It takes five women almost two hours to get me ready, with Ernesto running desperately between my grandmother and I, acting as resident project manager. It's an exhausting process, made harder by the tight waist and heavy material, although most of my pity is deflected to Asher, who simply has to stand to attention beside me the whole time.

He's been off all morning, silent and twitchy and I hope once this high stress day is done, he can relax and actually enjoy some time in his home country. I wonder at one point if there's something else bothering him, but when a makeup artist accidentally smudges some lipstick, chaos breaks out once more and I have to forget that idea.

I have to forget that, along with most other things today, because even I know how important this is for us, not just for dad, but for our family. My prior days of sneaking out of the castle, swearing at mum and wearing clothes not pre-tailored for me are over, just for the next twenty-four hours, as I have to keep reminding myself.

This day is historical, monumental and so, so important for my country and I'll be damned if anything ruins it, least of all me. Today I will pretend to be the people's perfect princess, and tomorrow the journey to become her will begin.

When everyone is done, they leave the room to tend to my mother, who is more than happy to take advantage of Ernesto's presence in the castle, leaving Asher and I alone in my room. I try to avoid looking in all the mirrors the team have set up, but the girl I saw in this dress two days ago seems to have relaxed a little and she's found some confidence to match the beauty of such a dress.

Today, she is strong and capable and ready to begin her life in the royal monarchy, alongside a family who has fought so hard to get there.

With a dress covered in golden leaves, beautiful examples of life, I am reminded how lucky I am to get to stand beside my father, when Christopher never got the chance, and Charlie is still running scared. I muster as much dignity as I can for all three of us and smile, because despite none of us having been to this cathedral in six years, today we're going together.

If my smile can comfort Charlie, who I know will watch this online, for even a second, I intend to do it the whole damn day. Asher has also apparently adopted the same philosophy, considering the stupid grin on his face.

'Are you gonna stop staring at yourself at some point today?' He smirks. I shove his shoulder and walk towards the balcony for some air that isn't lethally contaminated with hair spray. He follows me, 'Let's just have fun today, okay?'

'I can't.' I tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

'And why would that be?' He asks.

'You made me promise to be on my best behaviour.' I grin, walking back over to the balcony when the air feels lighter again.

'Always ready with a sarcastic comment.' He chuckles, but makes an interrupting noise when my hand goes for the door, 'Actually, you're not allowed outside, sorry.'

'Why?' I ask.

'Apparently, there's reporters that have hired boats and are camped out in the cove.' Asher admits, 'They've been trying to get pictures of you all morning. You're under strict instructions to stay away from the windows.'

I nod, trying not to remember all the other faces and voices that dictated my movements when I was younger. Every day before today, Ash hasn't had an ear piece and a microphone down his sleeve, and despite his beautifully tailored suit, I can tell there's a bulletproof vest underneath. Alissa has styled him in a navy three piece, with gold detailing, tie and pocket square.

In fact, she's added so many little golden accessories everywhere that there's no way it was a coincidence, nor do I believe for a second it could have been. His light brown shoes match the strap of Charlie's watch that I notice he's wearing, and his golden eyes look like they've been perfectly designed for today. He's bought new glasses and his curls are neater than usual. I don't know why they've bothered to make us match, especially since my grandfather already reminded me of the policies of agents dating their clients.

Basically, it's not great. Especially if that client is royalty.

'Doesn't the balcony count as my bedroom technically?' I plead, looking longingly at the key in the lock that really shouldn't be so easily available. I tell myself this isn't like London, there are people and gates to keep me safe, I'm allowed to open a window here without worry.

'Sorry.' He smiles, and pauses to listen to something in his ear, 'Your mother is apparently running rings around the agents. She's got one of them on babysitting duty for Ansel.'

'You dodged a bullet there.' I say, attempting to shrug a little, but the material is too tight. I consider that my grandmother may have done this on purpose to stop my London mannerisms, but either way it's probably a good idea. Dad finally accepts his crown and I'm to the side, his hunchback, shrugging daughter.

'Actually, I think Ansel is less work than you, although he does move really fast.' He chuckles and I frown, wondering when Asher had ever really had the chance to see him, 'The other day when you were with mother? I wandered around and found Lars, we had a good talk, and he kept having to jump up to chase after him. He's getting so confident with walking.'

'You had a talk with Lars? How the hell did that go?' I ask, skeptical.

'Pretty good.' Asher admits, 'He was telling me about your mother, and their family after everything happened. About how your mum went through a really dark time. He said it was really lonely being all by himself.'

'Why is he telling you things he won't say to me?'

'I guess it's hard to complain to someone who had it worse.' Asher suggests.

'Is that why you won't ask for help? With your parents?' I ask, turning around and having to pull my dress behind so that it doesn't curl uncomfortably at the bottom. Instantly he straightens his shoulders again and I can tell we're in for a conversation he doesn't want to have, but might be necessary.

'Zia-'

'I just want you to know that the help is there if you want it.'

'Marzia-'

'There's a whole team of people who do this for a living. They can find your parents if you want. They're experts at finding people-'

'Except the people who killed Chris.'

There's a silence that follows that seems to bounce off the walls and straight back to me. Asher's face looks like it's been slapped and I expect mine might look similar. His mouth falls open slightly as if the words had escaped before he'd properly thought them through, which I expect was exactly the situation.

I let the words settle over me, wondering what the tightness in my chest represents. Hearing Asher talk about my brother is never normal to me, he's been a boy at school who called me Raine for so long, that anything other than baseline familiarity is alien. I don't like how his tongue pronounced the letters of a name I hold so close, I don't like the way he snapped.

The heart beat bouncing around my chest could be due to hearing his name at all, it's always jarring to talk of a brother I will never know again, but somehow I don't think that's it. Maybe he's right, he probably is. It's been six years, and they're still no closer to finding his killers or avenging him.

He might be right, it might be that it stings to hear his name. Whatever lens I use to look at Asher's comment, I find myself still hating him for daring to use Chris against me. I can't help but find myself hurt.

'I'd like you to leave please.' I say quietly and move away from him towards the door.

'Zia, I'm-'

'Miss Castille.' Comes a voice from the doorway. There's a man wearing a suit, with another just to his right. Their attire doesn't match Asher's, but it's bulked out the same way with bulletproof lining. They have walkie talkies more obviously strapped to their waists, but I assume they hid Asher's because he has to be stood closer to me all day, and might be on pictures if he's unlucky, 'The car is ready for you.'

'I thought I needed to see my grandmother first.' I frown, the slight change in schedule creating a pool of nerves in my stomach. I need a smile from her before I can face my country today.

'She's regretfully had to depart already. The rest of your family are ready when you are.' The second man says. They look more nervous about today than I do. Asher still can't look at any of us.

'Well, we best get going then.' I say, hoisting the thick material of my dress up to reveal the heels I'm struggling to walk in without catching the material.

Silently, the four of us file out of the bedroom and begin the walk down to the front entrance, where I've heard reporters have been camped out since last night. Emilio hinted in a text this morning that he had to sneak past them when he got in late. I hope that means that he and Nate managed to reconcile. I'd like to think it was with words, but whatever way works. Thankfully, their relationship doesn't have to revolve around me anymore.

One of the men walks in front of me, making sure not to walk too fast, but the truth is, he keeps nearly tripping me. The other walks behind and Asher takes up his usual place by my side. I want to tell him to back off and walk a few steps behind, but with today's importance, he'd never say yes, and I can't have an argument making me late.

'The principle is on the move.' Asher says into his sleeve and for some reason the comment irks me.

'The principle has a name, asshole.' I snap.

The other two bodyguards share a look and Asher clenches his jaw. It seems that his shame has dissolved into anger and I can't wait for the argument I expect we'll have later where I can rip into him the way I used to. I don't expect it'll feel the same, because every single insult he's used over the last six years might have stung, but they never felt like an attack on my brother.

We arrive downstairs to the maids and staff lined up to curtsey. The formality of these things isn't wasted on me, so I smile and wave politely, but can't help but feel the difference in discomfort from when I was twelve, to now. I knew then I didn't like this, but with six years to understand really why, it makes it all the more strange. Maybe I should've forced Emilio to curtsey to me more, that way I'd be used to it.

We walk outside and a man stands with an umbrella waiting to shield me from the weather. As soon as the wind hits my face, the screams from outside begin and make me think they're one in the same. There's little flashes and people waving flags and a general sense of joy that I didn't feel much when I was a kid. For most of my memories of days like these, there was usually a day of mourning, with little to be particularly pleased about, especially not after Christopher's death.

It occurs to me that the last time I performed this charade, was the day we were due to put him in the ground, and the day someone tried to kill Charlie. It's the day everything changed, and I have to remind myself that today feels different, and that (hopefully) no one was going to try to assassinate anybody today.

It's a short few steps down a red carpet from the marble entranceway to the awaiting open car door, but I make the most of it, waving politely the way I was taught and genuinely feeling a smile towards the people here to support my father. When the door shuts me in and the black windows seal me away, I almost wish I could take a few of these people with me, they're excited for today, and maybe they could rid me of some nerves.

Asher sits beside me, along with another agent and two more up front. I know all of these people will have been vetted within an inch of their lives. If they stole a Snickers when they were a kid, they won't be allowed near me. But with their stone cold faces and bulge where their gun is resting, I feel a little trapped. I want to look at Asher for some kind of reassurance, but I doubt right now we're on any kind of terms to provide each other with support. I'm annoyed that he used my brother against me, and I'll bet he's worried I'll tell someone and get him fired. I won't, but there's no way I'm wasting air telling him that.

The drive across to the church is slow but steady, there's no traffic lights or jams for us to worry about, because most of the city has been shut off for today. There are little lights dotted around, most set up for Christmas day, but it does help the feeling that there must have been a little bit of magic that helped us get this far.

I look around the car, noticing how I've got the upgraded version, since I'll be leaving as the Crown Princess, second in line to the throne.

Terrifying.

I notice a few little lockboxes hidden under seats, and see a smaller car tailing us. I try to remember what my grandfather told me about these vehicles when I was a kid. Hundreds of pounds of metal, bulletproof pretty much everything. It's not half as bad as dad's is going to be, but it shares some of the same qualities.

I know that there's a physician following us in the car behind, specifically assigned to me, carrying appropriate blood bags, on the off chance that I need a sudden transfusion. There's medications of all kinds, ranging from basic anti-sickness, all the way through to the most extreme poison cures.

And it baffles me that even then, with all of these agents and cars and guns, that my protection is still only half visible. On top of all of this, there are sharpshooters lining every road we drive down and a helicopter ready to whisk us away, flying just over our heads, disguised as best as possible as a TV crew for today's proceedings.

I'd forgotten for a long time what travelling with my very own team was like, and yet somehow, it doesn't seem to soothe anything for me. I had this when I was twelve, and so did Christopher, and he still ended up six feet under.

I notice an identical car to mine in front, between us only a few police cars and motorcycles, and I wonder which of my family members it may be, so I occupy the journey with these thoughts. From what I could tell, my grandmother was already at the church, and so probability suggested that so was my grandfather.

It could be my father, but given coronation etiquette, he's supposed to be the last to arrive. My mother hasn't been included in the car's procession as she's technically not part of the clan anymore, so I settle for the idea that it must be Rosie and Monty who came to the palace this morning and I missed them somewhere between eyeshadow and eyeliner.

From the itinerary I only half listened to this morning, my nine cousins don't need to bother with the procession, they just had to stand for photos outside the church and then go inside and sit down. Somehow, I have a sneaky feeling they'll have managed to screw up even such simple instructions. Ben's been worried all week about introducing Poppie formally as his girlfriend after two years, so I hope for his sake this morning went smoothly.

I can tell we're getting closer to the church as the crowds get gradually bigger and the butterflies in my stomach mate and multiply. We drive under one of the iconic aqueducts in the city that Asher was asking about during our sightseeing and we drive over the canal, to the side of which is the restaurant where I was recognised. It bugs me that my only fresh memories of my city include Asher and I make a mental reminder to force Emilio out on a walk tomorrow.

We pull up outside the cathedral and the car can no longer keep out the cheers of the crowd. One of the bodyguards steps out at the front and the noise hits me like a wall. Asher readjusts his earpiece with the ringing I'm sure the screaming must be causing. I wonder if the static might realign his brain to start functioning again.

I can see agents everywhere, blocking every window and door, all holding onto sniffer dogs that inspect the crowd as they walk up and down. I can see vans set up to respond in an emergency and I wonder if every royal family has ambulances on standby for their coronation days.

I'm held in the car for a few seconds as I watch Rosie and Monty finish their waves and disappear through the doors, and an agent opens my door. As soon as one of my heels hits the ground, flashes begin like lightning and I hear people screaming for me to look at them for their finally-home princess shot.

The fabric of the dress causes the gold vines to shimmer like stars and the pale pearl of my heel dampens with the dark morning's rain. I take my first purposeful step on to the rolled out red carpet and as soon as I reach the dry-stone steps, I let the hem of my dress down and turn around, ready to make a good go of this princess thing. If Rosie and Monty, the most reserved and dignified people I know can pull this off so seamlessly, surely, I can manage it with as much effort as I can muster.

I've seen models with their hands on their hips, looking over their shoulder, but somehow, I can't imagine any of those going down so well within the Alanian royal families, so I try my best to straighten my posture and wave with the fingers bent the way I've been taught that subconsciously comes back to me like muscle memory. Asher stands politely to the side out of the way from the cameras, I assume 'secret agent' isn't the profession where you want to be photographed too much.

After a minute or so, another car from behind begins approaching, I'm assuming dad, and focus from me is shifted. Asher walks up the steps towards me and holds an arm out to guide me inside. I step away from him, not obvious enough to embarrass him, but just enough that he knows our conversation from earlier is not forgotten. The flashes continue until the doors shut behind us under the watchful eye of two soldiers, their jackets emblazoned with our country's colours and crest. I hear the crowd start up again and realise dad must have gotten out of the car.

We walk under the marble arches towards the usher who stands at the entrance to the hall. He stands beside the stone altar filled with water and as we approach, he readies two hand towels, and hands them to us once we've dipped our forefingers in the holy water and make the sign of the cross across our chests. I take a moment to clean my hands and wait for Asher to copy.

I give him one last look, and as much as his presence really bugs me, it's relieving to see someone also nervous as we walk inside. The vastness of the hall is astonishing, and I can't imagine how big it must have seemed when I was half my age. Do Adanna and Tegean find this intimidating? Ansel is way too little to understand and will have been carried in by one of his parents, but did Adanna hide behind her father's legs when everyone stared at her? I wish I could hide behind someone right now, I wish I was an age where that would be acceptable.

Asher does as he was told in briefing and walks round to the side of the cathedral where he continues the walk down with me, only a few pews along and out of sight of the cameras. I'm all by myself from here on out.

'The Crown Princess of Alania; Marzia Minnie Beatrice Erin Annie Castille.' Someone announces from the front and I step forward to begin my walk down.

Everyone is already standing as Rosie and Monty take their seats at the front, the row before their nine sons, who take up two pews. In the thrones at the front, there is a distinct lack of presence of my grandparents, who left the palace earlier but they've set off on their lap of the city centre, as a farewell to their country. They have to wait until we're all in, and so I assume they're taking their time waving to their people and thanking them for everything they've done for them, and all of their support.

I thought they'd be here, but come to think of it, that's not the way that this works. There's a hierarchy to the order in which we walk, and I think they're pretty much last.

I pass many people I know and have forgotten as I make my way to the front. Surprisingly, the Moreau clan sit towards the back, all standing and smiling as if they're happy this day has arrived, and I wonder what political tactic involves them coming today, since they stated so publicly that they couldn't. It's a ploy, plain and simple, but I do the proper thing and bow my head gently to them as I walk past anyway, relishing as they're forced to bow and curtsey. There's a glint of mischief in Juniper's eye, and I push down the feeling that they're here to mock us.

It does make me feel slightly happier that they're sitting at the back, and not further forward with the other ten royal clans who we favour slightly more. If the press wants to talk about this, then let them.

There's mum's family who I have yet to see since the summer when I visited, sitting as close to the front as their status allows them. My grandmother Erin holds a hand to her smiling but crying face as she sees me walk past. I smile, wanting to hug them all, but can only curtsey. My grandfather Stuart is there, and mum's brother and sister Shepard and Raine. My cousins, who were not so watched that I could not visit them, know not to wave, but probably want to anyway.

One of dad's best friends, whose name eludes me, is standing with his wife, a huge hat on her head that probably hides the view of the people behind her. I spot all the various royal clans of Alania. The Greenewood's and Penderson's are sat further forward due to our personal friendships, the Moreau's at the back for the exact opposite reason, and then the other seven are clustered together in the middle.

They weren't assigned specific seats, but the clans always group together based on their alliances, it's tradition. The Greenewood's are our closest ally, and they're pretty close to the Penderson's, Bertie's family for reasons that I believe are obvious as of recent engagement announcements.

Most of us are all pretty friendly, with Aumont and Courcillion sharing relatives somewhere generations back, and Saint Omen, Vainhaven and Villehandour being civil enough to each other, but all close friends of ours. Saint Lawerence gets on well with my family, because they don't much like the Moreau clan. Tallyhand however, really like them, especially since Juniper has slept with the family's father and grandfather.

Then there's the Theuderic family who are pretty small and seem to get along with everyone. They've never started an argument, or formed an alliance. They just seem like a family with a title that doesn't much bother them. They're nice, their eldest son played sports with Chris, and their uncle is always the first to offer his help wherever and whenever possible. Their eldest grandfather is our cardinal, standing proudly at the front.

Looking around, I notice the distinct lack of eldest father's and remember that each clan represents themselves and their union at the front, an assigned box designated to the Founding Families. They'll wear their family's medals and sit in front of the portraits of their ancestors and smile, because today is a new step for the country they will swear to continue to protect. I'll walk past them in a moment I suppose, bowing my head to them the way I do to their children.

The only family that aren't here to represent their ancestry, is Thorne, whose only remaining descendant is walking with me down his own aisle. I wish some fate had kept Asher's family in our high society so that he could be here to celebrate, rather than work this whole event, but since Asher's father renounced his heritage all those years ago after the death of his parents, Asher has been denied any right to his history.

As I look at him alongside me, walking with his face sternly forward, I don't know how we managed to avoid each other all this time. When I first arrived at Thorne, I knew the academy was one owned by a member of our high society, but when I asked Emilio about Asher, he said he'd never been to Alania, let alone had a link to our royal family. Asher solidified my opinion with his politics essay in fourth year that paid homage to his Irish heritage, not Alanian.

One slipped sentence, one small reference to our country's culture and maybe we could've known each other the whole time. But what would a kid without a heritage and a kid without a family ever have in common? Who would have known it would be so much? If we both hadn't been trying to hide our pasts, his family's shame, and my family's secret, I could've had someone who understood by my side.

I silently decide, as I complete my curtseys to my fellow royal clans, that I forgive Asher. I know his family is a subject he won't often broach, and I can't imagine how today must feel for him. Watching my family win in the face of every adversity, even just watching my father walking, smiling, just breathing must rip apart his heart. I tell myself that later on, this boy deserves a hug, not an argument.

We continue to walk past the Greenewood triplets and their mother Kathleen, their grandmother Magdelena, and their cousin Esther, who I know is in town mainly for wedding planning, and secondly for the coronation. Esther's parents are sitting beside them, the triplet's uncle and brother of their late father, with his wife who I know is one of the most sought-after designers after Alissa Mayfaire. Judging by her dress today however, that seems questionable. I wonder if she'll come up on one of those degrading outfit ranking websites.

Zoë, of course looks stunning and I notice how she subtly twirls her engagement ring on her finger. Her mother must have caved then. Quigley and Augustus are wearing slight variations of the same suit and they look fancier than I've ever seen them. I notice that they're not wearing the medals they've rightfully earned but are honouring their father by wearing his instead. It's a sweet sentiment for a man who deserved so badly to be here today.

Bertie, Zoë's fiancé, who I've only met in our infancy, has blossomed into a man that I hope holds the values of his family and treats Zoë the way she so deserves. He stands proudly with his parents and grandparents, uncles and cousins, the Penderson family, whose history is the shortest of the clans, but hasn't been without its fair share of heartache. They're rivalling my family in newspaper headlines, and I expect will be after today, considering they've taken up seats near the Greenewood's and the front of the cathedral, pledging an allegiance we've never discussed.

Mum sits in front of them, something I'm sure the papers will have a field day with, with Lars and their children. Adanna and Tegean wear identical dresses, with their innocent faces and plaited hair, Ansel with the tie I hope was dry cleaned since he slobbered on it during fittings. Their little pale pink dresses match the ribbons in their hair and their patterned shoes are so coordinated that it must make mum so happy. Today has been such a dream for this family, and their faces make this dream feel so grounded in our reality.

Mum and Lars must have purposefully matched colour schemes (I'll leave you to decide whose idea that might have been) because Lars' tie and pocket square matches the soft grey colour of mum's dress which looks so meticulously fitted to her body that she must have been sewn into it. It won't help my dad's feeling that she should be up there with him. She's taking a room that no longer belongs to her and telling everyone that she matters still.

Emilio seems to have introduced himself and settled in well, considering he has Adanna and Tegean's hands in each of his. They've known Uncle Leo over Skype for years and his beaming face shows just how pleased he is to see them. I know his sisters both have children of their own, but he doesn't get to visit them much over here, so my siblings have always been a favourite substitute in the long bouts of time between seeing his own family.

Emilio jiggles their arms lightly as I walk past, and the girls grin wildly. He puffs his chest out to show off the new shiny medal that I heard was presented to him this morning while he was getting dressed, an honour very difficult to obtain in our country. It's basically a medal thanking him for putting up with me for more years than anyone should have managed.

He made sure to text me to tell me all about it. Ernesto took my phone and told me off.

Leo's wearing a beautiful lavender suit that he's been fretting about ever since we found out about today. He was worried it would wash him out, but dreaded the idea of a spray tan in case something went wrong and he was destined to be reintroduced to his country looking like Donald Trump. I know this, because he sent me plenty of reference photos for the potential disaster.

Luckily, everything seems to have worked out perfectly. He looks incredible, and I give him a beaming smile. He wiggles his shoulders like he always does when he's excited, and I laugh, because he's acting more immaturely than the children clinging to him. I can't spot Nathanial with him, and I hope that I haven't made things a hundred times worse.

My nine cousins have stupid grins on their faces, as they sit in age order, in suits that meticulously match, minus the medals that the elder boys have, the chance to earn having not extended to the younger boys. Jesse and Jonah have two, whereas Ben only has one still. I feel bad for their girlfriends, Ben's Poppie, and Jonah's Isla who have to sit a few rows back with no guidance as to how this whole thing goes. I try not to smile at the sight of Keaton, Enoch's boyfriend who has braved the press and accompanied his boyfriend to a huge day with his huge family.

One look at all nine brothers is enough to put most people off Bordeaux relationships completely.

Rosie and Monty sit beside one another, with a space in front of them for me. I slide delicately into my assigned seat and Asher takes up his place as security at the edge of the swelling arches. I keep my face relaxed and free of any signs of anxiety and as the organ music swells and the doors at the back of the church open to reveal my father.

He's dressed in a suit that I haven't seen before, a mark of a truly important day considering no one can ever really get my father to play dress-up. He's donning the famous navy and white colours, his chest covered in medals. His shoes make him a few inches taller than normal and as much as my brothers and I would mock the idea of his cloak train, it flows behind him to make it look as if he's walking on water.

There's a sword strapped to his waist that I know holds homage to our fallen ancestry and the battles fought and won for our noble country, but it still seems unbelievably antiquated to me. I wonder if I'll have to wear one on my coronation day, if I make it that far. I notice the slight bulked padding around his shins in preparation for his time on the stone steps as he knees before his father and king. I'm glad I don't have to wear shin pads for today too.

My mother smiles as she bows at his passing figure and I can see the tears in her eyes from here. Back when everything happened, the divorce, Christopher's death, Charlie's disappearance, this day must have felt an eternity of heartache away, and even though there's only three of our original family of five here to see it, this still feels like a triumph, a gigantic middle finger, fuck you to everyone who tried to take this from us.

As dad approaches the front, he diverts his course to the statues lining the walls and bows his head to their motionless regal poses. They begin at the far side, our ancestors and country's founders, all the way down to my great grandfather Abbington, his eldest son, my father's fallen uncle, Sterling, proudly stood beside the grandsons who befell the same fate, my brothers. My father rests a hand on the base of Christopher's plaque, whispering something I'm glad the press won't be able to decipher.

He does the same for Charlie, but his words are far shorter and I hope no one notices but those who understand why. I often wonder what'll happen to this statue when people find out Charlie is alive, I expect he'll want it front and center in his bedroom if I remember my brother's vanity. Following his lead, the rest of the church bow their heads to our fallen.

My father shakes hands with the head of the congregation before standing to attention as they lower their heads before moving to kneel on the stone steps in front of the presently unoccupied thrones that have so long held my grandparents.

I wonder if my grandfather feels relief or sadness at his relinquished control of the country he has served all his life. I wonder if he doubts his son, or if he trusts him completely; have they ever fought about the right thing for their people? Who conceded? Did they shout and slam doors like teenagers? Did they feel the crippling doubt that has littered my bones and twisted my thoughts since I arrived?

The cathedral echoes with noise as the music slows and everyone stands to attention as my grandfather and grandmother enter, arms linked at the elbows and their crowns balanced on Ernesto-styled hair. They're only walking the length of the church, but it's a peaceful end to a journey that I never considered was the hardest for our king.

In a reign forced upon him, he lost not only a brother like me and Charlie, but a father and two grandsons he loved more than life. I am thankful everyday for the undying love my grandmother radiates. If it wasn't for her, the smile on his face would've disappeared long before I did. They look at each other and for a split second, some part of me believes in true love again.

After a few further moments, my grandparents detach from each other and settle themselves in their thrones. My grandmother has been worried about their outfits for months, when she shouldn't have, because you can only see a sliver of navy underneath their trains. Her heels poke out next to my grandfather's polished shoes as they position themselves for the lengthy process we're in for.

They seem relaxed, like finally the world has slowed down to a pace that their age allows. I smile, they're finally hanging up their crowns to retire, from now on they can just be an old, married, still-in-love couple, and for me, just my grandparents.

Somewhere between the Pope addressing the congregation and my father standing to receive his throne, I let my eyes wander around the cathedral, noting the little ways in which it has changed, grown like I have. They've refitted the carpets, the red is more vibrant and although the stone is centuries old, it's clearly been power washed for the big day. I chuckle at the idea of the Pope with a sweeping brush, knee deep in grubby water.

I wonder about all the times I've walked up and down this aisle and how different it must have looked each time. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling could easily crush the entire Courcillion clan and they're one of the largest. I remember from some history lesson that they had the same candles back when the church had wooden beams and a clumsy usher, and it didn't end so well.

The ceiling dips in and out of arches, held up with poles of marble that look like they're crying. There's beautiful paintings of Jesus and his disciples, holy figures who were once flesh and bone like me and now exist only in these walls and in the pages of the books written by the hands of men much more than me. There's paintings of my forefathers, and I wonder if I will make it up there someday, a thousand years from now.

There are beautiful hymn books, many of which are handed out among the pews, but there's still a section near the altar where there's a stack of these gold lined books. There's little inscriptions of latin everywhere, but the writing on the ceiling is Alanian. I recognise the combination of letters that swirl together as a dedication to God.

There's two large Christmas trees right at the front of the church, behind the thrones, but before the cross etched into the stone and decorated with pure bright gold. They've wrapped garlands around the balconies with lights and for the hundredth time I am reminded that today is Christmas and in the nicest way possible, I haven't had any turkey or stuffing yet so I cannot count today as successful.

My father apologetically explained that the day is too busy for our traditional Christmas dinner but pointed out that if this week goes well, we'll have plenty of time to make up for it. As soon as we're done at the church, we've got to pose for photos on the palace balcony for a few hours, and then finally the cameras go away, and dad can celebrate his big day.

Finally, feeling a little guilty that I wasn't paying attention, the congregation stands, as do all of the people here to support us, or mock us in the case of the Moreau family. My grandparents rise from their thrones, and I notice how my grandmother's fingers linger on the arm rest a second too long, a silent farewell to a rule well run.

She takes my grandfather's hand delicately, and together they walk towards my father who has stood on the step. The Pope approaches and my grandfather bows his head so the crown can be lifted. I wonder for a second what they'll do with my grandmother's crown, until an usher removes it gently from her hair and places it on a cushion, then stands beside her throne holding it. I look at mum, who once thought that crown would be hers.

She's smiling, but behind the pew, I can see her holding Lars' hand. Ansel is asleep in his other arm and Emilio is still working to distract the girls so they don't fuss with boredom. I scrunch my nose up at the three of them and the girls giggle quietly and Emilio sticks his tongue out immaturely.

My grandparents walk down the steps together and the crowd bows their head at their king and queen one final time. They walk towards the front pew and stand facing their son. I don't think about my dad being a kid very much, but I think about the baby my grandparents had all those years ago, and everything that's happened between now and then.

There once was a little boy that this crown would never have fit. He's been a kid, with a country waiting for him, a teenager who maybe didn't want this responsibility, a young adult who married a wife his country disapproved of. He's been a father, and then he's been the man who had to bury his son. He's been lonely, and happy and I bet sometimes infuriated at each and everyone in this church. And now finally, he's a king.

He turns to face his congregation and the Pope places the crown on his head. I've never seen him wear it before, but he stands like he's practiced wearing it everyday of his life. He turns around and takes the scepter into both hands. He walks towards the thorne as the organ music swells once more, before turning around and beaming at the country he's just accepted responsibility for.

The Pope stands behind him and clears his throat, 'Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Alania according to the statues in parliament agreed on and the respective laws and custom of the same?'

'I solemnly promise so to do.' My father confirms, radiating with pride.

'Will you, in your power, cause law and justice and mercy to be executed in all judgements?' The Pope continues.

'I solemnly promise so to do.' My king repeats.

He sits down and the Pope raises his voice to introduce Alaina's new king. We put our hands to our hearts and sing our national anthem, pledging allegiance to my dad, which is weird to me, because I've seen him burn beans.

As we sing out the last note of our national anthem, there's tears in my eyes and I beam with pride at my father. For the first time in our ceremony, it occurs to me to look at Asher. His jaw is locked but he holds his tight fist to his chest in support. His face is rock solid and I can hear his heart breaking all the way from here, over all of the applause for our new king. I catch his eye and smile, and he gives me his best attempt at covering his anguish.

There's soldiers lined down the aisle, and they raise their swords as he walks past them, his crown proudly on his head and a grin on his face that's undeniable. Each pew bows to him as he walks past and I hear the eruption of cheers once he reaches the entranceway. Rosie puts a hand on my shoulder and we smile together as we prepare to follow my father back out to his country.

My family stands and begins to file out, in order to be photographed by the press waiting outside, starting with my father and ending with Rosie's boys. Asher walks towards me ready to walk me out when a figure appears by my side and my stomach sinks. The boy is tall and a little chubby, the kind of figure you get from years of rich Italian food. He's a little dorky, but from what I remember, he's fairly serious, and his accent is heavy as he talks.

'Your Highness, your grandmother invited me to escort you out.' He tells me. I stand stunned, in a silence that I know is rude in front of my future fiance, 'I'm Francesco from Italy, don't you remember me?'

'Of course, I haven't seen you since we were kids. You've grown.' I tell him, fumbling to get my words out, 'My grandmother asked you to be here?'

'Everything okay?' Asher cuts in, noticing the figure suddenly appearing unannounced.

'Everything is fine, thank you, sir. I'll be escorting the princess back to the palace.' Francesco tells him dismissively, either not realising that Asher is my protection detail or not caring. I remember this boy being a little entitled but I didn't realise it would be so obvious in conversation.

'Your Highness?' Asher asks, frowning at the development that neither of us were warned for. I know exactly why I wasn't warned, because they knew I'd say no. Not today.

'Agent Thorne, this is Francesco Savoy of Italy. He's going to be walking me out to the car.' I tell him and I watch Asher's jaw stiffen again. He gives us a quick curt nod, and steps back, allowing Francesco to take my arm and lead me out.

I look back at him, over my shoulder as he walks behind us. He keeps his eyes fixed around the area, checking doors and windows and corners, one hand on his gun. I know he's just doing his job, doing it damn well, but there's a reason he doesn't look at me once. For some reason, he makes me feel guilty, my arm burning uncomfortably next to Francesco's.

We emerge from the cathedral to more noise than when I went in, probably due to the boy by my side. I look over at him and smile, trying my best to fit a plan my grandmother didn't warn me about. I realise with a sinking feeling that they've dressed him in a suit that matches my dress, and worse, a suit that matches Asher's.

People are screaming questions at us, asking us to look at them for photos, and asking if we're engaged. I avoid all of them and instead try smiling at the people who don't seem to want anything from me. But as soon as I smile at one person, they start asking questions. I try to ignore most of them, but one rings out as somewhat too small for this crowd. I look around to see the little girl I met in the square, the one with the dove pin.

I take my arm away from Francesco, thankful for a distraction and walk over to her. Asher follows with quick steps behind me, weary about my direction towards the large crowd. I bend down near where she stands behind a barrier, so that my head is level with hers. It's stopped raining and my dress lifts up a little with my movements so I don't mix muddy water to the pearl material.

The agents from either side of the barrier edge closer, and I bet for the millionth time that they're damning me for going off-pace.

'Hey kiddo, remember me?' I ask her and she beams and nods wildly. Unlike the other day, she's dressed herself in a fancy outfit and I wonder if I would've been this dedicated to my country if it didn't belong to me. I like to think that in some other universe, I would be this little girl, 'Nemi, right? Thanks for coming.'

'I'm wearing my pin!' She says and points proudly to her chest where she has repinned it onto her cardigan.

'I see that! Good job keeping it safe.' I tell her, 'You having a fun day? I'm sorry it's raining.'

'I've been telling everyone that I'm the guest of the Princess!' She says and I join her mother in laughing, 'Is he going to be your husband?'

My smile wavers a little as I turn to where she's pointing. Stood side by side in what looks to be a very uncomfortable silence, are Asher and Francesco. She's obviously referring to the prince, but I sadly wish she wasn't. I don't want to lie to a little girl who thinks so highly of my family and me, but can I trust her with a secret as big as this? A heartache as big as this?

'I'm not sure yet, what do you think?' I ask, shuffling so both of us are looking at the two boys. Francesco is aptly ignoring where we're standing, despite having followed Asher and I. Asher, however, is watching me, smiling despite himself. I take note of the difference in the two men and realise quite how much I don't want to take Francesco's arm.

'He's a bit handsome. Is he nice?' Nemi asks, scrunching up her nose at him, and it's another question I don't think I can answer. I notice how she wavers when she tries to compliment him, because she's right, he is only a little bit handsome.

'I'll let you know.' I tell her, before holding out my hand to take hers, 'Thanks for making me feel brave today.'

'Thanks for saying hi again!' She smiles. I realise to her, this means far more, as to me, who seemingly needs a little girl's strength to get me through. I hope as she grows up, she will remember me, because I'm sure I'll remember her.

I stand up and Asher follows me silently back up to where Francesco is waiting impatiently in the cold weather to get into the car designated for us. It's an awkward ride back to the palace that feels far longer than our journey here, sitting between my bodyguard and my future fiance, seemingly having been decided for me in preparation for today.

When we arrive Francesco steps out first, offering a hand back into the limo to help me out. I look at Asher who gives me a sad smile and I slide my hand into one that will soon bear a ring I will give him. I want to let go, and scurry backwards into the car, and tell the driver to get me as far away as fast as possible. Maybe back to London where this choice is still mine.

We wave politely for a few more minutes and I can't help but feel that the crowd looks different to when I left. As soon as we step inside the palace, I let go of Francesco's hand and stand away from him subtly, but obviously enough that as soon as my grandmother notices, she comes rushing over.

'Marzia, are you alright darling? What a beautiful ceremony!' She says loudly, then puts an arm around my shoulder and turns me so that our guests cannot see us talking, 'I apologise about Francesco, the royal clans have been putting pressure on us for your engagement. I don't expect you to be engaged in a month, however I thought seeing the two of you together could serve to hush some of the rumours.'

'So this isn't a coronation slash engagement party?' I ask her, smiling, feeling a little bit of a lighter feeling to my chest and sunken stomach.

'Of course not, I've told you before. You will have as much say in this decision as possible, this is just a way to buy you some more time before you need to decide.' She tells me, and for some reason, part of me is now more than happy to walk through the ballroom with Francesco.

He seems taken aback by my sudden positive attitude as I link an arm around his and we walk together through to a vast room that I've never seen so delicately decorated. Asher follows us, whispering something into his sleeve and I send him a reassuring smile, as I remember I haven't actually verbally let him off the hook for earlier. He follows us into the ballroom and his glasses go completely opaque with all the light that hits them.

'Introducing the Crown Princess Marzia Minnie Beatrice Erin Annie Castille, escorted by His Highness Francesco of Italy, House of Savoy.' Someone announces, and I vow to figure out where this man is standing by the end of the evening.

It's entirely cream and white, and blinds against the sun that is streaming in through the glass roof. There are tables laid out everywhere and it reminds me of a wedding that I have never been to. I wonder if they'll decorate the same when I get married, whether that happens this month, or just before I'm twenty-one, or to someone completely different to Francesco.

The marble floor curls around itself beautifully and the lights strung around reflect so that the floor appears to move as we walk. There's no press allowed in the castle, but my grandmother's photographer Gavroche is here and starts snapping away at every new royal family member that enters the ballroom.

Francesco directs us over to the corner of the room where he seems to want to hide. We both take a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and his is empty far too fast. There's tinky music that sounds beautiful up close to the string quartet and piano, but echos awkwardly in the corner where Francesco won't budge. I try to drag him away from the wall he's struck a friendship with, but he doesn't seem intent on saying much.

'How's your father?' I ask him, when he avoids eye contact with me for a further few minutes. His father and my grandfather have been in conflict for many years, and while people are hoping with our marriage and my father's new rule this might change, I personally don't see it. Especially if Francesco keeps ignoring me.

'Not here.' He tells me shortly, and keeps his eyes focused on a figure in the corner who's face I can't make out. Maybe he isn't as friendly as I remember him to be, which makes sense, since we last met when we were seven, 'He has refused to attend.'

'Why did you agree to come?' I say before I can stop myself. He looks at me curiously.

'Why do you ask such questions? They're above your stature.' He says curtly, as if I really have offended him, 'You'll be so polite as to refrain from such personal questions in the future.'

'Miss Castille, Emilio is here if you'd like to see him.' Asher says politely, but with a stern voice and eyes that avoid Francesco.

'Oh God, yes please.' I breathe, desperate to be near people who don't make me censor myself. I want to kick him in the shin and storm off but I can't and I shouldn't, so I tell him nicely that I'll be right back and hand him my drink considering his is already empty.

As I walk towards Emilio, who has never told me my questions are inappropriate, I know deep down that Francesco is not wrong. My family has never been one to bite their tongue, so sometimes I forget that there's a hierarchy to all this royal stuff. Francesco is a prince, just as I am a princess and even though he's in my country, my home, his gender means that he can speak down to me if he feels like doing. If my grandmother heard him, she wouldn't stand for it, but she can't change thousands of years of tradition, and she can't ignore the fact that I need a husband.

Contrary to fairytales, our options are fairly slim, there aren't eligible princes my age in every sovereign and if there were, not all of those alliances would benefit my country (plus I'm late to the party and all the nice ones are taken already). It sounds bad, my marriage being transactional, but it's our tradition, it's the way it's always been. My grandfather lucked out by falling for a Grimaldi, a Monaco princess of all people. My father threw caution to the wind and married the young daughter of a wealthy Cambridge family, and we all know how that worked out.

I want to uphold this tradition to honour my family, but if Francesco talks like that to me again, I will snap. And by snap I mean his legs.

Emilio catches me out of my thoughts with a tight hug, and I feel my tense shoulders slump at the sight of my best friend with a smile on his face. I hug him for probably longer than is necessary and twice he gently pats my back to try make me let go. I wonder for a moment if after last night he needs this hug more than I do.

'How's your big date going?' He teases me when I let go. Asher had also visibly relaxed but he still doesn't laugh at Emilio's joke. I poke his ribs and roll my eyes.

'Awful, how was yours?' I ask, before I can stop myself. Of all of the times I've inadvertently meddled in their relationship (or what was their relationship) last night was probably the worst.

'Good subject change. Let's talk about my conversation with my ex, rather than the fact that I leave you for a week and you're engaged.' He drawls.

'So he's still your ex?' I reply sadly, wishing for any conversation, in fact that does not mention Francesco.

'You're sneaky and I see right through it.' He pauses, 'But fine, he's gone home-'

'What?'

'It's Christmas Zia, he's sitting down for dinner with his family in an hour.' He defends. Asher smiles, remembering just how many times I've forgotten that it's the holiday season with everything going on.

'Might have been an oversight on my part.' I wince.

'Perhaps.' Emilio nods, amused, 'You really scared him you know. He kept going on and on about how he thought he was coming to identify your body or something. He said the captain offered him a Xanax.'

'The plan had some issues yes, but the good intention was there so I think we should focus on that.' I argue, 'Overall, was my misguided attempt successful or not?'

'He said he needed some time to think, and process everything, which isn't the worst thing. Either he thinks it over and decides to give me another shot, or he decides everything is way too big to start over.' He muses, seemingly saddened by the possibility of the latter, 'Whatever he decides, no matter what, at least he knows. At least he knows the real me now.'

'He knows everything? That must have taken a while.' I say, only very lightly hinting at the early hour he got in this morning. But the smile on his face is sweet and genuine, not at all defending another secret.

'Well touring the castle helped, so did the paintings of you that I couldn't possibly have faked.' He chuckles, probably remembering a conversation where Emilio was forced to prove he hadn't taken up oil painting as a hobby since their breakup, 'Then we just walked, around the city, over the aqueducts, along the canal, everywhere, and we talked.'

He stops to take a shuddering breath I didn't know he was holding. Asher appears taken off guard by this sudden sound also, and looks up from the floor where he's been respectfully not listening, or pretending not to listen in.

'I got to look him in the eye and tell him the truth.' Emilio says, blinking furiously at the tears in his eyes, 'That is the greatest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you Z, truly.'

'Don't cry, you'll ruin your makeup.' I tell him, and he laughs and swats my arm, 'There's no way concealer hasn't helped the bags under your eyes with all your moonlight adventures.'

'Speaking of night,' He says pointedly, 'What's this about you sleeping in the library?'

'And the kitchen,' Asher says, clearly demonstrating that I did not get away with it after all, 'And the closet.'

'Or not sleeping at all!' Emilio choruses as if they had previously rehearsed their lines. To be honest, I wouldn't put it past them, 'Are you angry that I spoke to your mum?'

'I could never be mad at you.' I tell him.

'No, you just don't want to admit that I was right.' He grins.

Just as we're about to throw ourselves into a heated debate over who is usually right or wrong in our house (despite the fact that all our arguments end in me conceding, because even though I'm royalty, he's the bigger drama queen) someone interrupts to tell me that I'm needed for photos. Emilio makes me promise that we'll talk about this whole engagement thing just before Francesco appears by my side once more.

Ernesto waits just before the balcony to touch up my makeup and dust off my dress. He tries to tell me off for crouching down in the rain to talk to Nemi, but even his stone cold Italian heart tells me it was sweet. When Francesco wanders off to find someone to fix his bowtie, I neglect to tell him that I'm a professional from tying Asher's all week. Ernesto also mutters something in Italian that I can understand loosely based on our own dialect.

'You don't like Francesco?' I ask, wondering if Ernesto and I will finally have something to gossip about after all this time. He waves his hands at me as if he's embarrassed that I understood him. I look around the near empty room, 'If it helps, I don't like him much either.'

'He's a selfish boy.' Ernesto snarls, and Asher and I exchange a look. I'm secretly hoping that Ernesto will reveal a big family secret that will shock everyone so much that there's no way I could marry him. I wonder if it's wrong to hope he's killed someone, 'Selfish boy. A family with no morals, no class.'

'The Italian royal family disagreed with a fashion choice of Ernesto's from years ago, and he is yet to forgive them.' My father says, walking over to where Ernesto, Asher and I stand. Asher and Ernesto bow quickly as he hugs me, 'I don't think my opinion of the family is very different, aside from the root cause. I expressed my desire for him not to attend today.'

'I'm on a hunt to find one person who wanted him here.' I grumble, just as his frame wanders back into view, blundering with a tie that's now slightly fixed. Ignoring the fact that I could've done better, I loop dad's arm and we step out onto the balcony to a sea of screaming people and flashing lights.

It takes about an hour and a half to finish photographs, both outside and in and around the castle. We arrive fashionably late for dinner and I'm disappointed when there are no speeches after dessert. Jonathan, Joseph and I agree to meet up later in the evening to discuss what we would've said, had Rosie not forced a slightly tipsy Johnny to sit down, shut up and stop smacking his champagne glass with a knife.

Just after dinner when everything was cleared away, the band acquired a singer and some of dad's favourites and Alania's famous songs begin filling the room. My grandparents recognise a beloved Christmas song and begin a trend of dancing that continues throughout the evening, and luckily I manage to get away with only doing the waltz once with Francesco.

He's a good dancer, but I don't feel tingles where his hand touches my waist, or care about the robotic way he spins me, or how he stares at the floor the whole song. I look over at Asher but he's trying his best not to notice us.

I dance with my father, and grandfather and even Lars asks for my hand when a song he recognises comes on. He tells me a story about the girls that makes me laugh, and I try to remember when we started to enjoy each other's company. It also serves to make my mother cry.

Mum forces me and Emilio to dance but neither of us can keep a straight face, so halfway through we grab Adanna and Tegean and make them join in. I keep getting the urge to ask Asher to join us, but whenever our eyes meet I somehow can't find the nerve. I also have a strong suspicion he would literally die of laughter or shock if I asked him to dance with me.

Instead, he stands to the side while my mother claps her hands and Lars sways Ansel, either to dance, or keep him quiet. I want to know if his smile is genuine, if he feels part of this silly little family, or if that smile is hurting his face and hurting his heart. Has Ursula taught him to dance? Did his father waltz his mother around the living room? Once again, I am reminded just how little I know about this kid.

As the evening passes in a calm lull, Benjamin introduces me to Poppie and Jonah's girlfriend Isla, even though Jonah seems to have disappeared off somewhere. They're lovely girls and I can see how easily they fit into our family. I'm not naive enough to think they'll be around forever, but for right now, the boys seem besotted and the girls seem happy.

Well, Jonah usually seems happy, but it turns out his absence was a quick wardrobe change after Max spilled his drink all down his arm. So currently, he looks about as happy as a raging bull in a China shop.

Over the course of my cousin's antics, Asher appears to have struck an unlikely friendship with Bertie, and so they talk between themselves, occasionally stopping for Asher to check on me, or to include Zoë and Augustus into their conversation. Zoë rushes over to tell me that Quigley has offered to buy the Saint Lawerence's granddaughter a drink. I have to remind her that the Saint Lawerence's granddaughter is engaged, and that it's a free bar.

With the news of their engagement announced last night, Zoë and Bertie are swarmed with people asking about dates and children and wishing them well. I know that my high society will recognise Franesco and I as an arranged marriage, but we've clearly not given a good enough performance for anyone to want to discuss our relationship. I can't decide whether this should worry me or not.

I get involved for most of the evening, with Zoë dragging over anyone who asks her about the wedding to introduce me as her maid of honour. I know she's surprised I said yes, but I have to keep reminding her that I am only co-maid of honour, and so usually she tottles off to find Esther to introduce her too. It serves to keep me away from wedding talk for most of the night.

At some point I will bear the wedding dress fittings and the discussion about floral displays and taste a hundred different wedding cakes, but today my brain can't handle anything else. I try my best to stay focused, both to remain professional and remember every second of this evening. I don't want to lose a minute of it.

I spent a good hour talking to the Greenewood grandmother, Magdalena, and somewhere in between, the triplet's cousin Esther comes over to join us. I forget what beautiful genetics run within this family and beside her, for the first time today, I feel like I don't look as fancy as I should. Maggie spends a long time quizzing me on Francesco, before muttering something that doesn't sound awfully far from Ernesto's opinion.

What the hell could this boy have done to piss off everyone in my high society?

By the time my grandparents come over to hug me and wish me goodnight, my feet hurt so much that I've had to sit down, and Jesse has come over to join me. They kiss us both, before tiredly shuffling off to find their other eight grandsons, in a process that I imagine may take a while. We watch as they pick them off one by one, until they reach Enoch, who kisses them politely, but turns back quickly to his boyfriend. I nudge Jesse's shoulder.

'What do you think to Keaton?' I ask, squinting over to see the two of them laughing together in the corner, 'I have a feeling Enoch is keeping him away from me.'

'Oh yeah, Keaton's just really shy. And you're, well - you.' He shrugs, and I hit his arm. He's taken off his waistcoat and he's slumming in just his dress shirt and tie, and he's leaned back and relaxed, like he's both exhausted, and content at the same, 'He doesn't usually come to family events, because it's so easy to get lost with all of us brothers.'

'How is he with Enoch if he's shy?' I chuckle.

'They're great together, it's so disgustingly obvious how happy they make each other.' Jesse says, and I wonder if he's aware of the smile on his face at the happiness of his brother, 'But I would've given my left arm to have been a fly on the wall for their first conversation. Keaton wouldn't say boo to a goose, whereas Enoch would probably ask it for its skincare routine.'

'You should've seen him with Quigley tonight.' I say, pointing over to where Quigley is still trying to impress every Founding Family's granddaughter, 'Enoch hasn't seen him in what - at least seven years, and they were chatting away like they're old friends.'

'I know.' Jesse grins, 'They were swapping phone numbers because there's a concert they want to go to in the New Year together.'

'Quigley is not a good influence, I would not recommend letting Rosie approve that one.' I laugh, remembering the time that Quigley tried to drag me out to a bar when I went to visit him in Kent and Emilio almost shot him.

Emilio also told me that a night out in Kent is extremely disappointing anyway.

'I think any new experiences would be good for Enoch, I've been worried about him recently.' Jesse admits, rolling up his sleeves in a way I know his mother will disapprove of. I look at him, and for a second, Charlie flashes through my mind. I can't look at Jesse's brotherly compassion and feel like maybe if Charlie were here, I'd feel a little better about Francesco. He should be here right now, telling me I deserve better.

Maybe if Charlie was here, I wouldn't have to marry Francesco at all.

'Why are you worried about him?' I ask, looking back over at Enoch and smiling. He's standing up against Keaton and the two of them are swaying in the most awkward attempt at a waltz that I've ever seen.

'I don't know.' Jesse shakes his head, 'As much as it doesn't seem it, Enoch had a really hard time coming out to everyone. Coming out to your family is scary enough, but to your whole country? It takes balls, and I think he's the bravest of all nine of us.'

'I remember how terrified he was.' I admit, 'He called me before the first time he talked to Rosie.'

'He never had anything to be afraid of, but you know you can't tell Enoch anything when he's stressed himself out.' He laughs, 'But the problem is, after all of that fear, and that doubt, here comes this guy who's a little bit older, and tells him that it's okay to be himself, and loves him for it.'

'I'm struggling to see where the problem is here Jess.' I frown.

'Enoch's found someone who validated this huge thing for him, and who makes him feel like all those years of silent struggle was worth something.' Jesse explains, 'I just worry that if they were to break up, that he'll fall straight back to square one. I've never seen him happier before Z, and I'm terrified that it's going to all come crashing back down.'

'Do you think they're not doing well?' I wince, wondering how I never noticed an issue in every conversation I've had with Enoch about his relationship.

'No, I genuinely think that they love each other, and apart from normal bickering, they seem pretty happy.' He sighs, 'But you know how relationships are when you're a kid. You can't bet everything on one person, without losing out when they're gone.'

'Are you trying to hint at something?' I look at him, wondering why there's a slight edge to his voice.

'Just a friendly warning.' He shrugs, innocently and smiles at me, 'I've seen that bodyguard of yours watching you all night.'

'I don't know if the concept has escaped you, but that's kind of the point.' I squint, but he shakes his head.

'I'm not as dumb as I look, Zia.' He rolls his eyes at me, 'Just be careful, kiddo.'

'Did Emilio tell you to say that? Speaking of, where is that guy? He hasn't annoyed me in a while.' I deadpan, looking around for my stupid roommate, who's been making kiss-y faces at Asher and I all night, thanks to far too much expensive champagne, 'I haven't been able to find anyone tonight, there's just this huge crowd that I keep getting caught up in like a riptide.'

'I like it.' He smiles, 'It feels great to have everyone back together again.'

'Not everyone.' I say before I process that the words want to come out. Jesse looks at me, eyebrows furrowed and an imprint of pain sketched on his features. He puts his hand on top of mine.

'Of course not all of us. There will always be a hole where Chris was, he was a big brother to all of us.' He says saldy and I feel bad about bringing the mood down even further, 'Did I ever tell you about the time that Chris nearly broke all my fingers in one afternoon?'

I laugh because this is entirely possible and more than likely probable.

'So I come round to the castle one day, it's like early December right? And I go upstairs to Christopher's room, but he's literally nowhere to be found. So I wander around the top floor until I hear this almighty clanging, which, of course could only have been your brother.' He chuckles, little fairy lights dancing around his eyes as they slowly fill with tears, 'I go into the old ballroom, and he's there with his head jammed into the piano. He's hauling something into the frame and his knee is resting on the keys, so it's so loud-'

'What's this?' My father asks, interrupting the story and our laughter.

'The time Chris nearly mutilated Jesse.' I tell him.

'Just the once?' My father laughs and takes a seat so he can listen. I slide off my heels and tuck my feet under my body, settling into a story about my brother.

'So I ask him what the hell he's doing with his head in a piano, but he tells me it's top secret and I'm not allowed to know,' He smiles, 'But that doesn't get me out of having to help obviously. I'm there, holding his legs up while he stuffs something into this piano, the noise is deafening and just as he's done, he jumps out of the way and the lid damn near falls on my fingers, I swear he could've-'

'Wait.' I say suddenly. Both of them look at me, confused. Asher notices their faces and comes to stand near me. By now, our ball is pretty much over and the remaining guests are lazily milling about or getting ready to leave, 'When was this?'

'I said, December.' Jesse frowns, 'What-'

'Oh my God.' I breathe, 'Dad, I think I found it.'