His Royal Highness the Prince (HRHP) is on a whaling expedition in the distant isles, inlets, atolls, and keys of the Kingdom when the Royal Yacht hits a summer squall. The Palace loses contact with the Vessel and we fear Our Majesty lost at sea, dispatched to the bottom of a reef, or smashed on the desolate shores of an uninhabitable and hostile Island of Fire!

Sweet relief comes in the early hours of dawn as Posts from the Prince’s Instagram bubble to the surface. HRHP lives! And still has reception. Thank goodness! The Palace cannot help but be impressed with the forethought required to extract a selfie stick from the wreckage. We’re positive he’ll call soon to be rescued.

It appears Beach Pirates have lured HRHP to their deadly shores with bonfires and faery lights.

Also, cover your eyes, Loyal Subjects, for an enterprising mermaid must have swiped His Highness’s britches as he swam from the flotsam. By now, they are likely in an underwater grotto being worshipped alongside teaspoons and broken clocks.

Although images of the Royal Posterior are hardly surprising in the context of a shipwreck, wardrobe being the first thing to go in a crisis at sea, we can’t help but note the catastrophic amount of chafing going on back there. Must strategically place the Royal Seal on this Portrait before it is widely disseminated by our friends in the press.

Sidebar: Inform the Royal Esthetician HRHP is due for a waxing.

RE: the chafing: it may be called the Island of Fire because of the poisonous flora.

The Palace finds itself lingering in consternation over “🍑.” Weird logo for a band of Beach Pirates. Maybe they were sick of sailing under skull and crossbones.

It is becoming clear that the Prince’s missives are being sent under duress and in secret.

This is a rare outtake in which the full head of the Royal Member can be discerned.

Okay, well, these darn Beach Pirates have taken things too far! Hopefully, that piercing doesn’t affect the making of heirs.

These Brutes must have a thing for grinding up Pixies. Only way to explain all the glitter.

Royal observers have thus far rightly ignored the love handles bulging over HRHP’s yellow G-string and instead comment on the fantastic weather. Positive vibes only guys, thanks! Being a Captive to these cross-dressing Naves must be hard enough.

The question we are asking with this one is: how old is it? Not the Royal Snapshot, we’re talking about that avocado toast in the background. And what’s with all the doughnut holes and rectal puns? We should ask the Friar what he thinks. That dude loves brunch.

The public remains heartstruck any time HRHP posts a Polaroid from his iPhone. What an imaginative use for a bandanna! Her Majesty the Queen isn’t the only style icon in the bloodline.

The scruffy castaway look is really working. Must be His Highness’s Spanish side of the family.

The Countess, known colloquially around the palace as Aunt Susan, thinks HRHP looks “🔥🔥🔥.” No one else in line for the throne has commented either way. Traitors.

The inclusion of the empty Bellini bottle indicates HRHP is no longer on a cleanse. Passed out or forced into an enchanted sleep? Must consult a medical expert on this one. (The Barber.)

More “🍑.” Could His Highness still be, in the argot of the Island of Fire, “hangry?” Even after all the doughnuts?

His Highness floats languidly on an inflatable flamingo in a dazzling pool of blue. It is a scene of excessive, almost Arcadian, celebration and merriment as his best friends, nymphs, and goddesses all, splash around him. Valencia really is the right filter. Check back with Friar to make sure HRHP has not actually departed this mortal plane for Heaven.

Breakthrough. “🍑” is definitely poisoned. Sickness abounds. Hoping HRHP doesn’t turn into a toad.

Ingenious! HRHP has taken to wearing the garb of a Wench to confuse this band of drunken revelers and calling himself the Prince of P (as in Peace, we presume?) and Her P-ness. What is “kai kai”? Could be secret code for the Cay—a point of egress from the Island!

Another daring reconnaissance mission to the Cay tonight. Must be trying to write a message in the sand or something.

How frightful! A Pirate Captor has caught HRHP. The two are locked in combat on the beach!

The Palace suspects madness, black magic, or a bout of Royal amnesia as HRHP no longer seems acquainted with his Anglican upbringing.

The Prince is dead. Long live the Prince.