The Royal Bodyguard

by Lindsay Emory

  He came closer. I couldn’t help myself and reached out to touch his face. “You shaved…” Gone was the piratical auburn mustache, the beard that had felt both soft and rough against my skin.

  “Vacation’s over,” he explained as he looked me over in my thick white hotel robe. “Are you nervous?”

  I managed a self-conscious laugh. “How can you tell?”

  “I can tell,” he said simply, and he pulled me into his arms.

  Hmmm. “Magical bodyguard senses,” I guessed.

  “No.” He nuzzled me and I felt warm. Seen. “When you’re feeling confident, you move quickly. When you’re feeling unsure or hesitant, you spend a lot of time in bathrobes.”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t sure that was true at all. “I’d like to take this bathrobe off right now,” I murmured. “But my presence is required shortly at the palace.” I added those last words like someone had asked me to describe cockroach mating practices.

  “Did you and your sister talk yet?” he asked, and I could tell that it was important to him. He and Thea respected each other, were even friends of a type. My sister’s words floated back to me.

  Hugh is a good, solid man. I just wouldn’t want him to get hurt.

  “Actually, we talked about you,” I replied lightly. “And your upcoming retirement.”

  “Mmmhm,” he said as he kissed me under my ear.

  “I didn’t know,” I continued, “about how much you’re looking forward to being in the private sector.”

  “I’ve never heard it called that before,” he said with a slyness that made me giggle, even though I knew he was avoiding my indirect inquiries. Hugh spun me around and tucked my back into his chest so that now we could both stare listlessly at the four dresses my baby sister had thoughtfully bought for me. “Sophie did well,” he said, his voice rumbling against my back.

  “Don’t tell me that you knew she picked out these dresses because she prefers pink or you know which boutiques she shops at on Fridays.”

  He laughed. “No. I saw the delivery slip earlier.”

  Oh. I twined my fingers with his and drew them across my body like a seat belt. “Which one should I wear?” I asked, because I was curious about which he’d prefer.

  “You’d look beautiful in all of them.”

  “That’s a very safe answer,” I replied drily. “And thank you. Now pick.”

  He untangled himself from me, walked to the dress rack and selected a dress. It was floor-length, like the rest of them, with long sleeves, like the others. But this one had a daring deep V-neck—more risqué than I’d ever worn in the Queen’s presence before.

  “Done,” I said quickly. “But you have to tell me, why did you pick this one?”

  “Two reasons,” he said, bringing me back the dress in its padded white silk hanger. “It matches your eyes.”

  The color was deep forest green. Not quite my eye color, but I was, of course, flattered by the comparison. “And?” I pressed as I untied my robe and revealed the feminine black undergarments I had already put on.

  His eyes darkened, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “It looks good on the floor.” I was in his arms before the dress floated to the carpet.

  I was escorted to Big Gran’s private gold dining room (not to be confused with the formal gold dining room—you know you’re rich when you have two gold dining rooms). Hugh left me in the hallway—for private family functions, the security stayed outside—with a squeeze of my fingers. And when I hesitated to walk through the wide double doors, for an instant I saw what Hugh—or other guards—must see when they watched me.

  When you’re feeling confident, you move quickly. When you’re feeling unsure or hesitant, you spend a lot of time in bathrobes.

  It was a lot to think about. Maybe I’d have to go to therapy to puzzle out whether that statement was true. Or maybe I’d just let Hugh explain me to me. He had certainly proved to be an expert in the subject.

  Feeling those eyes upon me, I lifted my chin, took a steadying breath and quickly stepped over the threshold into Big Gran’s dining room of doom.

  I was immediately tackled from my left. “Caroline!” Sophie squealed. “Oh!” After she finished squeezing me, she stepped back and examined my dress. “You picked the green!” Her eyes lit up. “Of course you did, you’re an international femme fatale with a dangerous, tragic past now.”

  “Sophie. Really?” my brother chided her in an exasperated tone. I turned and saw my handsome brother. Taller than the rest of us, with sharp, perfect bone structure and his blond hair cut precisely, he was dressed in a black dinner jacket and casual navy pants better suited for weekend sailing. It was like, if he wasn’t in uniform, he really didn’t know what to wear. Most people in the palace accepted that about him—after all, he was in the military. No one would criticize his fashion choices off-duty.

  Except I knew the truth. When he bent down to kiss my cheek, I murmured, “No black pants in your closet?”

  “Of course there were,” he whispered back. “They came with the coat.”

  See, no one supplied a royal prince with one half of a suit. Henry did this on purpose. He had a private secretary at the palace and his measurements were on file with at least three tailors in the city and probably one in London and in Paris. He had access to all the proper princely clothes, had people to order a fully bespoke wardrobe. But for some reason, for years, he rejected those particular royal expectations in this small, silly way, which garnered no repercussions for him.

  Now why couldn’t I have followed his lead? Picked some innocuous, easily explained method of rebellion? No, instead, I had to run off and marry the first race car driver who knew how to kiss properly.

  Maybe Sophie was right. Maybe I was an international femme fatale.

  Just like Mother.

  I gave my head a gentle shake. I couldn’t get caught up in deep thoughts about matriarchal DNA tonight. I needed to stay present. On my toes. Because the show was about to start.

  Sophie was still squabbling with Henry. “I said she looked beautiful—I don’t know what I did wrong.” She linked her arm through mine. “And there’s nothing wrong with a dramatic entrance,” she informed me with a very serious air. “It’s something I always strive for.”

  “God, Sophie, you’re so full of it,” Henry said into the whiskey he had been gulping like he was a man in the middle of a whiskey-free desert.

  “And you’re such a curmudgeon,” Sophie threw back. “Why are you so cranky tonight? Is it because of that American actress who’s got her hooks in you?”

  “Who?” Henry looked genuinely confused.

  “The one at the Beyoncé concert?” I helpfully supplied.

  But Henry’s eyes remained blank. “Sorry. I still have no idea what she’s yammering on about.”

  Sophie clucked. “I suppose there are so many American actresses, he can’t keep them all straight. Oh, the joy of being an eligible European prince these days. Meanwhile, I have to practically throw myself at men to get them interested.”

  Henry sighed, as if he were in pain. “Does anyone need a refill?”

  “I don’t even have a drink yet,” I said.

  My brother widened his eyes. “Oh, no. We can’t have that. You must be properly prepared for the evening. Champagne, or something stronger?”

  “My usual,” I said.

  “Straight up vodka with a Xanax chaser—excellent choice.” He turned to fetch me a drink like a thoughtful brother who wanted to escape a baby sister who insisted on saying inappropriate things.

  “I don’t have a drink either!” Sophie nearly shouted at his back.

  “Shh…” I hushed her, but then started to laugh. The impulse had been an old habit, nurtured during a lifetime of being quiet and obedient on occasions such as this. Strange how it came back and resettled in my skin so quickly. “Never min
d,” I said to Sophie. “Make all the noise you want.”

  Sophie had a curious look in her eye. “You’re different. I’m sorry I was so flippant earlier. About…your annus horribilus. You know I say things I don’t mean, but you do have a certain air to you.”

  “It’s the dress. It’s gorgeous. Thank you,” I said sincerely as I remembered the man who had helped me fasten the back of it. The way his rough hands had glided against the smooth silk.

  “You’re blushing,” Sophie observed. “It’s more than the dress, then. Good. You’re too young to hide away and mourn Awful Stavros…” She opened her mouth and put her hand against it. “I did it again. I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t angry. “He wasn’t awful,” I said softly. “We had a good run, but I’m not sure we would have stayed together forever.” I thought of the divorce attorney Stavros had contacted in Paris. How I hadn’t been mad when I’d found out. I tried not to wonder if the hackers knew about that, too, and if that private bit of information would soon be plastered on every gossip site.

  “I heard things…” Sophie let that hang out there, and it was enough. Of course, she’d heard things. The circles of jetsetters were fairly small, even with all the access to private jets. And she’d hear more, if I continued to have any sort of life. People couldn’t control themselves.

  But then Henry came with the drinks, deftly handing a Martini to me and a glass of champagne to Sophie while juggling his whiskey.

  “You do love me,” Sophie sighed. “Because you could have had a footman bring these over but instead you did it yourself.”

  “I forgot about the footmen.” Henry swore with a grimace, and I laughed because of course he hadn’t forgotten. He did love us enough to bring our alcohol himself—and if that wasn’t love, what was?

  “Does anyone know why we’re here?” Sophie asked, after a few sips of champagne. “I feel like something terrible’s about to happen.”

  Henry frowned. “Like what?”

  Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling.”

  And right at that moment the doors opened and the stars of the evening entered. Our grandmother, the Queen, had even worn her largest tiara, with matching earrings and choker.

  Sophie caught my eye. Yes, it was that serious.

  Thea smiled when she saw me and made a discreet wave with her fingers, directing me to her and Gran. “You’re on, sis,” Henry said, hiding his mouth behind his glass.

  “Don’t fuck up,” Sophie managed to say while keeping a wide smile on her face.

  When you’re feeling confident, you move quickly.

  Without the slightest bit of hesitation, I went to greet my Queen.

  Thea faded into the background with all the innate grace of a princess and the skill of a ninja.

  And it was just me. And the woman who had thrown me out of the family.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Her Majesty Queen Aurelia had resting bitch face. Which wasn’t a bad thing for a Queen, if we’re being perfectly honest about it. I had grown used to the fact that my grandmother had never smiled with matriarchal satisfaction when I came into a room, even when I was an adorable tow-headed child, so the face that she had on now was quite normal.

  Still, the uncertainty of the situation did make me sweat a little more than was approved by royal etiquette.

  She spoke first. “Caroline. How lovely that you’ve joined us this evening.”

  Translation: Thea made me invite you.

  “It’s my pleasure, Your Majesty.”

  Translation: I couldn’t get out of it. See also, a passive-aggressive reminder that I was thrown out of the family nine months ago.

  “Your sister tells me you’ve graciously volunteered to help her with some of her charitable work.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was she talking about the meeting with Karl Sylvain von Falkenburg? Or the whole debacle with Christian?

  I decided to take a shot on the most likely possibility.

  “Yes. I was most fascinated by the historical site that Mr. Von Falkenburg introduced me to.”

  Her eyebrows arched. I think that meant that I had chosen correctly.

  “The Langůs battlefield and the discovery of King Fredrik’s grave. Such an important development for the continued installation of our family’s legacy.” She paused. “Don’t you agree?”

  I nodded slowly. “Family is everything.”

  There was a cough somewhere from the direction of my siblings, who were totally pretending not to listen to my conversation with Big Gran.

  My grandmother’s eyes flashed with interest, and maybe my small little digs weren’t going to repair my relationship with her, but I remembered that I had other family.

  “Speaking of which,” I continued without letting her reply, “I was able to briefly visit Astrid recently.”

  “The Dowager Duchess of Aronburg,” she said with a hint of correction. “How is Lady Astrid?”

  “She is well.” I smiled blandly. “Still running her own little kingdom in the mountains.”

  Thea swooped in. “I believe dinner will be served shortly. Shall we take our seats?”

  Gran turned without saying another word to either of us. Thea gave me a decided watch-it look and then Henry came up and whispered in my ear, “Weren’t you supposed to grovel and plead for forgiveness?”

  I sighed. “I think so.”

  “That was very poor groveling,” Henry said gravely. “The worst groveling I’ve ever seen, in fact.”

  “But very entertaining,” Sophie added as she swooped by us on her way to the table set for five.

  Dinner started. We had always been fortunate, I suppose, that Gran insisted on delicious food in substantial quantities. I had heard some horrible stories about bland fish courses and tiny glasses of wine at some of the other royal palaces in the countries that bordered Drieden. They know who they are.

  There was light conversation about Henry’s military duties, about Aurelia’s correspondence with a beloved former American president (not the recent, disastrous one. Gran had called him a pompous jackass, if I recalled correctly).

  Then, just after coffee was served, Thea clinked her glass with a spoon.

  “A bit formal, are we?” Henry asked.

  “You could have just kicked us under the table like you used to,” Sophie said.

  Thea lifted a brow at Sophie, who made a kissing face back.

  I knew what Thea was about to say and, for one bittersweet moment, I wished she wouldn’t.

  I liked our family exactly as it was. The sass from our baby sister. The droll over-it attitude from our brother. Our absent but loving parents. And, I realized, I’d even made a small amount of peace with what Gran had done to me.

  Yes, she’d cut me off. Taking away my title had been almost like a metaphysical amputation. Something that had always been part of me suddenly wasn’t.

  But. It wasn’t fatal—to my self-worth, to my future, even to my relationships with my family. I’d proved that by coming back tonight in my emerald silk cut nearly to my navel, chosen by my lover, who saw me exactly as I was.

  Once the imminent announcement was made, everything could change.

  Maybe Sophie wouldn’t make faces at her sister…once she was Queen.

  Maybe Henry wouldn’t gallantly offer to play bartender…for his sister the Queen.

  Maybe Thea would return my titles to me.

  Maybe I didn’t even want them anymore.

  Gran’s voice interrupted my reverie. “I wanted you all here tonight so you could hear it from me. After the celebration of my Jubilee this summer, I will inform Parliament that I am stepping down from the throne.”

  A dramatic pause. Because she hadn’t wasted the last fifty years being an idiot.

  “And I intend to declare that Theodora
shall succeed me.”

  Getting all dressed up and enduring Gran’s coolness was 100 percent worth it to see the expressions on my siblings’ faces.

  Sophie’s eyebrow arched dramatically.

  Henry blinked two, three dozen times.

  We were too well trained to swear (even though I was tempted, to fully take advantage of my black-sheep status), but I was fairly certain that certain very unroyal words were flashing through my siblings’ minds.

  And because no one had ever informed me of the proper court etiquette for this situation, I did the only thing that felt right to me. I stood, lifted my glass of wine and said solemnly, “God save Queen Aurelia.”

  Henry stood, then Sophie, each following my lead. Then Thea did the same and I finally succeeded in melting my grandmother’s resting bitch face into a true, humble smile.

  Harald, Big Gran’s personal butler, sprinted into the room. I had never seen the man move so fast before. I don’t even think I had seen him turn a color besides pale ecru.

  But it wasn’t just Harald. Security agents appeared as if out of thin air. Two of them at every door, each of them holding their fingers to their ears, to whatever news alert or orders were being transmitted.

  And then, maybe even scarier—Hugh and Nick stepped inside the room with faces deadly serious.

  I had only seen these kind of acts once in my life, after a terrorist explosion in the downtown subway four years ago. It was a lockdown procedure. Henry, Sophie, and I exchanged looks. We all knew it. And then I noticed something.

  Harald had bent low to whisper something in Big Gran’s ear. Then she had pointed at Thea and he did the same to her.

  I wasn’t sure which scared me most. The fact that Big Gran had just abdicated a duty to my sister or the tears that were now spilling on to her cheeks.

  “What’s happened?” I asked. Hugh’s eyes caught mine across the room and he gave me a small nod, making me feel like we were in this together—whatever this was.