bounds of what is considered proper. Probably being American fosters some of that in your mind all on its own, but you don’t like the idea of anyone being frightened to come near you in the palace.

“I— the count—” she starts before she stops again. “I saw the count hurry by me looking very unhappy.”

“I’m afraid the count is feeling a bit worse for wear today,” you lie, gracefully not indicating whether you mean he’s in a bad mood or that he’s actually ill. “I’m sure it will pass.”

“He- you are feeling well?” She asks, eyes searching you worriedly.

“I am perfectly fine.” The last thing you or Javi need is anyone on the palace staff spreading word that you might be ill, so you dispel the maid’s fear immediately. “And my tea is wonderful. Thank you for checking. If you would not mind waiting a moment, I am just finishing a note that I would like delivered to the king.”

“Of course, your highness.” She bows her head quickly. It was expected that you would never take her into your confidence, but it’s enough to find that you are…undisturbed. She breathes a quiet sigh of relief as she waits for you to finish writing your missive.

What was once a love note full of encouragement to your fiancé has quickly transformed into a gently coded indication that you have something you need to talk to him about privately. As soon as it is written out you fold the card and slip it into an envelope, sealing it with a small sticker bearing the royal seal of the Crowned Princess. "Please deliver this directly to the king," you instruct her, handing the maid the sealed card. "From my hands, to yours, to his. Is that understood?"

“Yes, your highness.” She nods solemnly, feeling very proud of being tasked with something of such importance. “For the king only.”

"Gracias, Beatriz." She curtsies and you nod, turning back to your desk as she hurries from the room. It's not exactly that you have evidence against Lucas, but at least now you have something solid to hand to the investigators to prove Lucas has a vendetta against Javier. There hasn't been anything besides hearsay until now.

Hurrying through the halls, Beatriz nods at different personnel but doesn’t stop. Not allowing herself to be waylaid on her mission. Once in front of the door to the king’s office, she stops and smooths her uniform out before knocking.

The door to the king’s office opens with a distinct click, and Julius steps out into the hallway. “Sí?” He knows Beatriz, of course, and knows that she tends to you, but does not know why the maid has come here of all places.

“I have a message for the king from her highness.” Beatriz tells him, shaking her head when he holds out his hand for the message. “The Princess said from my hand to King Javier’s.” She insists.

“I see.” Julius purses his lips in amusement. Normally when the king receives a note of that nature it results in copious blushing and clearing his throat. “Very well. You had best deliver it, then.”

It’s an honor to be allowed into the king’s office and she’s well aware of it. Bowing her head, she waits for him to open the door and follows him inside.

“Your Majesty.” Julius hums softly, breaking the king’s concentration as he bends over his desk. “A note from Her Highness.”

“Oh?” His head pops up and his brow furrows as he sees the maid in front of him.

“To be delivered from her hands to yours.” Beatriz tells him, barely stepping up to his desk and curtsying while she holds out the envelope.

“Thank you…Beatriz.” He finally comes up with the maid’s name, having a flurry of new staff being changed around with your arrival, his father’s death and the upcoming wedding.

The maid curtsies and exits promptly once the envelope is in his hands, blushing over the fact that the king knows her name. Julius, for his part, smiles and nods to the door. “Shall I leave you?” He asks, hoping to offer privacy if it is wanted.

“Please.” Javi nods, barely looking up from the closed note in his eagerness to see what you have written. “Give me just a minute and we will continue.”

With a nod Julius is gone, leaving Javier to his reading.

Mi amor, A very interesting conversation with someone we are both interested by may pique your curiosity. If you would like to relive it for yourself, I will show you this evening. M

Javier frowns at the paper and wonders what the hell has happened today. A mystery would once have thrilled him, but he knows this is concerning one particular person and he feels a sense of dread.

******

His busy schedule keeps him occupied until dinner time, but the now-designated one night a week that you and Javi eat alone is proving to be a blessing. The serving cart is wheeled into your chamber and the table on your balcony set with candles, and you’ve taken off your heels to let your aching feet rest for the night in comfortable slippers when the door to your suite opens to let him inside.

Javier feels the mantle of responsibility seemingly lift. Even if he could be interrupted by any manner of emergencies, the idea that for tonight, he’s just your fiancé is a comforting one. The guise of not being responsible for a country needed as he has worried about your note for the rest of the day after receiving it. “Margarita?”

“Javi!” It would be a lot to pretend you aren’t excited to see him, and why would you pretend that at all? Instead, you pad across the sitting room of your suite eagerly and wrap him up in your arms. “How was your day, querido?”

“It was good, but it is better now.” He accepts the easy affection and snuggles close to you, burying his nose in your neck. “How was yours? Beatriz gave me your note.”

“Lucas paid me a rather interesting visit today.” It’s a shame that your dinner together has to be overshadowed by this but there is no way around it. “In the morning room.”

“You just set that up.” In fact, Javi had been put out that there had been no wiggle room in his busy schedule to allow for a visit to the room to see how you had redone it. He had planned to see to it tomorrow, but now he is wondering if it’s been tainted by his cousin.

“It seems he disapproves of my choice of decor.” You roll your eyes to show it does not bother you and place a kiss on his cheek. “Come. Eat with me. I’ll tell you what happened over our supper.”

“It is your space, like my mother’s.” He huffs, but he eagerly lets you lead him out onto the balcony. “The staff loves to make sure our private dinners are romantic.” Javi smiles at the candles on the table.

“They do wonderfully for us.” Tonight there are pink gin tonics in the cocktail pitcher that awaits you, and a beautiful seafood supper with fresh bread and bright vegetables. A feast that won’t make you feel over full or too tired afterward is a gift in its own right.

“Perhaps we should have a party for them.” Javi suggests. “Catered food, nice drinks. They can relax and be served.”

“That would be a very kind thing to do, I think.” You’re not sure if there’s precedent for that kind of thing, but you have to think it’s been done in some form before. “Maybe I can look into what it would take? And include the clean up being done by someone else, of course. It would be useless to give them a party that they have to clean up after themselves.”

“Of course.” Javi nods seriously. “Everything taken care of.”

“But…” You take it upon yourself to pour two glasses and hand him one, inhaling the wonderful scent of the plates he has set down on the table. “Lucas seems…more devious than usual.”

“Is that even possible?” Javi asks, rolling his eyes slightly. Ever since you arrived, it seems as though the blinders have been pulled away. Showing Javi how rotten his cousin’s soul really is.

“I hadn’t thought so.” It’s unfortunate to be wrong on that front, but here you are. “But he came the closest he’s ever come to incriminating himself today and we were standing right in front of the fireplace in the morning room while he was doing his…I hesitate to call it an interrogation of me, but it wasn’t comfortable. Either way he was very candid, and I watched the footage after retrieving the file from palace security. I think it’s damning enough to encourage the investigators to look into him again.”

“Really?” Javi has just sat down, leaning forward and his eyes narrow. “Tell me what he said, Margarita. I want my father’s death explained. I want to know why we lost our king too early.”

As you eat your recount every detail. The conversation is burned into your brain from this morning and though you’ll show the footage to Javi later so he can see it all for himself, you’re confident in your ability to tell the encounter to him completely. “I can’t help but think it all seems…sinister. But that may be my own bias against him showing. It might m be best just to let the investigators decide.”

“That’s what we will do.” Javi nods. “Although, I don’t want you to be alone with Lucas again.” He admits. “Will you keep Sebastian or one of your ladies with you?”

"A rotating witness along with my security detail?" Of course, to Javi's point — the guards who are meant to protect you are usually some small distance away so that you don't feel smothered. Today they had been at the door to the morning room while you were inside. Perhaps it is time to make better friends with them after all. "If that will make you more comfortable, querido, then I will make sure I keep someone with me."

“I just do not wish for my cousin to do something.” Javi admits. “I cannot banish him for any reason, and I cannot risk your safety.” If Lucas is plotting something, he would rather he not have access to you.

“I am not an enormous fan of your cousin trying to do something to either of us,” you reason. It is plenty enough work to run a country without having to worry about your own family trying to sabotage you or worse. “I will keep someone around me and so will you. The only time we should be alone is to be with each other.”

“I can agree with your logic.” Javi nods as he spears a stalk of broccolini. He doesn’t mention that it will give plenty of alibi for anything Lucas tries to cook up. Especially with the extra surveillance that has been discreetly installed under the guise of ‘redecorating’.

"I will have Sebastian contact the investigators first thing in the morning and hand the footage over to them personally, with a full explanation of what they are watching." It won't be fun, but at least it's some kind of progress. And progress desperately needs to be made.

“Perfect.” Javi nods even though it’s painful to admit that this can come from inside his own family. “Make sure that the investigators know that we are more than willing to be interviewed again.”

“I will.” A short reach across the table is all it takes to fit your hand in his, and you squeeze his fingers gently. “We will see this through. Your father deserves to be able to rest peacefully.”

He doesn’t want to monopolize the dinner with talk of his cousin, or his father. It pains him in a way that’s indescribable. “How has Sebastian settled in?” He asks curiously. “Has he had time to explore the country? You should take him, have a driver give you a complete day.”

“It’s probably asking too much to think you could get away for a day?” You know it is, but you still prefer to spend as much time with him as you can.

“I might be able to take half a day.” He would have to double check with Julius, but his schedule wasn’t too taxing the next few days.

“I don’t want to crowd your schedule with more things,” you assure him. “But it would be nice to spend time together.”

“I have relatively light days.” He promises. “I can try to combine the days to block out an afternoon. Or would you rather a morning?”

“I suppose it depends on what you want to show me.” The prospect of spending time together — even in public with cameras flashing and admirers stopping to spot him on the street — is a bit thrilling. While the investigation is ongoing, royal security isn’t keen to let the two of you eat at establishments they cannot control. Very few exceptions have been made and you haven’t been able to begin your date night idea quite yet. “Maybe we ought to consult security if we plan on doing anything besides going for a drive.”

“I will talk to Julius and send you a note?” He asks, knowing that it can’t be tomorrow. “Unless you have some appointments to plan the wedding?”

“Julius and Sebastian share our schedules for exactly this kind of reason.” They’re miraculously well-coordinated, actually, and you continue to be impressed with your brother’s work the longer he is with you. “We’ll ask them to find the day that works best.”

“Perfect.” He nods and smiles. “We are getting closer.”

“We are already very close, mi amor.” A smile even wider than his graces your lips and you hum happily around a bite of your dinner. “Would you like to hear about the wedding preparations?”

“I would love to hear.” He leans forward eagerly. “And anything you would like for me to help with, I will.” He assures you. “Even those little gift bag things. We are having those, right?”

“If you would like to have them, I will make sure they are included.” Javi always lights up when wedding plans are mentioned, so it seemed like a very good topic for lightening the mood of your meal. “I can ask our wedding planner to put together a list of ideas she suggests to fill them and you can pick whichever you like best?”

“Yes.” Javi nods. “Something local. Show off the art and craftsmanship of our people.” He tells you.

“I completely agree.” The more locally made everything at your wedding, the better it all will be. This is going to be a celebration for many more than just you and Javi.

“Local sweets. A handcrafted piece of jewelry that commemorates our day?” He suggests. “I want that to come from my personal wealth and not the budget.”

“Maybe a small pin, as the jewelry?” Something universal would be best, so it does not matter which bag goes to which guest. It will relieve an enormous headache on your wedding planner’s part. “Something symbolic, rather than the typical image of us smiling out from a white background.”

“That would be perfect. Maybe our flag? Made from local stone? Or gems, whatever you think is best.” Javi tells you. “I’ve just always loved the gift bags in wedding movies.”

"I'll see what the wedding planner thinks is doable in a fairly short amount of time and then you'll get a list to choose from," you promise him. After a few more bites in relative and enjoyable quiet, you put your fork down again and take a sip of your drink. "I've...been thinking about something. And I was wondering if I could talk to you about it."

“Anything.” It sounds serious and Javi is immediately giving you his full attention. Fork down and looking into your eyes. “You can talk to me about anything, Margarita.”

“That is actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” You reach across the table to take his hand and leave a kiss on his knuckles for good measure. “I’ve been doing some reading, and I had Bastian pull records. And it seems to me to be a sort of…unofficial Balearican tradition for foreign born spouses of monarchs to take a regnal name.” The whole concept of taking a regnal name — a name you will be known as, as queen — seemed positively odd to you at first. But the tradition seems to stem from taking pride in leading the people of these lively, engaging islands. A way of embracing the place and the people and promising to honor them. “I wondered how you would feel if…I did that, too.”

“What would you like to change it to?” He asks curiously. “I would love whatever you do, but I will still call you Margarita.” He admits with a bashful smile.

“Well…” It seems almost embarrassing, or it would be embarrassing if it were anyone but him, and you feel your cheeks heat as you swallow. “I thought…Margarita might actually be the right choice. I looked it up and it’s not too uncommon of a name. I thought it might be…romantic is the wrong word, but loving.”

“Queen Margarita?” Javi hums as he thinks about it and nods. “It would be a beautiful tribute to our future.”

“I always knew I would come here eventually.” For your whole life, you’ve waited for it. Waited to be summoned, and waited to be married, and waited to be with him. “But I only truly fell in love with this place after I met you.”

“It is easy, no?” He asks with a grin. “Our country is easy to love.”

"Very easy." You can agree to that easily. "But not as easy as it is to love you, querido."

The way Javi blushes makes you smile and he’s happy about that. Nothing is forced, nothing is put on with you and that’s what he loves. If you were just normal people, there would still be these tender affections between the two of you.

“Anyway, I just… I wanted to ask you how you felt about it.” He is blushing and he is adorable when he blushes. You shift a little in your seat and a pleased smile curls your lips. “Because ‘Margarita’ was just your name for me, and now I’m thinking about sharing it with the world. If you aren’t okay with it, I will choose something else.”

“I don’t mind.” He admits quietly, leaning in and staring into your eyes. “As long as we are together, I will happily share you with my country.”

“I’ll always be with you.” That is a promise you will make to him without hesitation. Now that you’re with him, the last thing you want is to be separated from Javi in any meaningful way.

“Hopefully your interaction with my cousin did not ruin your day?” He asks quietly. “How are your ladies doing?”

“Gabriela sat with me for some time this afternoon.” A small, mischievous smile curls your lips as you finish your meal. “My brother mentioned that it might be helpful to have some help in learning the geography and history of the country, as well as cultural tradition. Gabriela volunteered to be my tutor, essentially. And she’s been wonderfully helpful.”

“Good.” His affection for Gabriela will always be there, but it has shifted to a more brotherly love than anything else. Or perhaps it was always meant to be that way and he had been rebelling against his fate. Regardless, he’s happy you and Gabriela have formed a friendship. “She was much better in her studies than I.”

“She and my brother are also getting along very well,” you venture, wondering if that is too sensitive or inappropriate of a topic. True that Gabriela is married, but it’s abundantly clear to anyone with eyes that they are miserable, and she did not make the choice to marry Lucas willingly.

“Do you think there could be something there eventually?” He asks softly, knowing that it would be unlikely unless Lucas were out of the picture. Gabriela was loyal and would never shame the royal family with a divorce, even though she should divorce her husband.

“Maybe?” It’s just theoretical right now. Just a little gossip. But you know that Javi’s comfort level with the situation means a great deal to everyone involved. “Nothing will happen, of course. Not with Lucas in the way. But I think it’s sweet.”

“I want her to be happy.” Javi tells you. “As happy as we are.”

“That’s very admirable.” You admit, knowing that there are a lot of complications in the way of anything realistic. Still, you offer him an encouraging smile. “But I don’t know if anyone is as happy as we are.”

“It is quite a lofty goal.” He teases with a smile. “Perhaps it can be achieved.” He still marvels over how lucky he is and is grateful for it.

“Perhaps.” Just knowing how much he loves you makes your heart soar, and the familiar warmth returns to your cheeks. “Although it is a very lofty goal.”

Javi pauses for a moment, and he frowns as he reaches for your hand. “As long as you are never uncomfortable.” He shakes his head, aware that it’s coming out wrong. “As long as you know my feelings are genuine and I no longer will ever think about any woman the way I think of you.”

“I think the fact that you’ve stayed friends with Gabriela after breaking up speaks volumes about both of you as people. You’re good and kind and deserve to have those things visited back to you. And besides,” you reach out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Gabriela is also my friend. I want her to be happy, too. And my brother is a fantastic guy. She’d be lucky to have him.”

“Gabriela would be a wonderful partner to anyone who wishes a partner.” Part of Lucas’s problem is that he thinks he’s better than everyone. He had decided on Gabriela simply to hurt Javi.

“And Lucas deserves a good clobbering.” It’s mumbled, but only slightly, and you definitely mean it. In fact, you’d like a hell of a lot worse than a clobbering to happen to Lucas Gutierrez. A lot of people would.

Javi smirks slightly, hearing you perfectly but he doesn’t comment on that. “And what if Maisie?” He asks. “How is she settling into the role?”

“I think Maisie might have been born for it,” you chuckle. Javi clears away your empty dinner plates and you uncover the slices of Basque cheesecake smothered in cherry rioja sauce that the kitchen made for your dessert tonight. “Her husband is away on business as of this morning so she’s taking the chance to buckle down in helping with wedding and coronation plans.” Sending Javi a smile as you set out the smaller plates, you lean on the banister beside your small table while he pours out the last of your cocktail pitcher. “I think she deserves a very large ‘thank you’ after all this is finished. Gabriela does, too.”

“Perhaps a girl’s weekend on the royal yacht?” Javi asks, wondering what you had in mind.

“I was thinking of a getaway for Maisie and her husband. Something wonderfully romantic where they don’t have to worry about anything but enjoying themselves.” The first bite of cheesecake makes you both groan happily and break out into contented grins. “Maybe by that time Gabriela will be able to spend time with whoever she wishes.”

“Perhaps.” Javi frowns slightly. “If – if Lucas is as bad as we think that he might be, we will have to circle the wagons, as that American saying goes, around Gabriela. She will be distraught.”

“I would think she will be glad to be free of him.” You do shake your head, though, and nod. “If his true colors turn out to be as black as we suspect, we will take care of Gabriela. Make sure that she comes out of the thing unscathed.”

“Yes.” He nods seriously. “It will be good for her to be your lady if everything is as bad as we expect.” He admits quietly. “I am so sorry that you have been thrown into such a mess, amor.”

It might surprise him to hear, but the truth comes out of you alarmingly fast as you sit together at the little balcony table. “I don’t care,” you tell him truthfully. “I’m just glad that you didn’t have to go through all of this alone.”

He pauses, in awe of you and picks up your hand. “You are the most gracious and loving woman.” He murmurs softly. “I hope to never take that, or you, for granted.”

******

"Your Highness." Sebastian has been in and out of your office all morning, but this time when he steps inside he has a much more determined set to his face. "Inspector Jefe Blanco is here to see you."

"Oh, good. Excellent. Bring him in, please." Waiting for the Chief Inspector's arrival this morning has had you on edge. It will be good to get all of this out of the way and put the evidence into the hands of professionals. "And Sebastian, will you stay, please? While he's here. I would feel more comfortable."

“Should I order some tea?” He asks, knowing that it might set the tone from the grim talk into a more open conversation.

"I asked the kitchen to prepare a tray this morning. If you could just ring down and ask them to send it up?" His instincts are good and you appreciate your brother's attention to detail, especially in these moments. "I'm sure that will put us all a bit more at ease."

“Good. I will have Flores bring it in so no more staff than necessary needs to come into the room.” Sebastian decides. He will instruct the staff to leave it outside with your personal maid.

"Thank you, Bastian." For one more second, it's just you and your brother in a room, and you flash him a grateful smile before putting your official princess countenance back on. "Please show the Inspector Jefe in."

Sebastian nods and moves to the door, opening it and stepping back to allow the very official visitor in. It’s clear the man has taken special care with his appearance, every medal shined and his uniformed neatly pressed.

"Thank you for making time to come and see me this morning, Inspector Jefe." You stand from your desk and shake the man's hand. He has been very diligent and professional in investigating this case but you have to admit that you have now known the man quite a bit longer than you would prefer. In a perfect world, this case would have been over before it began. "I'm afraid I have some information to share with you, but I do not know how helpful it will end up being."

He frowns slightly, confused as to how you can have more information. “What do you have, Princess?” He asks curiously. “I must confess I am surprised to have been contacted by your office.”

"I had a conversation yesterday with the Count of Ibiza that...unsettled me." Polite wording is necessary here, so that you don't appear to be accusing Lucas of anything outright. "The conversation was videotaped by our security system here in the palace, and I would be very much gratified if you would consent to watch the footage with me and tell me if there is anything to it. If the count's manner seems suspicious, and his threats genuine, as I suspect they are. Or if I am perhaps too sensitive to the topic being touched so deeply by the late king's sudden death."

“The Count has an excellent reputation.” The inspector informs you, a little wary when it comes to potentially implicating members or the royal family. “However, he was slightly evasive during questioning.”

"It is my sincerest hope that my worries are unfounded," you lie as cleanly as you can. It is the only lie you have ever told the inspector and what you do hope is that it stays that way. "But I will not claim any kind of expertise in law enforcement or investigative technique."

“Even though you say there is video evidence of the conversation, I find that it is always helpful to have someone describe the interaction. Posture, tone, facial expressions cannot be accurately displayed at times through a security system.” He explains quietly, pulling out a notebook from his jacket pocket. “Princess, will you please tell me about this conversation with the Count?”

"Besides deeply insulting both myself and King Javier, the Count outright stated that he believed the late King Miguel made the wrong choice as to his successor and expressed anger over not being considered in the choice. Or, rather, not being chosen outright." You pause when Flores brings in your tea tray, thanking her as she pours out three cups and sets one beside each of the three of you seated in the room. "Thank you, Flores. We'll manage from here."

“Yes, your highness.” She bows respectfully as she eyes the inspector. There are many questions as to why he is here, but she won’t voice them.

“So, you see, Inspector,” you continue once the door is shut securely behind your maid. “When outright statements like that are made in the same conversation where the Count also voices his opinions that King Javier is not fit to rule, or that I have some ulterior motivation for being here and accepting my role in his country…it makes me quite worried. That perhaps the Count may not have the most honorable intentions after all.”

“I can see why that would raise your suspicions.” He frowns and flips back through his notes to look at the impressions he had jotted down from the interview with Lucas Gutierrez. While some of the men question his old-fashioned methods and claim that he wants to model his investigative style after American style gumshoes, he finds it good to have those notes easily accessible rather than having to go back to the system computers. “And you say that he felt like he was threatening you?”

“I felt that he was threatening the king.” The clarification is important here, you know that. But you’re very glad to have your brother in the room with you to be an emotional anchor so you don’t end up seeming distraught or too forceful with the inspector. “The Count made it very clear that he did not consider me worth threatening. He appears to regard me as an ornament to His Majesty. Which is insulting, but not threatening.”

“I hope that regardless of what I find, you informed his majesties security team?” He asks seriously. “Another king lost in a short span such as this would throw our small country into chaos.”

“It would.” Especially considering Lucas is the next in line to the throne. A horrible alternative that you can’t even begin to comprehend. “And I have. I informed His Majesty and he has taken it to his team.”

“Good.” Inspector Jefe might have some private concerns about the new king, but he would never dream of making them public.

“With this background, will you be willing to watch the footage that my security team gathered yesterday morning?” Convincing him that it is worth looking into Lucas again is the key here, even though you know it’s a hard sell. As the Count of Ibiza, the people have come to mostly love Lucas Gutierrez. But they do not see his true nature.

“I have learned in my time as an inspector that some people’s true nature is always concealed until they believe they are immune from reproach.” He picks up his tea and takes a polite sip. “Would you be able to provide a copy or would I need to view the footage here only?” Sometimes the security for the palace had certain protocols in place that he would not be able to change.

After discussing it with Javi, Julius, and the head of security, it has been decided that a copy of the footage could be handed over to the police for their own use, and you open your desk drawer to retrieve it. “The copy has been made for your use, but of course I expect you will want to view the original here as well so you can be assured that no changes to the footage have been made.”

“Thank you, Princess.” He nods his head slightly, grateful that you understand the delicate nature of these things. “Once I have reviewed the footage, I may have more questions. Would it be possible to request some time in your schedule if that is the case?”

“Of course.” In fact, you would be concerned if he didn’t have more questions for you. “My assistant will make sure you are afforded access to me when necessary. This investigation remains of the utmost importance.”

“I appreciate that.” He knows that you must be busy, the announcement of your wedding accompanying the coronation had been announced and it wasn’t too far away.

“Just as I appreciate you being available this morning.” The footage is already queued up on the computer display monitor on your desk, and you turn it to face outward so both the Inspector and Sebastian can see. “Cooperation is everything in these matters.”

“The tales of your wisdom have not been underestimated.” He hums, turning to the screen and leaning forward so he can watch.

This is the fourth time you've watched this conversation, not to mention the fact that you lived through it the first time, and while the Inspector Jefe listens to Lucas spit his vitriol, you sip your tea in silence. Every time you listen to him it makes you angry all over again. But you can't afford to show any kind of anger in front of the inspector.

There will be several notes that come from this video, and he frowns as he looks back up at you. “This is very disturbing.” He admits. “The count did not know that he was being recorded, yes?”

"That is correct." It's a relief to hear that the investigation will be taking your conversation into account, but you try not to show it too much. "But I did not make any effort to hide the fact from him. All areas of the palace that are in use by staff and the royal family are protected by surveillance."

“It almost seemed as if the count wished for you to accuse him of something nefarious or to reveal it himself.” Jefe looks around the room, and nods. “Please do not try to be alone with him, Princess, but let him talk if he comes back.” He tells you, standing up. “I will have to review this many more times, but I will be taking a closer look at the Count in my investigation.”

"If you need to speak with me again, please do not hesitate to contact my assistant. And if I have any other information to pass along to you, may I request for you to come in the same way you did today?" You stand along with him, showing the Inspector Jefe the respect that his position is due. "I have already made arrangements to ensure I will not be alone with the Count again. At the king's insistence."

“Absolutely.” He had been brought in through the tunnels under the palace to prevent speculation, and he understands that. “Whatever you wish, your highness.” He bows politely and thinks that you are also as gracious as you are beautiful.

"Have a good day, Inspector Jefe." That might be a fruitless wish, considering the task on his shoulders, but if anything? That is something you can absolutely relate to.

He nods again and quickly walks out of the room to leave you and Sebastian by yourselves.

Once the door shuts, you sit back in your chair and pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers and sigh. “That went better than I expected.”

“I don’t think the inspector wasn’t too surprised by your claims.” Sebastian admits, curious as to the man’s true feelings about the count. Not that he seems the type to ever say. He seemed to play his cards close to the vest.

“I think he was surprised that Lucas would admit to being so vile, but maybe that’s just me being too American and imagining all these nobles constantly play nice with each other. I can’t tell.” Now that the meeting is over, you refill your teacup and pick up a biscuit gladly. “Well, darling brother. We have an hour to kill before wedding planning overtakes my day.”

“What would you like to do?” He asks, aware that he had blocked out much more time than necessary for the meeting with the inspector.

“Javi and I talked about taking a little driving tour of the islands sometime soon. Do you think that’s something you could coordinate with royal security?” You’re not asking him to do it right now, god knows, but you do rummage in your desk with a mischievous grin on your face while you ask.

“Are we talking about an actual tour?” He asks with a laugh. ���Or cordoning off lover’s lane so you can make out with the king like you’re teenagers?” He’s amused by the idea but also happy that you are so happy with your future husband.

“Say what you want, but my fiancé is ridiculously sexy.” And frankly, you’re exceptionally happy about that fact. Not just because you’re glad to be attracted to your partner, but because producing an heir is such a big part of what’s expected of you. It will not be a hardship to fulfill that duty.

He snorts and shoots you a grin. “Most of the world agrees with you.” He admits. “Which is why I’m so confused as to why his cousin is so harsh on him.”

“It’s jealousy, don’t you think?” At least, that’s what you’ve always thought. Javi was graced with looks, and charm, and privilege as well as so many other attributes — and Lucas simply couldn’t stand that his cousin was more beloved. “Lucas doesn’t see that cunning is not the only worthwhile intelligence in the world. That’s the other thing.” A moment later, you extract a travel Scrabble set from your desk drawer with a squeak of triumph. “Spanish Scrabble for an hour?” You suggest, shaking it at him enticingly. “Build that vocabulary like I know you want to?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes but grins. “I don’t know why you claim my Spanish isn’t up to par.” He teases, nodding and sitting down beside you. “I’ll still kick your ass at scrabble, Princess or not.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

TKQ: @storiesofthefandomlovers @mimimarvelingmarvel @patti7dc @missladym1981

My Masterlist!

[logically-asexual]

Style Queen Magazine sends a request for an interview with Gabriel about whether he has gotten or might get inspiration from the miraculous users for his work. Gabriel figures it would be weird to reject them, mostly because it’s Audrey’s magazine, and it should be fine as long as he’s careful with his answers, so he accepts.

the interviewer does ask many of the expected questions like what he thinks about Ladybug and Cat Noir’s costumes setting trends with young people like wearing polka dots or black leather or whatever, as well as general unrelated questions. later they subtly bring up the topic of the peacock by asking him about how blue, one of the colors he uses for his most striking designs, along with red and green, has been seen often in his clothes that also seem to be inspired by birds. and also about how the incoming trend of feathers sparked by that one hat Adrien modeled seems to already be influencing gabriel’s current work.

he answers normally until they mention that someone found an archived design from back when the Gabriel brand had just been established for a few years and it was still growing, but the dress was “ahead of its time” and under-appreciated. turns out it was a blue and green dress inspired by Emilie’s appearance wearing the peacock miraculous, but only Gabriel knew that, of course. he gets nervous when they show it to him, and when the interviewer asks about his inspiration for it Gabriel gives a generic answer that applies to most of his work, pretending it’s just some other random piece.

but then the interviewer brings up pictures of his newer designs, which, they insist, use a lot of rich indigo or royal blue colors paired with resemblance to birds and feathers. they point out that they couldn’t find other designs lately that seem to be inspired by the rest of the miraculous users, unless Gabriel would like to point them out (and, before he can answer) if not then, is he trying to bring back that original design because it has personal meaning to him? they guess not, since he didn’t seem to be very attached to it, so why so much interest in the peacock miraculous?

or rather.. why so much interest in Mayura?

this leaves Gabriel speechless for a moment. Nathalie is standing on the other side of the room about to bite off a corner of her clipboard.

Gabriel is a little red with anger and goes “excuse me?”

the interviewer says they’re only seeking to confirm the rumors about his inspiration for all these new clothes, and Gabriel quickly shuts them down by saying that he accepted this interview because Style Queen is a reputable fashion magazine and not some tabloid for gossip. and then he just stands up and leaves, with Nathalie scampering to catch up behind him.

later Gabriel questions Nathalie about those “rumors” the interviewer mentioned, because, as he can now see after looking it up, it’s all over the internet that he has a crush on Mayura and that’s why he’s making all these clothes inspired by her. Gabriel was totally oblivious to this because he relies on his staff to update him about his public image and he hadn’t even noticed what he was doing with his designs. Nathalie, on the other hand, did know about it, but was too embarrassed to tell him and she had no idea how to bring it up.

now Nathalie is apologizing, swearing that she thought it was just unimportant gossip that would dissipate soon. Gabriel says that anything that could link him to Hawk Moth and Mayura is a huge risk for them, and that he’s even finding already some people who claim Mayura must be someone working at Gabriel. Nathalie’s eyes widen in shock and she walks up to stand on the podium next to Gabriel and look at the screen. he opens an article about that theory and scrolls through it until he stops on a picture of Nathalie and him. around it, the text says stuff like ..about how everyone knows these two have something going on, but that’s not the topic of this article because it’s just clear as day,, the important thing is who is Mayura. and then they put up a picture of Mayura next to one of Nathalie.

and both Nathalie and Gabriel are like.. fuck fuck fuck. specially Nathalie, since she should have known about this and now Gabriel is looking at the screen like he’s going to punch a hole through it.

the article doesn’t have many views or comments but still they now just realized the danger they’re in. and they don’t know what will happen after today’s interview gets published and what everyone will make of Gabriel storming out the room after being asked about Mayura.

and now they have to come up with a plan to ensure people think 1. Gabriel is definitely not attracted to Mayura, 2. Mayura and Nathalie are not the same person. (and Gabriel’s secret personal third objective which is to prove (??to himself??) that he is NOT attracted to Nathalie, not at all).

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 17 - News Flash

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper and the Beaumonts get on a plane to Italy… but they are not riding solo

Word Count: 4,500

Rating/Warnings: M (using the Lord's name in vain, shocking revelations, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: And… we’re back! I know this is a bit delayed, thanks to my new Heaven’s Secret distraction, but I am hoping to refocus myself on this continuously neglected series again for the next few weeks/months so we can make some headway towards wrapping it up. Also, I know we all miss him, and he hasn’t had as much page time as we all (Harper included!) probably want, but I promise that after this chapter there will be a lot more Drake again 🥃

A/N2: Astute readers will probably notice that there is nary a train in sight (in this chapter, or any future ones). This is deliberate because (i) I never understood why PB went in that direction in canon (is a travelling boutique really that important?!), and (ii) trains don’t make sense from a security point of view anyway (apparently the UK’s Royalty and Specialist Protection — which provides close protection to the royal family — used to hate it when Elizabeth II travelled by train, because it was always a massive headache to ensure her safety as trains travel on a fixed route and schedule, with no opportunities for diversion or evasion of things go to pot). So… planes it is ✈️

A/N3: Finally, another special shoutout to @thegreentwin​ for giving me the inspiration to have a crack at creating the tabloid cover page featured in this chapter. If you have not read The Rebel Prince, please do so! It is cute, funny, insightful and the gossip magazine covers that accompany several of the chapters are something else!

Chapter 17 - News Flash

"I thought we're going to Italy..." I remark the next morning as we pull to a stop on the tarmac of a secluded private airfield.

"We are," confirms Bertrand, jamming a fedora onto his head to protect against the ferocity of the morning sun... and hide the brutal sunburn he managed to acquire as a result of spending the entirety of yesterday's Festival outdoors without any SPF protection.

"Then what's with the literal mountain of luggage?" I ask as we step out of our customary limo.

Bertrand fixes me with a red-faced glare over the roof of the vehicle. "Have you learnt nothing from the social season?"

I throw him a deadpan look. "You mean apart from the fact that you insist on packing everything, including the kitchen sink?"

Maxwell's snort drifts up from the backseat.

The elder Beaumont is not impressed with my clapback. "The engagement tour will be one high-profile event after the other, which means that we will have neither the time nor the opportunity to engage in slap-dash shopping sprees. Not only would such proletarian behaviour be rude, but it would be misguided as well, given that we need to ensure that for each event we abide not just by the formal dress code indicated on the invitation, but also that we do not clash with, or indeed overshadow the hosts — or the King and future Queen, for that matter! — in terms of style and colour, all while being thoughtful in ensuring that we incorporate elements from both local and Cordonian designers to visually showcase the strength of the bonds that knit our respective nations together. On top of all that, it is imperative that we—"

"How the heck is anyone expected to pull all that off?" I blurt in disbelief.

"Through careful planning and coordination," Bertrand declares as he comes to join Maxwell and me on the other side of the limo. "Which is why I have taken the liberty of pre-selecting each outfit for each event of the tour, in consultation with the Palace's Master of the Robes."

My mouth drops. "You... Put a wardrobe together? For me?"

"Yes," comes the diffident affirmation. "Given that all eyes — not just those of our fellow Cordonians, but of our host nations' — will be on us constantly, we cannot afford any fashion faux pas."

I stare at my former sponsor mutely, mouth opening and closing like a dumbfounded goldfish.

Maxwell attempts to diffuse my slap-faced reaction with a jovial grin. "Bertrand used to lay my clothes out for me all the time when we were younger. I know he doesn't look it, but he has excellent—"

I shove an accusatory finger out. "He tried to foist me into a Medieval cosplay dress! That is the exact opposite of excellent taste!"

The elder Beaumont bristles. "It was hardly—"

"And how the hell did you afford all of this anyway?" I interject, throwing my arm out towards the carefully stacked Eiffel Tower of suitcases. "Because last time I checked, you were flat broke!"

Bertrand's already ruddy complexion darkens further. "There is no need for you to concern yourself with—"

"How?!"

After the way Maxwell had tried to sell covert photos and Christian and me from New York to the press in a bid to make bank, I am not willing to take any kind of half-baked deflection when it comes to the Beaumonts and money. I've been used one too many times for someone else's gain, so my trust is virtually non-existent at this point.

Bertrand swallows thickly as he averts his eyes. "I... I may have made recourse to an old sewing machine I found in the attic..."

My eyes just about pop out of my head. "You what?!"

I'd expected any one of six million other explanations — he'd sold the vineyard... remortgaged Ramsford... auctioned off every last chair and curtain from the manor... Even offered his soul to the literal Devil...

But using a sewing machine...? To make actual clothes...?

I had obviously caught the sun yesterday as well, and am now suffering from heat stroke...

"Bertrand has always been interested in fashion," explains Maxwell with a perfectly straight face. "He even wanted to enroll at the world-renowned Istituto Marangoni International in Milan to study Fashion Design. But then our father took unexpectedly ill, and—"

"Yes, yes..." interjects Bertrand with an embarrassed wave of his hand. "No need to revisit broken dreams and unfulfilled promises. The point is that I made the best use of what meagre funds and resources we had at our disposal to curate a serviceable selection of outfits for each of us. With a little help from Maxwell, of course."

"I was the mannequin," he declares proudly. "I admit, I got poked a few times in the line of duty, but it was worth it. Bertrand did a stellar job – you're going to love what he made for you."

"I... I don't know what to say..." I admit faintly.

And here I'd been thinking that Bertrand's closet Harry Potter obsession had been a big reveal...

"Yes... Well..." Bertrand clears his throat uncomfortably. "We each have our unique talents. Speaking of... I trust you have been practicing your Italian?"

I frown. "My what?"

"You were supposed to give her lessons!" cries Bertrand, smacking his brother over the back of the head.

Maxwell's retro '60s sunglasses fly off his face. "My Prada’s...!"

"What about French?" Bertrand demands, rounding on me with all the intensity of a furious tomato on the verge of exploding.

"Allard and Schweitzer have been teaching—"

"Some initiative at last!" exclaims Bertrand, throwing his hands up in the air in deliverance. "Good — you'll have some semblance of a basis, then. However, while both languages share a common root — that being Latin — and a border, as a result of roughly fifteen centuries of historical and linguistic divergence, Italian has become markedly different from its Gallic cousin, so we will have our work cut out in making you even semi-proficient by the time we land in Rome. So, I hope you brought pen and paper with you."

My shoulders slump as I watch Bertrand stride off towards the waiting plane. "Great..."

There goes the next hour and a half of my life...

"I knew I had forgotten something..." admits Maxwell, rubbing the back of his head as he retrieves his sunglasses from the tarmac. "But I thought it was just my second favourite pair of boxers."

"It's fine..." I assure wearily him as I begin my own trudge towards the jet. "It wouldn't be a true Beaumont travel experience without a droning Bertrand lecture..."

Though I guess it could be worse. I could be stuck on the royal jet with Christian and Madeleine. Which — after what happened yesterday — would be like staging an aristocratic rendition of Squid Game... 20,000 feet in the air. So, on that basis, I'll willingly subject myself to Bertrand's monologuing any day of the week, if it means I can—

"And there she is..." remarks a familiar, though very much unexpected voice as I step onto the plane. "The woman of the hour."

Jerking my head to the right, my eyes land on Olivia, lounging on one of the cream-coloured leather seats, her killer spike stiletto boots dangling over the armrest as she casually peruses a broadsheet.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in disbelief.

Olivia lowers the paper to meet my eye with a quirked brow. "You mean, on my own aircraft?"

I cast a glance in Bertrand's direction as I make my way down the gangway. "Guess your meagre funds and resources didn't extend to sourcing jet fuel?"

Bertrand coughs evasively as he stores his briefcase in the overhead locker. "Since we are all heading in the same direction anyway, Lady Oliva was kind enough to—"

"Shut it, Beaumont," Olivia snaps. "I am doing this as a personal favour, not an act of charity. As Lord knows that I wouldn't normally tolerate sharing recycled air with this many people in a confined space. So, if you want to stay on this plane, you will save the histrionics for the Italian President."

Bertrand promptly clamps his mouth shut to sink into his seat without another word.

"Wow..." I say, settling in across from Olivia. "He must've been really desperate to come to you for help... No offence."

"None taken," she replies with a breezy shrug as she flips the broadsheet closed and nods to the cabin attendant. "Because the request didn't come from the Beaumonts."

My head snaps up in surprise. "Then who?"

She regards me for a long moment, as if debating whether to tell me. Finally, she lets out a resigned exhale. "Drake."

My jaw hits the floor. "What!"

Olivia scrunches her mouth up ruefully. "He twisted my arm into agreeing to look out for you while he's off playing desert soldier."

I stare at her. "How in the world did he—?"

Maxwell thrusts his head 'round the back of Olivia's seat. "Drake's playing video games! Instead of coming to Italy?”

The Duchess of Lythikos shoves the intruding face away with the palm of her hand. "No, you imbecile! Drake's gone to Dubai." Glancing at me she adds, "I presume they know?"

"They do now," I concede with a sigh.

Thanks to the slew of quick-fire developments at yesterday's Festival, followed by the rabid packing to get ourselves ready for the international leg of the tour, I haven't had a chance to bring the Beaumonts up to speed with everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours.

But they're bound to find out about Drake's last-minute side-trip at some point, so this is as good a time as any to level with them.

Maxwell’s mouth drops with an aghast look. "But I didn't hit him that hard!"

Olivia quirks a brow at me.

"Long story, don't ask," I tell her wearily. Glancing up at Maxwell, I add, "He's gone after Tariq. Bastien found him hiding out on some rich cousin's yacht out in the bay."

"Oh." Maxwell scratches his head abashedly. "That makes more sense..."

"How do you put up with these two?" asks Olivia with a shake of her head as Maxwell sinks back into his seat.

I give her a shrug. "They have a weird way of growing on you..."

"Like some deadly fungus..." she mutters with a roll of her eyes.

"I heard that!" objects Maxwell from behind her.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't eavesdrop, then!" she throws over her shoulder snidely. Turning back to me, she adds, "And speaking of funguses, you can remind your boyfriend when he gets back that you both owe me. Big time."

My gaze darts to hers. "I— We're not—"

"Thank you for confirming it," she interjects with a sly smile. "But also, I'm not an idiot. It's obvious to anyone with a set of eyes that the fool is in love with you... and you with him. It's all quite disgusting, really..."

I feel my cheeks redden. "So, why help us, then?"

She heaves a low breath. "Because you stuck your neck out for me when you didn't have to. Despite everything I did to try and undermine you during the season. And because we have a common enemy."

She tosses the broadsheet that she'd been reading over to me.

Catching the copy of the Cordonia Sun before it has a chance to slide off the table between us, I glance down...

...and my heart sinks as I take in the unflattering picture of myself seemingly facing off against Madeleine under the sensationalist headline.

I shove the paper angrily away. "Hey. I didn't start it..."

"And yet you somehow always manage to find yourself in the middle of it, don't you?" she counters with an arched brow as the jet revs its engines for take-off. "The half-nude pictures... The Beaumonts' financial troubles... The speculations about the real reason Christian gave you a duchy... I mean, even the Duchess of Sussex would have a hard time competing with you when it comes to front-page scandals."

"And you think Madeleine is behind it all?" I ask tightly, indicating the tabloid.

"She would certainly have a lot to gain from waging a targeted media campaign against you," Olivia affirms. "She isn't married to Christian yet, and after what happened with Leo, she no doubt feels threatened by your continued presence at court. So, discrediting your integrity in the eyes of the Council would help her ensure that Christian can never formally pick you over her to become Queen."

"Because she doesn't know I turned him down..." I grumble dejectedly as the plane pulls into the air.

"And certainly would not believe you if you told her, either," she adds. "But she is not the only one with something to lose."

I sit up straighter. "You mean there are other suspects?"

"Yes," she nods. "Namely Godfrey and the Queen Mother."

Bertrand erupts from his seat at the mention of the two names. "That is an outrageous accusation! The Queen Mother would never—!"

"Madeleine is her niece," counters Olivia flatly. "Given that she has no children of her own, she practically treats that golden-haired harpy as if she is her heir. And since she was the one who brokered the original marriage contract between Leo and Madeleine, she clearly doesn't want all that work going to waste."

I frown. "But if everything was in place already, why have a social season at all? Why not just sub out Leo's name for Christian's in the contract?"

"To give Christian the illusion of choice."

My jaw drops. "You're not serious..."

"It would have been in poor taste to simply swap one prince out for another," Olivia advises. "Leo hadn't died... merely abdicated. But that decision nevertheless rocked the kingdom to its core."

"It's true," supplies Maxwell, leaning around with a mouth full of jelly worms. "The headlines were vicious."

"So..." I muse with a frown. "The Palace needed a distraction?"

"Yes," Oliva affirms seriously. "To draw attention away from Constantine's failing health."

"Wait," I cut in. "Constantine is dying?"

Olivia nods. "Prostate cancer. By all estimates, he has less than a year to live."

"Oh, my God..." I gasp, hand flying to my mouth. "No wonder Christian didn't want to talk about it..."

"The Palace is under strict instructions to keep the whole thing tightly under wraps..." she explains. "At least until after the coronation and wedding are both out of the way. They don't want the news to overshadow the first few critical months of Christian's rule."

"So, how did you find out?" I query.

She cuts her eyes over at me. "Like I said at the Masquerade Ball... Christian and I share a special connection. There are no secrets between us. Also – look at who you're talking to. I have files on each of the suitors from the social season. You seriously think I wouldn't know about something as vital to the functioning of the kingdom as the state of the King Father's health?"

"I guess not..." I concede, still trying to process this bombshell. "But how does giving Christian an illusion of a choice during the social season help cover up Constantine's cancer?"

"In the wake of Leo's abdication, support for the Rys family fell to an all-time low. The press started to question Constantine's policies, and the direction that the kingdom has been heading over the past few decades, implying that the country's current trajectory was unsustainable... and uncorrectable."

"I remember reading something about that on the flight from New York..." I recall. "There were suggestions that Leo abdicated because he didn't believe in the future of the monarchy."

"Which wasn't the case at all," she cautions. "But the Palace was worried that such intense media scrutiny would unearth evidence of Constantine's ill health... which would in turn intensify the calls from the republican factions of the country to abolish the system of hereditary rule completely. So, in a desperate bid to reunite the people behind a common cause, and shore up support for the monarchy, the Palace decided run the season again."

"But why?" I ask, still not seeing the connection.

"To charm the country with the fairytale of a royal romance," denotes Olivia sourly. "Because people apparently go ga-ga for that shite..."

Bertrand narrowly avoids choking in his seat across the aisle. "That is a crude and absolutely salacious interpretation of—!"

I whirl across the aisle. "Wait. You knew about this?"

Bertrand folds his arms across his chest. "I am a serving member of the Council. Of course I knew about the Palace's decision to run the social season again. But to suggest that it was all done simply for the sake of—"

"God, you're thick..." interjects Olivia.

Bertrand blanches. "I beg your pardon?!"

"You've been at court long enough to know that the truth is never the whole truth — there is always some hidden purpose or ulterior motive."

"But to suggest that—"

"The Palace needed a believable story — one that could capture the public's imagination — while still serving the needs of the kingdom," Olivia states. "A story of duty and love."

"Between Christian and Madeleine?" I ask sceptically. "But they don't even like each other."

"So?" scoffs Olivia. "The aim was to sell the lie to the populace. Everything else is inconsequential. And can be made to fit the narrative."

"But if you knew all this," I counter, "why did you join the competition?"

"I joined exactly because I knew the season was a sham," she replies heatedly. "To give Christian a genuine choice... not just the one that everyone else was determined to steer him towards."

"Because you love him..."

Olivia nods tightly. "Yes. And I knew it was a long shot. But even if he wouldn't end up being able to choose me — Regina would've made sure to stack the Council votes in her favour — at least I could be there to support him... as a friend."

I feel my heart go out to her, knowing from personal experience how difficult it is to be in a situation where you desperately want to be with someone, but can't because of circumstances that are outside of your control.

"But then, of course..." adds Olivia, once again with her customary breeziness, "you show up from out of nowhere with your hideous accent and relatable backstory—"

"Hey!"

"—and the whole country — Christian included — loses their collective minds. With the result that Regina's plan to make her niece Queen begins to unravel at the seams."

"Which is why she decided to set me up..." I surmise heavily as the jet levels off.

It's been fairly obvious from the start that I'm not Regina's favourite person... But the knowledge that she'd go to such lengths to publicly blacklist me? That's just inexcusable.

"You have no proof of that!" objects Bertrand, butting in again.

"Not directly, no," Olivia admits. "But all the evidence we have to date fits. The money Tariq received for his involvement came from a numbered account located in Switzerland. The blackmail letters distributed at the Coronation Ball were printed on Palace stationery. And as far as motives go, the Queen Mother would have more reason than most to influence the outcome of the social season."

"I cannot believe I am hearing this...!" decries Bertrand with a shake of his head. "The implications alone would be—"

"Ruinous to the Rys family," confirms Olivia. "I am aware. Which is why we must tread carefully in order to avoid tarring Christian with any of this. The monarchy would not survive the ensuing scandal."

"What about this other guy?" I ask. "Godfrey? How does he fit into this?"

Olivia throws her hands up. "Lord, you're more clueless than him!"

"Excuse me for not knowing every single Cordonian nobleman by name," I snark back. "I've only been a duchess for a day..."

"I'll send you my files," Olivia huffs wearily. "All two hundred of them."

My eyes widen. "There's two hundred—?"

"There's more, but those are the important ones," she replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. "And if you want to be an effective duchess, I suggest you study up because you need to have the entire contents of those dossiers memorised and ready to deploy in any given conversation."

"Sweet Jesus..." I gasp faintly, making recourse to Drake's favourite invective, as it certainly fit the magnitude of the task Olivia has just dumped on me.

"You didn't grow up in this world, so you have a lot of catching up to do," Olivia shrugs unabashedly.

"Yeah, I'm very much aware of that..." I concede dryly, rubbing my temples. "So, who is this Godfrey?"

"The Third Earl of Huntford, and Duke jure uxoris of Krona."

My brows furrow in recollection. "Krona... Does that mean he's—?"

"He's Madeleine's dad," supplies Maxwell, popping his head into the aisle again, this time in the company of a CapriSun juice pouch.

My eyes widen. "The man at the garden party! But what does he have against me? I've never even met him!"

"The fact that you are still here..." offers Olivia blandly. "Competing against his daughter for the attentions of the King."

"It's not exactly a competition," I scoff. "I'm not trying to steal him away from her."

"Except that isn't how the press is portraying it," counters Olivia pointedly, tapping the front page of the Sun.

I open my mouth again, but quickly shut it, realising that Olivia is right. As regardless of my personal reasons for being back at court — as the Royal Consort, no less! — the view from the outside presents very differently. And given that Madeleine herself clearly feels threatened by my continued presence at Christian's side, it's no small jump to imagine that her father — who, based on what I saw at the garden party a few days ago, is just as power-hungry and image-conscious as his daughter — would also feel the same.

"Crap..." I huff, falling back into my seat dejectedly.

"Not the most elegant of phrasing," muses Olivia. "But certainly succinct."

"What am I going to do?" I ask morosely, starting up at the cabin's air vents.

"Help me gather as much proof as we can during the course of the tour," Olivia instructs. "So we can narrow down our suspect list... or indict all three of them. In either case, we will be more effective if we work together."

"That plan is akin to sedition!" cries Bertrand, clearly aghast by the very suggestion. "Bordering on treason! All of us are in enough hot water already without—"

"Which is why it is imperative that no word of anything that we have just discussed leaves this aircraft," declares Olivia with a steely look. "Or I will personally hunt you down and turn your face inside out."

I gulp at the gruesomeness of that particular image. "What... What about the staff? Can you trust them?"

"They are all Lythikosians," Olivia states. "Who have sworn blood-oaths to House Nevrakis. They would never dare betray me."

"Good to know..." I admit, watching the cabin attendant re-appeared with a selection of drinks, and wondering if underneath her uniform she is as armed to the teeth as Olivia supposedly is.

"I presume the same goes for your beefcakes?" asks Olivia, nodding her chin towards the back where Allard and Schweitzer have taken up residence for the duration of the flight.

"Yes," I confirm. "I trust them with my life."

She dips her head in approval. "Good. So, as first order of business, I suggest—"

"Can we tell Hana?" interjects Maxwell, bobbing up from behind Olivia again. "She's helping us, too!"

Olivia heaves a breath. "Yes, fine. But—"

I hold up a hand. "And Drake will probably want t—"

"Yes, fine!" she snaps irately. "Anyone else? Your maternal grandmother, perhaps?"

I bite my bottom lip as I peek up at her. "Do we tell Christian?"

Olivia holds my gaze for a long moment. "No. Not until we have concrete proof. One way or another. He has enough crises to manage right now without lumbering him with a major constitutional one as well."

I nod in understanding. The mere suggestion that his godmother and future father-in-law have been conspiring to put Madeleine on the throne (potentially with his fiancée's own buy-in!) would be soul-destroying. Which is why we need to find that smoking gun — ideally several — before we present our accusations.

"Not sure if it will be of any help at all," I say, "but Ana de Luca managed dig up some information on the freelance photographer Tariq was working with on the day of the Jamboree."

"Did you bribe her with another exclusive?" chaffs Olivia dryly.

"We'll need someone to help us set the record straight," I affirm. My shoulders slump suddenly. "But I gave the flash-drive to Drake."

"Which he gave to me," smirks Olivia, pulling the device from the pocket of her jacket.

I gape at the piece of plastic in her hand. "Drake really trusts you, huh?"

"More than most," she shrugs coyly, flipping the drive over to me.

I catch it with both hands. "We should review whatever is on here. Who knows? Maybe the photographer is part of the press corps covering the tour."

"I have my laptop with me," Maxwell offers. "I was going to use it to mix some tunes, but—"

"You'll only get one chance to unravel a high-stakes aristo racket!" I quip, dangling the drive between my fingers.

"God, your incessant American optimism is stomach-turning..." Olivia groans. "And you've clearly spent too much time with Walker."

"Hey," I hit back. "This is the best lead we've gotten yet. We shouldn't discount it. This photographer could be key to linking Regina and/or Godfrey to the plot to influence the outcome of the social season."

"Assuming you can find them..." counters Olivia. "And get them to talk."

I meet her eye with a level look. "Good thing that's your area of expertise, isn't it, Duchess?"

The corner of her mouth lifts craftily.

"But what about Harper's Italian!" disparages Bertrand. "We'll be landing in less than an hour, and she still doesn't know the proper way to greet the President in his native tongue without insulting him!"

I swallow a groan. "Do I really need t—?"

"Being able to carry a conversation with the Head of State in Italian will go a long way in demonstrating to both the public and the press that you are serious about your new role as Duchess of Valtoria," he advises frankly. "And will score you some much-needed diplomatic points with our hosts as well."

"Guess we have our work cut out for us, then," I accede with a sigh. "Any chance for some coffee?"

"Turkish, Irish, or Sicilian?" asks Olivia.

"Which is closest to a latte?"

"Probably the Sicilian," she advises. "If you make it into a granita di caffe."

"I'm feeling Italian already!" I gibe in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit.

Bertrand groans loudly from his seat. "Oh, Dio..."

The story continues in Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I think what people outside the UK (probably some in the UK) don't realise is that the media is an industry that has a lot of posh types working in it. The tabloids especially where you'd have public school types writing articles aimed at working class people in that mockney language they use. There's probably a fair few still annoyed they never managed to turn the British public against Catherine even though they've tried for over a decade. Catherine's mum grew up in a council house, that's closer to lives of most people than royals and aristos. What I think really galls the media is that Catherine has built her reputation over the years without having to court the media. This after the Charles/Diana scandals and then you have the very private William and Catherine. Yes they need the media for their work but they're not down the pub like Harry was in the past venting and gossiping. That an average middle class girl is not only in a loving happy relationship with the heir to the throne but that she's loved and admired by many is just incomprehensible to them. It's that's she married a future king they can't get over, if she married some random aristo they and their set wouldn't care but that she's a future queen some of them still can't get over.

What I think really galls the media is that Catherine has built her reputation over the years without having to court the media.

Or probably more offensively, Kate did all that without wanting to court the media.