Page 20 of Royal Catch
Gabriel
If my father weren’t so ill and my mother so distraught, I would never play along with this ridiculous game. But my parents are truly happy, smiling for the first time in a good year, which is the only reason I’m standing in the shadows of a cave on the far side of the island, waiting for the princess—the winner—who’s figured out the final clue. My only consolation is that the games will be over soon. My mother cannot help herself from continuing the daily competitions. She and my father are enjoying themselves too much. Yesterday she sent two princesses packing. If she keeps that up, two leaving every day, it’ll be narrowed down to two by the weekend. What she plans to do with the last two for the next two weeks makes me uneasy. She could pit them against each other. She could test each of them separately. Or the more likely answer, which I’m really trying not to think about, is that she has them go on dates with me à laThe Bachelor. Knowing the final choice is not entirely up to me, I don’t see why I have to go through all the work of entertaining them. Polly would entertain me just by being herself.Stop fixating on her.I know she cannot be queen, but ever since our kiss, hell, even before that, the first time I laid eyes on her, I was drawn to her. I dreamed of her cheetah heel clocking me on the jaw in the heat of passion the very first night she arrived.
I looked her up online last night. She’s from Beaumont, a chain of tropical islands in the Caribbean with a thriving tourist industry. The few pictures of her show her in hats with veils over her face for modesty, smiling, her dark curly hair tied back. The monarchy on Beaumont has done well in keeping strict adherence to tradition and is well revered by its people. My mind keeps turning over the puzzle of Polly. If she comes from a good traditional family, why does she seem so far from the royal mold? The only thing I can think of is that her time in the US for her education gave her a taste of a different life, and upon return to her traditional home, she went through a rebellious stage. How else to explain her revealing clothes and complete lack of restraint? She says what she wants, does what she wants. She seems very open and free.
Could she manage the role of queen? Or would it represent everything she’s trying to get away from?
I take a seat on a flat rock. This has got to be the strangest treasure hunt in the history of treasure hunts—a series of athletic challenges leads to each clue before finally leading to the treasure. My mother completely disregarded the tame suggestion from Marguerite to use nature as clues. My father came up with the challenges and was quite giddy about it, from what I heard. He was always an athlete at heart. Unfortunately, that is not what these princesses have been raised to be. Sure, they may excel on horseback, but cycling? Throwing a shot put? Kicking a ball past the goalie? I don’t even know what else. I stopped watching on the closed-circuit TV when Marguerite kneed the goalie (poor William) in the nuts, picked up the ball, and tossed it in the net, apparently forgetting she was supposed to kick the ball in. She should be out for unsportsmanlike conduct, but the king and queen find her too entertaining to dismiss. My father laughed until he cried.
Polly was amazing to watch earlier. Once she realized the athletics involved, she put her high-heeled sandals in the bicycle basket and did the remainder barefoot. She kicked that ball hard too, using the side of her foot. It sailed right past William.
I was told three of them were working on the last clue, which would lead to a hike to this cave, balancing a stack of blocks on their head. The things my father thought up! At least his mind still works, even while his body is failing him.
I’m in the shadows, so they won’t see me until I want to be seen. The camera is at the entrance to the cave and doesn’t reach this far back, which lets me relax. I played in this cave as a boy with my younger siblings. There are ledges and hideaways, perfect for a clubhouse or, when we were older, privacy for meeting a girl. That was before the hammer came down over nondisclosures and keeping the royal gift covered. Ah, the stupid carefree days of youth.
Suddenly my younger brother by a year, Phillip, appears, grinning ear to ear. “Well, well,” he chortles, stepping into the cave, smiling some more at me.
Before he can get a jab in about my active participation in this ludicrous game, I close the distance and growl, “Where have you been?”
He brought an insane wedding planner into our home and let her run wild with a wedding full of people in stuffed-animal suits. And then the wedding planner, who claimed to be some by-blow of a previous king, sabotaged a second wedding on the same day. The palace was in chaos, and then Phillip disappeared right along with the wedding planner.
“Nice to see you too,” he says. “I wanted to lie low after that furry wedding debacle, and I knew you were pissed about the wedding planner I hired. I went to Monte Carlo to see Adrian.”
Adrian, our youngest brother, is a card shark. He loves a good high-stakes poker game.
I spear a hand through my hair. “Did you know about this bridal competition?”
He hesitates, and I have my answer.
“Fuck, why didn’t you warn me?”
“I couldn’t tell you. You were already so mad about the wedding stuff. I thought you’d have a conniption over the bridal competition, and I didn’t want that anger directed at me. It wasn’tmyidea.”
I shake my head. We haven’t brawled in years. I’m above that now. Mostly.
He turns to look out the cave entrance—still no princesses—and turns back to me. “So…here we are. What made you go along with it?”
I straighten my spine. “It’s my duty.”
“Your duty is to hide in a cave?”
“Fuck you.” I don’t put a lot of heat into it because I’m actually glad he’s back. Being so close in age, we’ve always been tight. And he’s one of the few people not put off by my sometimes gruff manner. I blame it on my Viking ancestors. I should be leading men into battle or conquering new worlds. Instead I’m bound by civilized royal tradition. It takes great strength to do one’s duty, to think of the greater good of your country, of your family, above yourself. That doesn’t mean it’s easy.
He smiles. “One more thing. Our brothers and sisters have been summoned. They’re supposed to check out the remaining two candidates this weekend.”
I go cold. I’m sure they’ve been summoned because of our father’s declining health too. It will be difficult and painful for everyone involved. I keep that to myself.
“Wonderful,” I snarl. “Everyone should have a say in my wife.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Stay strong, brother.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, even if he’s wise enough not to let it show on his face. I barely resist slapping him upside the head. “Piss off.”
He leaves, chuckling to himself. I return to my flat rock in the shadows to contemplate the indignity of my life.
A short while later, Marguerite comes into view, walking carefully along the shifting sands of the dune. No one else is in sight. A block falls off the stack of three on her head, but she doesn’t bow out like she’s supposed to for failing the task, she keeps going. I see now this was the true test. Full effort by the rules or bow out. The queen of Villroy does nothing halfway and must follow the rules prescribed by royal traditions. Marguerite definitely can’t win now, entertaining or not.
A blond woman comes into view behind Marguerite, and I’m shockingly disappointed not to see wild dark curls. I thought Polly would have this locked down since she’s the most athletic. The blond woman suddenly falls to the ground, her ankle twisting in the shifting sand, the blocks scattered around her. A moment later, she carefully stands and limps away, bowing out.
