A.N. Hello, dere.

I'm sorry about the lateness, but hey~ by now you know that pitchforks and things distract me, so...smile? be happy? Watch The Big Bang Theory?

Crown Prince Richard John stalks into the breakfast room, slams the newspaper down on the table and angrily spits out, "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Why, hello, dear," Selina says dryly, buttering up a piece of toast and sliding it across the table to Kathryn-Ann. "Do tell us what you're feeling."

"I'm feeling like I can't believe this! You're not seriously considering sending Damian and Alexei to some…commoner school!"

"Actually, we've decided to do it," Bruce says, awkwardly bouncing Nicolai on his knee as he eats. "And whatever's the matter with a commoner school as you so eloquently put it? Your mother went to one in Spain,"

"Your mother graduated from one in Spain," Selina corrects. "You forget, darling, I'm not royal or English like the rest of you silver-spooners."

It is easy to forget that Selina was a perfectly normal English-Spanish citizen –albeit one who worked for MI6- until she met Bruce, because she makes it look like she's lived royal her entire life, but Richard is still adamant. "And look where it got you! Married at eighteen! Forced to stay married to the old man even when he leaves his socks everywhere! Procreating like rabbits, stuck with me for godsakes!"

"I'm also the acting Queen, kid," Selina raises one eyebrow. "And I chose to get married that young."

"And I'm only forty-five," Bruce says. "And your mother's only thirty-eight."

"That's not the point! Honestly, Bruce, the point is Damien and Alexei are far too young to be exposed to public school, far too young to be in the public eye! Bloody hell, they're only six!"

"Aw, Bruce," Selina says, delighted. "Oh, I think our son is jealous he won't get to see his brothers as much!"

"Oh, ʾLina, I think you're right! He's missing them already, the old softie," Bruce rubs Nicolai's back. "Don't worry, Bubby, you'll still be a big brother, you've got Nicolai and Katie."

"Don't call me Bubby! And I am not jealous!"

"Yes, you are, darling," Selina brushes Katie's chin with a napkin. "If it makes you feel better, you can go meet the teacher today. You could take the boys with you; they've got to go and get their school lists anyway."

"I will!" Richard huffs. "And she'll probably be some seventy-year-old woman who hates children and just wants to kidnap the boys and I'll laugh when you have to call up your MI6 friends and tell them you lost the Princes."

"Your mother and I reinvented MI6! We were MI6!" Bruce calls after him as he stalks out.

Katarina Oliviae Reneè Isabella Chiaro is understandably nervous.

She starts teaching for the very first time in a week, and this afternoon she's going to meet the kids in her very first teaching class, and, apparently, two of those kids are going to be from the bloody royal family, the fourth and fifth in line for the bloody throne, so yes, she is nervous.

And one of her dearest friends is being absolutely no help.

"Honestly, Roy," She says exasperatedly. "One would think you're purposefully trying to discourage me!"

"I am purposefully trying to discourage you!" Roy leans back on the table languidly, laying down and crossing his eyes at Kori. "They'll probably come with the bloody MI6 for playmates!"

"Or they'll just be regular children! Honestly, Roy, just because they're royal doesn't mean they're not just like anyone else!"

"That's exactly what it means and you know it, love," Roy says, blowing strands of red hair out of his eyes.

"Roy! Get off the table, what are you, some kind of bum? There'll be kids coming in here any second, you arse, and I refuse to have those children poisoned by your unhelpful-"

"Language, miss," A crisp, clean voice says from behind her. "You are a kindergarten teacher, after all."

"Oh, um, yes!" Kori blushes, glares at the smirking boy on her table, and turns around. "I'm so sorry, I was just-"

"Being stupid." The man says, and as he speaks, Kori takes in his appearance. Black jumper over a white collared shirt. Messy black hair, curling at the nape of his neck. Piercing blue eyes, lit with annoyance.

"I beg your pardon," She says, clearing her throat and trying not to focus on his obvious good looks. "But wanting everyone to be on their best behavior is not stupid."

"Yes, well, your boyfriend shouldn't have even been in here," The man says snidely. "Students could walk in at any moment. I could've walked in five minutes earlier and god knows what I would've seen-"

"Excuse me!" Kori says, horrified and indignant. "He is not my boyfriend, and I have been doing nothing but preparing all morning!"

"Well, he wants to be, I can tell you that, and honestly, I'm sure you're quite a nice girl, but you can't be more than twenty years old, and to be frank, you can't be all that smart. You're obviously unqualified to teach royals, so maybe it would be best if you simply bowed out and let a more experienced, preferably male teacher take over."

"I-Roy is bloody gay! He's not even into girls in general, much less me! And I'm twenty-two, and I'm sorry if I didn't go to the finest college and suck on a bleeding silver spoon like you, but I assure you I am very qualified, and I didn't ask to be your blooming brother's teacher! However, I graduated valedictorian, did quite well at Oxford, and what the hell do you mean, a male teacher? Do you have a problem with women?" Kori says furiously, fighting the urge to stamp her foot like a child.

"No, I don't have an issue with women, as long as I'm somewhat drunk and they're lying beneath me," He smirks at Kori's disgusted face.

Damn him. Kori thinks angrily. Damn him and his stupid smirk and his sexist ways and his stupid, stupid, stupid blue eyes. "You-you-"

"Oh, very articulate, darling. Now, perhaps you could work on using complete sentences with subjects and predicates now?"

"I-look, you git, I am going to be teaching those children regardless of whatever you think of me, you need to get over this little fit you're having now. It won't get us anywhere and I honestly don't have the time or will for this."

The man raises his eyebrows, and a slow, dazzling smile creeps over his face.

Kori groans inwardly. Of course, of course he has a good smile. As if he wasn't terrible enough already.

He still looks arrogantly unconvinced, but he nods. "I suppose. The boys'll be here in a second, they're meeting the other children-"

"Really? Alone?"

"Flanked by six MI6 operatives, and another four undercover." The man laughs. "What sort of Crown Prince do you think I am?"

"The arrogant kind. And if you're going to come bursting into my classroom, insulting my teaching skills, my intelligence, and my gender, you should really lead with the Crown Prince bit."

"I should, shouldn't I?" He gives a laugh. "Crown Prince Richard John, at your service." He extends his hand to shake.

"signora Katarina Chiaro." Kori hesitated. "Also at your service."

"No, Linda, I'm fine," Wallace Rudolph Weston, Duke of Pemberton, speaks into his phone patiently, looking around Les Notes Malchanceux warily. "Yes, I'm sure it wouldn't be an issue, but I'm quite fine walking back-yes, I'm sure you're quite close, but it's not necessary, I'm very happy where I am-bloody hell, woman, d'you think I'm incompetent? You don't have to hold my hand and walk me home, I'm quite capable of-yes, yes, fine. I'll see you then." Hanging up the phone, he sighed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Rough day, mate?" Seymour calls from the register as he stacks CDs.

"The roughest," Wally calls back, and groans. "Tell me why she has to be so blooming clingy all the time!"

"Because she's afraid of losing you," is the reply, and Wally can practically hear the eye roll.

"Can't lose what you never had," Wally says ruefully.

"Who never had what?" A voice with an American accent calls from the stairs. "Seymour, are you boring the customers with your woes?"

"No, love, I'm boring them with yours," Seymour calls back. "When was the last time Benedict called?"

"Last night while I was watching Sherlock," comes the reply. "Mr. Cumberbatch always knows when to get me."

"Sorry about that one," Seymour says to Wally, "But she's obsessed with Benedict Cumberbatch. Thinks his face is 'sexy and symmetrical' or something. It's lucky, though, because if she wasn't I don't know that I'd be quite sure she was human."

"Funny," Wally says, and stretches his arms above his head lazily. "I've never even met her and I'm already sure she isn't."

It was true that Wally has never met her, her being the owner of Les Notes Malchanceux. He'd only heard her voice, because she apparently refuses to manage her own store. She'd hired Seymour to do that, and he's the only one who ever saw her at work.

"Yes, you've met me," she says, and he heasd footsteps on the stairs. "We only talk every day, you idiot."

"No, I haven't," He replies. "I've never seen you, you ignoramus."

"Oh, big word," she calls back, and the voice seems closer this time. "Did you look that one up on your IPhone?"

"Nope. I had Mummy do it for me. And-be still my beating heart! Are you gracing me with your presence?"

"You're not lucky enough for that, daddy-o," She replies, a begrudging laugh in her voice.

"Right." Wally turns to Seymour. "I think the coast is clear, mate. I should probably head back before my mum locks me out."

"You still live with your mother?" she snorts. "Pathetic."

"I'm sorry, I'm only taking commentary from ace people at the moment," Wally calls behind his shoulder as he walks to the door. "But you can file your complaint with all the other losers in a moment!"

The doorbell jingles as he leaves, and he whistles slightly as he walks down the street. He considers this day a shining success; he's managed to avoid Linda all day, his cousin hasn't done anything supremely tabloid-stupid, and-

He's forgotten his phone in the shop.

He turns around and retraces his steps, and he's halfway back to the shop when a smallish woman bumps into him and spills a mug of coffee all over his jumper.

"Bloody-" He lets loose a string of curses, trying in vain to keep the soaked fabric from his skin. "Oh, bollocks."

"Aw, geez, I'm sorry," The woman dabs at his shirt a little, but it's futile. "That was totally my fault."

"It's okay, I'll just- geez, how hot do you like your coffee? This burns," Wally complains, and the woman takes off her scarf and dabs a little more.

"Don't be a dweeb, you should've watched where you were going," she says irritably. "And I like my coffee hot enough to poor on jerks and pedophiles."

"Unfortunately I don't fall into either category, so you really have no excuse," Wally ruefully pinches the growing brown stain. "See, now I'm going to have to take my shirt off, and all the women all around here are going to start swooning and fainting and it'll get messy-"

"Spare me." She snorts. "That looks bad, man. You should handle that."

"Don't worry about it; I have an extra sweater somewhere." Wally rummages through his messenger bag and pulls out a navy blue t-shirt, smirking at the woman's raised eyebrow. "Oh, don't judge, you pink-haired- wait a minute, I recognize your voice."

"Do you? Very perceptive. Why do you even have a shirt in your messenger bag? Do you often need to change?"

" Yes, I do. You run the music shop. We talk almost every day. My cousin has a tendency to puke on me when he's drunk. And he's drunk most of the time."

"Oh, you're the phone guy. The ginger- Wally, right? And who is this cousin? I've probably met him, and more than likely I've slept with him." She stops dabbing at Wally's shirt and rewinds her scarf around her neck.

Generally, this is the part of the conversation when Wally inwardly sighs and says, my cousin is the Crown Prince. This is the part where the normal conversation, with the normal girl (albeit the fact that she's generally pretty), turns into a swooning flattery fest.

And he likes this girl. Likes her more than he would think possible, given the fact that this is the first time he's ever seen her and has ever had a full, functioning conversation with her.

So, he grins at her, and he says, "Right. He's a pub crawler. Spends most of his time with a bottle."

She smiles back at him, and he ignores the tiny twinge of guilt. It's just a little…truth omitting. Richard is a pub crawler; he's just a royal one.

After all, little lies don't come out unless you're sloppy.

And twenty-four years of cleaning up after his cousin have made him anything but.

A.N. so. reviews. they're beautiful things, really. You should go ahead a leave one of those.