by Peak, Renna
So much for locking my door and escaping.
The uniformed man leads me through the winding hallways down to the formal dining room. The whole way, the heavy swish-swish-swish sound my dress makes as I move seems to bounce off the heavily decorated walls.
When we reach the dining room, I feel a quick burst of relief—I don’t have to walk any further in this monstrosity of a dress—before that feeling quickly gets buried again. Walking in this dress was the easy part of the night. Now I have to put on a smile and fake my way through a bunch of Montovian dinner etiquette, praying Lord Frederick doesn’t notice me. Fat chance of that.
Most of the family is already here. I scan the room, looking for Nick, but I don’t see him. Benedict, however, catches my eye and starts toward me.
“You look wonderful, Clara,” he says, taking my hand. “Don’t worry—you’ll do fine tonight. Just be your normal, delightful self.”
Someone clears his throat behind me, and I turn, staring straight up at Nick.
“I’ll take it from here,” Nick tells his cousin.
Benedict simply grins and shrugs and releases my hand, returning to his brothers.
I look Nick up and down. He’s wearing a formal suit that looks just as stiff and uncomfortable as my dress. At least women aren’t the only ones who suffer for fashion around here. I have to admit, the suit looks pretty damn good on him. I’ve seen him dressed up before, but this…this is a whole new level of handsome. He looks like a prince.
“What?” he asks me, his brow furrowing.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “You just look…nice.” I can’t help but smile at him, even though I’m still a little pissed. “You left me this afternoon.”
He doesn’t even blink at the accusation. “I needed to think.”
I glance around the room. There’s still no sign of the lord or lady of the manor. “I have no idea what I’m doing here. I don’t want to screw this up for you.”
Sympathy flickers in his eyes. “You’ll do fine, Clara. I have complete faith in you. I don’t think I know anyone else who could handle herself so well in so many situations.”
I smile at his compliment, but the nerves are still there. And the annoyance at him.
“We need to talk later,” I tell him.
He sighs. “Clara, if this is just going to be another—”
His voice cuts off when his eyes go to the doorway behind me. I turn, and I see that our hosts have arrived.
The lady looks just as haughty and regal as ever, but she has nothing on the man beside her. Lord Frederick is tall and thin, almost startlingly so, but his confident bearing makes up for any narrowness in his shoulders. He’s nearly as intimidating as the king himself, and I can see the family resemblance. Frederick wears his gray hair thick and full, and he has a long, thick mustache to match. His nose is hooked, his mouth narrow, and his eyes as blue as his sons’—and as sharp as a hawk’s.
He strides into the room, his wife on his arm. His eyes move across the room with slow deliberation, taking in his three sons with satisfaction. Next, that gaze shifts to me, and it takes all of my willpower to stare right back at him and not cringe away. He takes me in from top to bottom, and I swear the tiniest smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. But then his gaze shifts to Nick.
If I thought those eyes were scary before, it’s nothing next to how hard and terrifying they are now. He clearly dislikes Nick—but there’s also a certain amount of cautious respect in that gaze. He knows that Nick stands above him politically, and he’s not happy about it.
“Welcome to our home,” he says. “Please, everyone, sit down. We have a lot to discuss tonight.” He gestures toward the table, and I move tentatively toward it, wondering where I’m supposed to sit.
Nick, thankfully, guides me to a chair. We all take our seats, and a heavy silence hangs in the air as everyone waits for Lord Frederick to go on.
He takes his sweet time about it, too. He seems to enjoy having everyone wait on him. I find myself looking everywhere but him—I have no idea what Montovian etiquette calls for here—but I feel his eyes land on me a couple of times while I’m desperately looking the other way. Are all the older men in this family so intimidating?
Finally, he thrums his fingers on the table, drawing everyone’s eyes back to him.
Nicholas
It takes a few moment’s of Lord Frederick’s amused gaze for me to realize he’s waiting for me to begin eating. It isn’t often that I’m the ranking member of the royal family when I’m at a dining table. Even when I’ve eaten a formal dinner before at Wintervale Manor, one of my brothers was always at the table.
All eyes are suddenly on me—all except Clara’s.
She shifts uncomfortably in the seat beside me, whispering under her breath, “I don’t get it.”
It feels like a torturously long time everyone is staring at me, but it’s only been a few seconds. I awkwardly lift my fork and take a bite of the food in front of me—some sort of salad with pickled onions—and the release of tension at the table is palpable as the rest of the diners begin to eat.
“Interesting that Edmund would send you to represent the family, Nicholas.” Lord Frederick examines the food upon his fork closely, not giving me another glance. “Someone who doesn’t even know his station.”
My mouth opens to respond—though I’ve no idea what retort I can come up with to counter his—when his wife speaks. “Frederick, really.” She bats her lashes at me, giving me a gracious smile. “His Highness has been kind enough to grace us with his presence. Surely we can all get along through a simple dinner.”
Ah yes, I see the game we’re playing now. I’ve heard Andrew tell of it many times, though I’ve never had to play myself—not at this level, at any rate. “Please, cousins,” I say, trying not to gag upon my own words. “We’re all family here. Shall we do away with the formalities for dinner?”
Again, it’s like someone has let some of the air out of the room, and the tension drops another few notches.
Clara is merely blinking beside me, appearing as though she might be in shock. Perhaps she isn’t able to breathe—the fashion for formal dining is still somewhat antiquated in Montovia, with the women—and the men—still wearing attire that is far too stiff to eat in, let alone to breathe in.
“Perhaps you aren’t as slow as your family makes you out to be.” Lord Frederick stares at me for a beat too long before giving a loud guffaw. “I’m joking, of course. As we’re all family here.”
A glance at my cousins says they’re likely feeling the same—all of this is a bit awkward and inappropriate, hardly worth acknowledging.
“Does your father not take our concerns seriously, young Nicholas?” Lord Frederick tilts his head, waiting expectantly for an answer.
“I’m sure he does,” I say before taking a bite of my salad. I chew for a bit too long, drawing out the time he must wait for me to answer. If he’s going to be disrespectful of tradition in the way he’s speaking to me, perhaps I can make him equally uncomfortable. Pushing him a bit off his axis can only be to my benefit.
Before I speak again, I take a long sip of water, glancing at the man over the rim of my glass.
He’s watching me closely, almost as though he’s trying to read my mind. Sadly for him, I have no idea what I’m doing—or what I should be saying in such a situation.
My long response time is clearly getting under the man’s skin. He shifts in his seat, setting his fork down. “I think you’re lying. I don’t think your father—or you, for that matter—take the concerns of Wintervale seriously at all—”
“This is a bit…heavy…for discussion over salad, isn’t it my dear?” His wife smiles sweetly at him before turning her smile to me. “Discussing politics at the table at all is considered in poor taste. Our apologies, Your Highness.”
I give a wave of my hand before continuing with my dinner.
“We…” Caspar seems to think he has something meaningful to add. “We don’
t seem to follow tradition as much as…others.” His usual self-assuredness seems to have disappeared upon his father’s arrival.
I know that feeling all too well…
Caspar goes on. “We’ve had quite a few spirited political rows at the table, even recently. For instance—”
“I doubt that His Highness cares to hear of our…discussions, Caspar.” His mother smiles at him, but there’s clearly a warning in it. “For now—”
“Where is Andrew?” Lord Frederick interrupts. “Is he so consumed with his new child that he isn’t able to make diplomatic visits?”
“My brother was otherwise engaged, yes.” My gaze turns to Clara, who still looks as though she’s trying to survive a natural catastrophe. “I should introduce my companion, Clara Weaver of New York.”
“An enchanting creature, to be sure,” Lord Frederick says without his eyes ever leaving mine. “And of course, your father can’t be bothered to visit Wintervale.” He turns to his wife. “What has it been? A dozen years since his last visit?”
Her sweet smile falls slightly. “Sixteen, if we’re to be accurate.”
“Sixteen years.” Lord Frederick’s head swings from side to side as he clucks his tongue. “Sixteen years since he’s laid eyes upon this beautiful land.” He eyes me for another long moment. “And there is great beauty here, is there not young Nicholas?”
I know what he’s getting at—I still don’t understand why this family feels the need to torture me endlessly over Sara, but I’m having none of it.
I glance at Clara beside me, pulling her hand into mine before I place a kiss upon the back of her fingers—an etiquette faux pas if I’ve ever committed one. “Yes, and I’ve brought it with me from my ranch in the United States.”
My cousins chuckle as their father’s face turns a shade of crimson.
“Thank you,” Clara says, her cheeks turning a shade of bright pink. “I mean…”
I give her a slight bow of my head before kissing her fingers again and releasing her hand.
I try to begin again with my salad, but Lord Frederick can’t seem to help himself. “Yes, your companion is lovely, Nicholas. Truly.”
“I would completely agree,” I say.
“But she lacks a certain level of…oh, how shall we say it, young Nicholas? Authority? As do you, of course.”
My jaw clenches, but I say nothing. I hardly need this man to tell me I have no power—I’m well aware of that fact. And I’m growing more than a bit weary of his constant reminders that he lacks even the slightest respect for my immediate family or me.
“We’ve a great many concerns with the Crown here. Wintervale’s citizens—”
“Montovia’s citizens,” I say, interrupting him.
“Of course he knows they’re Montovian citizens, Your Highness.” His wife says. “What my husband means to say—”
“What I mean to say…” He glares at his wife for a moment before turning that glare to me. “What I mean to say is, we’re moving to secede. You can let your father know—at your earliest convenience of course…” His voice drips with sarcasm. “Let him know that Wintervale is—at the next meeting of nations—moving to form our own country. We no longer wish to bow our heads to the likes of you.”
Clara
Fuck. This.
I’m trying to behave myself. I don’t belong here, I only have the most basic knowledge about this political situation, and everyone here knows it. But when Nicholas and I first arrived here in Wintervale, I made him a promise—I told him I’d use my ignorance for his benefit. I might not be able to do much, but I can do that.
And, while everyone else stares at Nick expectantly, I grab my glass of wine and down the rest of it in one quick gulp. Caspar glances my way, a question in his eyes, but no one else pays me any mind until I put the glass back down on the table again, using a little more force than necessary.
“This is definitely not proper dinner conversation,” I say.
Everyone’s gazes swivel toward me. They’re all too startled to say anything, though. So I run with it.
“Haven’t you ever heard of family therapy in this country?” I ask them. “If you ask me, all of this could be solved in a few sessions with a licensed professional. You people bicker worse than my sisters and me. And that’s saying something.” I kind of wish I had more wine to chug.
Beside me, Nick has gone completely rigid. Across the table, his cousins stare at me in shock—and, in Caspar’s case, just the slightest bit of amusement. The lady looks absolutely stunned. And Lord Frederick…well, he looks like he’s overcoming his shock quickly. And I don’t want to wait and see what emotion replaces it.
“Seriously,” I say, rising. “If you people care about your country, you should stop squabbling like a bunch of schoolgirls and actually talk to each other. No one ever solved anything like this.” I cross my arms, which is an impressive feat in a dress this stiff. “If you ask me, none of you are interested in fixing anything. You’re just interested in fighting. And if that’s true, then none of you should be running anything, let alone a country.”
Now would be the moment to storm out. Or…I don’t know, make some other grand, dramatic gesture. I didn’t really think this far.
Everyone at the table just stares at me, completely silent. I raise my chin, standing my ground, even though inside I feel like a trembling mess. I can’t take back what I’ve said. But the moment I show any weakness, any regret, I lose what little power I have.
Unfortunately, one person at the table sees right through me.
“Is this how they teach you to behave in America?” Lord Frederick says, his voice cold and steely.
I glance his way. Lord Frederick is gripping his knife, his knuckles white. His eyes are still slightly wide with shock. He’s honestly quite terrifying right now.
And he’s just getting started.
“How dare you come into my house, and sit at my table, and say such things to me!” he says, his cheeks reddening. “Is this the sort of garbage a prince brings into my home?”
Nick leaps to his feet beside me. “Is that how you speak to a woman?”
Lord Frederick’s eyes flash. “I’ll speak to her however I like! This is my home!”
“Father, Cousin, please,” Caspar says, slowly rising from his chair. “Let’s all just calm down.”
His father glares at him. “You would take his side? Endure the insults hurled by this filthy woman?”
“She’s hardly filthy,” Caspar says. “She’s American. They do things differently there.” He attempts a smile and a shrug, but they fall a little flat.
“And can you blame her for getting a little upset?” Benedict cuts in. “I don’t like sitting through our family arguments, either.”
Lord Frederick’s eyes widen. “You’re defending her, too?”
“She’s honestly harmless,” Xavier adds. “A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but charming enough when she isn’t thrust into the middle of awkward situations.”
It’s more words than I’ve heard him speak the whole time I’ve known him, and despite the backhanded compliment, I find it moving.
Lord Frederick doesn’t seem to know what to think.
“I can’t believe it,” he snarls. “My own family has turned against me.”
“We haven’t turned against you, Father,” Caspar says. “But none of us want to fight.”
“So you’ll sit here and take abuse from this foreigner?”
“Well, she’s got a point,” Caspar points out. “We were squabbling like schoolgirls.” He slowly lowers himself back down into his chair. “This isn’t exactly appropriate supper discussion. Perhaps we can leave all the political discussions and family drama until later? Sometime after we’ve eaten?”
“Or better yet,” his mother breaks in, “why don’t we all retire to our private suites for the night? And give these tempers a chance to cool?” She shoots an accusatory glance my way, but I don’t care if she blames me for this
. I happen to like her suggestion.
And Nick agrees.
“Yes,” he says. “I’ve lost my appetite, anyway.”
Casper picks up his plate. “I think that’s a good idea.”
His brothers also rise. Nick and I leave our plates on the table and head toward the door. Like him, I’ve lost my appetite.
The five of us retreat from the room. Lord Frederick is still glaring at me as I swish-swish-swish out into the hallway, but at least he’s not shouting at me anymore. Still, I breathe a sigh of relief as the door swings shut behind us.
Nick’s cousins turn to face us.
“I should thank you,” Nick tells them. “For defending us back there. I did not expect you to take my side against your father.”
“Or mine,” I add quickly. I am the one who ran my mouth, after all. My cheeks go red just thinking about that outburst.
“It was nothing,” Caspar replies. “Father took things too far. But perhaps…” His gaze holds mine. “Perhaps, Clara, you should be a little more tactful around him in the future.”
“I, for one, enjoyed the show,” Benedict says, grinning.
“Of course you did.” Caspar shakes his head. “Would you care to join us in my suite for dinner, Cousin?”
“I thank you for the offer, but I’ve had my fill tonight,” Nick replies.
“Me too,” I tell them.
Casper nods. “Fair enough. Goodnight, Cousin. Goodnight, Clara.”
The three of them head down the hallway together, and Nick and I begin back toward my suite. We walk in silence for some time before Nick speaks.
“You know,” he says softly, “perhaps my cousins are better men than I thought. When the moment came, they did the right thing, even though it meant standing up to their father.”
“I always knew their hearts were in the right place,” I say.
“Of course, that still doesn’t mean I’m happy about Caspar accompanying you to the ball,” he says. “Assuming we’re still invited to the ball, of course.”