Prince Naveen was many things. Jazz lover, lady killer, ukulele aficionado... And, of course, the crown prince of Maldonia.
But above all, Prince Naveen of Maldonia was deceased.
Six months prior to now, Maldonia's era of peace and prosperity was interrupted by an invasion of English forces. Not through English troops, but a group of tenacious, determined English diplomats. They came with news of France, recently "liberated" and "improved" by the guiding hand of English policy. Maldonia was many things, but a military power it was not. England's wish to expand that same guiding hand into Maldonia's borders was one that the royal family could not contest.
Naveen might have made a case against it were he there, but while his father reluctantly shook hands with the conquering English forces, he was out with a girl. Two girls, actually. All three oblivious to the fact that their king was in the process of signing the country over to England in all but name.
By the time he returned to the palace, hung over and buzzing with the music from the dance hall he'd left only hours earlier, his parents were already packing.
To the summer house, they said. Just for a month or two, so they could work out terms with the English government through the nearby French embassy (for all anything French was truly "French" anymore). Naveen was expected to join them, to be an active participant in the discussions. He was to be king someday, his parents reminded him for what must have been the thousandth time, and a future king shares responsibility with the current king.
Naveen didn't have much interest in being a future king or a current king, but he wasn't in a position to dispute either. Besides. The summer house was one he remembered as a boy, and one that he remembered much better and more fondly as a teenager with money to spend and a keen interest in sneaking out after dark. With Raj left behind at the palace for his studies, Naveen got on the ship with his parents and said goodbye to his little brother for what he didn't know would be the last time in a very, very long time.
And for his parents, it would be the last time.
The night of the fire, Naveen snuck out for the sixth time in so many days that week. England's enforcement of curfew put a limiter on things, but there were still a few clubs where the French youth population went to enjoy music, drink, and dancing until dawn. At twenty-two, it was impossible for him to resist that kind of temptation.
And it was that lack of self control that ultimately kept him from burning in the blaze that consumed his parents and life as he once knew it.
The papers ran the stories immediately -- Royal Family Dead, Save 6-Year Old Prince -- with the same family portrait on the front page of every paper. Maldonia was draped in black for a week, France mourning lifelong allies, and the people of Europe wondering in private corners how accidental that fire truly was.
Naveen was getting drunk in the privacy of his latest paramour's apartment -- she was at work, of course, a concept that eluded him -- when solitude turned suddenly to surprise.
"Faldi faldonza!" He shouted, cringing back with surprise and considerable fear. After all, it was impossible to ignore the rumors of how the fire got started and what it was meant to achieve. Naveen was a little too preoccupied with his own grief to consider them too closely, but was enough to startle him onto his feet. Sheets made for terrible clothes, but at least they covered the important bits.
gonna prose it up for my own sake, but feel free to jump back to brackets!
But above all, Prince Naveen of Maldonia was deceased.
Six months prior to now, Maldonia's era of peace and prosperity was interrupted by an invasion of English forces. Not through English troops, but a group of tenacious, determined English diplomats. They came with news of France, recently "liberated" and "improved" by the guiding hand of English policy. Maldonia was many things, but a military power it was not. England's wish to expand that same guiding hand into Maldonia's borders was one that the royal family could not contest.
Naveen might have made a case against it were he there, but while his father reluctantly shook hands with the conquering English forces, he was out with a girl. Two girls, actually. All three oblivious to the fact that their king was in the process of signing the country over to England in all but name.
By the time he returned to the palace, hung over and buzzing with the music from the dance hall he'd left only hours earlier, his parents were already packing.
To the summer house, they said. Just for a month or two, so they could work out terms with the English government through the nearby French embassy (for all anything French was truly "French" anymore). Naveen was expected to join them, to be an active participant in the discussions. He was to be king someday, his parents reminded him for what must have been the thousandth time, and a future king shares responsibility with the current king.
Naveen didn't have much interest in being a future king or a current king, but he wasn't in a position to dispute either. Besides. The summer house was one he remembered as a boy, and one that he remembered much better and more fondly as a teenager with money to spend and a keen interest in sneaking out after dark. With Raj left behind at the palace for his studies, Naveen got on the ship with his parents and said goodbye to his little brother for what he didn't know would be the last time in a very, very long time.
And for his parents, it would be the last time.
The night of the fire, Naveen snuck out for the sixth time in so many days that week. England's enforcement of curfew put a limiter on things, but there were still a few clubs where the French youth population went to enjoy music, drink, and dancing until dawn. At twenty-two, it was impossible for him to resist that kind of temptation.
And it was that lack of self control that ultimately kept him from burning in the blaze that consumed his parents and life as he once knew it.
The papers ran the stories immediately -- Royal Family Dead, Save 6-Year Old Prince -- with the same family portrait on the front page of every paper. Maldonia was draped in black for a week, France mourning lifelong allies, and the people of Europe wondering in private corners how accidental that fire truly was.
Naveen was getting drunk in the privacy of his latest paramour's apartment -- she was at work, of course, a concept that eluded him -- when solitude turned suddenly to surprise.
"Faldi faldonza!" He shouted, cringing back with surprise and considerable fear. After all, it was impossible to ignore the rumors of how the fire got started and what it was meant to achieve. Naveen was a little too preoccupied with his own grief to consider them too closely, but was enough to startle him onto his feet. Sheets made for terrible clothes, but at least they covered the important bits.
"Who are you!?"