Chapter 1
OCTOBER 29
There is a secret amongst us nobles that we all know but never dare to say. It may have been the oldest, unspeakable yet obvious truth in all of Europe. It was the lie of nobility. But who among high society would be daft enough to admit that we were no better or worse, no more lord or ladylike than the masses? That a title did not bring with it class, wit, or morality...I am, of course, that daft for I am confessing this truth, this known secret to paper. Though what can anyone do to stop me?
In this modern era, a title did not even bring the two things it always had: power and respect. Royalty now was nothing more than a spectacle, and our duty was to entertain, and to entertain, one needed wealth. One needed wealth to ensure power and respect. Money made the aristocracy go round. The older the money, the better the ride. Nothing came much older than this family—the House of Monterey. The problem with old things, however, was their tendency to die. The problem with dying, especially when that death was not quick, was the will to survive no matter how futile it may be.
Nothing fought death more than a monarchy.
“Gale, are you listening to us?”
“I’m trying my very best not to, Mother,” I replied as I wrote, bracing myself for my father’s bellowing voice to lecture me into an early grave.
“You are not a boy anymore, Gale—”
“Mother, Father, he is kidding,” my brother cut in before our father could go any further. “He is listening more than he wants you all to know. It is only by acknowledging him that he will stop paying attention.”
Glancing up from my journal, I met their desperate eyes. My father stood like a puffed-up penguin in his dark suit by the fireplace, and beside him, sitting in her chair like the oil painting behind her, was my mother. Her white face seemed to pale with each passing second; the stress was getting to her. Both of them only held back their reprimands and anger at me for the sake of my elder brother. The only one uninterested—and allowed to be so—was my younger sister. She sat sprawled on the couch in her ripped jeans and oversized checkered sweater, nodding her red head to whatever depressing music she was listening to.
“Hello, brother. Welcome to the conversation; I am truly sorry to interrupt your writing. We were all merely discussing the future of our family.” The polite sarcasm dripped heavily as he set Persephone—the King Charles spaniel his wife had reduced him to babysitting while she was in Paris—onto a plush handmade, goose-feather pillow.
“Oh, were you?” I asked with the same tone. “And here I thought you were all deliberating on how to sacrifice my happiness for your own gain. Forgive me; carry on.”
“Gale, my dear, we would never want you to be unhappy,” my mother declared.
“Unless my unhappiness can ensure we remain a great and fabulously wealthy monarchy, of course, then what is a little unhappiness?”
“I have had enough of your selfishness!” my father hollered, his face already turning red from anger.
“My selfishness?” I called back. “It was not I who made bad investments! It was not I who caused our current distress, which cannot be as bad as you all make it seem. Yet it is I you are all trying to force to marry! If I am selfish for refusing, then you are selfish for asking!”
“Galahad Fitzhugh Cornelius Ed—”
“Present, Father, no need to call my whole name!” I cut in only to hear a slight snort of laughter from my sister. Apparently, she wasn’t listening to music at all.
“Enough!” The old man truly stomped his foot, and I would have laughed if I were not amazed. “You will marry whomever this family deems fit, or so help me I will...I will...disown you and banish you from this nation!”
“I’m still a citizen, Father. As king, you can banish me from the monarchy, but under the constitution, you need parliament to get me out of the nation.”
“Good to know we did not waste money on law school for you. But tell me, oh wise son of mine, with your history, do you think they will object?” For the first time since this conversation had started, the slight humor in his voice was evident. His eyes narrowed on me, and his head lifted high as if he’d already won.
Looking away from him, I turned to my sister, who I could always trust to help me drive our parents mad. “Eliza, did you hear that? He’s going to banish me. Whatever am I going to do?”
She pulled out one earbud and looked back to me in all seriousness. “There is only one thing you can do, and that’s to sell your body.”
I gasped, dramatically crossing my arms over my chest. “The horror.”
She snorted, and I broke out into laughter.
“I have had it! You ungrateful little man-child,” he called out to me. “I cannot reason with him!” he snapped at my mother, already marching to the door. “You two talk some sense into the fool. I fear I might kill him.”
“Love you, too, Father!”
Slam.
Persephone whimpered at the sound.
I looked back at Eliza’s wide eyes. “Was it something I said?”
“Must you always be difficult, Gale? Do you think we would ask this of you if it were not important? Do you think we enjoy being in this current state of affairs?” my mother tried to yell, but whenever she was upset, her voice quivered more and boomed less. “You are nearly twenty-seven years old. At what point to do you plan to become an upstanding, supportive member of this family?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up her hand, stopping me. “No! No more of your unamusing commentary. You’ve said enough for one morning. And you!” Her sharp eyes whipped to Eliza, who was her carbon copy in almost every way—from their long, red hair to their blue eyes and large feet. “Since you want to help your brother so much, why don’t we find someone for you instead?”
“Mother!”
“That is a much better idea. Why don’t you all try that first and get back to me later.”
“Shut up, Gale!” Eliza yelled, throwing one of the divan pillows at my head. “What kind of older brother are you?”
“The disowned and banished type?” I replied, catching the pillow.
“I see we have spoiled you all too much. Why is it so hard for you to be serious? Of all the things you could joke about, you chose this.” My mother sighed, shaking her head before walking toward the doors.
“Wait, Mother. Were you serious about me?” Eliza shot up, but our dear, sweet mother just gave her a calm look and then promptly left the room. Eliza’s head spun back to me, her red hair whipping over her shoulder. “What was that look? Why did I get a look? I thought we were sacrificing you!”
“Oh, so it is okay when it is me, but not you?”
“Exactly!” She huffed, rising from her chair, looking to our brother, who was pretending to sleep. “Arty, do something!”
“Why would I do that? With you both about to be disowned, I can finally enjoy the peace and quiet I’ve always wanted.”
I snickered. “Will you redecorate when we are gone?”
“I actually like the décor—”
“You both are the worst brothers!” Eliza snapped at us.
“That is a bit harsh, is it not, Arty?” I asked him.