Captains of Saintonge [Solo RP]

Thank you for your interest! This is a solo RP regarding Saintonge. This RP is not set in the current time. This RP is set in a (still) undetermined time in the future, as OOC & IC considerations will influence what year this RP occurs.

If you have comments/suggestions, feel free to message me over at Discord.

Special thanks to Goyanes for allowing me to borrow extras for the cast and for the translations.

Place de Palais
near the Palais Royal Metro Station
Saintes
1410h

Beep beep.
Thibault was riding the escalator out of Exit A of the Palais Royal Metro Station when his phone rang. He fished his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. It was a message from Timothée: “Where are you?”

With one hand, Thibault typed: “Getting out of the station. You?” Sent.

Thibault emerged from the escalator into the sunny open space that was the Place de Palais. Technically, Place de Palais is continuous with the large Place de Saintes – a large 500-hectare open space/public park in the middle of the Île de la Cité, where Saintes’ royal and religious seats of power are situated in. Place de Palais, the public space fronting the Palais Royal – the Royal Palace of Saintonge – which was a popular spot for tourists. Today being summer, there were gaggles of tourists taking photos and selfies, strolling around the cool leafy park, and sitting on the numerous park benches. He scanned his surroundings. No sign of the person he was about to meet today.

Beep beep.
Another message from Timothée. “To your left.”

Thibault looked to his left. Someone was waving to him, standing alone beneath the trees, beside one of the numerous pathways connecting the centre of the park to the Avenue de Palais. It was Timothée.

Thibault walked briskly towards the person he had an appointment with, skirting around the plodding parkgoers, trying to avoid accidentally photobombing tourists, and deftly maneuvering his travel bag to dodge peoples’ legs. “Heyo Timothée-Brice!” Thibault greeted him with his full name. Thibault dropped his bag on the ground and gave Timothée a man-hug, ending in their customary fist bump. “Heyo, Thibault-Maximilian! It’s been a long time bro.”

It’s been months since he had seen Timothée. “I didn’t recognize you,” Thibault admitted. “Because you are in that uniform. Why are you in that get-up?”

Timothée was wearing an immaculate white sailor’s suit of the Royal Santonian Navy. Thibault rubbed the blue flap collar of Timothée’s suit. “We consider it lucky to touch the sailor’s collar.”

“I came straight from base,” Timothée answered. “I will return the question to you: Why are you also in that get-up?”

Thibault was still wearing an airman battle uniform of the Royal Santonian Air Force. “I also came straight from base.” The two laughed. “We might be in different uniforms, but nothing’s changed. We’re still alike,” Timothée remarked. “Let’s go.”

---

Thibault and Timothée walked towards the Avenue de Palais, passing by even more tourists and parkgoers, who paid them little attention. Place de Palais is, after all, a sensitive area, and people there are used to seeing people in uniform, from police officers, military personnel, to the stereotypical ceremonial guards who have to stand straight stiffly for hours without moving a muscle. To them, Thibault and Timothée were just probably another one of those providing security for everyone.

“So, what’s your rank in the Air Force?” Timothée asked.
“Capitaine,” Thibault answered, pointing to the insignia in his uniform. “You?”
“I’m also a capitaine,” Timothée said, chuckling. “A capitaine de corvette, that is.”
“That’s good sir,” Thibault mock-saluted Timothée. “You are of a higher rank. You’d be a commandant in the Air Force.”

The pair passed by a group of three girls in their late teens, who were taking turns snapping photos and selfies with the Royal Palace of Saintonge behind them. Having spent almost ten minutes trying to get good pictures, one of them, the brunette, approached a passerby to take a picture. That passerby happened to be Thibault.

“Excusez-moi,” the brunette said in garbled Santonian straight out of a phrasebook, “parlez-vous Mercantée?”

Thibault and Timothée turned to the foreigner tourist. “Yes, mademoiselle, I can speak Mercanti,” Thibault answered in Mercanti.

“Can you take our pictures?” The brunette asked, handing over her mobile phone to the soldier.
“Sure.”

The brunette then rejoined her friends. One of them, the blonde, jokingly told her Goyanean, "Du er skamdeløs!"¹ They started talking in Goyanean to each other so that nobody else can understand them.
"Hvis er der utsak?" Their other companion, the redhead, said as she handed her mobile phone to the sailor for him to take pictures of them too. "De er træned til tjenes der volken. Dette er volkstjeneste."²
1 “You really have no shame!”
2 “What the problem? … They’re trained to serve the public. This is public service.”

“Can we have the palace in the picture too?” The brunette said, pointing to the edifice behind her, “have the flag of Saintonge in too, it has hearts, so pretty.”

Both Thibault and Timothée removed their sunglasses to get better pictures and to better assess the lighting of the photos they were about to take. The girls started posing for the photographs.

Smile. Snap. Another angle. Snap. Sexy pose. Snap. Wacky pose. Snap. Group hug. Snap. Jump shot. Snap.

After what was possibly a dozen poses, the girls thought that they had enough pictures to post in their social media accounts. “Thank you, sirs,” the brunette said as the soldier and the sailor walked towards them to return their phones. It was just now that they noticed the men’s faces.

“Hvor gjørde du blifå dette høyskøn mannen?”³ The giggling redhead asked the brunette.
“Je ger turnet,”⁴ the brunette answered, taking her phone back from the soldier and ensuring she will ‘inadvertently’ touch his hand. “Uhhhh…. Can we have pictures with you?”
3 “Where did you get these cute hunky men?”
4 “I’m lucky.”

“Sure.”

The brunette took out her selfie stick and the three girls posed for a group selfie photo with Thibault and Timothée. Never mind that the flag of Saintonge can no longer be seen, what’s important are the attractive faces of these cute guys.

“Thanks guys,” the redhead said, still giggling as the men started to leave. “Versikre du lagra det bild,”⁵ she told the brunette.
“Selvføvenet jeg vil,”⁶ the brunette replied. She noticed the similarity between the sailor and the soldier. Switching back to Mercanti, she asked them, “are you two brothers?”
5 “Make sure you save that picture.”
6 “Of course I will.”

“We’re twins,” Timothée answered, winking at the girls as he picked up his bag, sending the redhead’s heart fluttering. “We hope you enjoy it here in Saintonge.”

“Oh we’re enjoying it!" The redhead said sincerely. “Santonians are cute.”
The blonde elbowed the redhead to stop her from saying anything more embarrassing.

“We shall go,” Thibault told them. “Have fun, enjoy yourselves, and be safe.”
The twins started walking away from the girls, towards the crosswalk leading to the Royal Palace.

A few moments after the twins had left, a woman in her late forties rushed toward the girls. It was their group’s guide. From the queue for the snack stand at the far end of the footpath, she had seen the last part of the action as she was buying refreshments for the group. “What did you girls just do!?” She asked them in Mercanti. She seemed annoyed and mortified at the same time.

The three girls were surprised and perplexed at their guide’s reaction. “We were just taking photos,” the redhead said. “We asked the cute soldiers to take our photos.”
“It's no big deal. The soldiers were nice,” the brunette said. She then showed their guide the group’s selfie with the two men. “See, they even took pictures with us.”

The guide, a Santonian, looked at the photos. She wasn’t imagining it. “Do you know who these two men are?”
The three girls looked at each other cluelessly. “No.”
“They’re Prince Thibault and Prince Timothée of Saintonge,” the guide told the girls.
“WHAAAAAAAT!?”

Even by Santonian royal standards, Prince Thibault-Maximilian and Prince Timothée-Brice are low-key people. Unless one is familiar with their faces, one cannot easily spot them in a crowd because of their plain casual manner, without the ostentatiousness that royalty stereotypically exude. The twins were also known to commingle with commoners, sometimes sneakily, something that their father, King Thibault II, used to frown upon.

The respect for the nobles in Saintonge took a beating during the Santonian Revolution. The three austere Pope-Kings that came afterwards became entrenched in the popular imagination as the standard for Santonian monarchs. The result was that Santonian monarchs were reserved and lacking the glitzy and glamorous displays associated with royalty.

The latter aspect was partially reversed in the last century, starting with King Archambault X, who started bringing back the pomp and ceremonies to the Santonian court. While royals marrying commoners was de rigueur post-Revolution, during the past few decades, the Santonian royals opted to marry other nobles. The twins’ grandfather, King Timothée II, married a Duchess of Beaujolais. His son, the current Santonian monarch, married a Duchess of Bavière. It seemed that the Santonian royalty is going back to its pre-Revolution days in terms of majesty, but they still remained as reserved as ever.

Thibault and Timothée would probably represent an interruption of that trend. The twins were the firstborn of King Thibault II and Queen Mélisende of Saintonge. Thibault was older by a few minutes, but for some reason, hasn’t been proclaimed Crown Prince of Saintonge yet. Maybe it was because of how the twins bucked the trend?

Educated within the Royal Palace in their early life, the twins insisted on attending high school outside the palace. As a compromise, the twins attended an exclusive all-boys private high school in Saintes. With their newfound freedom outside the walls of the palace, they did not limit themselves to the circle of the rich kids in school. The twins were one of the first royals who interacted freely in public, endearing them to the youth and to Santonians in general. The twins’ pleasant temperaments further cemented the public’s love for the future king of Saintonge and his brother. They captivated the hearts of the public and – paradoxically – earned respect for the Santonian royal family. When King Thibault II realized how the public reacted to his firstborns, he dropped his objections to them interacting freely with the commoners – but he did not do the same. The twins’ younger siblings, Baudouin-Alexandre, Charlotte-Amélie, Marc-Cuthbert and Kilian-Childebert (the latter two being identical twins as well) looked like they will be following in their older brothers’ steps as well.

The twins gained the respect of Saintonge further by undergoing the compulsory national service (conscription) required for all Santonians. Santonian royals, especially those that are in line to the throne, were exempted from this requirement, but both Thibault and Timothée elected to fulfil their obligations to Saintonge. “I can’t ask my countrymen to put their life on the line if I cannot do it myself,” Thibault was once quoted by a fawning gossip magazine. The twins completed basic training, and – to most people’s surprise – they then opted to continue with the extended training for prospective officers in the reserve militia: Thibault in the Royal Santonian Air Force, Timothée in the Royal Santonian Navy. They had just finished their training, and were finally coming home from the bases. So as not to attract attention like earlier in the park (or else somebody might again ask them to take pictures), the twins opted to use a lesser-known, almost hidden, side entrance to the Royal Palace.

“Say, do you know how to pilot a plane now?” Timothée asked his brother.
“A plane, no,” Thibault answered. “A drone, yes. A helicopter, yes. They gave me a crash course,” Thibault said, emphasizing the word crash. “Get it?”
“Haha. Funny.” Timothée found the joke corny, although he would’ve probably made the same joke. “But please don’t die.”
“I didn’t! Your brother is still in one piece.”
“Good. So you can give me a lift in your ‘copter.”
Thibault thought about it for a while. “I would, but those royal regulations probably won’t let us. The first and second in line to the Santonian sitting in the same aircraft, exposed to the same danger of crashing… you know that’s a no-no.”

Despite those “royal regulations” sometimes pulling them apart, Thibault and Timothée have a close attachment to each other. Being identical twins raised together, they know each other so well. They can complete each other’s sentences. They know how to please, comfort, and yes – annoy – each other. They know how the other’s mind works. They know how to share everything with each other: from space in the womb to today’s feelings and experiences. When talking to others, they even usually use the pronoun we, not as a royal we, but we in the sense that they know they can speak for each other. To outsiders, Thibault and Timothée have that special twin bond. They’re inseparable, both figuratively and literally: who is Thibault and who is Timothée, most people can’t even tell by looks alone. That confusion was exacerbated by their mother (who had an identical twin herself), who liked to dress her identical twins in identical clothes when they were children. Now that they’re grown-ups, Thibault and Timothée have similar clothing styles, making it difficult to tell them apart.

“Bah, that’s what Baudouin is there for,” Timothée said. “Spare prince number two.”
Thibault threw his twin brother a sideways look.
“Don’t give me that look, T-Bo,” Timothée told his brother, technically the undeclared crown prince of Saintonge.
“They just pulled me out from mother earlier than you, T-Mo,” Thibault replied, using the jokey nicknames they made for each other. “No fair. We’re in it together.”
Timothée put his free arm over his brother’s shoulders. “Yes, T-Bo. We’ll be in it together... Also, have you messaged Baudouin?”
“He’s coming.”

The twins ascended a side staircase to the second floor of the Royal Palace, close to the family quarters. As soon as they reached the top floor, they saw their younger brother emerge out of the living room used by the Royal Family. Baudouin-Alexandre closed the door shut and greeted his older brothers. “T-Bo! T-Mo!” he muttered as he hugged his older brothers.
“Hush, BadAx,” Timothée said. Even Baudouin-Alexandre had a nickname. “Our covers weren’t blown when we were on public transport. Don’t reveal our surprise now. It’s nice to see you again, little bro.”
“Are they all inside?” Thibault asked.
“Yes, we’re playing Ratisbonne. They’re totally clueless.”

Baudouin stealthily opened the door to the living room and let his brothers in. Their mother and their three other siblings were too occupied in the game to notice. The tile-based Santonian board game Ratisbonne was really engrossing.

Timothée cleared his throat. “So, who’s winning the game?”

The players looked up to see who it was.

“AIEEEE!!” Their mother shrieked in joy and surprise, in a manner uncharacteristic of a regal Queen of Saintonge or a prim-and-proper Duchess of Bavière. But who can blame her, she hadn’t seen Thibault and Timothée for months. “My sons!” She stood up quickly, not noticing that she had just overturned the Ratisbonne board. She threw her arms around each of her older twins and hugged them tight. “I missed you boys,” she alternately kissed her sons on their cheeks. “This is quite the surprise, but I’m happy to see you early! You said you won’t be home until tomorrow. What happened?”

The twins looked at each other. “We wanted to surprise you,” Timothée said. “Our training actually ended earlier this morning.”
“Also, knowing you, our dear mother, you’d probably be preparing another big celebration or banquet or whatever when we return, so we wanted to pre-empt you so you don’t have to do that,” Thibault added.
“We do have a banquet!!” Their mother told them. “Tomorrow. Six PM. We’re going through with it!”
“Mother…” Timothée protested.
“Allow me to do this for you two,” the queen said. “Besides, it’s not a big thing.”

“When mother says it’s not a big thing, it is a big thing,” Charlotte interjected. Charlotte, Cuthbert, and Kilian had also totally ignored their game to see their older brothers again. “She’d already drawn up the list of invitees.”

The older twins chuckled. That was typical of their mother. Timothée then cuddled up to his younger sister. “So, how’s our princess?”
“Still a princess. Still beautiful,” Charlotte replied.
Timothée smiled. “Stay beautiful. When you grow up, find a nice prince charming for you… you know, someone like us.”
Charlotte looked up at Timothée and rolled her eyes. “You’re not at all charming, you know,” she joshed him. She hugged her older brother. “We and the twins missed you.”

“We missed you big brothers,” the Cuthbert and Kilian said in unison. Like Thibault and Timothée, the younger twins seemed to think and speak alike as well.
“So did we,” Thibault answered. “We’ll teach you twin stuff!”

“Group hug!” Baudouin announced, and the family happily huddled together. Over the huddle, Thibault noticed the upturned Ratisbonne board, with its pieces and tiles and meeples scattered all over the floor. “So, who’s winning the game?”

That night, the royal family had a private dinner at the Royal Palace. Queen Mélisende made sure that she had a sumptuous dinner prepared: stuffed Aunis turkey, herbed Santonian lobster with Douvres cheese and sauce Griffonnaise, filet mignon from the best blonde Comminges cows, Theiphalian mutton au jus, grilled truffle sausages, rizette Pouillais, and the Queen’s specialty, beignet Bavarois.

“This is great, I’m hungry,” Thibault remarked after Charlotte finished saying the prayer before meals.
“I know you two are hankering for some real food,” the queen told Thibault and Timothée as she passed dish after dish to her sons. “I hear soldier’s food is bad.”
“Mashed peas are good enough for me, mother,” Thibault joked. “Can eat it all day.”
“Mashed peas notwithstanding, the meal rations are quite okay,” Timothée related. “Some are just… interesting.”

“Thibault, Timothée,” their father started, “how was military training?”
“Highly recommended,” Thibault said, making the ‘OK’ gesture popular with airmen. Timothée nodded in agreement.
“Did they treat you well?” their mother asked.
“Yes they did,” Timothée answered. “Sometimes too well, if you know what I mean. Father’s the Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Santonian Armed Forces, they thought they should treat us nicely.”
“We actually had to tell our commanding officers to treat us like the other recruits,” Thibault added. “Otherwise, we won’t be learning, and it will create dissension within the ranks if everyone’s not treated equally.”
“So I mopped the deck like everyone else,” Timothée said, grinning.
The queen smiled at her children. Her older twins are growing up so well.

“That’s good to hear, I guess,” the king muttered. Like so many royals before him, he took the exemption and never underwent the military service. “What are your ranks in the reserves?”
“I’m a capitaine,” Thibault answered.
“Me too, but I’m a capitaine de corvette,” Timothée said.
“Timmy is actually a higher-ranking officer than me,” Thibault said, and then turned to his brother. “Bro, you took the course for senior officers? I thought only a few conscripts get to have that,” Thibault raised an eyebrow at his twin brother. “Did you use connections?” Thibault emphasized the word, as if implying something.
Timothée took the hint. “Oh no bro, they made me take a grueling examination and they said I qualified for the fast-track program for senior officers in the reserves. I can now pilot frigates in the Navy.”
The queen looked at Thibault sternly. “Thibault, remember – Timothée knows how to pilot our yacht before he went for military service.” Evidently she still hadn’t picked up that the twins were just ribbing each other.
“I know, I know,” Thibault said. “I was just teasing Timmy.”

“What do they call you in the military?” Baudouin asked. “I heard they call people by their surnames there.”

Santonian royalty have no surnames. When needed, they use de Saintonge as their surname, a “surname” that was reserved for royalty. So legally, the twins are named Thibault-Maximilian de Saintonge and Timothée-Brice de Saintonge.

“At first they called me Saintonge, which was kinda awkward,” Thibault said. “But now that I have officer rank, they call me Capitaine Saintonge.”
“I’m a Capitaine Saintonge too,” Timothée added.

“No joke?” Baudouin was skeptical. Capitaine Saintonge is a popular Santonian comic-book superhero, known for fighting the evil characters who were out to endanger and destroy Saintonge.

“No joke,” Thibault nodded. “We were really called Capitaine Saintonge.”

“You are Capitaine Saintonge?” Cuthbert excitedly said, apparently conflating the superhero with his older brothers. “Can you show me your superpowers? Pleeease?” The older members of the family laughed.

“Didn’t you read the latest comic book, Cuthbert?” Timothée told his six-year-old younger brother. “There are many Capitaines Saintonge, but not all have the superpowers.”
Cuthbert frowned. Sitting beside Cuthbert, Kilian then tried to comfort his twin. “Don’t worry Cuthbert, big brothers will soon know if they will be granted superpowers.”

“Timmy, you didn’t get your superpowers?” Thibault jokingly asked his twin, evidently riding on the conversation.
Timothée wagged his head. “Nuh-uh. No superpowers yet.” He looked at his twin. “Between the two of us, I’m sure Thibault will get more powers.”
Thibault understood what his twin meant. It seems that their father also picked up the meaning.

King Thibault II cleared his throat. “I do have something to say,” he said as everybody turned their attention to the family’s patriarch. “Tomorrow, during the banquet,” the king then looked at his namesake, “I intend to announce you, Thibault-Maximilian, as the Crown Prince of Saintonge. You will be granted the title and position of the Crown Prince of Saintonge.”

Thibault-Maximilian stopped chewing. He felt a swirl of emotions – consternation, tension, disenchantment, discomfort – and out of all of it, joy wasn’t one of them. Though he had been raised thinking that being the Crown Prince was his destiny, but it seemed… ill-fitting for him, like an undersized pair of shoes the feet desperately wants to get out of. He should be happy, right? Thibault looked at the people around the table and they seemed happy.

Baudouin: “Congratulations, T-Bo!”
Charlotte: “That great, big bro!”
Cuthbert and Kilian: “Congratulations, big brother!”
Queen Mélisende: “I’m sure you’ll do well, Thibault.”

Thibault-Maximilian’s gaze fell on his twin brother, who sat stone-faced in front of him. Timothée-Brice then tried to fake a smile. “Wish you all the best, Thibault,” he muttered.

It was Thibault’s turn to try to gather his emotions to hide them. He tried to smile. “Thanks everyone.” Thibault looked at his unfinished plate of food. He didn’t seem hungry anymore.

Throughout their childhood and teenage years, Thibault and Timothée shared a room, despite the Royal Palace having dozens of rooms. Sharing a room just felt natural to them. When they were children, they even shared a large bed; but when they became teenagers, they had separate beds, each on the opposite corners of the room nearest the windows.

That night, Thibault and Timothée retired to their shared room, a room they had left as teenagers and are now coming back to as adults. After what happened earlier that dinner, both of them felt… awkward with each other – for the first time in their life. It seemed that night was not the right time for banter or even speaking with each other. Had the months of separation changed them?

The twins went to their beds. It was the first time in months that they’d be sleeping in their comfortable beds.

“Good night, T-Bo,” Timothée told his brother as he turned off his beside lamp.
“Good night, T-Mo,” Thibault replied.

But despite lying in the soft cushy bed he was longing for, Thibault couldn’t sleep. The thoughts of what transpired earlier still ran in Thibault’s mind. I will be the crown prince? I will be the King of Saintonge? I am not prepared. What if I fail my country? What about my future? What about Timothée? What about… Thousands of whatabouts swirled in Thibault’s head. Thibault tossed and turned on his bed, unable to give his mind and body a rest.

After what seemed to be hours of thinking, Thibault heard his brother speak.

“Thibault, are you still awake?”

Thibault turned towards the direction of his brother’s bed. “I’m sorry, Timothée, I couldn’t sleep.”

Timothée turned on his bedside lamp. From the faint mellow light, Timothée could see his brother’s sad face, creased with worry.

“Was it father’s announcement earlier?” Timothée sat up.
Thibault nodded and then also sat up on his bed.

Timothée let out a sigh. “I knew it.” Timothée then stood up and strode to his brother’s bed. “It’s fine with me. Don’t worry about me bro.”
Thibault was puzzled.
Timothée looked at his twin brother in the eye. “I’m not jealous,” Timothée said. “There, I said it.” Timothée sat beside Thibault. “I appreciate you fighting for me, even when we were seven years old.”

Thibault was surprised at Timothée’s recollection. Thibault never told Timothée about his conversation with his parents when he was almost seven years old. Thibault could still vividly remember that summer July day.

“How did you know about the conversation?” Thibault asked his brother.
“Mother told me,” Timothée answered. “I thought you won’t keep any secret from me, Thibault.”
“When did you know about it?”
“Since we were thirteen.”

Thibault sighed. It was the only secret he kept from his brother, and here came his mother ruining it for him. “I’m sorry, Timothée.”

Timothée smiled. “I’m just teasing you. I understand why you had to keep it a secret.” He put an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Thank you… for thinking and caring about me.”
Thibault looked at his brother.
“Honestly,” Timothée continued, “when I learned about what you did, I loved you even more. Even though you probably thought ‘Crown Prince’ was just a ‘special thing’ and didn’t know much about it. It’s already in my heart as your brother and your twin, but after learning all about it, I promised myself that I always be here for you. Like we always say…”
“… we’re in it together,” Thibault completed the sentence as he sniffled a bit.
“You crying?”
“I’m just… glad to have a brother like you.”
Timothée tried to lighten the mood. “Always remember, T-Mo is always here for T-Bo!”

“So don’t worry about me, Thibault,” Timothée repeated. “I’m okay with you being the Crown Prince and the King. It’s your birthright. It’s your destiny. You deserve it.”
“Thank you,” Thibault muttered, and then paused for a bit. “To be honest, you being envious never crossed my mind, but…” Thibault’s words trailed off. He couldn’t understand Timothée’s reaction to their father’s announcement. Is he just saying these things for show? That’s not Timothée – he says what he thinks. But then again, could his brother have changed?
“But…?” Timothée tried to read Thibault’s face. After a few moments, he finally came around to reading Thibault’s thoughts. “Are you concerned about my reaction earlier during the dinner?”
Thibault nodded.
“I was worried for you bro,” Timothée said. “More than anything. I know how you think. You are apprehensive about the idea and the position and your future. Being crown prince means you have to drop everything and dedicate yourself to the position and to the country. Am I right?”
“You took the words out of my mouth bro,” Thibault told his brother. “That is what I feel right now… I was thinking that I want to go to college, get a degree, find a job… you know, stuff other people do. I know that the idea of being King was hammered into my head since I was a child, but I never thought it will be this real today. It was a vague idea I kept on pushing to the back of my mind, as something that will happen someday, not now. And when that happens, I have to drop the life I charted for myself and go down the path laid down for me.”
“And make babies,” Timothée said naughtily. “And spare princes like me.”
“You know, Spare Prince, why don’t you just make them for me?”
“I’d be glad to,” Timothée laughed. “But seriously,” Timothée said as he sobered up, “if you need help in royal things or whatever, T-Mo will be here to help you.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Positive. One thousand percent.”
“Can I ask you to stand in for me in visits and speeches?”
The twins laughed. The twins look so much alike that Timothée can probably stand in for Thibault in an official function and get away with it.

“Just prepare my script beforehand,” Timothée said.
“Haha, sure I will bro,” Thibault replied. And then Timothée noticed a mischievous twinkle in Thibault’s eye. “You know…” Thibault began.
“Uh-oh, I don’t like where this is going,” Timothée remarked as Thibault smiled at his brother. “I know what that smile means.”
“You know, Timothée, why don’t we just make the stand-ins official?”
“Ugh, I knew it.”
“Remember you promised. We always say…”
“… we’re in it together,” Timothée completed the sentence with semi-reluctance. “So, what are you thinking? I hope it’s not what I am thinking.”
Thibault grinned. “You see, I was thinking, why don’t we both become Crown Princes of Saintonge?”
Timothée sighed. “I was so expecting you to say that.”
“We’re twins, remember? We think alike.” Thibault elbowed his brother. “What do you think about the idea?”

Timothée paused to ponder his brother’s proposal. Timothée’s mind wanted to say no. But Timothée’s heart wanted to say yes. Despite him being apprehensive about the role himself. Despite knowing that he’d probably react the same way if he were in Thibault’s shoes. Despite knowing that he also has to make the same sacrifices Thibault has to make. Despite knowing that such an idea was… out of this world.

“You don’t… like the idea?” Thibault’s smile had all but evaporated from his face.
“You’re crazy, T-Bo,” Timothée commented. “And since I’m your twin brother…” Timothée’s mind and heart engaged in a battle within him. Only one would win. “… I’m also crazy like you. I like your idea.” Timothée decided that he will stand with his twin brother. Going through everything together was their life for the past nineteen years. Timothée will go through everything together with Thibault even for the next ninety years.

“That’s wasn’t a joke idea, T-Mo,” Thibault said in a more serious tone.
“I know it wasn’t a joke idea,” Timothée replied. “Now, we just have to plot out the specifics. Obviously we have to tell father. He might have to get Parliament involved. Then there is the question of who will be the King.”
“Both of us, obviously,” Thibault answered. “I know that this might be unprecedented in Saintonge, but we’ll work it out.”
“Who will sign documents or do the royal stuff? You and I, or you or I?”
“If we both have to do it, it kinda…”
“… defeats the purpose,” Timothée completed. Their minds really work at the same wavelength. “Plus, if only one of us is needed, you can focus on your stuff while I take care of royal things; and vice versa. Gives us time for ourselves too. I like it.”
“Next question is who will inherit the throne,” Thibault said.
“Whoever is the first grandson we’re able to give to father,” Timothée replied.
“Good idea,” Thibault agreed. “If you are able to have a son first, then it’s your son who will inherit. If I have a son first, then it’s my son.”
“Unless they’re twins too,” Timothée added.
“They’d probably make a similar arrangement if we’re successful with this.”
“Do you think this would cause a dynastic quarrel in our agreement regarding succession?”
“The King of Saintonge is very much powerless right now,” Thibault said. “I doubt people – much less our sons – are going to fight over such a powerless title that comes with lots of responsibility.”
“That’s true actually,” Timothée remarked. “People think being the monarch is glamorous and enjoyable, but it actually entails a lot of… sacrifices.”
The twins fell silent as they the thoughts of the future sacrifices they had to make for the people and the country. But that was their life, their destiny which they could not avoid.

“Thank you for understanding me,” Thibault said to his brother.
“Anytime bro.”
“Should we to talk to father tomorrow?”
“Agreed, let’s talk him tomorrow. But for tonight, Thibault, you should sleep.”

Thanks to his father’s secretary, Thibault managed to insert an appointment with his busy father after lunch. The king was surprised to see that his next appointment was with his sons.

“Thibault, Timothée… you don’t need to have an appointment to talk to me,” their father told them gently.

The king was clearly mellowing with age. When they were young, their father was strict with and aloof from his children. For the king, les enfants devraient être vus et non entendus – children should be seen and not heard. He never said that explicitly, but that was how he treated the young Thibault and Timothée.

But if the king was emotionless towards his children, Queen Mélisende was showy with her love. This led to Thibault and Timothée developing a closer attachment to their mother. She was a prim-and-proper southern belle… on the outside. It was what attracted the genteel then-Crown Prince Thibault to the then-Duchess of Bavière. But once they were starting a family and became more private and intimate, the true colours of Anne-Mélisende of Bavière showed. Her refined public persona masked an open, freewheeling character Anne-Mélisende had likely got from her mother, who was from the Pouilles. As the future queen of Saintonge and a Duchess of Bavière, Anne-Mélisende had to be formal, sophisticated, reserved, and demure in front of other people. But privately, she was plain, unpretentious, casual, and carefree.

This duality disappointed the older Thibault, who was the crown prince at the time. He didn’t expect his wife to be like that. He fell out of love with Anne-Mélisende as quickly as he fell in love with her. There was an explanation, which only close adult family members and trusted palace insiders know, as to why there was a large age gap between the twins and Baudouin-Alexandre. Even the king's children did not know why.

Spurned by her husband, Anne-Mélisende instead devoted her time and energy to her twins Thibault and Timothée. The twins got their mother’s character, but none of the impulse to hide them. Neither did Anne-Mélisende try to restrain her children – it was her husband who did that to the twins.

During the past few years, King Thibault II slowly but noticeably became more warm-hearted towards Anne-Mélisende and the royal children. He allowed the twins to attend a school outside the royal palace. He allowed them to enlist in the military reserves. He made time and took interest in interacting with and caring for the younger twins Cuthbert and Kilian, which he rarely did with Thibault and Timothée when the older twins were of their age.

As a result of their upbringing, Thibault and Timothée grew emotionally distant from their father. Neither did their father know how to deal with his sons who have now grown up.

“We thought you could be busy,” Thibault said as he and Timothée entered the room and approached the king’s desk.
“We don’t want to intrude into your schedule, and to other people,” Timothée added.
“I will make time for you, my sons,” the king said. He noticed that his visitors hadn’t taken their seats yet. For the king, it was another reminder of the chasm between him and his sons. His sons were dealing with him professionally, not as their father. “Take your seats.”

The twins sat on the antique wooden seats in front of the king’s desk. Thibault went straight to the point. “We would like to propose something… regarding the Crown Prince position.”
“Go ahead,” the king said.
“We would like both of us to be Crown Princes,” Thibault told his father.
“What are you saying?”
Thibault and Timothée explained their plan to their father.

After the explanation, the king turned to Timothée. “Are you sure you are agreeing to this?”
“Wholeheartedly, father,” Timothée answered.
“Being crown prince and king is a big responsibility. Are you up to the task?”
“Yes father,” Timothée said. “I’d like to help Thibault fulfil the duties and responsibilities that comes with it. So that we may have time for the other things we’d like to do. Like he may leave the royal stuff to me while he’s away or something.”

The king sat back in his chair. “Listen, I’m not sure if you two fully understand what being Crown Prince or King means. It’s not a part-time job you can set aside to do other things. It’s not even a full-time job that will end once the office is closed. It is who you will be. It is you as a person. You will not cease to be King of Saintonge when the sun goes down or all your appointments end. You will be the King of Saintonge. 24/7, wherever you are. Whether you’re sleeping in bed, eating breakfast, or sitting in the bathroom, you are the King of Saintonge.”

The twins fell silent. There goes the plan. There was resistance at the first step. Timothée looked at his brother apologetically, trying to tell Thibault that he was sorry about how his explanation went down the wrong way. Thibault nodded slightly and gave a reassuring smile to his brother. Even without words the twins understood each other.

Timothée turned to his father. “We understand that, father. We still carry the title and the name wherever we go. We keep that in mind when we go out in public.” Timothée then paused before asking his father, “but don’t you wish you also had somebody to help you in being crown prince and king of Saintonge?”

It was the king’s turn to pause and think. For years, he had obsessed himself in being the crown prince and king of Saintonge. He would’ve wanted his wife to help him, but his unattainably high standards led him to push his wife away. He had once lost the way; and when shocked back with his father’s death, the king overcompensated by immersing himself fully into his work. His family was neglected throughout the years, and he realized it too late. Trying to make up for lost time is the only thing he could do.

To the king, his eldest sons’ request looked overly complex, but underneath it, to him the rationale seemed simple. Thibault and Timothée want to avoid the mistakes he made. Thibault junior and Timothée were lucky to have each other; Thibault senior, being the only son, had no one to lean on. But does Timothée really need to be a Crown Prince as well?

Being a crown prince and king is difficult, it comes with all the pressures and responsibilities. He wasn’t sure whether Timothée really understood what he was getting into. If he does understand, it was a magnanimous and courageous gesture on the part of Timothée for his brother. The related question was whether Timothée can do what he wants to do for Thibault without having to become the crown prince. He had to think about that further.

An alternative explanation entered the king’s mind: could Thibault just be assuaging Timothée’s jealousy by offering him the title of crown prince as well? If that is so, acceding to their request could be disastrous for the country – their jealousy can destroy their relationship and the monarchy. The king at least knew how close the bond was between his firstborn twins; Timothée wanting to assist Thibault was not surprising, but doubts still lingered in the king’s mind. It dawned upon the king that his doubts regarding Timothée’s intentions meant that he doesn’t know his children well – something he had no one to blame but himself. He hoped Mélisende could help him decide.

“I’ll think about your proposal,” the king told the twins. “I won’t be announcing anything today.”
“Thank you, father.”

Prince Thibault-Maximilian and Prince Timothée-Brice were clad in their formal military uniforms as they waited for the guests to arrive. Thibault was wearing his dark blue formal Royal Santonian Air Force suit; Timothée was in his white Royal Santonian Navy formal uniform. They sat at the central table set within the 250-seater banquet hall located within the Royal Castle in Saintes. Queen Mélisende did go ahead with the celebrations: "Thibault, Timothée, I already sent the invites!" The twins' mother told them last night. "People are coming from all over Saintonge, including your cousins! You wouldn't want to disappoint them, do you?"

Back at the banquet hall, Timothée looked at all the empty tables. “I presume mother will fill this hall up,” he remarked, chuckling.
“Oh you bet, bro,” Thibault answered. “This hall be standing-only in a few hours.”

The guests started to arrive, and many made a beeline to the twins’ table to greet them. One of the first to come was Thibault of Champagne, their second cousin. The future Duke Thibault XI of Champagne was only three years older than the twins. As such, the twins had a brotherly relationship with their paternal cousin.

“T-Mo, T-Bo!” Thibault of Champagne called them out as he walked towards them. “Congratulations on finishing your National Service.”

“It’s nothing,” Prince Timothée answered. “it’s just something we wanted to do. Mother just wants an excuse to celebrate.”

Thibault of Champagne laughed. “Well, what can you expect with Aunt Mélisende? She wants to have social events whenever she gets the excuse to do it.”

“It’s actually you who we should congratulate, Big Thibault,” Prince Thibault told his second cousin. Whenever they have their family reunions, Thibault of Champagne was “Big Thibault”, Prince Thibault was “Little Thibault”… and then there was “King Thibault” and “Duke Thibault”. Santonian royalty were that uncreative when it came to names.

“Agreed,” Prince Timothée continued Prince Thibault’s statement, “You made it to the men’s national volleyball team!”
“Oh, I completely forgot about that too,” Prince Thibault grinned. “I was referring to your upcoming marriage.”
“Thank you,” Thibault of Champagne said. “You should come. The invites would come out soon.”
“Of course, Big Thibault,” Prince Timothée assured his cousin.

Next to come was another young man of their age, wearing a formal dress uniform of the Royal Santonian Army. He approached the twins and gave them a brotherly hug.

“Kyle! I see you’re a reserve officer now too,” Thibault remarked.
“Yessiree,” Kyle gave the twins a mock salute. “Capitaine Brice, reporting to my future commander-in-chief.”

The three laughed. Kilian Brice of Bavière was also their cousin – he was the oldest son of Duke Ulrich VI of Bavière, the brother of the twins' mother Queen Mélisende of Saintonge. The future Duke Kilian IX of Bavière, “Kyle” as the twins fondly call him, was of the same age. Aside from his titles in Bavière, he was styled the “Lord Protector”: which in Saintonge, was a young noble who was selected to live in the Royal Palace and grew up with the heirs to the throne. Lord Protectors were also derisively known as the whipping boy, but nobody practices that anymore.

Still, Kyle grew up with the twins and went to the same schools. He also did the National Service like them, serving in the militia of the department of the Vauperté. He also took the course to become a reserve officer in the Royal Santonian Armed Forces, hence the uniform.

“Ahahaha, look at you poilu*,” Thibault joshed Kyle.
“I knew you people in the Chair Force look down on us,” Kyle retaliated with a barb. “Get off your high chairs you call aeroplanes.”

The conversation turned a bit more serious as the three caught up with what they were doing. “What are your plans?” Timothée asked Kyle.
“Since I’m with the 802^nd Ski Infantry Battalion, I’ve decided to train as an alpine rescuer,” Kyle told the twins. “I’ll be working in the SSDC^.”
“That’s cool!” Timothée commented.
“How about you guys?” Kyle asked. “Any plans?”
“Well,” Thibault started in a more sombre tone, “we’re still planning. We want to study further.”

Kyle nodded. “I wish you luck.” He had bargained with his father to let him join the SSDC. He sensed that the twins were also having that negotiations with their parents over doing independent things instead of learning the ropes of being a noble… or even running a country like Saintonge.

“Oh hey, the gang is here!” Kyle and the twins looked up to see who it was. Four young men of their age, dressed in simple business attire, was coming towards them.

“Styr! Col! Jason! Stan!” The nobles greeted the newcomers. Despite their difference in status, the seven young men formed a tight group in their exclusive all-boys private high school in Saintes – the École Internationale de Saintes (EIS). It was a prestigious school where the moneyed and powerful sent their children to study.

In order to improve the academic rankings and performance of the school, the EIS offered scholarships to needy but deserving children. Of course, these scholars would be out of place in such a school where everyone is way out of their social standing. Which was why during the first day of school, the cousins Thibault, Timothée, and Kyle befriended the scholars in their class. And now they have graduated, this was their first reunion after everyone had finished their National Service.

“How are you guys?” Kyle asked them. “Come sit with us.”

“We’re doing great!” Styrbjörn “Styr” Stavnsager replied. Styr was a Prydanian refugee who arrived in Saintonge as a child. Styr was a big muscly guy with a fascination for small critters. His good marks in biology earned him a place at EIS. Everyone knew that Styr harboured dreams to be a doctor.

Sitting beside Styr was Colombano “Col” Ponticelli, a son of Predicean immigrants, who also came to Saintonge as a child. A swarthy nineteen-year-old, Col was good in chemistry, and had tutored the group in chemistry... teaching them stuff from enthalpy and entropy to organic chemistry.

The third member of the group was Matthias-Jason Hoelscher, a Saintonge-born son of Hessunlander refugees. Jason was more of an engineering guy, good at mathematics. But the nerdiest of them all was Marc-Stanislas “Stan” Flandreau, a lanky bespectacled ethnic Santonian teenager from the lower-class 10^th arrondissement of Saintes. Stan was fond of computers and was the group’s geek.

The group discussed their plans for the future. Styr, of course, would be going into medical school. Col, Jason, and Stan were going to university. “How about you?” Jason asked the nobles.

“I’ll be training with the SSDC for two years, and then going to further study,” Kyle answered.

The group's attention turned to the twins.

“Uh… we still don’t know yet,” Thibault answered. “We’d want to go to university too, but…”
“It’s okay,” Styr told them. “We understand. Being King of Saintonge is a big deal.”
“You guys are such a big deal that we are really honoured for the invite,” Stan grinned. “I immediately messaged the gang, like ‘are we really invited to the Royal Palace for a dinner!?’”

“Why are you surprised?” Timothée commented. “You’re our friends, and everyone invites their friends to their houses.”

“The Queen told us it was a surprise,” Col said. “She wanted to surprise you for your arrival, and so she told us not to tell you.”
“But then you surprised Aunt Mélisende by coming home early,” Kyle chuckled.

“I’M HERE!!!” someone declared out loudly that everyone’s eyes turned to the door she had just entered in. The twins rolled their eyes when they saw who it was.

“Ugh,” Kyle muttered derisively, “it’s Jasmin.”
“Jasmin?” Styr repeated as the rest of the group turned their heads towards the newcomer.

A teenaged girl in an over-the-top opulent sequined dress entered the room, strutting and waving as if she was the star of the show. Her ostentatious golden jewellery shone even more brilliantly than her gold lamé dress. Her thick makeup was insufficient in hiding her unflattering features, exacerbated by her propensity for smirking and making scornful faces.

“Baroness Jasmin Couvrier du Chastel,” Timothée said her name, almost sarcastically.

Baroness Jasmin Couvrier du Chastel was a sixteen-year-old wannabe Facegram and Twitcher ‘influencer’ who, according to a respectable broadsheet “represents everything that’s wrong with the Santonian nobility.” Even some monarchist commentators said that “if much of the nobility has the attitude of Baroness Couvrier du Chastel, there’d be another Santonian Revolution.”

And the cousins were inclined to agree. They detested Jasmin. They thought of her as a wannabe social-climbing, unbearable, pretentious b*tch who became a baroness only because her parents were the King’s favourite. Jasmin’s parents, Jules-August and Anne-Jolanthe Couvrier du Chastel, were close confidantes of Thibault and Timothée’s father, King Thibault II. When Anne-Jolanthe was pregnant with Jasmin, King Thibault II gave to the commoner couple the Baronetcy of Longjumeau. It was merely a symbolic title with no real power, but growing up with it increased Jasmin’s sense of self-worth and inflated her ego. Not even the princes of Saintonge act as entitled as the way she does.

“Wait, is this the girl who went viral after treating shopkeepers badly?” Jason asked. “You know, the one who was saying” – he then mocked Jasmin’s high-pitched voice – “‘I spend a lot of money here so give me what I want!’”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s her,” Kyle confirmed. “Ugh, what an embarrassment.”
“Didn’t her hometown also said she was unwanted or something?” Styr added.
“Yes,” Stan answered. “The council of Longjumeau declared her persona non grata after she insulted the town on Facegram.”
“Who is that with her?” Col asked, pointing to a sad-looking teenage boy wearing a much simpler black coat and black tie.
“That’s her younger brother Jérôme,” Thibault told his friends.
“He looks sad,” Styr observed.
“Well, who wouldn’t be sad if you have to be saddled with older sister like that?” Kyle sneered.
“Jérôme is thirteen, he is nice,” Timothée added, “unlike his sister. Poor Jérôme.”

“But why is she here anyway if you guys don’t like her?” Col asked the cousins.

“Because,” Thibault sighed, “her parents are my father’s close friends.”

---

* poilu – literally “a hairy one”, it is a Santonian a term for a soldier in the army, particularly an infantryman, used in various contexts, including semi-pejoratively.
^ SSDC – Santonian Civil Defence Service (Service saintongeaise de la défense civile), Saintonge's integrated fire, ambulance, and rescue service.