'Well aren't the pair of you a sight for sore eyes?'

I blink myself awake to see my grandfather standing over me, arms folded across his chest and a wide grin on his face. He's changed out of his comfy winter jumper and is now wearing his smarty pants clothes, pinned with all of his medals and a crown on his head.

'I forgot about the tiaras.' I chuckle and stretch, my muscles tired from my nap.

'It's a crown actually, it's much more manly.' My grandfather smiles pointing to the side of me, 'Quiet, you'll wake your sleeping buddy.'

I move my head to find Asher curled up in the armchair that he's pulled beside my bed. I didn't notice him before given his quiet breathing, but he looks cosy despite his suit. The book is abandoned on his lap and his glasses have fallen onto his stomach.

'I'll be back in a few minutes with your grandmother,' My grandfather grins, raising an eyebrow, 'If there's anything between the two of you, I suggest you work a little harder to cover it up. You know how your grandmother is about gossip, the kingdom will hear about your new relationship before you have yourself.'

'There's no relationship!' I hiss as he turns on his heel.

'Alice in Wonderland?' He says, pointing to the sleeping boy and the book on his lap, 'Everyone in this palace knows it's your favourite fairytale. It's not in your file Marzia, so how do you think he came to his book choice?'

'He asked.' I whisper my guess, looking over at him confused.

'Humphrey made a trip to the library before bringing Asher to his room, take that how you will.' He tells me, gently padding across the floor to the door, 'I'm back in five, my darling.'

I don't know how Asher subconsciously knew that this bed would make me uncomfortable, but with the overhanging exhaustion gone, the feeling of dread finally creeps into my bones. I remember my twelve year old self having to wear socks to bed in the silk sheets because they never felt right on my skin. Every time I would come home, after a meeting away in another country, or one of the many extended hospital visits or captures, my bed was always the one thing I couldn't stand.

Luckily, because I was so small, I could usually ask mum and dad if I could join them, and towards the end, I'd tuck in with my brothers, considering mum wouldn't let me in her room anymore once she'd met Lars. It would take me months before my bed felt welcoming again and those months in between were filled with panic and the most intense, gripping fear of nighttime.

When I spent five months in the hospital after the explosion that hurt my back, it took me almost half a year to be able to settle back into my bedroom again. I don't know how many months it might take me after six years.

I roll over so that I'm on my stomach, facing Asher. He's still dozing, shown in the soft rise and fall of his chest. I lift a hand and gently put it on his shoulder, shaking him as nicely as I can. He doesn't even flinch.

'Ash.' I mutter.

The noise rouses him slightly but the only movement he makes is in his arm. Instead of loosening his muscles to wake him up, they tighten as if he's scared. I inch closer so that my face is level to his, trying to find a way to wake him up without scaring him. I'm so close by now that I'm almost on top of him, and my nose bumps gently against his for a second when I shake him again.

I could kiss him.

Wait, what?

I won't, I wouldn't, and I'm not going to, but it runs through my mind for a second that I'm close enough. I've never been this close to him before, not even in his bedroom before Miss Van Doren walked in. His body is radiating heat onto me and the sensation of his breath on my face is numbing. His aftershave is still present in the air even though he applied it many hours ago.

He's so close.

'Ree.'

My face snaps to his and I watch his lips settle back into silence. I frown, wondering if maybe I had imagined the noise, but only seconds later, his gravelly voice fills the bubble around us once more, barely louder than a whisper.

'Mm sorry.'

I decide by now that my time is almost up, and I don't want my grandmother to be mad at me when I've been home less than a day. I want to know what he's apologising for, what he's dreaming about, but I push the thought away and sit up. The noise stirrs him a little and his lungs erupt in protest at the feeling of his mind returning to him.

'Ash.' I say, louder this time, with a hand still on his shoulder.

His eyes pull open and he looks around the room for a moment before he settles on me. He raises an eyebrow and then moves his body a little, noticing the book on his lap and his glasses that are missing from his face.

'What happened?' He asks, his voice raspy and hardly recognisable.

'Lewis Carroll bored you to sleep. You know, if the words were too difficult to read, you could've asked me to help you.' I say, shaking my hair away from my neck and into a ponytail, 'Our interview is pretty soon, my grandmother on her way to help me get ready.'

'The queen?' He says urgently, and shoots up.

He adjusts his shirt so it's tucked neater into his trousers and pushes his glasses onto his nose. He's just about done trying to flatten the messy mop that is his hair when my grandmother knocks and pokes her head around the door.

When I smile and beckon her in, my grandfather follows and shoots me a concealed, knowing look. I roll my eyes and he drops a kiss onto the back of my head. My grandmother is carrying a white gown carrier and I dread to think what monstrosity she has in it.

'Asher, darling!' She says when she sees him, 'I'm so sorry, I should have mentioned earlier. If Marzia is asleep or busy, feel free to explore the castle, there's a library or a gymnasium if you'd like. She's more than safe in the palace, so please, be our guest.'

I want to start singing Beauty and the Beast, but I don't.

'Thank you Your Majesty.' He says and bows, before taking up his place in the corner of the room once more.

'Myron,' My grandmother says, causing him to look up from his inspection of one of the books on my bookshelves to look at her, 'You had something for young Asher, didn't you?'

'Ah, yes of course!' My grandfather claps and rests a hand on Asher's shoulder, 'My boy, if you just come with me for a moment.'

'Will you be okay Marzia?' He asks, and I'm not sure if the fear in his voice comes from leaving me or being alone with my grandfather.

'Nonsense, she's plenty safe with her grandmother.' He says.

Unwillingly, Asher begins to follow my grandfather from the room, just as my grandmother decides now is the perfect time to pull the outfit from its hanger and giggle excitedly.

'I'm not!' I shout after them, feeling genuine anxiety about my grandmother's plans for my appearance.

For all the wishing I did to be back, I can't say that I missed this.

My grandmother is also dressed, with the tiara worn by our queens for generations resting on her hair delicately, as if the damn thing doesn't weigh a thousand tonnes. She's made me try it on before, and in the two seconds I was forced to wear it, it gave me a fourteen day headache.

Her dress pinches at the waist and is navy and gray, the colours of our clan, and by extension, our country. I have no doubt she will have dressed me similar, just in case in the interview, someone else is mistaken for the missing princess of Alania and I need to be identified by the bold colours.

She holds the clothes out in front of me and a smile appears on my face, a smile of extreme happiness and even more intense confusion. In front of me is a jumpsuit, navy with white and grey flowers dotting around in decoration. The cuffs don our country's emblem and the collar's button shows our crest.

It's smart, there's no doubt about it. It's nothing I would ever consider wearing back in London, but for Alania and definitely for my grandmother, it appears almost, not posh enough. I wonder if maybe my grandmother's mental state has slipped since I've been gone.

'It's got trousers.' I state simply.

'You have your father to thank for that one. He insisted you wouldn't wear two dresses in one day.' She rolls her eyes at her son and shakes the outfit in front of me, 'Well hurry dear, we don't have long before the press begins to arrive.'

I take the hanger and disappear into the walk in closet to change. It almost pains me to take off the warm jersey of Christopher's, but I fold it neatly so I can find it and wear it again later. The clothes fit comfortably, but as I survey myself in the mirror, I notice something a little unsettling.

By the time I walk back into my bedroom, little matte navy heels attached to my feet, my grandmother is already laying out hairbrushes and pieces of makeup over by the vanity. She smiles as she sees me and takes both my arms in her hands, clearly gushing.

'You look beautiful, you're the spitting image of your mother at her age.' She beams, 'Although your mother would have worn a dress.'

'Grandma, this material,' I pull the fabric of my top between my fingers, 'Why is it so thick?'

'It doesn't look thick to me dear, I just thought a cosier material would be warmer for you, you must have forgotten how cold Alanian winters are, after so long in London.' She says, turning away from me, clearly and desperately lying, 'Plus we've never been able to get rid of the draft in the great hall.'

'Grandma,' I say, sitting down on the stool in front of the mirror where she's busying herself, 'Is it bulletproof?'

She stops and won't catch my eye for a second, one hand on my shoulder. She looks at me eventually, fearfully, before suddenly covering her mouth and letting out a small sob. I stand up and tightly hug her, noticing the strong way she holds me.

'It's okay.' I tell her, before she pulls away, wafting her face harshly with her hands and shaking away the tears left on her face. She's not the only Castille family member that doesn't like to show their weaknesses, or their emotions at all for that matter. Charlie inherited that from what I remember.

'I'm so sorry, I'm just being silly.' She excuses herself, smiling despite how much it seems to hurt, 'Your grandfather and the agency recommended it, just as a precaution. Oh Marzia, I miss your brother terribly.'

'I know, I do too.' I say, taking both of her shaking hands in mine, 'But I'm not going anywhere. I've got Asher, and Emilio's going to be here soon, they're brilliant grandma. You'll see.'

'I have every faith in those boys.' She nods, taking a deep and rattling breath, 'Emilio has been a gift from God to this family, I don't know how we would have managed without him. It's been many years since I've seen him, I cannot wait to be formally reintroduced at your father's coronation.'

'There's nothing formal about Emilio.' I joke. She smiles and puts a hand on my cheek, 'And please don't repeat the 'gift from God' bit in front of him. If his head gets any bigger it won't fit in the great hall.'

'There's that famous sense of humour that I remember.' She says and sits me back down on the stool to face the mirror, 'And Asher, I'm thrilled to have him here. I was overjoyed to hear from Emilio that the two of you had become friends. It really shows the-'

'Strength of the Alanian blood?' I interrupt and she nods, 'Yeah, dad caught me up.'

She begins to twirl pieces of my hair around her fingers and pin them up behind my head. She could've easily asked someone to come do my hair for me, but I get the feeling that she's here because she wants to be. I pause for a second, debating whether or not to ask my question, but as she moves onto doing my face, I can hardly bring myself not to.

'Can I ask something?' I ask her.

'Of course darling.' She says.

'Did you know Asher's parents?'

'No, I didn't.' She smiles, 'I would have liked to, but I never had the chance. I knew his grandfather and great grandfather, but never Rusty in all my years.'

'What happened to their family?' I ask. I want to be careful, I don't want to find anything out that might hurt Asher, but I know he won't ask anything of my family even if I tell him to.

'It was very tragic, their family.' She says, shaking her head, 'You know the history of the Thorne family, surely?'

'I know they came to our aid.' I tell her.

'You're right, when our ancestor Alaric Castille became king, he royally honoured Gillespie as a founding father of Alania, making them a royal clan, as thanks for their contributions during the war. They've been renowned for their loyalty throughout the years, and they've always had a close connection to the crown.'

'So why did Rusty give up his claim to the clans?' I say, confused. There's a noise in the corridor and my grandmother pauses in case Asher is coming. When he doesn't, she carries on.

'Rusty's father Lance moved to England with his wife Agnes shortly before Rusty was born. Then when his father died when he was a young man, he was asked if he wanted to resume his father's title. He said he didn't, Alania wasn't his home and by this time, he'd already married Pandora.' She says, meaning Asher was only a few years away from his heritage.

'Why did they leave Alania?'

'We were never sure. Lance and Agnes were dear friends of ours, we always kept in touch, but Rusty never seemed to mind so much about this life.' She says, spinning me back around to face the mirror.

'Could Asher take back his title?' I ask her.

'I suppose he could appeal to the royal clans on behalf of his late father. Has he expressed an interest in claiming his title?' She tells me.

'No, but I think it might be nice if he had the option.' I suggest, neglecting to tell her that when we danced, he'd asked the exact same question.

'You're a sweet girl to think of him.' She says, holding my shoulders.

'He's my friend.' I tell her, and it begins to feel less like a lie the more I say it.

'I hope you know that we truly are thrilled to have him here.' She says, 'Lance was always so proud of his family, and I can't imagine how hard Asher must have found losing his parents. The Thorne family has, and always will be like family to us, and we will treat him as such. I'll be sure to tell him that once his assignment is done here, he is more than welcome to visit anytime.'

'I think he'd really like to hear that.' I smile.

'I hope so.' She replies happily.

Just as she's about to say something else, there's a little knock on the open door and Asher pokes his head round. My grandmother beckons him inside eagerly, and he steps, almost self consciously into my bedroom, adjusting the new suit he's suddenly started wearing.

'Oh my child, you look wonderful! Doesn't he Marzia?' She says, her hands running through the final pieces of my hair.

'Yeah.' I manage.

And she's right. I've seen him in suits before, heck they're his preferred choice of clothing, but there's something about this one that makes him look so much more attractive. His trousers and shirt are so cleanly pressed and his shoes are so professionally shined that I'm impressed he's not slipping all over the floor.

But it's the blazer that shocks me, more than anything. It's the same colour as my shirt, the same colour on the flag of his home country. He's somehow found a few medals that I've not seen before, but as he moves away from the light that's reflecting in his glasses, I notice how well the blue compliments his hazel eyes.

They're brighter than I've ever seen them.

'Oh!' My grandmother yelps, pressing a hand to her chest, 'I've forgotten something, give me one second my dear.'

She then disappears in a flurry out of my room, leaving Asher standing awkwardly behind me. I stand up and look pointedly at his outfit. Just like the afraid fifteen year old Ursula promised me, he looks nervously down at his outfit.

'Is there something wrong?' He asks, panicked.

'No.' I reply simply, standing to face him, 'No, not at all, you look great.'

'Could you do me a favour before your grandmother comes back?' He asks. I look at him, confused and wondering what the hell he wants me to do. Then, he holds up a little black piece of silk, 'Tie my bowtie?'

I laugh and take it from him, wrapping it around his neck and beginning to knot it in place. He keeps his eyes on me instead of my handiwork and it's unnerving to notice how content he looks.

'You know, it would be so easy to strangle you like this.' I comment, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

It's a good thing you love me then.' He chuckles.

'You wish.' I tell him.

'Does it count as a wish if it's already come true?' He asks, and I let go of his tie so it falls unknotted on his chest once more. I put my hands up and shrug, stepping away from him. Laughing, he grabs my waist and pulls me back, 'No, no I'm sorry, please help me.'

I stick my tongue out at him as he grabs my hands gently and throws me a puppy dog face. I finish up his tie just in time to hear a click to the left of us. I snap my head to see a man with a camera in my doorway. Asher instinctively pushes me behind him and I flinch, awaiting some sort of pain.

'Who are you?' Asher asks harshly, keeping his arm out so my whole body is protected by his.

'No, no! Oh no!' I hear my grandmother voice as she barges into the room, 'I'm so sorry, this is Gavroche, he's the royal photographer, he's here for your interview and your father's coronation. I didn't mean to startle the both of you, I'm so sorry my darlings.'

'It's okay.' I breathe, stepping out from behind Asher and putting a thankful hand on his shoulder, 'Just give me a heads up next time.'

'I'm sorry.' My grandmother reiterates, 'I just couldn't resist capturing the two of you. Asher, I would have thought someone as esteemed as yourself could tie a bow tie.'

'Your Majesty-' He begins, stressed.

'No, no don't worry. It took Myron years to figure it out! On our wedding day, he had to keep his eyes closed while I snuck into his room to do it for him!' She laughs.

Asher smiles through relief and laughs along with her. His kiss-ass-ing has taken a step up since we've been here, and it's starting to get quiet mind-numbing. But whatever makes my grandmother laugh, I suppose. It's been a long time since I heard the noise.

Gavroche stays in the corner of the room quietly, and quietly takes a photograph of a book on my shelf. I exchange a look with my grandmother but she waves her hand as if his behaviour is completely normal. There's not a lot normal about him from what I can tell.

He's an odd looking man. His entire head of hair is grey, but still long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail at the back of his head. He's so very thin that it looks as though a mild breeze would be enough to snap the poor man in half. I also know that he's so odd that I wonder if looking through a camera for so long has sent him a little loopy.

'Asher, how about you and Gavroche go meet Myron in his office, and get him downstairs to the interview in the great hall. Marzia and I won't be a moment.' My grandmother smiles, even though I doubt Asher has any idea how to navigate around the palace.

He nods, and leads Gavroche away from my grandmother and I. She spins around, something brand new and shiny in her hands. She places the hair clip on the desk and pulls my hair gently into both her hands.

'I wore this hairpin on my wedding day, I would be honoured if you would wear it for your interview.' She asks me, holding the pin out for me to see.

It's only small, but I can tell the thousands of sparkly rocks definitely aren't rhinestones. It's in the shape of a dove, the animal of our country. It's beyond beautiful, no amount of hatred of girly things can deny it.

I nod, keeping my head still while she braids and swirls my hair into a bun at the base of my neck, before gently clipping in the pin. She rests her head on my shoulder, looking contently at me in the mirror.

'No matter what, you have always made me proud of you darling.' She says, kissing my cheek, 'Did you read over the information from your grandfather?'

'I did it on the train ride over, yeah.' I tell her and she pulls me up.

'Well then, let's not keep anyone waiting.' She says, striding from the room. She pauses for a second, turning and wincing as she speaks, 'Maybe don't say 'yeah' to the interviewer.'

'Gotcha.' I reply and she smiles through her obvious pain at my language.

She walks me down the stairs and I hold onto the banister, really not wanting to fall over and make a fool out of myself, especially since the press begin taking pictures as soon as I come into their view. The heels wobble under my feet and I hope the floaty material of my trousers covers up just how bad.

As a child, I didn't mind the press so much, they always bothered my mother and father, and usually Chris instead of me. But after Chris died, and Charlie 'died', they began to hound the only surviving Castille heir. And let me tell you, their hounding was persistent. I was almost relieved when no one cared about me in London's airport.

I recognise some faces, most of them heads of their newspapers. You don't send your everyday journalists to get the scoop on the princess that has been missing from her country for six years. There are a few people I remember from the funeral. They're shouting my name and trying to get me to look at them.

I stop on the stairs, unaware of the stiffness in my legs, staring at their cameras. The flashes burn in my eyes and I can't stop myself from looking. They were at my brother's funeral, but they didn't feel the grief. They fed off the misery of my family for years, and they're here now, doing the same thing.

They can cover up their intentions for today, claiming they're here to celebrate. But there would be no better headline than if I screwed up somehow. They print stories about my family as if they pity us for what we went through, but I bet their newspapers never sold more than when my brother died.

I take a step back up the stairs, not wanting to carry on walking. I've not had to deal with the press for such a long time, that I'm not sure how to anymore. When I was little, no one expected any brilliant speeches from me, no introspective comment, or dedicated memorial to my brothers, but today, as an eighteen year old woman, almost ready to return to her kingdom, they expect of me so much more.

Gradually, my grandmother reaches the bottom of the stairs, thinking that I'm right behind her. She turns to see me halfway up, and grabs hold of my grandfather's arm. He puts a hand on her back to steady her, and I notice the concern in their eyes.

Asher carefully sidesteps them and walks up the stairs, two at a time until he reaches me. He moves his head into my line of sight so that he completely blocks out the vultures downstairs. He catches my eyes and forces me to look at him. His face is gentle but fierce and determined.

'You don't have to do this, we can send them away.' He tells me, 'But they're just people Zia, just people with cameras.'

'I'm fine.' I say, shaking my head as if my body doesn't agree with me.

'You're fine.' Asher smiles and offers me his hand to help me down.

He takes one step down and I follow. He keeps walking at a slow pace, ready for me to turn around and run at any point, but by the time I reach my grandparents, I realise something that I should have realised all the time before when I was a child.

Chris played the press, he was brilliant with them. He could spin any negative press into a positive, and his smile melted the country. It was a world tragedy when he died. It's not a legacy that I'll be able to compete with, but I'm going to try my damn hardest to make these people remember my brother for the man that he was. It's what he spent his whole life trying to do.

I take note of the agents around the room, and the sniffer dogs that run along the rows of chairs to ensure that no one has brought anything dangerous in their camera bags. I remember that happening once, and we've invested in dogs ever since. I know they'll have done a completely thorough check of everyone who came through those doors, but I still feel fear looking out into the crowd of people, praying that no one gets too close, and gets tackled by security.

The press aren't exactly known for being respectful of boundaries.

From the bottom of the stairs, the press are out of sight, and Asher wraps a wire around me that I poke it into my ear. He holds up the little microphone, signalling that they're going to be right there with me, even if they're not on stage in front of the cameras. One by one, my father and grandparents walk out onto the stage and take their assigned seat. They're not there to say anything, but they're there anyway.

I take one last breath behind the pillar and then walk onto the small stage installation, and the flashes of the cameras begin again. I shake hands with the interviewer and take my seat. Asher takes a stance to the left of the stage to the side, a stupid smile on his face.

'Your Highness, can I start by extending the sincerest welcome from your country. I know the news of your return has been very much anticipated.' The woman smiles, 'I'm Alexi, and I'm humbled and privileged to be sitting with you today.'

'Thank you, the honour is all mine.' I lie, with a smile on my face.

'I suppose our first question has to be, where is it you've been for the past six years?' She asks, and I notice the sudden appearance of microphones from the audience.

'Well, immediately after the death of my brothers, I went and stayed with the Greenewood family, who so graciously hosted me in France. Once I had grieved substantially, I moved to a boarding school in Sweden, where I've been living ever since.' I say, rehearsing the words my grandfather wrote for me.

Just as he instructed, I avoid any mention of the threats against my life, given that this will only serve to encourage them. My hands stay rigidly knotted in my lap, but as I notice the smiles on my families faces, it doesn't seem so difficult.

My father relaxes behind me, ready to settle down and watch me try my best. He was nervous before, he wouldn't stop fussing with his outfit, making sure all his medals are perfectly aligned. But now, his hands are comfortably on his knees, listening to me talk.

'Your country is thrilled to have you home, Your Highness.' Alexi says, shifting in what looks to be a very uncomfortable skirt, 'Considering your education, are we expected to see your permanent return to your country once you have graduated?'

'The plans as they currently stand are that I will return to Alania at the beginning of the new year to assist my father in his rule as best I can, and prepare myself for the role. I have already earned all of the credits needed to graduate.' I inform her, watching as people scribble things down.

'Do you have the name of your mysterious alma madder?' She says, even though I bet someone will have told her not to ask this.

'Unfortunately, I cannot divulge the name, for the security of some of the other pupils. I will say however that it is a wonderful place and the headmistress is the most intelligent and accommodating woman I have ever met.' I say, watching Asher raise his eyebrows and slightly roll his eyes at me.

'Kiss ass.' He mutters in my ear through the microphone, and I have to hold back a chuckle.

'Well you have us all in suspense!' Alexi beams, clearly trying to suck up to me.

'I apologise.' I reply, a hand on my heart. I remember my formal training from years ago and it seems to still be doing me some favours now.

'Do you have any further plans for your education once you return home to Alania?' She asks, glancing down at a list of questions I bet her newspaper has been planning since I left in the first place.

'My current plan is to study history and architecture at the Royal University in the city, but as everyone knows, plans can change. I know several pupils already at the university who highly recommend such courses.' I inform her, neglecting to mention that one of those pupils was Loki.

'Speaking of fellow pupils, are there any romances set to be revealed during our holiday period? Any engagements before your eighteenth birthday?' She giggles, wiggling the fourth finger on her left hand.

'None as of yet, sorry to disappoint.' I smile, although I really wish people would stop bringing that up.

'What do you say to the rumours that you're about to begin your arranged marriage with a young crown prince Master Francesco from Italy?' She asks and I realise just how much I want to hurt this woman.

There has been talk before about my marriage and how the most helpful to my country would be a union with Francesco from Italy. He's an okay kid, but our families have been fighting for years, and so while our marriage would be a potential resolution, I can't see it happening anytime soon.

'I would say they're just that, entirely rumours.' I tell her, and I see Asher looking at me with a clenched jaw.

'What about your bodyguard?' She asks.

I frown, and instinctively look towards Asher. I very soon regret this, given that all of a sudden all of the cameras are on him. Another agent to the side of the stage stands slightly in front of him, so that most of his body is hidden from the reporters. He looks at me concerned.

'I'm sorry, I don't understand the question.' I say forcefully, pulling the attention back away from Asher and onto me, angrily looking at Alexi.

'Have you not seen the recent photograph surfaced of the two of you?' She smiles sweetly.

Oh, I really want to hurt her.

'As you know, I've only recently entered the country. Forgive me if I haven't had a chance to read the tabloids about me.' I say, trying not to grit my teeth, 'What photograph?'

'The photograph of the two of you outside the gates this morning.' She says, 'Is there a romantic connection between you?'

She holds up in front of me a shiny photograph of Asher and I in the car, she must have had this printed off especially to show it to me now. My grandmother doesn't react, but I notice my grandfather move an inch in his seat to better see what she's holding. It's the exact moment this morning, by the gates that Asher had hold of my hand, and had his on my cheek. It wasn't exactly innocent at the time, but boy does it look suspicious now.

I look over at Asher whose cheeks are almost bright red. My grandmother is looking at me and I can't decide how much she wants to kill me, but it's so not good. My father can't seem to hide his amusement, so it's good that he takes this time to bow his head and adjust his medals again.

'My bodyguard, as well as being a talented agent, is my friend, with a surprisingly generous heart. There is no romantic relationship, simply good will.' I excuse, trying to diffuse my grandmother's tension.

I feel a genuine pain in my chest having to say nice things about Asher. But believe me, it is the first and only compliment I will ever pay him.

'Marzia,' My father says between the interviewer and I quietly enough so that the cameras cannot hear him, 'Would you like a moment?'

'No, I'm sure we're moving onto more serious questions, are we not? Less tabloid?' I smile sweetly at Alexi, knowing that if she doesn't change the subject and fast, that I'll be getting up and walking out, and she'll lose her interview.

'Of course.' She bumbles, pulling her piece of paper in front of her nose once more, 'One of the questions the people of Alania are dying to know, who are you wearing to your father's coronation?'

'My grandmother has picked an outfit and designer, and I assure you that she has excellent taste in clothing and will have made a wonderful decision.' I inform her, trying to hold back the gag at the thought of the dress my grandmother has chosen. My grandmother beams proudly.

'Let's talk about your brothers.' She says, and I bite my tongue to hide the smile that occurs as I picture shoving her from her chair and off the stage.

'What would you like to ask?' I ask her, gesturing with as little aggression as possible. My father squints his eyes, knowing I'm reaching a place I'm not happy with.

I bunch my hands up tighter so that my nails are cutting into my palms. My jaw feels so clenched that I'm worried it's going to get stuck. I look over at my family and Asher catches my eye from behind them. He gestures to breathe in, and out. I smile and nod ever so gently, copying his actions until my chest hurts less.

'Every year in Alania we hold tribute to the fallen princes on the anniversary of Highness Christopher's funeral and Highness Charles' death.' She tells me, even though this is something I obviously already know, 'Do you plan to attend the ceremony at the palace?'

'Of course.' I breathe, 'I plan to be living in Alania permanently by this time and I wouldn't miss it optionally.'

'Would you care to share a memory of your brothers in remembrance at this time?' She says, and I know full well that she's looking for a headline, some bold print in a magazine about some memory of my brothers.

'I know my brothers would be overjoyed and relieved that I'm back where I belong. This morning I was thinking back to Christmas when we were children, and Chris, Charlie and I were watching a film while my mother tried desperately to get us in and out of clothes fittings. You know how reluctant the boys were in the fashion sense.'

This causes a ripple of laughter to surge through the crowd, remembering the many times that Chris or Charlie would take off their ties in church, or at events, or sometimes even emerge from the bathrooms in hoodies because they couldn't stand the tuxes.

'My brothers played off each other, they were best friends. There isn't a thing they did separately, including their terrible antics.' I pause, choosing my next words carefully, 'I'm glad that, wherever they are, they're together at least.'

The crowd seems to nod and Alexi shows me a genuine smile for the first time this interview. If my brother's memories have to be front page news, at least they're happy ones. And if not, their hoodies might at least make page six.

'In recent years, there have obviously been several announcements within the royal clans in Alania, do you care to comment on the recent rumours that your childhood friend Zoë Greenewood is engaged?' Alexi asks.

Ah, and she's back to being an asshole.

'I'm sure if the family has anything to announce, they will do so in their own way. As for me, I haven't heard any such rumours.' I say, getting dangerously close to running out of pre-planned statements to list off.

'How about the speculation that your mother, Bonnie Wilquette will be leaving her husband and moving back to Alania?' She asks.

Well boy, this is news to me.

'Excuse me?' I choke, wondering what drug this woman must be on to bring up the future king's ex-wife to the future king, and said ex-wife's daughter. Alexi begins to repeat her question, but I hold my hand up to her, 'No I heard what you said.'

'Zia.' My father says warningly in my ear.

'I apologise, but I was told the pretense of this interview was to reintroduce me to my country and my people. I missed the subtext of uneducated gossip about my mother.' I say harshly, knowing that my mother holds her reputation to the highest standard possible.

'So you're claiming this to be untrue?' Alexi asks again, her pen poised in her hand.

'I'm claiming that it's none of your business, rightfully so.' I tell her, forcefully, 'Do you have any more questions worth my time?'

'Marzia.' My grandfather addresses me aside from the microphones.

'I'm sorry grandfather, but what does my mother's marriage have to do with my father's coronation, or my return to my country? She doesn't even live in Alania, and she's not part of the royal family anymore, it's gossip for the sake of gossip, and it's cruel.' I tell him.

'Father, she's right.' My father backs me up, leaning in closer and addressing Alexi, 'My ex-wife has her life, and it is purposefully kept away from the press for this exact reason. Marzia is part of royalty and therefore the public eye, Bonnie is not. Please, respectfully, keep her out of this.'

I look at my father, realising just how much he still loves his ex-wife. My grandmother leans forward and I wince, waiting for her lecture. Instead, she turns to address the cameras.

'As much as Bonnie will always be part of our family, and we are so grateful for this, her decision to protect her children and herself from the press is something we will honour. Please keep questions to Marzia and the current standing royal family without baseless rumours.' She says, and I realise quickly where I got my passive aggression.

'Does the royal family wish to join Marzia in this interview?' Alexi asks, gesturing to the microphones that are now turning on my grandmother.

'If you'll have us.' My grandfather says respectfully. Alexi nods eagerly, getting more than she bargained for and reorganising her papers. My family reorganise themselves in their seats to be in sight of the camera for a new line of questioning. I breathe a sigh of relief that my spotlight is now split by four.

Asher nervously stands closer to the stage to ensure we're still protected despite the unexpected interview expansion. Alexi seems star struck with the number of royal family members sitting on the couches willing to answer her questions, the king and queen, the future king and the crown princess. Instead, she looks at Asher.

'Agent, do you care to comment on the photograph?' She asks.

'Seriously?' I snap and she nods, adjusting her hair and swivelling in her seat to face my father.

'Your Majesty Percy, would you inform the press on the active roles that Marzia is going to oversee as her role of princess, and do you think her absence from the country is going to affect her ability to perform these tasks?' Alexi asks, and I can't tell whether or not I take great offense to this.

'Marzia, despite living in Sweden, has held a very active role in the decision making of this country as it is. While she's only seventeen currently, she turns eighteen on the twenty-seventh of this month and then will be officially sworn for various roles within government and monarchy.' My father lies, knowing I've been involved in nothing, I can't have been.

'Roles such as?' Alexi pushes.

'These roles will be announced at a later time when formalities have been put in place.' My father says, doing very well at evading the actual question.

Just as I start to relax with the attention off me, Alexi catches my eye, 'Marzia speaking of, do you plan to have your birthday in the country?'

'I do, I'll be remaining in the country until the end of the month.' I nod, and Asher looks at me curiously.

'I didn't know your birthday was next week.' He whispers into my ear through the microphone.

'I know, that was the point.' I hiss back, just as Alexi interrupts.

You know, I'm starting to get a very strong distaste for this woman.

'Do you have any celebrations planned? Is there to be a ball that is yet to be announced?' She grins.

Even if there was, you wouldn't be invited.

'Marzia, by request, will be spending her birthday with her family and friends.' My grandfather explains, 'Together we chose against having a large celebration as given her recent return, there has to be an increase in security that cannot accomodate a large celebration so soon following coronation day.'

'Is there anything we need to be worried about, regarding threats on the princess?' Alexi asks, even though she'll be under direct orders not to ask this.

Thanks Alexi, I guess that cat's out of the bag now.

Although, in fairness, a cat should never be in a bag. A bag is a terrible place for a cat.

'Of course not.' My grandmother cuts in, clearly making her statement final.

'Marzia,' Alexi addresses me, 'Did you know your bodyguard prior to his assignment?'

Even though she's digging for some past dirt from my teenage years, I don't stop the question. My grandmother waits a moment, looking between me and Asher, before looking at me to let me know I'm okay to answer the question. Eventually, I do.

'I did.' I nod, getting ready to lie, 'Our schools, along with many others in Europe have educational exchanges between countries and I first met him when we were twelve. Since then, we have frequently met through travel.'

'What was your first impression of him?' Alexi asks and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

'I can't say it was always smooth sailing, you know how teenagers can be. But he's a wonderful person and dedicated agent, and I'm thrilled he's here through this process.'

'Is he Alanian by heritage?' Alexi smiles, really wanting to dig the knife into every aspect of childhood trauma in this interview.

'He is.' I nod, fake smiling.

'Is his bloodline any that the Alanian public will be familiar with?' She asks and Asher stiffens and turns his head further away from the cameras. I'm suddenly very thankful that he's mostly behind the pillar, because I know this way, no one will have had a decent enough photograph of his face.

'His family were dear friends of ours, but not associated with the royal procedures.' My grandfather says, coming to the rescue. I know it must hurt for Asher to hear that his family cannot be celebrated in his country right now, but I know in the long run, it's more important for his protection.

'What do you say to speculation that your bodyguard is the missing Thorne heir?' She asks and my grandfather sits back, unsure how this question has made its way to the press, and somehow on stage to us.

'The Thorne family will always be very close to us even if they are not geographically.' My grandmother says, avoiding the question as best as she can.

'Does your bodyguard care to comment?' Alexi asks me.

'No, he doesn't.' I interrupt, 'Alexi, thank you for your time.'

Thank you for being a huge arsehole.

I stand up and wait for a second with my family for photos, before descending the stairs and grabbing Asher as soon as we're out of sight. My grandparents bow gracefully and pose for a few more seconds alone, before shaking hands with Alexi and following me. I move Asher and I further away from the crowd and their voices quieten.

'How did they know I was a Thorne?' Asher asks me, just as my grandparents appear alongside us. I can tell he's panicked, there's no use being a secret agent if everyone knows who you are, and it's not a leap for everyone back at Thorne Academy to put everything together and risk both of us completely.

'I don't know.' I tell him honestly, but I feel the worry tightening in my chest.

My father walks over to us and takes my arm, but looks around as if he plans on moving past us quickly, 'I'm going to speak to the ACS this afternoon about Asher's identity. I'll get to the bottom of this for you, my boy.'

'Thank you Sir.' Asher says, still dazed by the interview's abrupt and personal end. My father leaves us just as my grandparents move over.

'Asher, please accept my sincerest apologies for allowing your involvement. If you would like, we can organise for that part of the interview to be redacted.' My grandfather says.

'Yes, please.' I demand, before giving Asher a chance to answer.

'No, I don't want to be any bother, Your Majesties.' He says and bows to them.

'It's no bother at all my boy, your grandparents were dear friends of ours, it is no bother to honour the wishes of their grandson.' My grandmother tells him.

'You knew my grandparents?' Asher says before he can stop himself. He then pauses and looks horrified that he had the nerve to speak out of place. True to their nature, my grandparents don't notice a bit and turn to talk to him about his family.

'We did,' My grandfather nods, 'We were devastated by their passing, and we were so sorry to hear about your parents. We hope you recognise Alania, and our home as your own, and if there are any questions we can answer, we would be more than happy.'

'Do you-' He pauses, and looks at me for a second, 'Do you know what happened to my parents?'

My grandmother looks down before putting a comforting hand on his forearm, 'We don't my child, I'm sorry.'

'Thank you, Your Majesty.' He says and bows again.

When they walk away, I turn back to Asher and find him looking at the floor, 'Are you okay?'

'I don't know.' He answers quietly, 'I don't know anything about where I come from.'

I take his hand and pause for a second, 'Will you let me take you somewhere?'

I only know one thing that will be able to fix this. Asher nods, and we take off down the corridor. The only way to find out whatever he wants to know about his family, is to visit the east wing.

'Where are we going?' Asher asks me, as if he'd suddenly only paid attention to us moving.

I don't answer him, but instead push on a set of double doors that swing open. They reveal the largest collection of books, possibly in the whole of the country. There are sections for children's books from my childhood, and the ones Adanna and Tegean read when they visit.

There's an entire bookcase filled with the history of the great wars, and the emergence of the royal clans in Alania, there's books on Stalin, and root vegetables, and the invention of the turbine engine. There's even an extended version of the history of mosaic tiling.

The room is so large that I could stand at one side of the room and scream, and someone on the other side wouldn't be able to hear me. There are ladders and desks everywhere and lamps above every comfortable armchair. It's heaven if you're someone like me, and it might just hold the answers that Asher needs.

I walk him down the aisles, running my fingers along the books that I so fondly remember. The entire Shakespearean works is a little faded from my bedtime stories, and Alaric Castille's bible is left in pristine condition in a glass case, even though I'd kill to hold it just once.

We reach the row I've been looking for and Asher stops beside me. His eyes skim over the titles, piles and piles of books with the names of our people. Castille takes up a good bookshelf of its own, lord knows we have some history.

'If you want to know about your father, this is the best place to look.' I gesture, finding the book with his last name.

It's not as heavy as the others, and it looks as though it's never been touched. The pages are dusty and as I hand it to him, his face looks like I've just given him a bomb.

The Complete History of the Royal Clan of Thorne.

In a way, I guess maybe I have.