The Betrothal

Michael

Michael sighed heavily as he slouched in his chair. His father had left the back room to go talk with someone about something he couldn't be bothered to remember. He scrolled through his phone, his eyes barely registering what he saw before he scrolled on. He'd lost. His engagement to Annabelle was becoming official. With the unrest and distrust in the crown prince, his father had decided they needed to do something to reverse that. The solution had been his betrothal.

"I know this isn't ideal son," his father had said after the meeting, "but you have to understand. This is a hard life. Being a king means to do what's best for the kingdom before you do what's best for you, your family, your friends. I know that neither you nor Annabelle are excited about this, but please son, this is for the good of the kingdom."

Michael pulled on the lapel of his jacket, making the pin crooked. His whole life had been for the good of the kingdom. He knew his father loved him, but he also knew he'd always come second to the kingdom. The door to the room squeaked as it opened. Michael sat up straight as quick as lightning.

"It's just me." Annabelle said softly, shutting the door.

Michael stood up. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

She shook her head. "I appreciate you trying Michael. I know you did your best. And you risked your neck for me too. I also appreciate you not abdicating either." She let out a mirthless laugh. "The only thing worse than being queen is being Sean's queen."

"Thank you for understanding." Michael nodded. "For what it's worth, if I must be betrothed, I am glad it is to a friend."

She nodded, taking one of his hands. "We'll face it together."

The door opened, and the queen and Annabelle's mother came in. They seemed to brighten at the sight of their clasped hands. Michael fought the urge to drop her hand. Annabelle squeezed tighter.

"Well I'm glad to see you two are starting to be more agreeable." Annabelle's mother said with a hint of satisfaction. Beside him, Annabelle stiffened.

"Now Rosa," the queen said gently, "they're just teenagers, what they're doing is difficult, but incredibly admirable." She smiled at Michael. Though he was still angry at his father, something about the approval on his mother's face made him ease a little bit. "Are you two ready?" She asked.

Annabelle's mother came between them, straightening Annabelle's dress, tightening ribbons and arranging the swaths of fabric. She looked every bit the part of a queen-to-be. Her chin was slightly lifted, her mouth set into a passive yet powerful line, her hair swept back and up elegantly. A little tiara that rested on the crown of her head completed the hairstyle. Her dress was nearly identical to the dress her mother had famously worn when her father had rescued her. The pink and silver suited Annabelle. A slight shade of pink had been added to her cheeks. Ever the blushing bride-to-be.

Michael's mother came over to him, and stopped a pace away. "Mom, are you okay?" He asked, noting the silvery tears that had begun to gather in her eyes.

"Yes, more than alright. I'm just very proud of you son. You could have turned and walked away, but you are choosing to put your wants away, and that's incredibly mature, and quite like a young king." She took a step towards him and planted a kiss on his cheek. She straightened the crown on his head and readjusted the kingdom's crest on his jacket. "You can do it," she smiled.

Michael turned to Annabelle and offered her his arm. She didn't smile, but she took it, and the two turned towards the door. They passed their mothers as they passed through the doorway. Annabelle was paling. "Hey, Annabelle, I will be right by your side the whole time. We need to pose for photos, and stand still while the press asks questions. "I'll take care of any that are directed our way. If you need to leave, just nudge my foot with yours and we'll go off stage, okay?" He looked at her with concern. He knew she was prone to panic attacks, and press conferences were the most anxiety inducing things they ever had to face. He stopped walking and turned to look at her. She looked down at her feet. As gently as he could manage he tilted her face to look at him. "Okay?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."

They took their place by the entrance to the stage, arm in arm. Michael took one last look at his friend before he looked ahead, schooled his face to neutrality and walked onto the stage. He'd never get used to the cameras flashing. The blinding white lights made it hard for him not to squint. He walked slowly, forcing himself to steady. These photos were going to be seen by billions tomorrow, he couldn't afford to have a hair out of place.

He and Annabelle moved the left of the stage, facing the crowd. Neither he nor Annabelle smiled. He felt the heat of the stage lights getting to him after a moment. He took a few deep breaths, calming his nerves. He tried not to look at the faces in the crowd visible between flashes of the cameras. He hated the press. They spun everything into whatever story would sell best, true or not. He'd been the unfortunate victim of more than a few of those stories.

He glanced at Annabelle who seemed to be doing alright. It made him a little more at ease. She was breathing normally. It seemed there was a little color to her face, though it could have been the makeup. She looked over his way and smiled a little.

One of the reporters shouted over the sea of voices. "Now that's a photo! Give us some more!"

Michael raised an eyebrow at Annabelle. Before he could react, she leaned forward, kissing him gently on the cheek. The camera flashes tripled. He felt the blush rising on his cheeks at the unexpected gesture. But the press seemed to like it, so he smiled, small, then broadly, Annabelle putting one on as well.

The King calmed the press down as he stepped up to the podium. "Thank you all for being here for this occasion,'' he said to the camera in the back of the room, broadcasting the event. As you know, there have been muddled reports about the status of Prince Michael and Lady Annabelle, but we are here to put rumors to rest, and give our people the truth." He smiled in the direction of the couple.

Michael wanted to scowl at his father. He still hadn't forgiven him for everything. Something in his dad's look almost dared him to interrupt him. Michael didn't.

"I am here to officially announce the betrothal of my son Prince Michael to the daughter of Sir Hagravand, and the granddaughter of Duke Hagravand, Lady Annabelle."

Arm in arm, the two approached the podium to stand beside it. There was a smattering of applause from those gathered in the room.

"As your king, I want to bestow on you all a sense of security and hope. Here we now have your future king and queen of the united continent!"

Michael listened to his father's overly-dramatic speech, paying careful attention to the woman beside him out of the corner of his eye. She was holding up alright, but he still wanted to be ready to leave the moment she needed to.

The king finally allowed the press to ask their questions.

"Your highness! Your highness!" A young woman shouted from the front row. Her sleek bob bounced as she spoke. The king nodded to her. "Why so long to announce the betrothal? What kept you from putting the rumors to rest much earlier?"

The king rested his left hand on his right almost as if her were comfortable in the situation. He might very well have been. Michael had never once seen his father fail at a press conference. "Well, there are many people that are needed to secure a betrothal. It isn't an easy process."

She tried to ask another question, but the king waved to a short plump man in the front. "Your highness, why did the prince tell us that he wasn't getting betrothed then?"

The king nodded, "There was a miscommunication. A small but unfortunate error. The prince will marry Lady Annabelle before he ascends the throne."

"A question for the prince and now princess!" A man with a mustache shouted.

Michael, his stomach flipping, followed his father's lead and pointed to the man.

"Prince Michael, why did your father say your betrothal gives us hope? What is it that you can do to offer us that?"

Michael's throat bobbed, but he willed himself to calm down and answer slowly. "An important part of being hopeful is being secure. By having a betrothal we can continue the line of kings and have easy transitions of power from one generation to the next."

"But how do we know the wild person you are could be a competent ruler?"

Michael desperately fought the frown on his face. "W— well I've been training to be a king my whole life—"

"It hasn't stopped you from partying."

"How can we trust a prince who gets arrested?"

"Why you? Why should you be the prince?"

He sputtered once, his face turning as red as a tomato.

The King gracefully interjected. "Let us please keep these questions directed towards the betrothal if you please."

An older man looked at Michael and Annabelle. "How did you choose Annabelle over the other ladies of the court?"

Michael sulked off-stage after the conference. He'd totally fumbled it. Annabelle, sitting beside him, was equally flustered, fanning herself with her hand. Michael felt like a scolded child as he waited for the king to speak with them.

"Are you alright Annabelle?" Michael asked, his voice quiet. With the press around, one couldn't be too careful. They were always skittering off to places they shouldn't be. That included the little back rooms such as these.

She sighed. "I did it, didn't I?" Michael didn't let the disdain in her voice hit him too hard.

"You did, and for what it's worth, I'm really proud of you. The press can be nasty." He was silent for a moment before he turned to look at her, the chair squeaking on the ground. "If you don't mind my asking, what made you be able to do it this time?"

She frowned, her lower lip twitching a couple times before she answered him. "My— my parents made a bargain with me. They promised me a therapist if I went through with this."

A pang hit him in the chest. "They've refused you a therapist? Annabelle," she looked away, her eyes scanning the floor. "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter. If mother comes through maybe I'll be able to sort through everything that's been going on and has happened." She played with the beads sewn into her skirt, her expression unreadable.

Michael leaned back in his chair almost dumbstruck. He knew her parents were no pushovers, but he hadn't realized how little they'd done for. To use therapy as a bargaining chip for a life altering decision? He ran a hand through his hair. He could never imagine his father doing such a thing. With everything Annabelle had been through he'd just assumed they'd done something to help her heal. She hadn't had an easy life like most royals. Aside from her rigorous training and the cruel methods occasionally applied therewithin, she'd been hurt in ways that most people would never experience or even realize. Most everything she'd endured was hidden from the world, leaving her to pretend it never happened.

A shiver ran down his spine. If he wasn't able to help this woman who had been in his life since they were babies, how could he possibly help the citizens of his kingdom?