by Meg Cabot
I highly doubted that Prince Gunther’s father was going to have Prince Gunther’s girlfriend killed if he didn’t spend time with the family, but was happy to agree with anything that would get Luisa moving downstairs to dinner.
“I’m sure it’s true,” I said. “So you might want to be extra supportive of Prince Gunther while we’re here.”
“Yes,” Luisa said with a sigh. “I suppose I should.”
So now we’re down in the fondue restaurant … but if this is what Luisa calls “being supportive,” I’d hate to see how she treats someone she doesn’t like.
The restaurant has a private room set up for us, with eight big tables with a grill in the middle of each, over which we’re heating the different pots for our fondue sauces.
But instead of sitting at a table with Prince Gunther, Luisa walked right by him and plopped down at a table with the Duke of Marborough and the Marquis of Tottingham!
Prince Gunther looked like he was about to cry. “Luisa hates me,” he said with the saddest sigh I’d ever heard.
“Oh, no,” I said, glancing with alarm at my friends. “Luisa doesn’t hate you. She’s just, uh, having a bad day.”
Nadia, Princess Komiko, and Victorine all assured him that Luisa didn’t hate him, as well.
But I don’t think any of us did a very good job, because Prince Gunther continued to stare into the dancing flames of our fondue fire, looking as if he wished he were anywhere else but with us.
Then something incredible happened. Prince Khalil walked into the restaurant, looked around … and headed straight for our table.
Don’t ask me why. It wasn’t as if there weren’t any seats available at the other tables, especially the ones where the cool people were sitting (there were).
“May I sit here?” he asked, indicating the empty chair beside mine.
Of course I said yes (or at least I think I did. I’m not entirely sure what came out of my mouth).
Prince Khalil sat down. I tried not to be too aware of how he smelled, which was clean and fresh. He had taken a shower (or maybe had a swim in the saltwater infinity pool) and changed from the Tupac shirt into a nice wool sweater.
I had never seen him in a sweater before. In Genovia, the weather is too warm for them. He looked very nice.
“What’s the matter with him?” Prince Khalil asked me in a low voice, nodding at Prince Gunther.
“Oh,” I said, in an equally low voice, “I think he and Lady Luisa are having a little bit of a disagreement.” I didn’t want to betray Luisa’s trust—or Prince Gunther’s—by going into too much detail.
“Oh.” Prince Khalil held his menu in front of his face and pretended to be looking at the food selections, but really he was looking at Prince Gunther—and Luisa—from behind it. “Trouble in paradise, huh?”
I couldn’t believe Prince Khalil was sitting next to me, casually gossiping, when he’d just ignored me on the bus!
Maybe he didn’t hate me after all? Or maybe he really hadn’t heard me when I’d called his name.
It was possible he hadn’t seen me take that photo after all!
“Yeah,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe.”
“What’s going on?” he asked. “She’s mad but won’t tell him why?”
“Um,” I said. “Basically.”
“I hate that kind of stuff,” Prince Khalil said. “If something is on someone’s mind, they should just tell the other person what it is. Games should be saved for the ice.”
“Ha,” I said. “Or the floating tennis table.”
He grinned back at me. “Exactly.”
I couldn’t believe it! My plan—well, the plan Grandmère had suggested—was working. I was being kind to Prince Khalil, and he didn’t look sad anymore.
He didn’t know I’d secretly taken a photo of him with no shirt on and sent it to my best friend back in America as part of a bet, of course.
But that was going to stay my little secret (with Nishi).
Meanwhile, I was having fondue with him, and it was going great. He knew exactly what to order, because he’d had fondue before—well, he and Prince Gunther had. So had Victorine. And Princess Komiko, actually. And Nadia.
Basically, I was the only person at the table who’d never had fondue before.
But that was okay, because all I had to do was watch what the others did and copy them. That’s what Grandmère always said we should do when eating food with which we’re not familiar (that and, if you found that you didn’t like it, discreetly lay down your dining utensil and say that it turned out you’d had a huge lunch and weren’t that hungry after all).
I didn’t need to do that with fondue, though, because it was so good! We had the kind where you dipped pieces of bread into a big pot of warm, melty cheese, and then the chinoise kind—which was where you cooked the meat and vegetables in a pot of broth right at your table, and then shared the broth afterward as a soup—and then, for dessert afterward, the best kind of fondue of all …
Chocolate!
And even though there wasn’t cheesecake, there were strawberries and pineapple and marshmallows and banana and it was so delicious and fun to huddle around the pot of creamy warm chocolate, especially since it was so cold outside, it had started snowing. You could see the big white soft flakes coming down outside the huge picture windows, which made it especially “jolly”—to use Prince Gunther’s word—to be so snug and toasty inside.
Prince Khalil kept cracking me up, too, saying, “Oh, excuse me,” in a goofy voice every time our long forks accidentally crossed inside the pot.
I wasn’t the only one laughing, of course. Nadia and Victorine and Princess Komiko and even Prince Gunther laughed, too.
But somehow I felt as if Prince Khalil’s silly jokes were meant for me.
Ugh! Simply writing that, I realize how dumb I sound.
Don’t worry, though. It didn’t go on for very long. Because we weren’t the only ones staying at Eis Schloss who had reservations for La Fondue that night. It turned out that the British Aristocracy Training School, or BrATS, and also the French Academy of Royals (FARs) had reservations right after ours, so our chaperones for the night—Madame Alain, Monsieur Chaudhary, and Mademoiselle Justine—kept trying to hurry us along.
“Eat up, eat up, Your Highnesses,” Mademoiselle Justine kept calling out. “We must be done with our cheese course in douze minutes! Douze minutes, my lords and ladies!”
There’s nothing more annoying than being told you have twelve minutes to do something … except maybe someone going over a schedule while you’re doing something else.
But that’s what Madame Alain decided to do. Which was hand out, and then explain—in excruciating detail—the schedule for the next two days. Which is how:
A. I have so much time to be writing all this … I look like I’m taking notes. And I am … sort of!
B. I found out that as school photographer, I’m supposed to be EVERYWHERE AT ALL TIMES tomorrow. Although Madame Alain strongly encourages all of us to try to go to every event in which we are not participating, so that we can cheer for our teammates.
But I guess I shouldn’t complain, since at least I’ll get all those other photos Nishi wanted … and I won’t even have to make up an excuse to tell Prince Khalil about why I’m taking a picture of him: Taking pictures of him (and everyone else) is my job for the next couple of days!
Maybe while I’m taking photos of Prince Khalil for Nishi, I’ll take a couple for myself. You know, just to keep, and not hand in to the yearbook committee or school paper.
HA HA! JUST KIDDING. I’m not a stalker.
I don’t think.
But I did notice while we were sharing all those fondue pots together that Prince Khalil’s eyes are awfully big and soft and brown looking.
Almost as big and soft and brown-looking as Snowball’s.
Wait … is it weird to compare a boy’s eyes to your dog’s? I think it is.
I’m weird. They should change my n
ame from Princess Olivia to Princess Weird.
Oh well. I DON’T CARE!!!
Wednesday, November 25
11:30 P.M.
Eis Schloss Stockerdörfl, Austria
HRH Princess Mia Thermopolis “FtLouie”
Hi, Olivia! Just checking in to see how things are going in Stockerdörfl. I hope you aren’t too cold up there in the mountains! Do you have enough sweaters? How are you feeling? Is your throat sore at all? What about Rocky? Has anyone asked if you want to build a snowman? Just kidding. Send photos!
We’re fine (in case you’re worrying) and so are the babies. They miss their aunt Olivia, though! I’m so, so sorry that Dr. Khan sent you away, but I’m sure it’s for the best. And they say that La Grippe is already on the wane. Fewer cases were reported today than any day all week.
Say hello to Rocky and Snowball for us. Oh, and Grandmère, too. I hope she’s letting you have fun! XOXOX Mia
P.S. I almost forgot—a letter arrived for you the day before you left. It has the royal crest of Qalif on it. The Royal Genovian Press Office should have forwarded it to you as soon as it arrived, but as you know, a lot has been going on over the past couple of days!
Anyway, I think it’s probably a birthday card from your aunt. Do you want me to throw it out? I’m happy to do so if you want me to. You know you don’t have to communicate with those people ever again if you don’t want to.
Let me know what you want to do.
XOXOX Mia
P.P.S. You still haven’t told us what you want for your birthday! I know things have been busy, but there isn’t much time left. Can you give us a little hint, at least? XOXO
P.P.P.S. Sorry this is so long.
Oh my gosh. I totally forgot—I’m an aunt!
I feel so guilty. I’ve been so caught up in the drama around here, I completely forgot about the new babies!
But if they’d been my responsibility, I wouldn’t have forgotten. Snowball is my responsibility, and I haven’t forgotten about her. I’ve been feeding her and taking her for walks (even though it’s about thirty degrees outside and there’s a foot of fresh snow on the ground, so I have to put her little snow booties on so she doesn’t get ice chunks between her toes). I’m making sure she gets plenty of fresh water and lots of cuddles. I’m a good dog mother!
And if I were home with the twins, I’d be a good aunt to them, too.
Not like my aunt, who apparently suddenly remembered my existence.
I’m kind of not surprised. She and her family moved to Qalif—where they wanted to take me, too, until Mia and Dad stopped them.
I guess I did sort of forget she was living there. Probably she isn’t sending me happy birthday wishes at all, but writing to ask for money so she can move back to New Jersey. I can’t imagine she’d want to live in a place where there is a civil war going on.
Well, fat chance! She stole all the money Dad was sending her to take care of me. She can use that to get out of Qalif.
But who has time to worry about that drama when there is so much more exciting drama here???
It started after dinner, when we all went to our rooms (Madame Alain said it was important for us to get plenty of sleep tonight, since the Games would begin tomorrow morning right after our buffet breakfast downstairs, and we needed to be fresh if we were going to decimate the competition).
Princess Komiko and I were brushing our teeth in the bathroom when we heard a THUD against the glass doors to the balcony.
“What was that?” Nadia cried.
Even though we were all in our pajamas, we rushed out onto the balcony to look …
… and got pelted with snowballs.
“Ha ha,” cried some voices from down below us. “Stupid Genovians! They have never seen snow before! They are so dumb, they won’t know what to do!”
I had so much snow in my face, I couldn’t see where it was coming from.
But Nadia, who had been in the bedroom when the first snowball hit the balcony door, had gotten a good look at the perpetrators.
“I saw red,” she hissed from behind the table where we’d ducked. “Red-and-white tracksuits!”
Princess Komiko gasped. “The Royal Academy in Switzerland!”
“That’s it,” I said, grabbing some snow off one of the balcony’s chairs and forming it into a ball. “THIS IS WAR!”
So that’s what we’ve been doing all night. It’s TRAIS against the RGA!
We sent an emergency text to everyone in the hotel (who attends the Royal Genovian Academy, of course) about what is happening.
I know that technically we’re all in school to learn diplomacy.
But when someone hits you in the face with a ball of snow, all diplomacy goes out the window. Er, balcony door. It’s time to FIGHT!
Besides, Serena has really good aim (of course she’s joined in. She can’t allow me to be struck by enemy fire, even if it is only a snowball).
From the seventh grade, we’ve managed to get Prince Khalil, Princess Komiko, Nadia, Victorine, Luisa, the 12th Duke of Marborough, and the 17th Marquis of Tottingham on our side.
(Okay, I’m not too thrilled about the last two, but we really need all the help we can get. I mean, even Rocky is here making snowballs for us to throw. He’s stacking them up behind the sun loungers we’ve overturned and are using as our fort and home base down by the infinity pool.)
I’m wearing my snow boots, puffy vest, neck warmer, and mittens over my pajamas. I sincerely hope there are no paparazzi around, because if they get a photo of me running around the hotel like this, Grandmère is going to give me her “I’m very disappointed in you, Olivia” speech.
But it will be worth it.
Thursday, November 26
1:30 A.M.
Eis Schloss Stockerdörfl, Austria
I’m writing this in the bathroom because my roommates are in bed with the lights out and I don’t want to disturb them … but I know I’ll never get to sleep if I don’t get this down!
Two of the weirdest things just happened. One was good—I think—and one was bad.
Really, really bad.
Good Thing first:
Prince Khalil told me that I look cute!!!!
It’s true.
The bad part is—well, one of the bad parts—he said it as we were all going inside after the snowball fight, which got busted BY MY GRANDMOTHER.
I already knew from the T-shirt incident on the train platform that having Grandmère as a chaperone was going to be tricky.
But I didn’t think she wasn’t going to let us have any fun at all!
(Although I will admit, things did get a little out of hand when kids from both BrATS and FARs showed up. I think there might have been people who weren’t even part of the Royal School Winter Games throwing snowballs. I’m pretty sure I spotted a few of the hotel employees hurling a couple at us.)
All of it came to an end, however, when Grand-mère came storming out of the hotel in her bathrobe, nighttime turban, and boots, and yelled (in French), “Cease this behavior at once, Your Royal Highnesses, or I will telephone your parents!”
I have no idea whose parents she meant … she might actually have meant everyone’s parents. I’m pretty sure she knows all their parents, because I saw Grandmère’s Rolodex once (that’s an old-timey thing that people used to use in the days before address books on cell phones), and it is HUGE. It takes up her entire desk, practically.
Anyway, everyone was so scared after that (I think mostly of the turban) that they dropped their snowballs and started going back inside, including me. I pretended like I didn’t know who Grandmère was.
Don’t get me wrong. I love her, and everything.
But I’m super hoping she didn’t notice me in the crowd (she didn’t give any sign that she did) because I do not want to get one of her speeches about how “disappointed” she is in me, and how my behavior might reflect badly on the crown.
Anyway, it was as all this was happening that the 17th Marquis of T
ottingham looked at me and started laughing.
“Renaldo,” he said, “you should see yourself right now. You look even more like an alien than your grandma!”
Great. What a lovely end to what had otherwise been a fun evening, I thought. Who wouldn’t enjoy being told she looked like an alien by the 17th Marquis of Tottingham?
And to make it worse, I didn’t know what he was talking about. I couldn’t see myself, because even though there were large gilt-framed mirrors all over the lobby, I was wearing my glasses, and the lenses had gotten steamed up as we’d come in from the cold (I think that’s what Tots meant by calling me an alien).
I don’t think people like the 17th Marquis of Tottingham, who has twenty-twenty vision, understand the challenges faced by those of us who don’t, and how, if you have to wear glasses, sometimes when you step suddenly from a very cold environment into a very warm one, they are so fogged up, you can’t see a thing!
And yes, I know I could just get contacts.
But I am not ready yet for the responsibility of sticking things INTO MY EYES.
So of course I rushed over to the elevators—where there are some especially large mirrors—to see how bad I looked (after I’d cleaned off my lenses on my pajama sleeve). I mean, you never knew: Tots could have been referring to something other than my crazily fogged-up glasses. I am not a super-vain person (in my opinion), but if my hair was looking deformed, I at least wanted to be able to do some damage control before anyone else saw it (not that I care particularly what Tots thinks. I was actually thinking about sneaking back outside and grabbing some more snow and stuffing it down the front of Tots’s coat).
That’s when Prince Khalil said it. He said, “Cut it out, Tots. I think Princess Olivia looks cute.”
I think Princess Olivia looks cute.
Just like that. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.
Of course, he could have been saying it because that’s the kind of thing princes are supposed to say. And the kind of thing they are supposed to be: charming. We go to a school that trains us in good manners and social graces every day.
But it’s possible he was saying it for other reasons … like, you know, that he really does think I’m cute.