by K. S. Thomas
“Won’t be pleased with what?” I ask, just to be clear. “With my fiancé’s desire to spend time with me?”
She looks briefly stumped. Then she goes on, “There’s a certain protocol to be followed in a royal engagement. His highness, Prince Lachlan, is taking a lot of liberty in areas he best not. Especially given the rushed nature of your wedding.” She raises her brows and flattens her lips. “It could give the wrong impression about things, you know. Hurrying to the altar. Dismissing time-honored family traditions to do so.”
I narrow my eyes at her, warning her to think twice before she answers, but I keep my tone light when I ask, “What sort of wrong impressions?”
“The sort the prince is prone to leaving in his wake ever since her young highness, Monroe, entered his life.” The corners of her mouth crinkle from pressing her lips together so tightly. It’s a weird thing people do here. Insult the prince with an arrogant air of entitlement. Like somehow, Lachlan’s choices make him less royal and therefore jabs at him are not just allowed, they’re even appropriate.
“Katia,” I start, initially intending to make my tone sound as sugary sweet as possible while I make some formal but insulting speech about her rude behavior toward the prince, but then opting to cut the crap. If I’m going to be here a while, I need an ally. Soren is great, but he’s a loaner. I need one I don’t have to give back. At least not until I have to leave. And give everything back.
I sigh. “Fuck it.”
Katia looks like her eyes might plop out of her head. “Miss?”
“I’m calling a timeout,” I begin again. “You and me. Real talk. No ‘miss’ or titles fit for royals. Just two chicks having a chat. Think you can handle that?”
Katia glances sideways toward the door as if she’s scared any moment someone will come crashing through it to bust us if we’re not following proper protocol at all times. She sniffs. Her mouth twitches back and forth with indecision. Then, finally, “Yes, I can do that.”
“Good.” I turn and start for the coffee bar. “I thought I smelled a fresh pot when I walked in. Was that you?”
“Yes, mi -,” she catches herself. “Yes. Soren let me know to always have some made for you.”
“Soren.” I chuckle to myself as I take a mug from the hooks on the wall. “Would you like a cup?”
“Is this part of our timeout?”
“Yes. But mostly coffee is part of everything, and I believe in sharing.” I turn over my shoulder to smile at her. And not one of the weird fake smiles we’ve been exchanging since we met. I’m offering coffee, I don’t get much more genuine than this.
“I would love a cup.” She smiles back, it’s more tentative than mine, but then she has more to lose here than I do. I think that’s the part I’m starting to understand most about her. I don’t think her constant seeking favor with the queen has anything to do with what she has to gain and everything to do with what she might lose.
“How do you take it?” I ask, placing a second mug on the counter beside mine. “Cream? Sugar?”
She looks strangely taken aback. Just stares at me. Saying nothing.
“Katia, I realize here in the castle you’re accustomed to being in the position of doing the serving, but you can’t tell me no one has ever offered to fix you a cup of coffee before.”
“No cream. Two sugars, please.” She takes the last steps to reach the coffee bar and stand beside me. “You can’t do this with anyone else here,” she whispers.
“Do what?” I continue fixing her cup while I wait for her to explain. I have an idea of where this is going.
“Her majesty passionately believes that it is impossible to lead the people if one values being one of them. You have to maintain a dignified sense of separation. Always,” she hisses as if we’re having a secret conversation in a crowded room, not a private chat, alone in my loft. “If you don’t...” she can’t seem to bring herself to finish.
“She can’t hurt me.” I hand her the cup of coffee I’ve prepared to her liking. “I know she’s the queen of Linden, but in the universal scheme of things, she’s just a woman. Like you. Like me.”
Katia shakes her head. “She’s nothing like you.”
I pick up my own cup and have a sip. “If I offer you a seat on the sofa beside me while we drink coffee and chat, are you going to have a panic attack?”
“I’m going to politely decline and sit in the chair instead.” She points at the woefully uncomfortable antique high back chair carved from wood and provided with no cushions whatsoever placed at the corner of the sofa around the coffee table. It’s pretty, but I sat in it briefly this morning when the whole wardrobe fiasco was unfolding, and I’m fairly certain it was crafted for torture and no other reason. It went hand in hand with the designs the queen was trying to doom me to.
“That chair will require chiropractic help to recover from,” I tell her dryly. “But you’re a grown ass woman, it’s your call.” I take my seat on the sofa, still hoping she’ll follow suit. She doesn’t.
“If you lean forward ever so slightly and place most of your weight in the soles of your feet, it’s not so bad,” she explains, lowering herself into the medieval torture chamber.
“Wonderful. What better way to enjoy a nice, relaxing cup of coffee?”
Katia smirks. At least that’s something. She is familiar with sarcasm. “The coffee is wonderful, by the way. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” For a few seconds, we both sink into the peace that comes with a hot cup of joe. Then, with the comfort and warmth starting to spread through my body, I get back to business. “Here’s the thing,” I tell her. “You and me, we don’t have to be enemies in order to maintain our relationships with the people who are. All the royal conflict happening around us, doesn’t really have to involve us.”
Katia balances her cup on the top of her right knee, an extra challenging act when one considers she’s already holding most of her weight off the chair. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” she admits. “You’re kind of the center piece of the current conflict.”
“I am?” Obviously, I am. My swooping in to marry Lachlan at the last minute is what’s costing the queen her son’s shot at the crown. But admitting to knowing that is a level of trust Katia and I haven’t begun to climb to.
“Her majesty believes her son is the rightful heir to the throne, and she was certain she was well on her way to convincing the king of her beliefs in this regard.” She explains it so matter of fact, it’s hard to tell if she knows I’m aware of this situation or not. “Prince Lachlan’s sudden engagement to you has derailed her efforts, as being married will make him wholly eligible to take the crown again.” She sips her coffee thoughtfully. “You should know, she hasn’t conceded her claims yet.”
“Katia,” I say, raising my brows dramatically. “I was there this morning. I saw the clothes she tried to put me in. If that wasn’t emotional warfare, I don’t know what is.”
Katia snorts trying to suppress an unexpected laugh. “You shouldn’t make jokes.” She tries her best to look serious. Even if the expression fails, I understand the sentiment in her words. She’s warning me.
“You ever watch any American movies, Katia?” I ask, leaning back, smirking to myself.
“Of course.” She places her cup back on her knee. A sort of polite gesture she’s prone to every time I’m about to speak again, like she has to wait until I’m done talking to have another sip.
“Well, you know how there’s usually some badass, slightly crazy woman from New York no one ought to mess with because she won’t stand for any of their bullshit?”
Katia nods, though I can tell she’s fighting a frown.
“If this were a movie, I’d be that woman.” My cup is empty, and I stand up to refill it. “I’m not worried about the queen.” I stop at Katia’s side to see if she’s ready to have her cup topped off as well. She is, so I hold out my free hand to take it from her. “I don’t intend to underestimate her either,” I
assure her when she hesitates to let me wait on her again. “And more importantly, I don’t intend for you to continue to suffer the consequences of my choices when they go against the queen’s wishes.” Katia continues to stare blankly at my empty hand. “Katia give me the damn cup.”
It’s in my palm so fast I nearly drop it.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, rubbing both hands over her thighs anxiously. I’m starting to think Soren’s comments about maids winding up in the mental ward weren’t the dramatic jokes I thought them to be.
I reach the coffee bar and start fixing both our cups again. “So, here’s what I propose,” I say in my most optimistic announcer voice. “Moving forward, you fill me in on all the behind the scenes torture I can’t see in the schedule the queen makes for me, and then, instead of running out on you and leaving you to be the messenger, who clearly does get killed around here - in theory, I’m hoping – I’ll go straight to the queen with my cancelations. That way you can come stomping in behind me, just as furious with me as the queen. And you know how misery loves company.” I add sugar to both our cups. “Plus, every so often, I’ll pretend to try to get out of doing something and let you convince me to do it after all. That ought to earn you some sort of hero points.”
Finished with our coffees, I head back to the sitting area and return Katia’s cup to her.
She looks only slightly less confused than when I left her. “Why would you do all of that? You don’t need to. Soren seems to be handling all your escapes as it is. If you let him, he’ll take care of it, so you never have to deal with her majesty at all.”
“I know.” I smile, having a seat across from her again. “But Soren’s job is to take care of Lachlan and taking care of Lachlan now means making sure I’m alright at all times. Which is great for me and Lachlan, but that leaves no one looking out for you.”
“I just don’t see why you care.” She frowns staring into her full cup of coffee like maybe I’ve hidden my secret agenda in the dark liquid.
“Then you don’t know a lot of decent humans, Katia.” I exhale loudly. This is taking longer than I thought it would. “Look, I don’t have anything monumental to gain here. It’s true. Soren can take care of the queen for me. But Soren’s not the one I’m spending all my time with here. You are. And I’d like to think our time together could be friendly. Enjoyable even.” She looks up from the coffee, the frown still hooking her brow with healthy skepticism. “I’m not royal,” I offer my last play. “I don’t know the first thing about having staff who follows me around. Back home, the people I see day in and day out are my friends. I miss that.”
Katia starts to nod slowly. Her frown softens but her expression stays serious. “I have a daughter,” she says quietly. “She was born with a heart defect. She’s only three and she’s already had seven surgeries to try and fix it.”
My breath catches in my throat. I didn’t see this coming.
“I’m not married,” she goes on. “Her father left when she was just over a year. I think it was all too much for him.” Her gaze drops back down into her cup. “My parents help as much as they can, but all her medical care is expensive.” She looks up, eyes holding mine more boldly than they have since I’ve known her. “It’s why she chose me...the queen...to be your assistant. She promised my daughter’s care would be paid for life if I did as she ordered and helped her sabotage your relationship with the prince.”
I hold her gaze, waiting a moment longer to make sure she’s said all she wants to. “What will she do if you don’t succeed?”
“She said I owe enough to be sent to debtor’s prison.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s an outdated practice, it’s rarely used. But I don’t trust that she wouldn’t.” She bites her lip nervously. “I’m scared. I want to do right by my daughter, and I thought I could do whatever it took to take care of her, but the things the queen is asking of me now don’t feel right either.”
“We’re going to make it right,” I promise without having the first idea how to deliver on my words. Lachlan will know though. “For now, let’s stick to the plan. Let the queen think she’s getting her way. Hell, I can play into it a bit more, act like I’m having second thoughts or that I’m unhappy with my new royal life, or something. You’ll see, I’ll come up with something. I’m an excellent schemer. I have the imagination for it.” I wink.
“Everything is going to be alright,” she repeats the words as if confirming them for herself.
I nod but choose to end this conversation here. “You mentioned new dresses?” After this latest revelation, and a week of the queen’s torture looming all while counting down the days to my wedding, I could do with a distraction and I imagine Katia could as well. Even if it’s for vastly different reasons. Unless she too is harboring secret feelings for a prince she’s fake engaged to and she’s only just now realizing how intense they are and how hard it’s getting to be to remember how everything is meant to be fake. Like the coming announcement dinner. And the official introduction. God only knows the wonderful speech Lachlan is preparing to make. I can’t begin to fathom how I will stop myself from soaking up every last word like the feelings moved straight from his heart out over his lips to my ears.
But given all I’ve just learned, I’m thinking that’s not the case for Katia.
“I took the liberty of hanging the dresses up in your closet,” she says, tone already sounding more at ease. “Her majesty had someone deliver new shoes for you as well while you were out.” She makes a face. “You might prefer to walk in bare feet though.”
My nose crinkles. “That bad, huh?” I push up from the sofa again. “Well, there’s no time like the present to face God awful footwear.” I stick my tongue out sideways and roll my eyes. Katia actually giggles for half a second. Then, our coffees in hand, we march upstairs and get down to business.
LACHLAN
“SO, HOW’S IT GOING?” Chase asks the second I answer his call.
“Good. And you?” I briefly glance around to check out my surroundings. Monroe and I are taking a stroll through the royal garden. She loves walking from flower to flower and taking a deep inhale of each before giggling loudly, delighted with the scent. It’s a slow-motion stroll, but it’s one of the only occasions she gets to move around freely, and I try to make it out here with her at least once a day.
Thankfully, no one else finds her nearly as entertaining as I do, and so, as usual, we’re the only ones out here.
“I’m great,” Chase answers, snorting. “But I’m not faking an engagement, so we’re not wasting time with me. Get back to you. Tell me all the things I’ve missed.”
I roll my eyes and sigh loudly. Even long-distance it’s important to let Chase know he’s an annoying little brother. “You haven’t missed anything. We’ve only been gone a day and we’re doing exactly what we said we would. Nothing more. Nothing less.” It feels like a lie, but logically, I know it’s not. “I’m sure Greer has confirmed the same to you.”
“I haven’t talked to Greer.”
“What? Why not?” Somehow, I imagined she was facetiming all three of them non-stop since we landed. At least when I haven’t been with her. Which admittedly, hasn’t left her with much time to facetime anyone, provided she sleeps, which I imagine she does.
“Probably because we see each other in person every second of the day and making phone calls to keep in touch is new for us.” I hear crunching and get a very vivid image of him sitting on his sofa chomping down on chips. “Are all three of you sitting in your living room downing bags of snack food and talking about me and Greer?”
“Yeah,” he confirms.
“I want proof of life,” I hear Mallory shout in the background. “Greer hasn’t answered a single text since she boarded that plane with you.”
“You got that?” Chase asks.
“I heard it.” I shake my head and move my phone away from my ear so I can check the photos on it. Switching to speaker while I scroll t
hrough them, I go on, “Any requests from Abbas while I’m in the mood to be accommodating?”
“Mostly he’s just wondering if we’re flying coach or first class to get to Linden.”
I find a shot I took of Greer at Gerard’s. She’s standing under the arbor looking beautiful enough to make my heart ache if I stare too long at the picture. It seems stupid somehow to send this one to Mallory, and yet, it’s the one I want her to see. Before I can overthink it, I send the text. Then I revisit Abbas and his flight concerns. “I told Soren to contact you guys about flights. Just be nice to him and I’m sure he’ll book first class for you.”
“Wait,” Chase sounds apprehensive at the news, “our flying fate lies in the hands of moody Soren?” He makes a weird noise that sounds like something being deflated with force before he talks away from the phone to say, “Forget it, man. We’re going to be traveling like sardines in a tin can. Might as well put the chips down now. We can’t afford any extra padding between now and then.”
“It’s a good thing you teach theater. God knows how else you’d deal with the overflow of that dramatic flair,” I muse dryly.
Chase doesn’t answer. I’m not sure he even heard me. From what I can make out, he’s wrapped up in some separate conversation happening in his living room. When he returns his attention to me, his tone has lost all sense of his previous antics. “Mal wants to talk to you.”
“I sent her proof of life.” I roll my eyes. “Didn’t she get it yet?”
“She did.” He clears his throat. “That’s why she wants to talk to you.”
Next, I hear Mal relieving my brother of his phone. There’s an accusation of pinching, followed up with denial that borders on too extravagant to be believable until finally, “Lachlan?”
“Mallory.”
“I told you this was a bad idea,” she hisses. “I told everyone. But did anyone listen to me? No. No they did not. And now, look what happened.”