"Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last"
— Green Day
Neither Rufus nor Vincent caught a wink of sleep that night. Rufus sprawled out on his bed, face up, staring at the ceiling tiles of his suite, while Vincent sat upright, surrounded by fluffy, down pillows as he explored the endless list of search results Google had kicked back for tourists in Houston. Both Rufus and Vincent felt like they were standing on an important precipice; come morning, each would be stepping into a radically different life. Rufus thought about all the time he would have to finally find some semblance of inner-peace, away from press junkets and 24-hour news cycles. Vincent concentrated on emulating Rufus' mannerisms and conversational syntax. He thoroughly understood that in order to carry out his plan successfully, he would have to completely embrace the persona of Rufus Spencer. Vincent wasn't simply walking in someone else's shoes; he was representing a revered American icon with a respectable reputation—a reputation he couldn't afford to tarnish.
Vincent glanced over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 5:30 a.m. He knew if he wanted to get a jump on things, now was the time. He stretched out his arms, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and then cracked his neck while he waited for his blood to start flowing. After doing a few deep lunges to warm up his legs, he made his way into the en suite bathroom and began his morning routine—wash the face, brush the teeth, take the vitamins. He then gathered his small amount of belongings and stuffed them inside a brown leather satchel. He threw the thick strap over his shoulder and scanned the suite, making sure he collected all of his possessions before taking the elevator to the ground floor where he found Quinn, sitting next to the reception desk, sipping her triple espresso as she read the local newspaper, The Houston Chronicle.
"Good morning, Ms. Gunnerson," Vincent said, pulling Quinn's focus from an editorial. "How's the world according to Houston?"
"What's the opposite of sunshine and rainbows?" Quinn responded, folding the paper in half as she rose to her stiletto-clad feet.
"I suppose that would leave us with darkness and precipitation," Vincent replied. "Give me a moment; the jet lag is keeping me from formulating a wittier answer."
"I've been fighting it, too," Quinn admitted. "I'm hoping the flight back will even things out. It's taking everything I have to stay on Verastorian time."
Vincent looked down at his watch. "Wow. It's already noon back home. Well, that explains the hunger pangs."
"Your Highness," Quinn said, shifting into a more serious tone. "I feel like I must ask you this."
"Go on," Vincent replied. "Ask away."
"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" she asked sincerely. "It's not too late to back out."
"Ms. Gunnerson, I assure you this is what I want," he said solemnly. "I mean, when am I ever going to have an opportunity like this? Now's not the time for second thoughts; now's the time for a leap of faith. And I won't be able to take that leap without your support."
"You will always have my support," she said, releasing her grip on an argument. "I simply want you to look before you leap."
"I've looked. God knows I've looked," he replied. "All of my hours of research, all of my painstaking planning—I don't believe I could be any more prepared for this."
Quinn sighed deeply. "You're right. You're ready."
"Okay—time to leap," Vincent said quietly while he opened the Uber app on his phone. After keying in the information for a trip, his phone chimed with a notification. "Ah, it looks like Greg and his red Honda Civic will be here in a matter of minutes." Vincent cracked a small smile. "My first Uber. This is amazing."
"I wouldn't say it's a cause for celebration exactly, but it is your first step into a much larger world," Quinn said as she rummaged through her large designer bag. After a moment of searching, she pulled out an antique golden compass and held it out for Vincent to take. "Use that brilliant head of yours. When all else fails, follow your heart. And on the chance you find yourself far off the beaten path, look to this," she said while Vincent admired the intricate craftsmanship of the compass. "May it always point you in the right direction."
"Your thoughtfulness never ceases to amaze me," Vincent said, sliding the compass inside a small, zippered pocket on the side of his satchel. Suddenly, his phone chimed once again with a notification. His ride had arrived. "And the adventure begins," he whispered to himself.
"What's on the agenda this morning, Your Highness?" Quinn asked.
"Well, I'll eventually end up at Mr. Spencer's residence, which is a little over a half-hour away, but I thought I'd kick off the day by paying a visit to this bakery I've read about."
"And what bakery is that?"
"They call it 'Krispy Kreme'."
"Sounds fattening."
"No, it sounds delicious."
Quinn sighed. "This is the moment where I'm supposed to wish you safe travels. But, all I really want to say is be careful. I need you to come back in one piece."
"I promise I'll be careful," Vincent replied. "You'll watch over Mr. Spencer, yes?"
"I will," Quinn assured. "You should get going. The world awaits."
"Thank you, Ms. Gunnerson," Vincent said, grinning. "Until we meet again."
"Yes, until we meet again," Quinn said, slightly bowing her head.
Vincent pushed on the glass revolving door and climbed inside the Uber. Quinn watched as the car sped off, disappearing as it rounded the corner.
A few minutes passed and then the elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor, its doors opening. Rufus stepped out and walked into the lobby, adjusting the straps of his backpack. He looked around and soon found Quinn who was conversing with the concierge. As he closed the distance between them, she held up her index finger, inaudibly asking for a minute while she finished her exchange.
"I thank you," she said to the concierge. "And of course—I'd be happy to fill out the online survey. It'll give me something to do on the long flight home. Good day to you." She turned and faced Rufus as she folded the hotel receipt into thirds so that it would fit inside the provided business envelope with the Marriott logo. "How are you this morning, Mr. Spencer?"
"Fine," Rufus said, yawning. "Tired, but fine. Where's the prince?"
"You just missed him," Quinn said. "He's one of those rare 'morning people' who gets more done before 10 a.m. than the rest of us do all day."
"I've never been one for mornings," Rufus admitted. "It takes me a while to become a fully-functional human being. That usually occurs around lunchtime."
"Well, I'm happy that you decided this would not be one of those days," Quinn replied. "And it's good you made your way down here. I was just about to come collect you."
"Yeah—I tried knocking on your door and when no one answered, I figured you went looking for breakfast. They mention something about a waffle bar on their list of amenities."
"There will be food on the jet," Quinn said. "We must get on the move. I have a car waiting for us outside. It's wheels-up in an hour and a half."
Within 20 minutes, Rufus and Quinn arrived at Houston's largest airport, Intercontinental. They hurried through the TSA checkpoint and were escorted to a private jetway which took them down to the tarmac where a top-of-the-line Gulfstream was standing by, ready for boarding.
The interior of the jet was a vivid white with black leather upholstered seating. As Rufus buckled himself in, the captain's voice came through the overhead speakers.
"Top of the morning to you," he said cheerfully. "We will be cleared for takeoff shortly. Right now, our flight time looks to be 12 hours and 10 minutes. Once we're in the air, your flight attendant will see to all of your needs. The weather seems to be holding up nicely, so it should be smooth sailing. Enjoy the trip back home."
After climbing to the appropriate altitude, a bell rang and the seatbelt light turned off. Rufus stood up and walked to a small table near the back of the fuselage where Quinn sat, shuffling through paperwork from a file folder.
"So," Rufus began, taking the seat across from Quinn. "We're spending half of the day up in the clouds."
"Try and stay awake as long as you can," she advised as she used a highlighter to mark an excerpt on the document in front of her. "When we land in Verastoria, it will be 2 a.m. tomorrow."
A flight attendant stopped by, offering both of them hot towels and some kind of signature roast coffee from Guatemala. Rufus took a sip and immediately winced; it was an exceptionally strong and sharp cup of java.
"Just out of curiosity," Rufus said, wiping the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin. "How did you end up with a job like this?"
Quinn set the highlighter on the table and tucked the documents back inside the folder. "Truth be told, I started out as a chambermaid."
"And you just climbed the ladder from there?" Rufus wondered.
"I suppose that's one way of putting it," she replied. "You see, my family has a long, storied history with serving The Crown, so that gave me a little clout when I was first starting out."
"And—let me see if I remember this correctly—you were 16 at the time?"
"That's correct," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "The prince was just shy of his fourth birthday."
"It kinda goes without saying, but I'm guessing the two of you had some kind of profound and meaningful connection," Rufus assumed.
"You could say that," Quinn retorted. "I was considerably younger than the rest of the staff and over time, the prince found me to be the most relatable person in his life. Our relationship developed and deepened and he felt less alone. It broke my heart when I left for university. I mean, I would come back and visit during the holidays, but it wasn't the same. That was a really long four-year stretch."
"Where did you go to college?"
"Oxford."
"What did you study?"
"Political Science."
Rufus was perplexed. "Why in the world would you do that to yourself?"
"I wanted to understand the inner-workings of the nations of the world," she stated simply.
"So, after moving your tassel to the left, you went back to Verastoria?"
"That's right. The very minute after graduation, I was offered a position at The Palace. A decent starting salary, a myriad of top-tier benefits, a respectable line on my résumé—I couldn't say no."
"Do you feel like this is a lifelong career or do you have loftier ambitions?"
"I feel like this is something that's fulfilling and rewarding," she said earnestly. "When it stops feeling that way, I'll look for something else, but for the time being, I am content."
"That's good to hear," Rufus replied. "I'd really hate to be stuck with someone disgruntled."
"You need not worry. I'm here to serve and I'm happy to serve."
The flight attendant came by again, topping off their coffee cups after setting down a doily-lined ceramic plate with an assortment of warm scones.
"Would you care to screen a movie?" the flight attendant asked.
"Um, sure," Rufus responded.
Quinn cleared her throat loudly.
It took Rufus a moment to recognize what Quinn was doing, but it soon became crystal-clear. He quickly adjusted his accent accordingly and said, "Yes, that would be lovely. Dealer's choice."
The flight attendant smiled and nodded, then scurried toward the front of the jet and through these black silk curtains which separated the main cabin from the attendant's prep area. The movie, The Man in The Iron Mask, began and appeared on a number of screens around Rufus and Quinn while they continued their light-hearted conversation which moved from early childhood memories to completely irrational fears to noteworthy positive influences; they covered a lot of ground and wound up with an impressive amount of trivial details about each other.
The movie screening turned into a movie marathon as they watched the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, dozing off here and there. As the credits for The Return of the King started scrolling, the captain's voice cut through the film's score.
"We're about to begin our descent," he said. "It's a warm, clear night in The Kingdom of Verastoria with a temperature of 29° Celsius. Welcome home."
Rufus looked out his window. There it was—Verastoria. The majestic kingdom was set into the shape of a perfect square with each side measuring exactly 20 km, creating a central land mass of 400 km². Verastoria's economy was driven by four major industries: international finance, pharmaceuticals, technological advancement, and private security. Each industry was represented by a white stone tower with a silver hue which developed over time. And each tower, which stood 12 stories high, was constructed at a corner of the kingdom during the late 1800's.
Along the northern and eastern sides of Verastoria ran The Highwind Mountains, which was the source of the spring-fed Lotus River, a river that flowed through the southern quadrants of the kingdom. The western side bordered the sea and was dotted with numerous ports, while the southern side bordered government-protected farmlands which covered the seemingly endless plains.
The architecture of Verastoria was a blend of Art Deco and ultra-contemporary with audacious geometric components which were sleek, rigid, and certainly influenced by classical designs. The distinctive craftsmanship as well as the use of modern materials added that extra bit of flair which made the kingdom a truly unforgettable spectacle.
The Palace of Verastoria was located 10 km away from the eastern side of the kingdom, built into the mountainside using the same white and silvery stone which formed the industry towers. It covered approximately 46,000 m², boasting 1,002 rooms and held a number of similarities to Windsor Castle in The UK. A total of 125 people called The Palace "home" and they all served The Royal Family in a variety of different ways by fulfilling a wide array of duties every single day.
By the time Rufus and Quinn finally arrived at The Palace, the entire staff—aside from security—was fast asleep. Quinn quietly led the way to Vincent's chambers where Rufus collapsed on the incredibly soft Egyptian cotton sheets covering the king-size sleigh bed.
After just a few hours, the sun started to shine through the picture windows of the room and warmed the skin of Rufus' face. He slowly opened his eyes, rubbing them as he struggled to find the energy to sit up.
There was a knock at the large oak door and it soon swung open. It was Quinn, somehow bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
"Good, you're awake," she said as she moved toward the foot of the bed.
"Yeah, I'm awake," Rufus replied. "I'm also a little spacey, but I guess that's to be expected with a trans-Atlantic flight."
"Indeed," Quinn said. "Now, I want you to get dressed. We have quite the day ahead of us."
"Really?" Rufus asked, stretching out his arms. "I wasn't aware I was scheduled for anything."
"The prince requested that I take you on a tour of the kingdom," Quinn explained. "He wants you to have the true Verastorian experience. After that, you're free to do as you please. Do you still have the hat and sunglasses I gave you?"
"They're in my backpack. Why?"
"You'll need them today. We don't want to attract any unwanted attention."
Rufus climbed out of bed and changed behind a translucent partition in the room while Quinn responded to a few emails on her phone. Once he put on the freshly laundered button-down shirt and lightly starched jeans, he followed Quinn through the now buzzing palace and out a side entryway, designated for staff. A black luxury town car was parked at the bottom of the entrance's stairs, waiting to take them to the northeast corner of the kingdom.
They arrived at the first tower around 8:45 a.m., local time, and Quinn took the reins, beginning the extensive tour she had planned out. Rufus adjusted his cadet hat, slid on his aviators, and walked beside her, keeping up with her brisk pace.
"Here we have The White Financial Tower," Quinn stated. "It's the home of the oldest Verastorian business. It's also the main hub for all of our banking branches, which have better security and looser regulations than our competitors in Switzerland and The Cayman Islands. Here, we use a currency known as the Verastorian ring. At the moment, the ring is stronger than the American dollar and has suffered far less inflation, all while being terribly difficult to forge, due to the fact that our paper notes are lined with a magnetized alloy. It's also commonly referred to as a 'round'. You'll often see sale signs that read: '2 for a round'."
The tour continued and they went deeper into the square, exploring more of The Financial District before moving on to The Quarters District, where the majority of Verastoria's 2 million residents hung their hats. There were thousands of apartments and condominiums lined up neatly along the narrow roadways which formed an enormous grid.
After a quick bite at a pretzel stand, they stopped at one of the many trolley stations in the kingdom. Dozens of orange-roofed, hydrogen-powered trollies efficiently circulated the map on lettered routes, eliminating the need for busses, subways, and passenger trains. While on their trolley ride, Rufus couldn't help but notice something.
"Is it me or does everyone here wear purple, orange, or a combination of the two?" he asked, looking around at all of the people on the trolley.
"They're the colors of Verastoria," Quinn said. "The citizens of this great nation are very proud to be a part of it. They wear the colors to express their allegiance and solidarity."
Not much later, they hopped off the trolley and entered The Historic District which was built in the exact center of the kingdom. The First Church of Verastoria stood directly across from The Rotunda, a cylindrical building where Parliament convened. This district also held the courthouse and The Manor of The Prime Minister, which was the original residence of The Royal Family, before The Palace was constructed.
The day pressed on and so did Rufus and Quinn, visiting the northwest tower—the headquarters of R-Chem Pharmaceuticals—before heading south along the coastline. They made their way through The Warehouse District, where The Shipyards could be found, and down to the southwest tower, home of the massive conglomerate, Elkotech. From there, they strolled through The Woodland District, a wildlife refuge with the kingdom's largest park, and they caught an early dinner in The Patron District, where restaurants, retailers, and entertainment venues were located.
After an exquisite pescatarian meal—the popular diet for Verastorians—Quinn contacted their driver from earlier in the day and within minutes, the town car pulled up, right in front of the restaurant. Quinn instructed the driver to take a detour on their way back to The Palace, just so Rufus could see the last tower on the southwest block of the kingdom. This was the center of operations for Machai Security, a highly sought-after firm with teams spread out around the world.
"So, that's that," Quinn said as the car stopped at the side entrance of The Palace. "You have now officially visited Verastoria. What did you think?"
"It was wonderful—really," Rufus replied. "But, honestly, I think I'm gonna go inside and sleep through the month of September."
"Come on. Let's get you sorted out," she said as she opened the car door.
Quinn led Rufus inside, exchanging pleasantries with the staff they came across on their way to Vincent's chambers. Once Rufus' head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep, restful sleep. He didn't toss or turn. He simply laid there, completely motionless, snoring softly as the hours went by.
The next day, Rufus didn't open his eyes until noon rolled around. He woke up feeling good, feeling rejuvenated; however, that feeling was short-lived as soon as he met the cold stare of the bald young man standing at the foot of the bed.
"Oh, my God—who are you?" Rufus asked, quickly covering himself with the duvet.
"Who am I? Who are you?" he fired back, his voice lacking any inflection, absolutely monotone.
"I"m—" Rufus began before realizing he hadn't adjusted his accent. He cleared his throat and tried to start over. "I'm your prince and I command you to tell me exactly who you are."
"Henry Rieves," the bald young man answered, his voice still flat and unwavering. "I'm one of the prince's closest friends."
Rufus was at a loss. He wasn't ready for this.
"So, let's give this another try," Henry said. "Who are you?"
YOU ARE READING
The Prince & The Popstar
General FictionA twisted fairy tale with a little bite. When popstar Rufus Spencer meets his doppelganger, Prince Vincent of Verastoria, he's offered the chance to escape his exhausting life by switching places with the prince, who grew up incredibly sheltere...
