Grand productions like this had never been my favorites, even during the days of officially being a politician’s kid. The princess girl novelty of it all wore off after my tenth birthday, when Disney Channel was replaced by Nickelodeon and all I wanted to be was a normal kid hanging at the mall in a bucket hat and cut-off shorts. I’d never enjoyed any red carpet since. Funny, what a few years—and a long red wig and green contacts—could do. When I climbed out of the town car at the LeBlanc Tower, nobody batted an eye. Not the small press corps, the jittery fans, or even the Tahreuse dignitaries, lined up to greet Camellia and Evrest with all the pomp and circumstance they could have possibly drummed up for the occasion. With my earpiece hidden beneath my “hair”, I wasn’t even distinguishable as a member of the local security detail. Literally, I had no name; was just one of Cam’s modern-day ladies-in-waiting, like Orielle and Freya—who bore that comprehension with a lot more pouts and huffs.
