Chapter 2 - The Royal Inquiry
The private holding room on the top floor of the resort was lined with mahogany and bulletproof glass. Outside, three black-suited Valencian intelligence officers stood post, preventing media, wedding planners, and frantic family members from entering.
I sat on a plush velvet sofa, my dress cap resting on the glass table beside a untouched cup of Earl Grey tea. Opposite me sat King George, Prince Alexander, and Chief Legal Counsel Lord Sterling.
"Drink your tea, Commander," King George said gently, leaning back in an armchair. "You look as though you've just survived a naval court-martial."
"With respect, Your Majesty," I replied, "a naval court-martial is significantly less chaotic than a royal wedding."
Alexander let out a brief, humorless laugh. He had removed his ceremonial jacket, revealing his crisp white shirt and dark trousers. He looked exhausted, the betrayal clear in the lines around his eyes. "I apologize to you, Emily. If I had known... if I had suspected for a moment that she was lying about your whereabouts—"
"You didn't know, Your Highness," I said. "Rachel is very good at constructing stories. She's spent her whole life curating how people see her."
Lord Sterling cleared his throat, opening a leather-bound folder on his lap. "Commander Carter, as Chief Counsel to the Crown, I must ask you a series of sensitive questions regarding your sister. The Royal Marriage Act of 1922 dictates that any individual marrying into the line of succession must pass a strict character and background assessment. Fabricating official military status reports to the Sovereign is technically a federal offense under Valencian constitutional law."
"She’s my sister," I said quietly, looking at Lord Sterling. "She made a terrible, vain mistake. But she isn't a criminal."
"Isn't she?" Alexander interjected, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Emily, it wasn't just the lie about your deployment. Over the past six months, Rachel has systematically cut off every person from her past who didn't fit her image of a princess. She fired her college roommate from her bridal party. She banned your father’s brothers because they work in manufacturing. And today, I discovered she signed an unauthorized agreement with a French fashion house to sell exclusive broadcast rights to our private vows."
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. The weight of it hit me like a physical blow. Rachel hadn't just fallen in love with a prince; she had commodified a monarchy to fill an abyss of her own insecurity.
Before I could answer, the heavy oak doors clicked open. A guard stepped in, bowing low.
"Your Majesty, the bride’s mother and father are requesting an audience. The bride is... hysterical in the green room."
King George glanced at me. "Do you wish them to enter, Commander?"
"They are my parents, sir," I said, standing up and smoothing my tunic. "Yes."
My mother rushed into the room first, her floral dress rustling. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her lipstick slightly smudged. My father followed behind her, looking entirely out of his depth in a rented tuxedo that didn't quite fit his shoulders.
"Emily!" my mother cried, reaching out to grab my arms. "What have you done? Why did you bring those guards here? You’ve ruined your sister's life!"
My father stepped in immediately. "Sarah, stop it!" he barked, his voice carrying the rough rasp of a retired steelworker. "Shut your mouth!"
"Don't tell me to shut my mouth, David!" she snapped back, tears spilling over. "Rachel is sitting down there sobbing! The press is reporting that the wedding is off! The royal family is going to abandon us!"
"Rachel brought this on herself!" my father shouted, turning to face King George and bowing awkwardly. "Your Majesty, I apologize for my wife. And I apologize for my daughter Rachel. I had no idea... I swear to God on my life, I had no idea Emily wasn't invited. Rachel told us Emily was on active duty in the Pacific. She showed us a fake letter!"
I froze. "A fake letter?"
My father pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. I opened it. It was printed on forged Department of the Navy letterhead, complete with a forged signature from my commanding officer at Naval Station Norfolk, stating that Commander Emily Carter was classified as 'Unavailable for Leave due to Operational Security Requirements.'
My blood turned to ice.
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"She forged military documentation," Lord Sterling noted coldly, writing something down in his ledger. "That is no longer just a social lie, Commander. That is a felony."
(Story continues for Chapter 3 through Chapter 10...)
