A/N: Finally! Enjoy chapter six, everyone, and please review. Hop to it!

Ch. 6

Visiting Royalty

(Part One)

King Amar was in a routine meeting filled with the mumbles of high-ranked officials and arguing accountants. The king pressed two fingers upon his forehead, massaging his stressed temple.

"This is the fifth time they've requested lumber in the last eight months!" an older official griped, pounding a fist on the meeting's polished wooden table, "We need to allocate our funds to the railroads!"

"And the villagers in the city of Zapor are in the middle of a pipeline crisis, your majesty!" another sputtered, a golden spectacle about his orb.

"It's that council leader of theirs!" replied his neighboring man, "Everytime I see him, he's wearing a new hat and cape!"

"Your majesty, shall we take a train for the weekend to supervise the leader of Zapor?"

"We'll need more than a weekend to supervise according to these numbers!" argued an accountant.

"Shall we send the prime minister?"

The prime minister, in a seat near the king, nearly choked on his water, "Why should I be the one drafted into that council leader's idiocy?!" his tan cheeks shifted red.

King Amar tossed his deep hued eyes at the table's head, trapped in the arguing officials' midst. Philippe blew a breath, clouded with boredom, as he stood aside the room's main doors. Loud knocks pattered against the fine cerulean doors, trimmed in gold, alarming the head servant's ears. Who would disturb the king during his most important weekly meeting? Philippe gave a nod toward the two royal doorkeepers, dressed in their traditional turquoise jackets, and tugged about the doors' waxed golden handles, revealing the elegant Queen Mira with her faithful handmaid. Philipe and the doorkeepers bowed low.

"Philipe." his queen acknowledged.

He raised his head, viewing the queen's fair face, "Yes, your majesty?"

"He has no right to those tax funds until next month!" a shout echoed from the far table, flooded with men.

King Amar soon noticed his wife's presence at the open doors, and the powerful king's face softened, despite the meeting's frustrations.

"Your, highness, can we simply strip theses men of their titles?" an accountant pleaded, before discovering his ruler's diverted gaze.

The men at the king's table grew silent, realizing the queen's arrival. All thirty men quickly rose from their seats, bowing before her ocean-rich orbs. Amar saw his wife clasping a sealed envelope within her manicured hands.

Mira glanced back at Philipe with a small smile, "I need to speak with the king." She whispered as the officials sat back in their leather chairs.

Mira rarely disturbed the king's weekly summaries.

Philipe humbled his stance, "I will alert his majesty at once." he left Mira's side and paced for the king in a proper stride.

Officials continued to dread the possible solutions concerning their country's main issues as the servant greeted Amar.

"Hello, Philipe."

"Sire, the queen wishes for a private word." Philipe observed the palace's crest upon Mira's envelope the second she entered the meeting room's doors, "I believe it's quite urgent, your majesty. Her letter even has the palace crest!" he whispered to his king and good friend, the others amongst the table unaware toward his remarks.

Amar looked to his wife then called upon the men at his table, "Gentlemen?" the men ceased their private quarrels and suggestions as their king spoke over their tones, "I must speak with the queen. I will be open to more suggestions on the councilmen's fate upon my return." And with that, the table worked more feverishly, "Philipe?" he cued his head servant to follow as Mira hooked her husband's arm.

The man was surprised and left Mira's handmaid to join the king and queen's exit, "What is it, your majesties?" he whispered past the guards as the three trotted down the elaborate golden-rayed hall.

"It's from the detective." Mira's jeweled hand revealed.

"Detective?!" Amar yelled, "Mira, I'm in a very important meeting, and you bring me out of it to help you play detective?" the queen's mate was appalled and put his hands to his royal uniform's sides.

"You need to see her, dear."

Philipe gasped with a grin, "Oh! The crown prince's new little girl?" he eagerly followed the inquisitive queen into a private room, the guards for the woman opening its doors as they approached.

"Mira," the king glared, "I can see my foolish son's bastard child when my meeting is over!" his queen and head servant winced, nudging them aside to sit on the couch first, "I mean, what was he thinking, Mira? When did Naveen even find the time to sneak away from us to conceive an American child nine months ago?" the king took a moment to fix the golden crown atop his head.

Mira sighed as she sat down then rolled her eyes as her husband rose, taking time to admire his royal appearance in the room's golden framed mirrors, "Will you stop smiling at yourself and come see our new granddaughter with Philipe?"

"Oh, yes." Amar cleared his throat and sat down beside his wife, "This is such an embarrassment for us, Mira! I should have Naveen brought back to Maldonia on the next available ship with that new child and its mother—Oh, great!" he heaved, "Its mother!" the wealthy king dreaded meeting the whore responsible for seducing his son, unwed, producing the kingdom's first royal grandchild. Amar imagined the shameful headlines on the country's future newspapers once the word had spread.

"Oh, but it's still so exciting, sir! It'll be nice to have a new royal baby around the palace again, and Naveen sounded so happy in the letter he wrote about her!" Philipe could hardly contain himself as Mira broke the envelope's seal, excited to witness the baby photo inside, "My queen!" he gasped, "Have you already peeked?" all the woman did was expand a tear previously made.

"It's a typical move from the queen, Philipe!" Amar chuckled, viewing Mira's glare.

"Hmm," she frowned, "I had good reason to see my granddaughter before everyone else. Naveen's my son!"

"He's my son, too!" the king argued, Mira unfolding the freed letter with a smirk, "Well, spidazi, darling! Show us the child!"

Mira smugly huffed and threw the picture of Maldonia's new royal onto the glass table. Philipe furrowed his brows at the photograph, confused lines scribbled along his head. Mira awaited her hot-headed husband's response as he gathered the black and white picture in his palm for a closer look, she maintaining her amused smile.

"Who is this, mi quena— the child's mother?"

A gape formed over Philipe's mouth, understanding instantly who the woman was, recalling Naveen's written words. She wore a dark colored jacket and hat, appearing to be exiting a public trolley.

"This, mi shinga," Mira emphasized, playfully pointing the king's nose as she clenched the photo in his hand, "is our new daughter—our daughter-in-law." the queen's heart surged with joy, and her cerulean orbs beamed, "A navee pruta!"

"Thank heavens!" Philipe yanked a golden handkerchief from his suit's pocket, relieved, patting sweat off his head. He had no desire to awake at night to the shrills of babies and messy diapers, and Naveen would have made an awful father!

Mira clasped her hands, "Oh, Amar! Isn't this exciting? And isn't she beautiful- her rich skin and her raven hair!" she gushed, shoving the photo into the king's countenance, making it a blur.

Philipe was too busy to admire the new royal: his neck was thick with natural mist he needed to dry.

The king was silent, continuing to observe the detective's photograph.

"Haha! Achidanza!" Queen Mira laughed, slapping her gown-covered knee. She'd wanted a daughter for so long, and began to recite the additional report, "Her name is Tiana Brown. She's nineteen years old, a single child, and is one delightful chef. My detective asked around and went to a local restaurant to try one of her…"Mira's eyes slanted as she struggled to read the next word, " 'bongets'?"

"What's a bonget?" Philipe found the word fascinating and exotic, smiling ear to ear.

"It's a little square bread the Americans fry in hot oil and cover in powdered sugar! It sounds incredible…." Mira happily radiated, putting a hand to her petite waist while staring upon the page, "However, one too many sounds bad will for my corset."

"And my day vest, madam!" the two grinned, "We must try them!" they vowed together.

The queen and royal valet laughed, overjoyed the prince had married.

"She's one point sixty-five meters and lives in the city of New Orleans."

The king's eyes enlarged as his wife named the city, sending his blood into a boil.

"Yes….Hmm….The detective didn't say much about Naveen." the prince's mother sadly added, pouting her scarlet lip, "I must have a servant make my correspondence at once!" she turned to her husband as she rose from the gold and cream couch, affectionately kissing his mouth, "'Good luck with the remainder of your meeting, darling!" the thrilled queen lifted her gown's embroidered skirt and raced out the lounge's doors.

Amar looked back at Philipe as the guards closed back the doors.

"Oh, sire, this is wonderful!" too ecstatic, the valet loudly gasped for air, "But I never thought the prince would settle down-and so young! But think of what his new marriage could do for his image with the people, majesty!"

"Philipe, this is terrible!" the ruler now expressed, pacing.

Philipe was taken aback, pouting in disappointment, "But-But, sire—"

"Philipe, Naveen is broke, has no life skills, and is in one of the most discriminatory places in the United States! How can he possibly take on a wife?!"

Philipe curled into a startled posture on the couch, "Naveen wouldn't be foolish enough to marry a woman for money…"he saw his king's leather soot shoes freeze about the carpeting, glancing, "would he?"

Philipe had known Naveen since infancy. The notion wasn't too far-fetched.

"Philipe!" King Amar suddenly growled.

"Yes, sir?!" the head servant sprang to a stand.

"Pick some of my best royal dressers and pack my bags—yours, too. We're going on a trip!" he declared, his silk gloved hands behind his back.

"WE are?"

"Yes!" the man responded, vexed, "And whatever you do, do not tell the queen!" Amar marched out of the lounge room, slamming the door.

O-O-O-O-O-O

A woman hummed a casual melody, wearing a modest skirt and blouse. She tucked a wavy streak, fallen from her messy bun, behind her ear and resumed her recordings for needed products in her store with a fine pen and notepad. She read each ticket carefully, desiring no error when she ordered. Two siblings ran past the focused woman, to the corner store's candy wall; the children looked forward to buying their colorful treats each week as their mother shopped.

A new customer, a young man, in a white shirt and cream vest entered the grocery, noticing the female employee tending to the food cans on display by the main door, "Excuse me?"

The woman turned, acknowledging the unfamiliar man, "Yes, sir?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I noticed the help wanted sign in the store's window." he pointed toward the building's glass beside them, "I'm looking for a second job."

The older woman quietly observed his strong frame, deeming him powerful to fit the store's requirements, "Yes, we're still looking for a new stocker. I'm filling out the orders for our next truck now." she held out her hand, "I'm Mrs. Ritter."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ritter. I'm Prin—I'm Naveen." the man took her hand, removing his royal title, and gave the woman a handshake.

"Naveen, huh?" she placed a hand on her hip, shifting her mouth, "You got a last name with that?"

Naveen thought about his other royal names, having three more. None were typical according to American tradition, but he chose to remain true to his country's roots, "Zaraan."

"Zaraan…" she uttered, and her judging orbs trailed his straight face, "You're not from around here. Are you, sugar?"

Naveen smiled, having to admit, "No ma'am. I'm not."

"I like it." Mrs. Ritter declared with a grin, making the man more at ease, "Step into my office, Mr. Zaraan."

Naveen followed the woman past a store cashier and customers, browsing the numerous aisles. They came toward the back wall; a black velvet curtain veiled the next rooms. Mrs. Ritter pulled away the curtain for Naveen to step inside, discovering a storage space, cubed freezer, and a small office, located on the backroom's far right. The two sat down in Mrs. Ritter's office seats, the smells of fresh flowers, hard candy, and crisp paper drifting through.

The older woman adjusted her reading glasses set over her face and pulled out an application for Naveen to answer, leaning over her desk, also providing a pen, "Just a short application I need you to fill out, Mr. Zaraan. Answer it to the best of your ability, and we'll do a little interview."

"Yes, ma'am." Naveen took the woman's clipboard and pen and began to write about himself; that shouldn't be too hard. He took a pause when asked about his birthplace and schooling.

He certainly couldn't write 'the palace'!

Mrs. Ritter smiled across her desk, waiting patiently for the secret prince to complete his application. A little boy, with a red hat atop his curls, entered the store's door dressed in a plain white shirt and blue-jean overalls, dust collected over the knees. His curly hair was black as ink, thick and soft as lamb's wool, and the boy harbored a sweet innocence in his deep brown eyes that warmed the hearts of so many around him. The child searched around the store for a certain face, unable to find her.

The store's cashier, refilling a lemon cart, saw him from the corner of his eye and began to smile, "Mornin', Farley!"

The little boy glowed a bright grin and ran to the man for a hug, only tall enough to capture the cashier's lanky knees, "Mornin', John!" he kept hold as the man chuckled, giving the store one last look, and lifted toward his face, "Where's Gramma?"

"She's in the back, Farl, but I think she's busy tryin' to fill that last spot for the store." the old man informed.

The six-year-old puffed out his chest, balling his little hands to appear big and strong, "Well, since I'm going to run this place one day, I better go check him out!" the child softened his face, glancing back at the cashier towering over him, waiting for his permission with a pleading shape with his round eyes.

"Okay, Farley," John allowed, "but mind your manners!" he added as the boy ran past.

"I will, I will." Farley promised and waved at a friend of his at the candy wall, guiding a younger sibling on the different treats where their mother permitted them to select.

John shook his head and chuckled: a young Farley fought to pass the store's velvet black curtains, violently swatting his arms, before disappearing to the backroom. The cashier reached in his box to finish restocking the lemons.

"Maldonia?" Mrs. Ritter read, kneading the beaded purple and blue chain attached to her glasses, focusing back on Naveen's eyes, "Is that in Europe?"

"Yes, it is!"

Mrs. Ritter nodded and fixed her sight back over the application; she soon furrowed her brows, in shock, "You know Eudora Brown?" she glanced from the paper.

"She's my mot—Mrs. Brown is a friend of mine." Naveen wanted to keep his marriage to Tiana a secret for as long as possible; he hoped to keep his new family safe from those with bad intentions, assuming the prince still had money.

"I only ask because I recognize her address here." Mrs. Ritter explained, turning her cordial smile warm, "Eudora's as sweet as pie! She designed my daughter-in-law's wedding dress about seven years ago now. It was the talk of the town for weeks! Hah-ha!" the woman laughed in a sweet shrug, looking back on Naveen's paper, "So you're staying at her place?"

"For the time being."

The quiet woman thought about Tiana but knew the young woman was too focused on business-owning to be tempted by Naveen's good looks.

"It's sweet of Eudora to do that. Doesn't surprise me at all! I see you already work at…"the friendly woman paused, halting an automatic gasp amid her throat as she processed the stated print, "Jerry's?" she rose the application closer, imagining her glasses were seeing things, then twined her orbs with her new applicant's, "On Sugar Street?"

"Yes, that's the one." the young man nodded.

"Oooh." Mrs. Ritter suddenly felt hot, staying away from the well-to-do area however much she could, "And you've been there for three weeks…How's that been going?" she bluntly questioned, the man being of color.

"It isn't too bad. Most people are polite." Naveen noticed an occasional glare or sly remark during his shifts but only three or four times.

"Mm-hmm…" the older woman skeptically hummed, folding her lips; she was confident those 'polite' people withheld their additional 'polite' comments after paying for their 'polite' meals on the way to their 'polite' cars and trolleys. "Well, Mr. Zaraan, I'm impressed, and you seem to be a willing worker! I feel comfortable in you to hire you right now!"

Naveen grinned, expecting Mrs. Ritter to tell him the first day he'd start.

"But I'm afraid I can't."

"Ma'am?" Naveen's features fell flat.

Mrs. Ritter scrunched her nose with a smile, "You see, my husband is the one that likes to hire his men for stocking." she grabbed a folder out of the file cabinet, "I really like you. I'm putting you in the 'good' folder!"

Naveen saw the word 'good' labeled in bold letters on the folder's tab. Not many papers were in it. All hope wasn't lost.

Mrs. Ritter held out her hand for a new handshake, "Eudora's a faithful customer to the store. We won't keep you waitin' for word long!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Ritt—"

"Mornin', Gramma!" Farley walked into the office with a proud strut.

"Mornin', baby!"

Naveeen looked down at the child coming across the gray slate floor. Taking a second glance, the prince began to smile. They'd met before.

Mrs. Ritter chuckled, holding the boy in a tight good morning hug and pressed a kiss on his freckled cheek.

Farley pulled away to see her happy brown eyes, "I'm here to look at the new recruit!" he toughed his features then saw Naveen; his stern appearance faded into a bright cheerful smile, recognizing the man, "My dance partner!" Farley tackled a laughing Naveen's legs, the child's bright red hat collapsed onto the office's cement floor.

Naveen crouched his legs, reciprocating the boy's warm embrace, "Hello, old friend!"

"Good word, you two know each other?"the Southern grandmother inquired, removing her reading glasses.

"Uh-huh!"Farley happily confirmed and looked back at Naveen, "Do you still have your ukulele, your majesty?"

"Your majesty?!"

"I do, mon ami!" Naveen playfully rubbed the boy's curls, "Still practicing those moves?"

"Uh-huh!"

" 'Yes, sir', Farley." Mrs. Ritter chided, coming over to the reunited friends, "How do you two know each other?" she looked between their matching white smiles.

Naveen allowed Farley to explain, "Gramma, remember when I went to shine shoes at Grandaddy's shop and then went out to the square to eat my san'which?"

"You do that a lot, Farley."

"Well, one time, I met the prince—I knew him from the papers—"Mrs. Ritter's eyes shot wide and glanced toward Naveen, modestly shrugging at her grandson's side, "and he played his ukulele, and I did my tap routine! The crowd loved us!" Farley's eyes twinkled at the prince, "Didn't they, your highness?"

"I told you on that day, my friend, and I'll tell you on this one: call me Naveen."

Farley giggled, jumping up to reach Naveen's neck for a third hug.

"Farley, what have I told you about dancing in that square with your tap shoes on? You'll scuff 'em up! Then what will we tell your tap teacher?"

"Grandaddy said I could!"

"Mmm…"the man's wife grumbled with crossed arms, her frown to the ceiling, "Joseph!"

"Can we hire the prince.."Farley tensed his shoulders, Naveen raising his brow, "Naveen, Gramma?" and added a charming smile on his request.

"No, Farley. You know your granddaddy is the one that hires the stockers around here!"

"Can I take Naveen to the square and put in a good word for him at the shop?"

"Not today. You know you've got your lesson from school. You also have tap later on. Now go on back to the house with ya mama. Mr. Naveen will be around."

"Yes, ma'am…"the adorable child pouted, hanging his shoulders down, and left Naveen's arms for his grandmother's office door.

"And straighten those shoulders, boy! It's bad posture!"

Farley vanished with an overly corrected back, nearly waddling away. Naveen laughed as Farley went back into the store's sales floor.

"So," the older woman's voice ceased the grown man's chortles, "you know my baby Farley…and you're a prince! Son, what are you doin' here?" she wanted the full story now.

"Well, Mrs. Ritter, let's just say my parents are teaching me a lesson…a good one, and I need honest work."

"I see." and she twirled a bead knitted on her purple and blue chain, thinking, "I tell you what: I'll make Mr. Ritter a big pan of peach cobbler tonight before he gets home. If I sweet talk him—just right—and you show up to his barber place Monday mornin', he might hire you on the spot."

Naveen smiled.

"You'll be on a test run, Mr. Zaraan. Do me proud."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ritter."

"Monday mornin'!" the boss' wife repeated as Naveen exited her office, "Mmm! Royalty…"she placed a hand on her chin, "workin' in my store…This one is for the books, Muriel!" she grinned to herself and went to put away her file folder, Naveen's name safely tucked inside.

O-O-O-O-O

Philipe quickly knocked on the white and turquoise doors, the entrance to King Amar's bedroom. His anxious eyes shifted over the silent guards and empty palace hall. A woman in the palace's standard maid uniform lifted her gaze as she opened the king's door.

"Margarette. May I come in?" the head valet greeted, "I need to acquire some of the king's attire."

"Of course, Master Philipe." The woman in blue curtsied, stepping aside.

"Thank you, Margarette. I won't be long." Philipe knew he had to hurry; he probably didn't have that much time. Walking further inside the bedroom, the man's heart nearly flopped with fear, "Your majesty!"

The queen was in the middle of speaking; a servant was sitting at a small work desk scribing her correspondence to her detective.

"Hello, Philipe." thinking little about the valet's presence, Queen Mira continued to instruct.

"What are you doing here, majesty?"

The royal writer and queen exchanged glances, puzzled, "This is my room, Philipe. What are you doing here?" the curious woman folded her arms.

Sweat flashed across the man in question's head; he fought the desire to nervously dart his vision, "I'm on an errand for the king." he properly informed, eyes closed, his nose high, "He needs a change of attire for a meeting this afternoon." Philipe felt dirty—low, like a dingy dog—

lying to his country's queen.

For the king's sake!

Mira nodded, "Very well, Philipe." she made an elegant turn with her aqua train, facing the other direction to pace as she spoke to her writer, "Add this please, Najam, 'If you would be so kind to explain to us our son's current address…'"

Philipe was in a silent panic in the grand closet of the king and queen, and the head valet was so nervous, he'd forgotten where Amar's underwear and ties were stored, drawer after drawer, identical to the last. He scrambled with unsteady hands through the smallest compartments, seeing so many things he didn't need—diamond cufflinks, ruby earrings, turquoise encrusted watches—the treachery was too much too bear! And where in that blasted closet was the king's luggage?! The frustrated valet stomped his foot on the couple's carpeted floor.

" 'Sincerely from the Maldonian Palace of Fateh Amarta Asar, her royal highness, Queen Mira Nicolette Angelique Minnah Sharma Asar, and his royal highness, King Amar Rana Jangi Maly Asar, queen and king of Maldonia.'" the woman sighed with complete satisfaction, the letter finalized, nothing left to be said; she whirled toward her smiling writer, clasping his feathered aqua pen, awaiting for her next orders, "Thank you, Najaam. Seal the letter for me and send it over to the royal mailers. I want the detective to receive that within the next four days."

"Zi, your highness." the male servant bowed his head and proofread his queen's correspondence silently.

"And remember, Naveen's marriage is to be kept a secret. Only you and Philipe are aware." She warned, whispering as the man exited so her maids wouldn't hear.

"Zi, your majesty. I'll go to the mailers immediately."

"M'ti thaka, Najam."

The servant in the turquoise uniform paid his queen final reverence and swiftly walked down the palace's hall. A little boy passed the writer in the hall, grasping firmly on a tall athletic woman's hand, keeping a tennis racket in the other.

"The young prince!" Najaam gladly bowed to the brunette royal, making him giggle.

"Hello, Najaam." Prince Ralphie and his instructor continued down the palace's rich blue carpeting, trimmed in shimmering gold, "Ma-ma!" the running prince stretched his arms out wide for his mother as he entered the bedroom; the queen immediately grinned and fell to her knees, her lustrous royal gown's wrinkles: a miniscule importance.

Mira cradled her precious young son, "Ralphie, my darling! How was tennis? Oh!" she felt the boy's wet skin, "You need a bath, mi satee pruto."

The boy giggled, continuing to hold his mother as she kissed his wet mousy waves.

"He's a natural at the sport, your majesty." The tennis professional, native to Maldonia, proudly informed.

"That's wonderful! Did you thank Miss Kati for your lesson?" Mira smiled as the child began to nod.

"He's truly a prince charming!" the athlete happily assured then twisted her mouth, "If only the men my age were as sweet as your son…"

Ralphie shifted toward his tennis instructor with a gasp and smile; his hazelnut orbs beamed sparking a clever thought, "You could date my brother, Miss Kati!"

His mother noticed the pleasant radiant features on the hired teacher's face fall pale and dim, "Oh, no…Ralphie." she was quick to respond, comprehending Naveen's reputation all too well, and recovered her smile with Mira, curtsying, "Would you like me back on Sunday, your highness?"

"Zi, Kati. Same time."

The light brunette nodded and waved to the young prince, "Goodbye, Ralphie. Excellent work today!"

"Graci, Ms. Kati!" Ralphie looked up at Mira as the tennis instructor left the king's bedroom, "Ma-ma?"

Mira directed the royal servants to draw Ralphie's bath and to get the tired child a selection of water and juices to drink.

"Ma-ma?" the little prince had a question, and he found it far more urgent than a bath: the six-year old didn't care about his sweaty body.

The servants abased, leaving Mira's view, and went to Amar's bathroom to prepare Ralphie's bath, "Yes, dear?" she smiled at the boy in her arms.

His tone was saddened, "When is Naveen coming home?" the boy's twinkling eyes were a spitting image to his brother's.

Mira sighed then brushed the youngest's hair off his face, "Hopefully soon, my love."

But the prince wasn't comforted, pouting his lip as she hugged him. Mira held the child to her chest in the brief silence while a heavy breath left his small body.

She kissed his soft cheek, "Stay here. I'll go see if your bath is ready."

Ralphie's gaze stuck to the queen until she disappeared, and he motioned his body as he heard a bumbling clutter emerge from his parents' closet, "Philipe?" the child gathered himself from the carpet, observing the wobbling valet in total height, weighted with tan leather luggage bags.

"Ralphie!" the head servant groaned, constrained each way he turned, wearing the king's favorite fedora over his head, "Where's your mother, majesty?" he needed to make a sprint for the door.

The curious child was suspicious, placing his tiny bronze hands on his hips, "Where are you going with Papa's things?"

"Uh…" the adult's knees quaked, "your father's going on a little trip."

"He is?" Ralphie's young lips gasped with shock, "He didn't tell me."

"Oh, well, the king's always so busy, Ralphie, you know." the man's strength was fleeting, attempting to step toward the entrance.

"Yeah…I know." the king's son had a flat tone, lowering his shoulders; Amar rarely made time for him.

"Don't be sad, Ralphie. The king will be back soon." emotions were beginning to delay Philipe's escape.

"Okay, Philipe." a warm smile returned upon the prince's appearance.

"And, you still have your mother in his absence." he pointed out, and Ralphie laughed as the valet's quivering arms and legs at last gave way, collapsing with the king's luggage and coat: his thud echoed across the royal bedroom.

Mira opened the bathroom's entrance; a sweet scent followed her exit and she frowned over the clumsy valet, a living carpet upon her floor, "Philipe?" the anxious man informally addressed her by her first name, falling once more in panic; he was caught, "Where are you going with Amar's luggage?"

Ralphie looked toward the aching valet, rubbing his sore ankle after a luggage bag thwacked against his foot.

"I, ush—uh, I..Well—"

"Philipe!" his queen snarled, startling her son.

The head valet broke, sobbing, "The king is planning a getaway ship to see the crown prince in America! Ugh-hu-hu-huuuug." he elaborated his repentance, extending it with groveling; he clenched the gasping woman's turquoise gown, so rich in color—as her mercy, "Forgive me, madam! I am so sorry I kept this from you!" Ralphie perched a giggle as the man's snot trailed his lips, and his friend handled his mother's gown more earnestly, "I'm so ashamed! Bu-huh-hu-huuuu!"

Mira's glance rose from the blubbering man at her feet, and her cerulean orbs seethed. Amar wasn't the only royal who could make secret plans!

A/N: And that's part one. I'll put part two up as soon as I can! Until then, please review! Thank you all so much for reading.

Glossary:

Spidazzi (Maldonian): hurry

Mi quena (Maldonian): my queen

Mi shinga (Maldonian): my king

A navee pruta (Maldonian): a new princess

Mon ami (French): my friend

Zi (Maldonian): yes

M' ti thaka (Maldonian): thank you or I thank you

Mi satte pruto (Maldonian): my sweaty prince

Fateh (Maldonian): victory; conqueror; triumph

Amarta (Maldonian): the ultimate victory

Asar (Maldonian): wisdom