From beside Oliver, his mother spoke across the desk to the palace event planner. “Can we see the tablecloth swatches now? To make sure they match the centerpieces?”
Gertie nodded, signaling her assistant to roll the cart of flowers and décor to the side of the large room while she herself went to retrieve cuts of fabric. Katy had never been quite so involved in party planning before; she had always trusted the palace event planners in Lorria to do it without micromanagement. But Princess Harriet had strongly insinuated that her presence was required when moving forward.
“It’s one of a married woman’s many jobs, dear,” Harriet had said, her tone infinitely loving, and yet, somehow, condescending at the same time.
Oliver squeezed Katy’s hand again, bringing her back to the present. “Are you sure you’re not nervous?” he pressed.
It’s a hand, not a handkerchief to wring, Oliver!
“Just a bit tired, is all. From dress shopping.” Katy really did appreciate Oliver’s concern—he was always paying attention to her feelings, which was one of the reasons she hadn’t ended his gentle, thoughtful courtship right away. It was the way in which he expressed his concern, and the way that he didn’t seem to believe her when she said she was okay, that started to feel so cloying so fast.
Since Harriet and the party planner were deep in conversation, and neither Katy nor Oliver had too many opinions on the details, they had been quietly carrying on their own conversation. Though by now Katy was just hoping to get her numb hand back and sit quietly for the rest of the miserable ordeal.
“Ah, yes. Your cousin’s dress. Sounds like a horrible bore. But she found a good one?”
Katy nodded. “Well, after trying on about twenty of them, yes. A very pretty feathered dress, actually.”
Oliver wrinkled his nose. “Sounds like a Halloween costume.”
Katy chuckled a bit, but quickly corrected him. “It’s trendy, Oliver. You wouldn’t get it.”
Oliver rolled his eyes playfully. “At any rate, I’m glad she found something.”
Katy nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed, until Oliver continued: “Can’t wait to see you in something white myself.”
She took her hand back.
After a riveting argument over whether red roses and white tablecloths were too winter themed for the early spring party (a resounding yes being the final answer), Harriet and Gertie decided on centerpieces of garden roses, sweet peas, and ranunculus to match the lace rosette tablecloths. The menu was confirmed, and a mix of English and Lorrellian songs were decided upon for the string quartet. Katy had managed to engage just as much as was polite and expected, without overextending herself.
But she couldn’t escape a conversation with Harriet before sneaking away.
“Those bouquets will be lovely,” the princess said excitedly, standing across from Katy and Oliver beside the door. Katy tried not to sigh—she had been so close to the exit. “Gregory and I had a fall wedding, and I remember being so bothered that I couldn’t have garden roses.”
“Mother loves her garden roses,” Oliver said jovially, looking over at Katy.
Katy smiled at Harriet. “I’m sure the bouquets will be beautiful. Thank you for all of your help.”
“Of course. I’m just sorry your mother couldn’t make it. When will the king and queen arrive?”
“Mama was finalizing affairs when I last spoke to her. But they’ll be here in time for the party.” Fashionably late, as per usual.
“That’s good to hear,” Harriet replied. “I’m sure she wishes she could’ve been here today. An engagement party is quite special to a mother. Second only to weddings . . . and baby showers.” Her deliberate pause in the last sentence seemed directed specifically at Katy. Too soon! Too soon!
Katy kept her face smooth with an effort. “Well, she trusts your counsel. As do I,” she said congenially, trying not to eye the door.
Harriet beamed. “One day you’ll be in my place. Teaching the ropes to your lucky daughter or daughter-in-law. If I know my Ollie, you’ll do this many times over.” She looked approvingly at her son. “He has always wanted a big family.”
Katy shifted on the balls of her feet, suddenly feeling a bit out of breath. Really too soon! Mercifully, Oliver seemed to sense her discomfort.
“Thank you again, Mother. The princess is feeling a tad under the weather, so I will escort her to her chambers for the evening.”
Harriet’s mother looked anxiously at Katy. “Oh, dear. Do get your rest. Don’t want you coming down with something with the party so close at hand.”
Katy nodded appreciatively, trying to tamp down the uncharitable thought that her future mother-in-law was less concerned for Katy’s health than worried about her potential grandbabies.
“Have a good evening, Mother,” Oliver finished, grabbing Katy’s hand once more to lead her from the room.
The two of them walked through the maze of palace hallways and staircases—beneath gold-engraved ceilings, antique family crests, mounted swords, and Renaissance-era paintings, all looming above them like reminders of centuries of tradition—until they reached Katy’s stateroom. Oliver lingered at the door.
“I could . . . come in, you know. I mean, if you don’t want to be alone.”
Katy stepped back toward the door. “Um.”
“Not for anything improper, mind you,” Oliver clarified. “But just to be with you. If you’re feeling out of sorts and need a hand with anything.”
“I think I can manage a bath and getting into bed, Oliver.” She grinned, hoping to convey that it was merely a joke. But that didn’t make it an inaccurate sentiment.
Oliver chuckled abashedly. “Yes, of course.” He took a step back.
Katy sighed gently, noting the subtle sadness that had crept over Oliver’s handsome countenance. She knew that she was shutting him out in a way that could only deepen her unhappiness. What excuse would she have when they lived together in less than two weeks? She needed to start taking Cassie’s advice to heart. As hard as that was. With her fiancé still lingering near the doorway, she sighed and let her gaze soften. “Well . . . Perhaps just for a moment.”
Oliver’s eyes lit up. “Really? Wonderful. I could send for tea if you’d like?”
Katy shook her head with a little chuckle. “I’m a bit tea-ed out at the moment.”
“A nightcap, then?”
But Katy didn’t even have to respond.
“Sorry, I know you don’t really drink. Still learning your preferences.” Then Oliver grinned. “But I’m having quite a bit of fun learning.”
Katy returned his smile, though hers was a little strained, and opened the door for Oliver to enter. He thanked her graciously and walked into her stateroom. As she shut the door behind them, she wondered if she was making a mistake.
This is the man I intend to marry. Why does it feel like I’m leading him on?
But the answer seemed fairly obvious.
Oliver crossed the sitting room and took a seat on a tufted chesterfield sofa. As Katy walked toward him in her kitten heels, he patted the seat beside him. She dutifully sat, crossing her ankles and pointing her knees slightly away from her fiancé.
Awkward seconds of silence passed.
“So,” Oliver started, obviously searching for something to say. “The party seems to be shaping up nicely. I’m excited for you to meet my brother. Archie can be a bit shy at first, but he’s really quite funny when you get to know him.”
“I’m sure he’s wonderful,” Katy replied.
More silence. Katy struggled to think of conversation starters, but, mercifully, Oliver was better at it—at least slightly.
“It’ll be good to see your parents again, as well. I haven’t seen them since, oh, I guess your last birthday at the winter home?”
Katy nodded. “They’ll be happy to see you, too.” She meant that. The king and queen had been overjoyed to hear about the engagement, even though they’d been grumbling over the past year that Katy
was dragging her feet about the actual wedding.
Well, they weren’t wrong.
“Mother says she is planning on inviting Queen Margery for their girls’ trip to Santorini in the summer. They go every year,” Oliver said. “I think she was hoping you’d come, too. But she was waiting to nail down the details in case we, uh . . . planned a summer wedding.”
“That’s nice of her.” Though I’m sure we’ll talk mainly about pregnancy and other “wifely” duties.
“Obviously I told her we’re not really talking dates yet.”
Katy swallowed and decided that she didn’t want to talk about niceties and platitudes anymore. It was too painful. Too corporate.
She turned to Oliver, a thought occurring to her like a spark in the darkness. “What is Esserby like?”
Oliver’s eyebrows raised in happy surprise, as though he wasn’t used to her acting interested in his life, and Katy tried not to wince at his eagerness. “Oh. Esserby. Well, it’s lovely. It’s sunnier in the south, so not quite as dreary as London. Green meadows. Warm summers. The smell of honeysuckle and sweet grass.” His eyes seemed to glaze over, his mind obviously conjuring pictures of a place he truly loved, taking him far away for a moment. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
“I love honeysuckle,” Katy said. It was bittersweet to imagine living away from Lorria. But if she was going to be living in Esserby for however long that it took to set a wedding date and marry, she needed to find something to look forward to.
Otherwise she’d go mad.
“We used to suck them as kids, you know,” Oliver said with a laugh.
Katy smiled, this time genuinely. “Really? I didn’t know you could eat them.”
“I don’t know if you can call it eating them, really. But the base of the little flowers tastes sweet. As kids we’d pluck them and lick. Tasted like diluted honey.”
“Not a mouthwatering description, have to be honest.” She giggled, enjoying the friendly warmth that had entered their conversation.
Oliver looked amused. “It tastes better when you’re a kid.”
“Everything is better when you’re a kid,” Katy remarked in response. But her happiness began to fade as the words sank in.
“I hear you get a little bit of that magic back, you know,” Oliver replied, “when you have kids yourself.”
Katy took a deep breath. She tried to imagine her future children sucking honeysuckle stems with their cherubic little lips, on vacation in Esserby. She pushed herself, she really did. But it didn’t feel right. And it was becoming very obvious to her that it probably never would.
An icy feeling spread through her chest. When Oliver had begun calling on her, it had been a pleasant distraction from the pain, numbness, and confusion following the scandal, but she’d never been able to see herself in a serious relationship with him. As they became closer friends, she’d realized that he truly was a kind and honorable man, though perhaps a bit stodgy sometimes. And so when Oliver had seriously asked her to try out a romantic relationship, she’d made the effort. For a moment or two she’d tried to believe what everyone around her had said would happen: that her platonic enjoyment of Oliver’s company would slowly blossom into love.
What had happened instead was that she’d allowed herself to be pushed into the courtship and then engagement. She’d allowed herself to be pushed to announce. She was standing idly by as people planned a huge party partly in her honor.
And now it was beginning to dawn on her that this wasn’t just about announcements and palace balls. It was about the rest of her life, her future happiness.
She couldn’t be passive any longer.
She looked over into Oliver’s sweet, kind face. He was a fine man who would undoubtedly make a great king someday.
But . . .
“Oliver, I don’t know if I’m making the right decision.”
The words tumbled out before Katy could second-guess the confession. But Oliver didn’t look hurt or surprised. In fact, he took a small breath and simply nodded.
“I know, Katerina.”
The tension between the two suddenly seemed thinner, less imposing, like there was an honesty in their relationship that hadn’t existed for some time. And though she was uncertain and anxious, Katy certainly felt a small amount of relief at finally voicing the thought that had been weighing her down unbearably since the announcement just weeks ago.
“I know you’re confused,” Oliver continued, his voice gentle. “And I know it’s because of that”—he paused—“scandal.”
Katy bit her lip.
The duke’s handsome face was serious. “But . . . I think that we could make things work. I think you just need someone to understand and support you while your heart heals.” He looked up at her, his gaze unwavering. “And I want to be that person.”
“What if it never heals, Oliver?” It felt dramatic, yes, but this feeling—or perhaps, this lack of feeling—had been with her for years, and Katy felt like there was no end in sight. If anything, her heart felt farther from the surface than ever before.
“Never is a long time,” Oliver replied softly, comfortingly.
“But you deserve better,” Katy said. Her voice was low but firm. “You deserve someone who loves you.”
A reverberating lull in the conversation settled thickly over the two of them, like a cold blanket. Finally, she had said it.
Oliver looked down at his hands, crossed over his knees as he sat beside her. His voice was a touch less confident. “Maybe,” he replied. “But I also want to be with the person I love. Kind of a catch-22.”
Oliver’s complete support and his vulnerability broke Katy’s heart. A solitary tear broke free and rolled down her cheek as he spoke. Oliver moved closer to her on the sofa, turning to face her again, his thumb deftly wiping the drop away.
“I know you’ve been wounded and now you doubt everything. But don’t make any brash decisions yet, all right?”
Katy wanted to argue, but she was feeling too emotionally drained to formulate a proper response. It was so hard to watch this truly gentle man be hurt, and yet nothing she could say right now could make it better—nothing true, anyway. Oliver went on.
“I love you, Katerina. In time, I think you’ll feel the same. I just need you to give me that time. Please.”
He reached down to grasp Katy’s hand. But this time, she didn’t feel claustrophobic or clammy.
She felt nothing at all.
9
David
David gave his torch a vigorous but fruitless shake as the white light finally dimmed to extinguishment.
“Damn,” he said to himself, the acoustics of soggy cardboard muting his exclamation.
The batteries were dead. Oh, well. Back to the traditional way.
David pulled the drippy leftovers of an old candle from the corner of his shelter and fumbled in his pile of useful junk for the matches. They were always wet from the constant drizzle, but with a stroke of luck at least one would still light.
The first three matches were too waterlogged for the proper friction against the red phosphorus strip.
David felt his stomach dip. He didn’t have many matches to spare. But the fourth match lit, and he let out a small sigh of relief.
The light was important. It was too dark to read through the newspaper without a torch or a candle. And he wasn’t ready to stop yet.
The candlewick lit, perfuming the air with cucumber melon. It hadn’t ever been David’s preferred scent, but he couldn’t deny that it lent a certain pleasant, homey ambience to his current living situation. He smirked slightly at the thought.
The newspapers smoothed out on the cardboard floor in front of him were all open to classifieds and job ads. With the blunted tip of an old pencil, David carefully circled another opening: VALET NEEDED. Must have clean driving record. Must be able to drive manual transmission. Must be reliable and have integrity! We are in the royal shopping district and you will be responsible for our hig
h-end clientele’s luxury vehicles. Enquire in person.
David scanned the pages intently, looking for specific positions: service jobs in the vicinity of the palace that might not require background checks. Jobs like busboy or dishwasher at fancy restaurants. Valet. Coat check. Janitor jobs within a five-mile radius of the palace. The search was bleak and time-consuming, but at least the palace grounds were in the middle of a bustling tourist area. He was finding more prospects than he’d expected when his mind had started forming this plan.
It had taken the better part of the day for everything that he’d been thinking about and everything his friends had been telling him to really sink in. But after getting some caffeine and washing up, David’s head had cleared enough for him to recognize the gravity of Mick’s words.
If Rufus was right, then David wasn’t the only one suffering the wrath of the Lorrellian royals. And if David had a chance to put an end to these kinds of lies and underhanded behaviors—slim as that chance may be—then he had a duty to try.
Because this wasn’t just affecting David and Katy. And if the culprits, whoever they really were, were able to continue unchecked, then who knew how ruthless they could become?
He was still tired and sad and broke, his cardboard hut was still damp, and he’d lost so much time. But at the moment, he was feeling the tiniest spark of something he hadn’t felt since prison . . . the drive to do something.
But while David knew that he had to try to shine light on the royals’ unsavory manner of handling problems, he also wasn’t stupid. He knew it was going to be incredibly difficult.
And honestly, he didn’t yet have much of a plan.
“David?”
David looked up in the candlelight to see the outline of a face beyond his plastic door. It was too obscured to allow for positive identification on sight, but the deep, slurry voice was easy to recognize.
“Giles. Come in.”
Giles hesitated but then pushed aside the flimsy door and looked in.
“I like what you’ve done with the place. Homey.”
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