“I know what the doctors said. When are you back? Monday?”
“A week from Monday.” Em said the words a little more firmly than she intended and immediately felt bad. “As long as there’s no emergency?”
“No, no, don’t mind us.” Her father’s disappointment sharpened his voice, and Em winced, knowing what was coming next. “You keep jet-setting with your friends. Just don’t forget where you came from, okay? We need you back here.”
She hung up the phone, feeling more unsettled than she had before. What had she expected her father to say? Go ahead, enjoy your friends, we’re holding down the fort? That wasn’t fair of her to expect. He’d given up the main caregiving role to her easily when she’d offered, preferring to shuttle with his walker between his work at the local library, then home.
That library was saving him now, more so than anything she could do. It was how he and her mother had met, all those years ago: a mutual love of books. Em had no idea how he was with his patrons, but at home he’d only recently begun to reengage, and if he was moving without his walker, finally, then he was improving. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.
Truth be told, it was exhausting to think about going home—which certainly wouldn’t be winning her any Daughter of the Year awards.
“Miss Andrews?”
The aide’s soft words prompted her out of her distraction. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“The queen has moved to a sitting room. She is most insistent that you come as soon as you are ready.”
Em couldn’t see any reason to forestall the talk, but when she walked into the charmingly decorated room, she was still surprised. The queen was there, of course, but so were three women of indeterminate years, all of whom were glaring at her.
Involuntarily, she took a step back—only to be urged forward by the aide.
“I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of time like we did with your friends,” Catherine said, waving her to join her in the center of the room. A small wooden bench, only a few inches high, stood there. The queen took her hand and pulled her up on it. “We’re going to have to find a dress that fits based on your measurements.”
“My—oh, I’m a size—”
“American sizes don’t exactly equate here, dear.” Catherine’s words were overly polite, and Em shut up. “It’s easier for them to know your various measurements and find something that might work. Not as posh, I’m afraid, as the dressing gala your friends enjoyed yesterday, but I’ve quite underestimated everything that needs to get done in the next day.”
“Of course, I completely understand.” Em turned this way and that, the women completely willing to press her thin clothing against her legs and waist and bust to get more accurate measurements. “Really, I hate to be a bother at all.”
“I’m sure,” Catherine said mildly, and Em glanced down at her. The queen really did look a bit harried, but at Em’s attention, she gave her another approving nod. “Don’t you worry about me, dear. All of this is rather more emotional than I expected, I suppose.”
Em tilted her head, suspecting immediately what really bothered the queen. When the women finally withdrew, she stepped down from her small bench and took the extra step toward Catherine, stopping uncertainly so that she didn’t commit some new transgression against the royal family. “You miss your oldest son, and your youngest son is here, yet he doesn’t seem to be happy,” she said quietly. “Of course it’s emotional.”
“Well. I should make a note not to attempt any negotiations anytime soon, if I’m as easy to read as that.” Still, the queen didn’t deny her guess. “Aristotle had done all the work in advance of this event, you know. He had met with the families, helped shorten the list of eligible girls.” Catherine continued on blithely, and thank God she wasn’t looking at Em so she couldn’t see her react to the idea of Kristos getting paired off so blatantly. Eligible girls? Is that really a thing?
Of course it was a thing. Kristos was a prince, for heaven’s sake. You don’t think Kate Middleton wasn’t thoroughly vetted before William was allowed to pursue his relationship with her? There were the women that a young prince could be friends with, and the women that he could marry. And those lists most definitely did not always overlap.
But Catherine was continuing. “Kristos would rather face an enemy soldier than a social event, but he’s a good man, and he will come around. It’s just—well, it doesn’t seem as if any of us are quite ready yet.”
“But you have to be,” Em guessed again.
The queen’s glance shifted to her, and she nodded. “We have to be. And not only because of the media. Kristos taking up his position will add strength to the front Garronia can present in every aspect of government—the military, industry, reform—all of it. Dallying any more than a year would be perceived as weakness. And we all have a job to do.”
Em nodded in understanding, but with each of the queen’s words, she felt worse. Kristos did have a job to do: to take up his work as prince and help do whatever needed to be done to stabilize the country and keep the populace happy. And Em had her job to do too. One on a much smaller scale, maybe, but still her job. She needed to continue to help her father and mother, and officially decline her last chance at a scholarship. And she needed to let Kristos go. As hard as that idea was starting to be.
Still, maybe she could—would find some way to continue her music, at least. The stolen moments today with the violin had affected her more than she’d thought they would. She shouldn’t give up everything, right? Her father and mother had been broken, but they were coming back. Maybe she could find a way back as well. Maybe giving up one path to her dream didn’t mean giving up the dream itself. Not completely. Not forever. Or maybe…
“Em, are you listening?”
She blinked back at Catherine, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Your words struck a chord,” she said. “We do have our jobs to do, but while I’m here, surely I can help you. Is there anything at all I and my friends could do?”
The queen’s smile was radiant. And ever so slightly dangerous, Em thought.
“I’m so glad you asked.”
Kristos schooled his features to be pleasant. Engaged. Interested even, though the next item on his packed itinerary promised to be anything but tolerable. While the Accession Ball tomorrow was apparently his first official social duty, there were an entire series of unofficial social requirements running up to that. His life was becoming more and more like one of those reality TV shows both Americans and the Brits were so fond of.
For this evening’s event, the two generations of power—current and future—were enjoying a small gathering, one which was traditionally held at the house of the Minister of the Council, but which instead was being hosted at the castle to avoid the media who were still circling the walls, earnestly trying to sniff out their next story.
Not that the change in plans hadn’t fostered its own fluttering on the part of the news agencies. Speculation was running rampant about secret doings going on at the castle, and as much as the Crown disavowed any of it, the Americans were inevitably brought up.
Though he’d still refused to read the dossiers on the women, Kristos watched every telecast with interest, intrigued to learn such a fractured view of Emmaline’s friends—particularly Lauren, who had quite captured the entertainment world’s talking heads as she was the daughter of a wealthy financier in New York, and had an MBA under her belt as well…but no apparent plans to do anything with it.
Thinking of the relish with which the anchors had related Lauren’s somewhat checkered past, Kristos shook his head. His own rebellion, if you could call it that, had taken him into Garronia’s military, for God’s sake, not into every nightclub in Europe. His parents needed to get some perspective.
Nevertheless, he’d agreed to attend this evening’s social and be on his best behavior. He was even now rehearsing his various speeches, in fact, having been instructed that he should be “warming the hearts of the pe
ople he’d be asking to follow him into the twenty-first century in a few short years.” Great change could only come after great trust, his father had told him. It was time for him to start building that trust.
Too bad heartwarming speeches were not his forte. Everyone seemed to have conveniently forgotten that fact.
Kristos entered the room quietly, slipping into the back as his father was wrapping up his welcoming remarks to the families who had joined them here. Unlike tomorrow’s ball, there were no foreign dignitaries present. It was a meeting intended only for the trusted allies of the royal family.
Despite himself, his heart swelled with pride as he looked at the group of aristocrats gathered within the salon. The men here were not the idle rich, though some had every right to rest upon their laurels. But they were men of business, first and foremost. Bankers to fishermen, restaurateurs to landowners, they’d made their living with their hands and their brains and their hearts.
“I give your mother three minutes before she spots you.” The whispered voice at his side had him turning in surprise. Dimitri stood with his hands behind his back in full military splendor, looking dressed for a parade. Even his shoes were polished.
“How did you get roped into this?”
“A friendly face for the Americans. Your mother’s idea.” Dimitri glanced at him, then raised his brows. “You didn’t know?” He nodded toward the front of the room, and Kristos turned.
A man leaned over, and he had a clear view of Emmaline’s friend Lauren, laughing with one of his father’s closest friends. Between her and Emmaline sat an aide, while at the table opposite, Nicki and Francesca sat with their heads bent toward another aide. Interpreters. He frowned. Didn’t Lauren speak credible Garronois?
And more to the point…
“Why are they here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Stefan’s in a lather over it—as much of a lather as he ever gets.”
Kristos frowned. “Why?”
“Adds to the complexity of the story, he says. If the four American women were guests of the Crown, featured at the ball, and then whisked off to the American embassy with souvenirs and well wishes, the story dies. Put them at an event that is closed to the media, where they don’t speak the language. Well, most of them don’t. The party girl does, of course, though your parents are acting like she doesn’t, which is also interesting.”
“Party girl?” Kristos knew he meant Lauren, but—
“Hot blonde, bad attitude.”
Kristos lifted a brow. “It sounds like you’ve gotten to know each other.”
“She wouldn’t be that lucky. I’ve endured enough of her in one experience to last a lifetime.”
“Yes, she didn’t seem too impressed when she met you on the beach, if I remember correctly.”
“Which is further evidence that she’s a little slow. But she apparently has a fondness for tsipouro. She attempted a drinking game with it the night before you met your Emmaline.” Dimitri narrowed his eyes and cast another look at the front of the room. “That makes her a fool. She could easily have come to harm, and it’s not as if her friends would have known how to help her, with her the only one who can speak the language.”
Kristos snorted. “I’m sure she would be very open to hearing your opinions on how she should conduct herself.” He grimaced, his gaze finding Emmaline. “I’m inclined to agree with Stefan, however. Why present the women as part of tonight’s gathering? At best, it muddies the water. At worst…”
His gaze was drawn inexorably to his mother, who wasn’t looking his way at all but at a young woman Kristos remembered from his stacks of pictures. Catherine’s intent regard was telling, and he could see the reactions in the girl herself as well as the women surrounding her, young and old alike. She was being singled out for special attention, and special attention meant favor.
But favor for what?
When he would have winced, Dimitri’s words recalled him.
“Look sharp.” And, as always, the bodyguard was right. His father’s gaze was lifting even as Kristos straightened, and their gazes connected across the room. With a proud smile, King Jasen raised his hand and introduced Kristos loudly, inviting him to stand forward. The entire room stood and applauded, and Kristos bowed his thanks, already uncomfortable with what was required of him, but determined to do the job he’d set out to do.
There were only about twenty long strides that he could take to settle his nerves, but Kristos made the most of them, stopping to shake hands with the men gathered at the back of the room, nodding to Garronois young and old. Then he was up the short steps and embracing his mother and father before turning grimly to address the crowd. Just get this over with.
In that moment, he met Emmaline’s eyes. She stared at him across the room, her manner taut, expectant, and radiating support. In a single breath, with the wave of her emotion flowing toward him, something shifted inside Kristos. His heart seemed fuller, words that had eluded him in all his tortured practice sessions now coming to his mind effortlessly, demanding to be spoken.
“My friends,” he said with emphasis. “My people, my allies. I am honored to be standing not just in front of you this night, but with you.” He continued on, becoming even more assured, more passionate as he saw the spark of his words take light in the eyes of all who heard and understood him.
And even those who didn’t.
Emmaline’s gaze never wavered from his face, and neither did her outpouring of intense, positive focus. He knew she couldn’t translate his words, but he spoke to her just the same.
The speech was an unqualified success.
It was another thirty minutes and four debutantes later before he could safely stop by Emmaline’s chair. Unfortunately, while she did not speak Garronois, everyone at the table knew English. There was no way for him to speak privately with her, and he didn’t trust his reactions even if he could, so he contented himself with bowing. “An unexpected pleasure to see you tonight.”
“Your mother was kind enough to allow us to meet so many of your countrymen,” Emmaline said graciously. “She also loaned us an interpreter so our fellow tablemates could speak at length on their work. I do wish I knew more Garronois, though. It is a lovely language.”
Her words arrowed through him, even as the words of Council Minister Cyril flashed in his memory. Remember this above all else, Kristos. All eyes are upon you. And it will get worse before it gets better. He wanted more than anything to take Emmaline in his arms right there, but that was madness. So he turned from her before his own face betrayed any emotion. The two women at the table he also knew—and had for years. His heart sank even as he glanced at the daughter, recognizing the interest lighting her face.
Cyril was right. It all would get worse before it got better.
He left Emmaline with another short bow, then rounded the table to do what was expected of him.
Chapter 18
“They’re totally talking about us again, aren’t they?” Emmaline said the words between her teeth, her face practically frozen in place. She’d now cheerfully greeted no fewer than twenty charming older men, their less charming wives, and their positively predatory daughters. “If I hear one more comment about my ‘robust’ American accent, I might snap.”
“Getting watched again,” Lauren said in a light singsong, nodding at the sea of people who ebbed and flowed around them. Em didn’t need to glance toward the head of the room to confirm Lauren’s words.
The queen had been eyeing them like a hawk the whole night, even placing them in the line of attack. At first it had seemed almost cruel, because she and Lauren had been paired off, which had forced Em to stand in the shadow of her more attractive friend—and hear almost firsthand all the sniping, bitter, snide comments the young women thought they were saying in private about her, not realizing Lauren knew the language.
By the third round of princess-bride hopefuls, though, she got it. Got why they were here tonight, got why Lauren’s underst
anding of the language had gone deliberately unmentioned.
They were part of the vetting process.
The more badly behaved a woman was, the less likely the queen would look positively on a match between said woman and her son.
A match with Kristos.
Just thinking about that made Em slightly ill. Kristos’s speech had been the one bright moment in this evening. He’d spoken with passion and eloquence, his eyes on her in a way that made her heart soar, for all that she didn’t understand the words. She’d not even paid much attention to the hushed translations of the interpreter, because it was as if Kristos wasn’t talking about the future of Garronia, the lives they all might live, the possibilities that might be explored. It was as if he’d been talking directly to her about their future, the lives they might live, the possibilities that could be theirs.
Which was insane. She knew it was insane. And yet…
“I think I actually donated that suit to charity last season.” These words were, even more brazenly, spoken in English, though the beautiful woman’s gaze was filled with mock pity as she surveyed Em. “I did think the queen would take better care of you than that.”
“She’s been so gracious at every step, and we’re just delighted to meet you all.”
“And she decided to focus her efforts on tomorrow’s gowns.” Lauren delivered this line with the same blithe serenity with which she’d faced every round of women, only turning to Em to hiss their insults after they’d drifted on. But this statement made the bombshell blink.
“Tomorrow? So you are attending the Accession Ball?”
“She’s been so kind.” Em fought a sudden surge of triumph as all of the women narrowed their eyes. Lauren had essentially thrown down the gauntlet for a sartorial smackdown at the gala the following night. And at least she knew that Nicki, Lauren, and Fran wouldn’t be wearing anything to poke fun at. As for Em, she’d already had her fill of attention. Whatever the queen saw fit to clothe her in, she planned on remaining out of the limelight, allowing Kristos to do his thing untroubled by her. She’d had enough scowls and sniffs and downright snarls from women who didn’t even know her.
Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1 Page 19