In Search of a Queen

Chapter 1

Charles groaned and turned from the window, choosing to bury his nose in one of the books he had brought with him in his satchel. They were most likely going to be his only way of surviving the entire ordeal over the next month. He had loved reading ever since he had learned how, and, with the entire royal library at his disposal, had read more books in his twenty years than most did in their entire lives. He'd read tales of romance, volumes of poetry, long essays on religion, histories of the kingdom and all its neighbors, and even stories of horror which kept him up half the night, worrying at every creak and gust of wind he heard. However, his favorite had always been books of adventure, with knights and dragons, pirates and mermaids, wizards and witches, unlikely heroes and challenging quests to save mankind. They allowed him to visit lands far away, meet new people and monsters, experience a life he would never know otherwise. He viewed his books as portals to other realms, and treated them with a reverence most saved for God. His father had never been pleased with Charles' favorite past time, and had tried to make him interested in other activities more befitting of a prince, including hunting, dog breeding, and especially sparring. Though Charles was an excellent swordsman, he had never enjoyed the sport; he would rather have read about battles in his books. His father had finally given up and left him to his solitude, focusing his teachings on Augustus, who took splendidly to every activity presented to him. Again Charles thought of how suited his brother was to taking the throne. He decided to change that rule as well: the next king would be chosen based on his capabilities to protect and care for the kingdom, not the order of his birth. Unfortunately, renouncing the throne was viewed as an act of high treason in the kingdom of Paetahl, and Charles rather enjoyed life despite all its difficulties.

Charles was jerked from his planning by the halting of the carriage, and looked out the window with terror upon realizing they had arrived at the festival. Sure enough, a massive group of girls was pushing and shoving against one another in the most refined way possible in order to be the first the prince laid eyes on. He had to choke down the overwhelming urge to sob into his hands, instead calmly packing away his book and stowing the manuscript in the carriage's compartment, though he honestly did not care if the thing were stolen. He fastened the buttons of his suit and slicked back his hair, attempting to secure the unruly strands as much as was possible in the humid air, which made them stand on end and curl in all directions. All that was left was to sit and wait for his coachman to open the door, upon which time the group of young women would surge forward upon the carriage in order to be the very first to secure an audience with the prince, for surely the first would be the one he chose to marry and make his queen. As Charles sat in resigned silence, he began to wonder what was taking so long. Surely his door should have been opened by now? However, he did not pay much mind to the question, as he was perfectly content to wait as long as possible. Maybe some of them will pass out from the heat and be taken back to their tents until they recover, he thought to himself, then perhaps the crowd will be lessened enough for me to escape suffocation. He didn't have high hopes though; most of the ladies had been here for the past week, some even a month, securing places near the small chateau the prince would be occupying - there he would entertain girls and the kitchen staff would prepare gourmet meals for the prince and whichever lucky woman he chose to join him for dinner each night. They had become accustomed to the heat during the time they had been there, plotting and scheming at how to best woo and win him. As he sat in a slowly growing pool of dread, the door separating him and his fate was suddenly swung open by the coachman and the tide of girls hoping to become queen swept forward.

"My apologies, your highness!" the elderly man panted, clutching the handle for support. "Some of them grabbed me-"

"You are forgiven!" Charles shrieked, sweeping his bag into his arms. "For God's sake, man! Get to the house before they attack you again!"