Chapter 23 The Palace Strikes Back
The Palace Strikes Back
The royal palace press room was designed for decorum—neutral walls, tasteful furniture, and a faint scent of lavender meant to evoke calm. It was currently failing on all counts.
A junior press aide rushed in, clutching a printed email like it contained classified nuclear codes.
Alexander looked up from his morning briefing, eyebrows arching into his hairline. “Excuse me?”
Sebastian, sprawled across a leather chair like he was auditioning for a royal scandal documentary, tilted his head. “That’s impressively specific. Do they have a source?”
“They claim it’s a leaked budget memo. Line item for protocol consultation ahead of the Pan-Eurasian Diplomatic Summit.”
Alexander set down his coffee with exaggerated care, the cup meeting the saucer with a controlled clink. “She wasn’t a stylist. She was a protocol consultant who prevented me from bowing incorrectly in Tokyo and accidentally proposing marriage in Seoul.”
Sebastian nodded sagely. “Yes, but did she also tell you to burn those square-toed monstrosities you called shoes?”
Alexander shot him a withering look. “This is absurd. She guided me through ceremonial customs, gift etiquette, and which colours would cause diplomatic incidents in five different regions.”
“And that nuance,” Sebastian said, examining his fingernails, “is going to die screaming in a comments section.”
“She saved us from an international incident,” Alexander said, voice clipped. “This is slander.”
“No, technically, it’s clickbait,” Sebastian corrected, scrolling through his phone. “Which is more dangerous. People don’t care what’s true—they care what’s amusing over their morning coffee.”
The aide shifted her weight. “They’re holding the story until 11:45 to allow time for a palace response.”
A tense silence settled over the room like an unwelcome fog.
Alexander rubbed his temple. “So what do we do?”
Sebastian looked up from his phone, his expression transforming from bored to calculating in an instant. “We meme it.”
Alexander blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Sebastian sat up, suddenly energized. “You fight absurdity with absurdity. We make fun of it first. The only way to kill a fake scandal is to make it look exactly as ridiculous as it is. We can use the distracted boyfriend meme. The Gilded Mirror is the boyfriend, turning away from Truth—that’s the annoyed girlfriend—to chase after Clickbait Scandal.
And you’re in the background, holding the actual protocol invoice with the smuggest grin imaginable. ”
Alexander stared at him. “You want me to… grin smugly… in a meme.”
“You want to show you have receipts without looking defensive. This says ‘we’re so confident in our documentation that we’re making jokes.’ Plus,” Sebastian added with growing enthusiasm, “it calls out their journalistic integrity while making you look media-savvy. Win-win.”
A beat of silence.
Then one of the senior aides said, cautiously optimistic, “It’s actually kind of brilliant.”
Alexander looked pained. “You want me to wage diplomatic warfare with internet jokes.”
“Better than waging it with lawyers,” Sebastian countered. “And we drop the actual invoice and job description alongside it. Receipts and ridicule—the modern defense strategy.”
“Make it look casual,” another aide suggested, warming to the idea. “Like it didn’t come from the official communications team.”
Sebastian was already typing. “I’ll take care of it.”
11:37 AM – Deux-Luxe Daily Twitter
The Palace has officially entered the chat.
We repeat: THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Meme warfare is here and King Alexander just went full sass.
#CulturalAdvisorGate #MemeKing #RoyalRizz
11:39 AM – @CaleAnon:
Is Alexander hiring meme lords? Asking for a friend with Photoshop skills.
11:41 AM – The Gilded Mirror (UPDATE):
Editor’s Note: In response to our earlier report, the Palace released documentation confirming the consultant’s role as a protocol advisor.
They also released a meme.
We have no further comment at this time.
* * *
Alexander scrolled through the trending page, bemused. “People are calling me the Meme King of Caledonia.”
Sebastian lounged on the windowsill, sipping his third coffee like a man who’d just survived—and enjoyed—combat. “Better than the Hypocrite King.”
“You think it worked?”
“Sort of. We didn’t win,” Sebastian said. “But we made them look stupid. Which means we bought time.”
Alexander exhaled, some tension leaving his shoulders. “So we live to meme another day.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The monarchy, he thought, was no longer a matter of bloodlines and duty. It was hashtags and headlines. And he was still learning how to survive it.
Sebastian raised his cup. “Long live the petty monarchy.”