Royally Awkward

The music swirled around them as Sophia led Elliot to the dance floor, her hand clasping his with a mix of determination and mischief. Elliot's pulse quickened. He wasn't sure if it was the prospect of dancing or the way her smile seemed to pull him out of his usual spiral of self-doubt.

"Okay, Mr. Fancy Pants," Sophia said, smirking as they reached the middle of the floor. "Show me what you've got."

"Uh, I hate to disappoint," Elliot said, shuffling awkwardly, "but my dance experience is limited to weddings, and even then, it was mostly the Chicken Dance."

Sophia laughed, the sound clear and unrestrained, drawing more attention than Elliot was comfortable with. "Perfect," she said, positioning his hands. "You're in good hands. Just follow my lead."

The orchestra launched into a waltz so elegant that Elliot instantly felt out of place. He shuffled his feet, trying to mimic Sophia's smooth movements. Predictably, he stepped on her toes within seconds.

"Ow!"Sophia winced, though she was still grinning. "Okay, not bad for a beginner, but maybe ease up on the stomping?"

"Sorry!"Elliot groaned. "Why does this feel like a medieval form of torture? Is dancing really a requirement for being royal?"

"Absolutely," Sophia teased. "You can't be a proper monarch without mastering the art of awkward public dancing."

As they stumbled through the steps, Lady Margaret stood at the edge of the room, her stern gaze locked on them like a hawk. She sighed deeply, muttering something under her breath about "hopeless cases" and "abominations to the waltz."

Elliot noticed her disapproving glare and leaned closer to Sophia. "Is she going to write a scathing Yelp review of my dance moves?"

Sophia chuckled, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Relax. She's just jealous she doesn't get to dance with the kingdom's newest royal disaster."

Elliot couldn't help but laugh, and for a moment, he forgot about the crowd of dignitaries watching his every move. The awkwardness melted away as he focused on Sophia, her energy grounding him in the moment.

As the song came to an end, Elliot spun Sophia in what he hoped was a graceful move. To his relief, she twirled with effortless ease, earning a smattering of polite applause from the crowd.

"Well," Sophia said, catching her breath, "you didn't completely embarrass yourself. I'd call that a win."

"High praise," Elliot replied with a grin. "I'll add 'mediocre dancer' to my growing list of royal skills."

Before Sophia could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"Mr. Hargrove," Lady Margaret said, her tone clipped. "May I remind you that this evening is about presenting yourself as a capable leader, not a stand-up comedian?"

Elliot turned to her, holding back an eye roll. "And here I thought laughter was good for the kingdom. My bad."

Lady Margaret's expression didn't change, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Just… keep in mind that your behavior reflects on all of us."

Sophia leaned toward Elliot, whispering, "I think she secretly likes you."

Elliot snorted. "Yeah, sure. And macarons are indestructible."

Lady Margaret, apparently deciding the conversation wasn't worth her time, turned and walked away, leaving Elliot and Sophia alone again.

"So," Sophia said, glancing around the room, "what's next on the royal to-do list? Speechwriting? Sword fights? Maybe a jousting tournament?"

"Honestly, your guess is as good as mine," Elliot said, shrugging. "I'm still trying to figure out how I ended up here in the first place."

Sophia studied him for a moment, her teasing smile softening. "For what it's worth," she said, "you're doing okay. Better than okay, actually."

Elliot blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah," she said, nudging his arm. "You might be royally clueless, but at least you're real. And trust me, that's a rare thing around here."

Elliot felt a warmth spread through his chest. "Thanks," he said, his voice quieter. "That means a lot."

Before the moment could grow too serious, a trumpet sounded from the head table, drawing everyone's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the king's booming voice announced, "it is time for dessert!"

The waitstaff wheeled out yet another extravagant display, this time featuring towering sculptures made entirely of chocolate. Elliot's stomach growled, but his eyes were glued to the precarious arrangement.

"Okay," Sophia said, smirking, "five bucks says this ends in disaster."

Elliot grinned. "You're on."

As if on cue, one of the waiters tripped over his own feet, sending a cascade of chocolate tumbling to the floor. The crowd gasped, but Elliot and Sophia burst into laughter, their voices cutting through the formal atmosphere like sunlight through clouds.

For the first time since arriving at the palace, Elliot felt like he could breathe.

Elliot woke up the next morning to the sound of rapid knocking on his door. He groaned, rolling over in his massive, overly fluffy bed.

"Just five more minutes," he mumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.

The knocking turned into full-on banging.

"Mr. Hargrove!" Lady Margaret's unmistakable voice cut through the door like a laser. "You were supposed to be downstairs for training twenty minutes ago!"

Elliot sat up with a start, his hair sticking out at odd angles. "What training?"he called back, scrambling to find his slippers.

Lady Margaret didn't wait for an invitation. The door swung open, and there she stood, looking as composed and terrifying as ever. Her eyes scanned the chaos of his room half-open suitcases, mismatched socks strewn across the floor, and a lonely bag of chips sitting on the nightstand.

"Good heavens," she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You are hopeless."

"Nice to see you too, Margaret," Elliot said with a sheepish grin. "What's the emergency this time?"

"It's not an emergency. It's your royal training," she snapped. "And you're late."

Elliot groaned, dragging himself out of bed. "Okay, okay. Give me five minutes to "

"You don't have five minutes," she interrupted, marching over and tossing a jacket in his direction. "You have thirty seconds. Get dressed. Now."

Elliot grumbled under his breath but obeyed. Five minutes later though it felt more like thirty seconds—he was trudging down the palace hallway behind Lady Margaret, still half-asleep and entirely unprepared for whatever nonsense awaited him.

When they arrived at the training hall, Elliot stopped dead in his tracks.

"Uh," he said, blinking at the sight in front of him. "Why does this look like an episode of Game of Thrones?"

The hall had been transformed into what could only be described as a medieval boot camp. Rows of armor-lined mannequins stood at attention, swords and shields gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the high windows, and a group of stern-faced instructors waited in a line, each holding a different weapon.

"This," Lady Margaret announced, "is combat training."

Elliot's jaw dropped. "Combat training? I thought this was supposed to be about public speaking and... I don't know, waving at parades."

"You're a royal now," Margaret said, her tone firm. "And a royal must be prepared for all scenarios. Including defending the kingdom."

Elliot raised an eyebrow. "Defending it from what? A rogue pastry chef with a vendetta?"

"Enough jokes," she snapped. "Take this."

She handed him a sword that was far heavier than he expected. He nearly dropped it on his foot, earning a collective groan from the instructors.

"This is going to be a disaster," Elliot muttered to himself as the first instructor stepped forward.

The lesson began with basic stances and movements, but it quickly became clear that Elliot was not a natural-born swordsman. He tripped over his own feet more times than he could count, and the sword felt like it had a mind of its own, swinging wildly every time he tried to control it.

"Keep your stance steady!"barked the instructor. "A strong foundation is the key to victory!"

"Yeah, sure," Elliot panted, struggling to keep up. "But what if my foundation is more... wobbly Jell-O than solid rock?"

By the end of the session, Elliot was drenched in sweat and covered in bruises. He flopped onto a bench, groaning.

"This is worse than gym class," he muttered, clutching his aching arms.

Lady Margaret appeared beside him, her expression unreadable. "You survived," she said simply.

"Barely," Elliot replied.

"Tomorrow, we'll work on archery," she added.

Elliot's eyes widened in horror. "Archery? Are you trying to kill me?"

Before she could respond, a familiar voice called out from the doorway.

"Well, if it isn't the kingdom's newest warrior," Sophia said, strolling into the hall with a to-go cup in hand. She was dressed in her usual casual attire, a stark contrast to the regal setting around her.

"Sophia!" Elliot said, his mood instantly lifting. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you coffee," she said, holding up the cup. "Figured you'd need it after last night's chaos."

Elliot accepted the cup gratefully, taking a long sip. "You are a lifesaver," he said, sighing in relief.

Sophia glanced around the hall, taking in the medieval setup. "So, this is your new life, huh? Fancy swords and shouting instructors? Must be a real step up from your old desk job."

"Yeah," Elliot said with a wry smile. "It's a dream come true."

She laughed, leaning against the wall. "Well, at least you're surviving. Barely."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he said, chuckling.

Their banter was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger, who handed Lady Margaret a sealed envelope. She read it quickly, her expression tightening.

"What is it?"Elliot asked, sensing her unease.

"There's been a development," she said, her voice serious. "A delegation from a neighboring kingdom is arriving this afternoon. They wish to discuss an important matter with you."

Elliot frowned. "What kind of matter?"

Lady Margaret hesitated before answering. "A potential alliance. Through marriage."

Elliot nearly choked on his coffee. "Marriage?!"

Sophia's eyebrows shot up, her casual demeanor vanishing. "Wait, what?"

"It's a political strategy," Margaret explained. "Strengthening ties between kingdoms is a common practice. The delegation will expect you to entertain the proposal."

Elliot stared at her, his mind racing. "You're joking, right? I can't... I mean, I'm not ready for that kind of thing!"

"You don't have a choice," Margaret said firmly.

Sophia crossed her arms, her gaze darting between Elliot and Margaret. "So, what? He's supposed to marry someone he's never met just because it's 'political'?"

"That's how these things work," Margaret replied, unflinching.

Elliot looked at Sophia, her expression unreadable, and then back at Margaret. His stomach churned. He'd only just started to figure out this royal life, and now this?

"Great," he muttered. "Just when I thought things couldn't get more complicated."