"That which concerns the mystery of the King's power is not lawful to be disputed; for that is to wade into the weakness of Princes, and to take away the mystical reverence that belongs unto them that sit in the throne of God." --King James I of England
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The King of England was probably one of the most recognizable figures in the entire world. He'd only been crowned four years ago, but ever since then he took the world by storm. Roselle knew all the basic facts about him: he was around twenty-seven, he was a fashion icon, and he was known to be incredibly flamboyant and vain.
And she had just insulted him.
Everyone in the room--Michelle, Dan, the assistant, and the guards--were goggling their eyes in horror upon what just happened.
"I--" Roselle stammered. "I didn't know I'd be doing the hair of King James," she said.
King James flipped his hair and crossed his arms. Without his makeup or getup, he didn't look the same as he did on TV, but he was still a very beautiful man. He was probably around 6'2. Somehow, he looked exactly like how she imagined the male Snow White would look: pale, porcelain, and ebony black hair. His lips weren't red, but they were soft. It was almost unreal how flawless and good-looking he was without any makeup.
"Normally I would ask you to get out of my site, but seeing as to how you didn't know it was I, this sin just might be forgivable." He looked down at her. Not just because he was taller, but she could feel that he was both literally and metaphorically looking down at her. "Apologize to me, and I might consider you redeemed."
She gritted her teeth. King or not, this man was late as heck, and now SHE had to apologize for being angry? Maybe a month ago she would have bowed down. Maybe a month ago she would have submitted. Maybe a month ago she would have begged for mercy.
But it wasn't a month ago. It was now. She had done the makeup for one of the richest girls in the country. She refused a mission that was asked by one of the most feared women in the country. She dated the Prime Minister of Canada. She kissed the Vice President of the U.S. She was PROPOSED TO by the President of the United States.
So why would a king scare her?
"I'm not apologizing," she said.
Everyone gasped.
James did a double-take. "I beg your pardon?"
Roselle grabbed a chair and stood on it so she could be the one looking down upon him now. "That's right. You're the one apologizing. We waited hours for you here. What's your excuse?"
"Why you insolent little girl!" Mason shouted. "Show some respect!"
"Thank you, Mason," James said. "But I'll take it from here. Let me handle this peasant." He whipped his head at her. "First of all, I don't have to explain myself to the likes of YOU, but I'll humor you. Anytime I show up is when an event starts. You're humbled to have the pleasure of waiting for me."
"Ha!" she scoffed. "That was no more pleasurable than waiting in line at the DMV."
"Ro," Michelle said, hastily scurrying her eyes around the room. "Too far."
"Not far enough," Roselle said.
James flared his nostrils, and the two of them had a staredown. "Get out of here," he said.
"You need me. No one else will do your hair because you're a diva. Maybe if you started being more polite, I would consider it."
He prolonged his stare for a while, but suddenly, he laughed. In fact, he hollered for a long time.
"Wha-- what?" she asked.
"You're a narcissist. Just like me."
"I am not! Why does everyone keep calling me that?"
"Embrace it. It's a gift. It's simply the blood in your veins informing you that you're God's present to the world. What's your name?"
"Roselle."
"Ah, Roselle. French. I like it. It fits."
She sighed. What was this guy's angle? "Look, it's almost the time for the fashion show. Are we going to do your hair and makeup, or not?"
"I'm afraid not. Not yet, anyway. You and I have reached an impasse. I want you to apologize to me, and you want me to apologize to you. Now, both of our honors are on the line and we must duel to prove which of us is on top of the other. Spoiler, it's me."
"Do we have time for this, your highness?" asked Mason. "You have nothing to prove to anyone. We all know you're better than this peasant."
"Yes," James said. "I know every other person in this room knows." He turned to face her. "But she doesn't. And she needs to be taught her place."
"So, are we going to break out the swords or something?" Roselle mocked.
"We can if you'd like. I'd love to slash you in half. But since I'm the one who challenged you to the duel, you may pick the nature of this competition."
"Really? Anything? You're fine with that?"
"Why, of course. I naturally excel at everything I do. There's nothing you could beat me at."
"Okay, then I challenge you to a hair-styling battle."
"You're on, little rose."
* * *
The rules were simple. Both Roselle and James had to style a person's hair within an hour. Once the timer was up, they would present their subjects to an impartial judge: one of the judges from the fashion show in fact. He took amusement in the debacle and decided he'd participate.
Roselle did her sister's hair on one side of the room, and James did some other girl's on the other side.
"What in the world have you gotten us into?" asked Michelle. "Why didn't you just apologize?"
"Why should I have to?" she asked, doing some complex twirling mechanisms in her sister's hair. "I hate guys like that."
"It's called being the bigger person. Do you honestly think that this is going to teach him a lesson, even if you win?"
Roselle tugged on the locks.
"Ow!"
"I don't know, but if I don't teach him a lesson, who will?"
"You really are a narcissist, aren't you?"
Roselle ignored her and sprayed up her hair. The design she was creating was magnificent. It was something she'd been thinking about for a long time, but never had the chance to make: a rose-shaped braid topped with sparkles and crowned with real rose petals. It was all going according to plan.
She glanced over at James' subject. She was cringing. He was constantly tugging her hair too hard, or accidentally getting hairspray in her eyes, or even burning her locks. In fact, Roselle thought someone was cooking popcorn before she realized what he'd done. At this rate, she'd win the duel no problem.
Mason walked up to her. "Ms. Reyes? A word, please?"
"I'm kinda busy. I don't have forever to do this."
"It'll be just a moment."
She groaned and put her tools down. "What?"
The man hung his head. "I will be the one to admit it. You are the better hairstylist between you and the king. You're truly brilliant."
She raised a brow. "So what's the catch?"
"Please lose the duel on purpose."
She widened her eyes at the request. "Huh? Why should I do that?"
"I'll pay you double what I paid you to be here. Just . . . please . . . This isn't the first time King James has challenged a master to a duel he couldn't win. Every time, I've had to convince the other party to throw the competition on purpose. I'm trying to protect his ego. He'd be crushed if he knew he truly wasn't good at all those things."
She sunk in his words for a moment, and she came to a decision. "No."
"What are you doing, Ro?" asked Michelle. "We could make so much money."
"Is your pride really that important?" asked Mason.
"This isn't just about my pride. It's about his pride too. Mason, I understand you're trying to protect him, but what you're doing right now is just insulting. There is some dignity in losing fairly. There's no dignity in winning when you don't deserve it. Now I know why his ego is so big. You've kept him in a bubble where he thinks he's good at everything."
"There's no harm in it."
"No harm? What would you do if someone was dying and he thought he could be their heart surgeon? Would you think there's no harm in it then?"
He glared at her. "You don't understand. Never mind. I'll solve this another way." He stormed off.
* * *
The hour was up, and it was time for judging. Michelle and the other girl were standing side by side in the center of the room. Michelle's hair looked divine. It was just like a rose. Roselle stood tall in confidence.
James' subject on the other hand, had curls that were burnt and inconsistent. James kept flickering his eyes between the two subjects, and he frowned.
The judge was also at the center, studying both girls.
"So?" Mason asked. "What do you think?"
The judge smiled. "The obvious winner is King James, of course."