"No one would admit these admired clothes could not be seen because, in doing so, he would have been saying [the emperor] was either a simpleton or unfit for his job." --Hans Christian Anderson, The Emperor's New Clothes
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James held himself tall when he was announced the winner. Everyone else in the room exchanged glances with one another in awe. There's no way that James could have possibly won without bribing the judge, and from the looks on everyone's faces, it looked as though they all knew it. Everyone except James apparently, anyway.
"Brilliant," Mason said, giving a soft nod to the king. "You've done it again, my lord. You truly are exceptional."
James took another glance at the hairstyles and was silent for a moment. He went from zero to a hundred real quick, now raising his arms in the air, commanding the room to applaud him. They all did so, even though they exchanged confused glances.
The king gave a smug smile to Roselle. "I've beaten you, little rose," he said. "Now apologize to me like we've agreed."
She leered at him. This wasn't fair. She knew Mason rigged the competition. If she apologized she would be playing right into his hand, but if she didn't she would look like a sore loser.
Roselle looked at the judge. "If you like the way that King James styled this girl's hair so much, why don't you let him style YOUR hair?"
The judge stared at her in horror. "Well, uh, my hair is already done."
"Uh huh. Yeah."
"Can't handle a defeat with honor, little rose?" asked James.
"You know what? Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that your ego is so fragile that everyone in the room is too afraid to say anything to you."
"Aha!" he exclaimed. "You apologized! I win."
She shook her head in confusion. "Didn't you hear what I--"
"No matter. Now grab your sister and beautify me. I've got a fashion show to attend."
Everyone in the room dispersed back to their own tasks.
"What just happened?" asked Roselle.
"I think he knew," Dan said.
"I don't think so."
He placed his hand on her shoulder. "He knew. We all knew."
* * *
Due to the crazy events going on, the Reyes sisters had to rush to do James' hair and makeup. He was very quiet as they did so. Something about him felt off. After a while, they finally managed to get him ready in time for the show.
James checked himself out in the mirror. "Marvelous. Stunning."
"Do you like the work we did?" asked Michelle.
"Oh, I was talking about myself. You did well too, but hair and makeup are nothing without the one you beautify with it, no?"
Roselle sat off in the corner crossing her arms. "Yeah, you look real great."
"Don't be sad, little rose. If you put a little effort in, you could be pretty too."
"I'm already pretty!"
He chuckled. "Just teasing. Anyway, I'm a guest model on the runway for a designer's new line. You can watch the show if you'd like." He walked off in his odd, colorful outfit towards the backstage.
"Well, let's go watch the show," said Michelle. She got up and locked arms with Dan. "You coming, Ro?"
"Yeah. In a bit."
The couple walked off. Once they were out of site, Roselle looked around, checking if there was anyone around to witness her. Once the coast was clear, she walked into the direction of the backstage where Mason probably was. She was going to give that man a piece of her mind. James too.
She eyed the king who was standing behind a curtain, leaning his ear against the fabric.
"James," she said. "We need to."
He smacked his hand in front of her mouth and shushed her. He pointed to the curtain, and she leaned her ear against it as well.
"You have the money, or what?" asked the judge from earlier.
"Here it is," said Mason.
"Your king is insane. Was he trying to curl that girl's hair, or barbecue it? It was horrible."
James clenched his fist.
Mason huffed a sigh. "I know, but I need to protect his honor at all costs. I even asked that hairstyling witch to throw the competition, but she declined. She thinks there's more dignity in losing fairly than there is in a cheated win." He scoffed. "That sounds like something a peasant would say. A win is a win, cheating or not."
The king was visibly dumbfounded by what he'd just heard, not moving or saying a word. All he did was stare at the floor. The king, who once held himself tall, was hunching over in defeat.
The man before her was vain, narcissistic, and rude, so why? Why did Roselle suddenly feel so much pity for this conceited man? She slowly reached her arm out to his shoulder to comfort him. "James . . ."
He grabbed her wrist before she could touch him, and walked back in the direction of the dressing room. She followed him in there.
"James . . ."
He looked in the mirror and pounded the wall. He spun around to face her. "I hate you, little rose! I hate you because . . . you were better than me. I admit it."
She gaped her mouth in disbelief. "Huh?"
"I knew when I saw the way you did your sister's hair that you were infinitely more talented than me. I was preparing to lose, but somehow I won. Even I could objectively see that it wasn't right." He sat on the stool and put his head in his hands. "Have all these competitions been a lie? Am I really flawed after all?"
She put her hand on his shoulder. "Everyone is, but don't beat yourself up over this. Don't let this destroy your confidence."
"Ha!" He jumped back up, now energetic and lively. "How dare you accuse me of being insecure. I'm the king!"
"Then what was that thing you were just doing when you stormed off into this room and sulked?"
"Why, little rose, I wasn't sulking. I just had a eureka moment. You were lucky enough to witness it. Now I'm even wiser and more intelligent than before."
"And what was your eureka?"
"Nobody can be good at everything. Not even me. That's why other people exist--so we can all mutually benefit from one another's talents."
Roselle thought about it for a second. "Uh, not quite there, but I'll take it. It's an improvement."
"I admit you won the competition, but I won too. I won some wisdom. We're both winners here. I suppose there is humility in losing after all."
She smiled. "Yeah. There is."
"I like you, little rose. Your presence helps me learn so much. You must have been a queen in your past life. Wait, no, that would put you on the same level as me. A duchess perhaps. Maybe not even that. A countess?"
Her eyebrows twitched, and the nice moment was gone. "I HATE YOU, YOU JERK!"
"I HATE YOU AS WELL!"
The two glared at each other, staring one another down for a long time, not moving or saying a word. Then, all at once, they jumped on each other and started making out.
Roselle pulled away for a second. "Huh? I thought you were gay."
He rolled his eyes. "Why is it such a common misconception that a well-dressed man is gay? I'm a heterosexual, metrosexual, demisexual. Don't you read my blog?"
She blinked. She didn't know what 66% of those things were. "Uh, what?"
He sighed, and grabbed her chin, bringing her face close to his. "Shut up and kiss me more, peasant," he demanded.
The two continued their makeout session. Roselle jumped on him so vigorously that they fell on the floor, but the kissing still continued. This was by far one of the weirdest situations she's ever been in, but she wasn't complaining at all.
Mason walked in the room. "My heavens!" "WHAT?!" shouted Roselle.
The assistant looked at them for a moment in confusion. "Forgive me, sire, but this is a shock. I was under the assumption that you were gay."
"Doesn't ANYONE read my blog?" James moaned.
He eventually cleared his throat and loosened his tie. "I hate to disturb you, your highness, but it's almost time for you to go on.
"Oh. Yeah, that. I'm not doing that anymore."
Mason seemed to be flummox with that response, staggering back. "But . . . your highness, don't you want everyone to look at you? The show will be done for without your appearance."
The king sighed. "Oh, very well. On one condition."
"What is it, sire?"
He gestured his hand to Roselle. "The lovely little rose needs to join me as well."
"What?" asked Mason and Roselle at the same time.
"I don't know how to be a runway model," she said. "I'm not going up there."
The king laughed. He stood up and plucked a designer outfit from the rack. "Silly little rose. Of course you are."