Paparazzi are a nuisance. They are the roaches of the news world, the rats that latch onto the crumbs of society, twisting pictures and statements for their own warped game. Anyone worth their salt has had a camera snapped at them while they walk down the street or a microphone shoved in their face while they ate, desperate to try to get even a single word.
Victoria, as a princess, is no difference. In Vertsea, there are always people trying to catch her image. They want to have the next big head line, the next big hit.
Royalty, that’s always the way to go.
During the start of this trek through the States, there were hardly any reporters. But about two weeks ago, after Queen Gabriella announced the engagement of Princess Victoria and the Duke of Cambridge, they seemed to surround the family.
Men and women crawled out of the woodwork, holding cameras in place of swords and microphones in place of shields. Everywhere Victoria goes, someone is trying to take her picture. Everything she does is recorded for the entire world to see.
And now, there’s a reporter standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
Victoria doesn’t know where her father’s gone. The King has left, storming off in a rage, and now she’s standing there, naked, with Matt in her bed and her mother holding her tightly by a bruised wrist.
Even now, Victoria can see the headlines. Even now, she knows, with a sinking feeling, that this is it. Her life, as she knows it, is over.
“Holy shit,” says the reporter, a gawky-looking blonde woman by the name of Carrie Martin. “Holy shit! I can’t believe this. Would you give me a quote? Come on, one of you has to have something to say!”
Matt lurches to his feet. He pulls his jeans on, only just thinking to zip them up. His boxers are still in a heap on the other side of the room with his shirt. The cigarette gets pushed out on the bedside table, leaving behind a dark smear on the wood. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing in here?”
It is the first time—and possibly the last time—that Matt and Gabriella are on the same wavelength. The Queen lets go of Victoria’s hand in favor of spinning around, pointing angrily at the reporter. “Get out of this room at once!”
“I’m not in a room,” says Carrie, standing firmly in the hall. “The door was unlocked; I wasn’t breaking and entering. Tell me, do any of you have something to say on the matter?”
Victoria pulls her panties on, wrapping her arms around her chest the first chance that she gets. Her skin is red and hot, embarrassment and shame leaving her skin dark and her stomach twisting. “On what matter?”
“The fact that you’re cheating on the Duke of Cambridge,” says Carrie. “And that you’re in love with a supposed rapist.”
“Get out,” spits Matt, taking a threatening step forward.
Reporters, however, have spines made from steel and brains the size of a gnat. Carrie shakes her head. She takes another picture. “There are no legal reasons for me to leave. If the door wasn’t locked, it’s perfectly legal for me to be in here. Victoria, what can you tell me about the way your mother was speaking to you? Is she abusive?”
Victoria almost says yes just to spite the older woman. Thankfully, years of dealing with the paparazzi have given her much better sense. Instead, she stands up straight as she can, looks Carrie Martin straight in the eye, and says, “My name is Princess Victoria, and I am formally requesting that you leave my suite. The door may have been unlocked, but you are not invited. I know this is being recorded, and I will press charges if you use anything we’ve said in your papers.”
Carrie looks horribly disappointed. She lowers her camera, lower lip jutting out. “Not even a single statement?”
“No,” insists Victoria. She wipes at her face with the back of her hand. “Not a single statement. Please leave.”
“Shit,” mutters Carrie. The woman takes one more picture and then scuttles outside, no doubt vanishing into the same dark crevice that she came from.
“Roaches,” spits Gabriella, “the lot of them! We aren’t finished here, Victoria.”
“This is my suite,” says the young princess, voice wavering. “And I want you to leave. My name is on the room. It’s on the key. Mother, you need to leave.”
“Not if he’s still in here,” says Gabriella. “I refuse to leave you alone with that son-of-a-bitch.”
Matt raises his hands. He looks at Victoria, apologies written across his face, excuses swimming in his eyes. “I’m leaving, Tori. No offense but this is a little much for me. I’ll get in touch with you later, okay?”
Victoria sniffs. The thought of being alone makes everything worse. The walls of her bedroom are too close together. The weight of her title seems crushing. “I don’t care,” says Victoria with a shake of her head. “I just want her to leave.”
Matt steps around the bed, pressing his fingers against the sheets. “I’ll come by and get my stuff later…”
“That’s fine,” says Victoria stiffly. “Just…please leave. Both of you.”
“You’re my daughter,” says Gabriella. “You’re my daughter, Victoria, but I can’t accept this. You’ve ruined your life. You had best hope that this sluttish behavior of yours hasn’t ruined mine, as well.”
Matt sidesteps around the Queen, scampering out of the suite without another word. Victoria wishes her mother would do the same, but she's never been that lucky. Standing there now, Victoria knows she's never going to be that lucky.
“And the kingdom,” continues Gabriella, “the kingdom will never be the same! Do you know what a scandal like this could do to us? The entire country could be ruined!”
“The country isn't going to be ruined,” snaps Victoria. “You're the only one bothered by this, Mother!”
“Your father is in a rage!”
“You’re both insane!”
“Stay your tongue,” hisses Gabriella. “Have you lost your entire mind? I won't allow you to speak to us nor about us like that, you plebian slut!”
“Do you even hear yourself? Listen to what you're calling me!”
“I call you what you deserve,” snaps Gabriella. “I can't believe you. I can't believe you would do this to us, Victoria. Shame on you, Victoria. Shame on you for being such a raging slut. Try to keep your legs closed tonight, won't you?”
And then the Queen spins on her feet and storms out of the room. Victoria sits down on the edge of the bed, hides her face in her hands, and starts to cry in earnest.