Twisted-Games

every news channel.
The press spun the story as a reverse fairytale about a princess and her
bodyguard, and the commentators ran with it, penning entire articles and opeds
about love, duty, and tradition.
The public ate it up. According to Bridget, Parliament had been inundated
with calls about repealing the law, and the hashtag #LoveOverCountry had
been trending all week on social media.
Love was the most universal emotion. Not everyone experienced it, but
they all wanted it—even those who said they didn’t—and Bridget’s press
conference had tapped into that core need. She wasn’t just a royal anymore.
She was a human and, more importantly, relatable to every person out there
who couldn’t be with the person they wanted for whatever reason.
There was nothing more powerful than power people could relate to.
Bridget’s plan had worked better than we could’ve hoped, but it was
disconcerting seeing my face all over the newsstands and having people stop
and stare wherever I went.
But I’d agreed to the plan knowing it would destroy any semblance of
privacy I had left, and if stepping out of the shadows and into the spotlight
was what it took for us to be together, I’d do an interview with every
goddamned magazine out there.
Bridget, Erhall’s assistant, and I waited for the Speaker’s response to
Bridget’s visit.
I heard the slam of a desk drawer followed by several beats of silence
before the door swung open, revealing an irritated-looking Erhall.
The knots in my muscles doubled. My father. I didn’t know what I’d
expected. Maybe a tug in my stomach at the sight of the man who was
technically one half of me, or the loathing that had simmered beneath the
surface for over three decades, waiting for the day when I could unleash it in
a hail of fists and blood and curses.
Instead, I felt nothing. Nothing except a vague distaste for Erhall’s overly
coiffed, gel-slick hair and anger at the tight, bordering-on-disrespectful smile
he gave Bridget.
“Your Highness. Please, come in.” His tone indicated he was less than
pleased by the surprise, and he didn’t acknowledge me as we stepped into his
large, oak-paneled office.
Bridget and I took the seats across from him. The office reflected the
man, cold and empty of any personal effects except for the framed university