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His Queen

Page 3

by Sally Laces


  I bite my lower lip interior while he watches me, his blonde friend by his side with an easy smile, his stepmother watching us both.

  "Well then," says the Queen Regent, slapping her palms together. "This has been most historical. Your grace, do we have your leave to depart for the evening and prepare for dinner?"

  I incline my head to the Queen with a smile that feels a bit forced. Luckily there are no cameras here to note my hesitant face. Why has my husband-to-be said so very little? I thought he would be the one in charge.

  "Yes, that sounds well," I say, regretting my awkward choice of words. English is a second-language to me; As a royal I grew up speaking Femnosi Latin. I suppose Toras grew up speaking Dominari, judging from his light accent that puts emphasis on his vowels. Even that I find sexy.

  "Very good. Toras."

  Both the blonde man and the Queen, along with nearly everyone in the room including Ellory and me, look to the King-to-be, expecting some profound parting word.

  "Yeah. Great."

  And with that my King leaves us to wonder what we‘re meant to think.

  Chapter 5

  Toras

  "Look, bro. I just don't think I see things the same way you do."

  I lift my head, ass firmly planted in the only chair in the room. The same type of 80s-throwback music plays through Isaac's speaker, yet there's a melancholy quality to this playlist. Maybe it's just me, or perhaps it's the lowered volume to avoid irritating any nearby servants not currently on kitchen duty.

  Most likely it's just my mood. Face-to-face with the boy I'm to married, it all just seemed too real. My forced marriage to a man I've never met always seemed like a far-off prospect; out there in the castle courtyard, everything became vividly real. This is where it ends. My life has become a duty rather than an experience.

  "You alright man?" Issac leans over toward me, no large feat considering how close by we are. He's sat upright on the edge of his bed, ceding the only chair in the room to me. My 'throne.'

  "Just thinking."

  "He seemed like a nice kid."

  All I can do is shrug. I have no problem with the boyish Prince with the girly name. He's in the same boat I'm in - thrust into diplomatic unions without much of a say. I wonder for a moment if he's as distraught over this as I feel. He certainly didn't look the picture of aggravation with his gawking light eyes and open posture.

  "Did you notice he was wearing a resari?" I ask Isaac, as he leans over to switch the playlist.

  "I did," he chuckles. "He must have put that on himself. Wonder where he got one around here." Isaac sits up straight, head nodding slightly to the poppy tones. "Pretty nice gesture."

  "I haven't seen one of those in quite a while." Not outside of a Dominari tourist spot, at least.

  "Did you wear one when you were a kid?" He asks.

  I chortle. "I was five and a half feet tall by the 5th grade. I had trouble finding pants that fit, let alone traditional embroidered dresses. Besides, you know how my father was..."

  I trail off with a wave of my hand. Isaac doesn't follow up. He knew my father. He knows what I mean.

  "Hey, his maid was kind of cute," Isaac suggests, giving me a light punch on the arm. "Maybe you could go after her."

  "Har har."

  "Seriously. I bet that'd be romantic. Annabelle'd have a conniption."

  "That much is true." Pissing my step-mother off is, admittedly, still a menial amusement in my life. I'd hardly call it a priority like it was when I was a teenager, and it wouldn't solve anything.

  "The press would love it. 'Femnosi commoner weds Rich Prince!'"

  "Why am I 'Rich Prince?'"

  "Well you come up for something better in the headline."

  "It's not going to happen, Isaac. This isn't a movie."

  Indeed.

  It's just my sorry, spoken-for royal life.

  And there's nothing I can do to change who I'm going to marry.

  Chapter 6

  Anya

  "Oh, it's just like a movie!" I clutch the resari dress to my chest and spin in a circle, my bare feet dancing on the plush carpet floor. Ellory insists on cleaning up my room, finding more and more spots I missed in my attempt to, well, take care of myself like a normal person. The rest of the servants are busy preparing for tonight's feast, where I'll sit across the table from my husband-to-be and just stare into his eyes while I pick at a plate of fried calamari and feta-stuffed olives. He's the guest so we'll serve him our finest cuisine.

  As he desires.

  “Isn't it just lovely, Ellory?” I'm doing my best to put the awkwardness of our earlier meeting out of my mind. Perhaps he was just jet-lagged - although the flight from Dominar Castle is less than two hours on his private jet. Maybe he's shyer than the tabloids have made him out to be. Maybe he‘s testing me, making sure I’ll be the perfect spouse for him. Whatever this is, I won't let it distract me from my filial duty.

  "It is quite wonderful your grace," Ellory admits, standing up from her crouch and holding a slim baby-tee in her hands. She gives me somewhat of an accusatory look, and I'm not sure how to respond. Is she actually chiding me, silently, for not picking up my clothes?

  "Ellory," I say with a laugh, "you don't have to do this."

  "We all have our duties, your Grace," she says, smiling as she deposits my errant shirt on top of the laundry bin. "You're to wed a handsome foreign prince and live forever in luxury. I'm to pick up your messy room."

  Quite the tongue on this one, I think to myself, watching her move innocently across the room to dust the blinds. Perhaps I shouldn't have given her so much leeway to speak. "He is handsome," I reply, flopping backward onto the bed. I’m dressed in nothing but my tight white underwear, carefree with the window breeze running down my naked front while the silk sheets envelope my slim behind. "Oh, those eyes..."

  "So blue..."

  I lean up on my elbows. "Blue?"

  "Like the castle moat at dawn..."

  Ellory's finished with that lamp yet she continues to brush the feather duster across its brass handles, her eyes not on her work but on some far-off point past the near wall.

  "Ellory." She doesn't hear me. She's lost in her own fantasizing, and I don't know what about. Toras' eyes are green - famously green. The color of a thick rainforest far from civilization. Mine are blue but surely she's not thinking about me. Then who?

  "Ellory," I say, sitting up straight on the bed. "Whose eyes are blue?"

  The dusting stops. Ellory pauses a moment, then turns like a rabbit toward my shut door.

  "Oh, um... I believe I should help get the table set, your Grace."

  "Ellory..."

  She's already moving on her slippered feet toward the door, the feather duster laid on my antique desk. Something for me to put back on my own, I suppose. Ellory clearly has no time to put away her tools. She has places to be.

  She's hiding something.

  "So sorry your Grace, I know how peculiar you are about your dining habits and I do so want to make sure the new girl doesn't mess things up!" Ellory undoes the deadbolt, the door lock, and the chain (I'm a prince - I have to be 'kept safe') and throws the massive oak door open with more strength than I'd expect from someone her size. "Pardon!"

  "Ellory!" I've said her name so many times that it's lost meaning, yet I have no other words. I haven't dismissed her; she's leaving of her own accord. And she's hiding something from me. Me! The prince!

  I could impel her to tell me. Technically, I could have her head off for this, though of course I'd never do something that extreme. The best I could fathom would be, perhaps, a bit of tickle torture, and even then I'd probably giggle as much as the victim. I've never really been one for punishment - for dishing it out, at least.

  I stand up from the bed and walk around the room in thoughtful circles. Blue eyes, the same color as our moat. Who could she have been thinking about? I know the servants enjoy television and get out to the cinemas on their off-days yet I suspect she
thinks of no actor. Someone who came to the courtyard earlier must have struck her fancy. A guard, perhaps? She hasn't worked her for too long though I assume she knows virtually all of her coworkers. They work, live, and gossip with each other every night. Prince Toras didn't bring his own royal guard with him - just his step-mother, and...

  "Oh my god." I pull my hands up to my open mouth, staring at the door Ellory shut just minutes prior. "Him!"

  Him! That man! The blonde one with the flute! I recall his easy gait and his wan smile and, now that I actually care to remember, his blue eyes! Funny, I wouldn't exactly call him my type, though he is handsome. A sort of California surfer compared to my more rugged fiancee. I suppose he's a lot of girls' type.

  He's Ellory's type. And as far as I know, he's single.

  I rush toward the closet. Perhaps my maid won't make a move, yet if I inform this servant-friend of my husband's, or at least make it known to him that Ellory has a crush, the chance for romance will be high. I can already see it as I tear through my wardrobe, looking for something dark that will let me lurk through the castle on my way to the servant quarters. Ellory and he will fall in love, and then they'll come on the honeymoon with us. Or perhaps Toras and I will meet them after, on our second or third honeymoon. Our kids can grow up together once Toras and I adopt, and once I gather my husband's blessing to elevate her status she'll be able to have a maid of her own. Then Ellory can commit full-time to being my best friend.

  Ludicrous, I know. Yet the fairybook story propels me to pull a long-sleeve turtleneck over my naked torso and thrust my legs into a pair of slim-fit black jeans. I don't quite look like a servant, in their earth-tone or black & white outfits, yet no one ever accosts me when I wander about in my plain clothes. When I'm dressed in royal fashion with my ruffled shirts and pressed pants people greet me obsequiously and bow and indirectly ask for favors. Dressed in something like I currently have allows me to at least pass through the of the castle while avoiding the less-scrupulous eyes.

  I slip my feet into the quietest pair of sneakers I can find and quickly dash out, slamming the door shut behind me. Tonight's dinner will be a perfect chance for Ellory and the blonde man to meet. They won't be allowed at the table since they lack royal blood, yet they won't be part of the supper staff either. I'll grant Ellory a dispensation and surely Toras won't have his royal flautist (or whatever he is) do something so menial as carrying a tray of wine.

  Yes. It must happen. For love and romance and all the glorious beauty I've come to love in this world.

  By the time I make it to the Servant's quarters (with only two curious looks from passing servants), I realize I probably should have enquired as to this would-be Romeo's name, or at least his suite number. Luckily I don't have to search too far down the hall of quaint apartments to find his. There's music coming from his room - a rarity here, and surely something only a foreigner would do.

  "Definitely seems like a wild situation. I don't really know what to say."

  That's him. I know it. I heard him speak but a few words earlier, yet the slightly drawled American accent is the same. As Prince I could barge in and demand him to speak, flirt, or marry with Ellory. He may be a foreigner (and an American to boot!) but he's still a guest in my castle under the reign of the prince. Well, technically he answers to my King brother, but I still hold sway.

  I won't do any such thing, of course. This requires a polite tack, so I walk calmly up to the door, quietly regret wearing something so blandly casual, and clear my throat.

  I pause before I knock, hearing another voice.

  "If I had any way out of this, I'd take it."

  That voice.

  The prince?

  Toras?

  My King-to-be?

  "But I don't," continues that deep, forceful voice I'm ready to serve. "I have to marry him. That's that."

  "I feel ya."

  "And that's all there is."

  Hearing him talk in full sentences gives me an odd feeling. I wish I could see him face-to-face to read his expression, because his voice sounds... sad. Like he wishes things were different.

  What is he doing in the servant's quarters anyway? I know for a fact that he and his step-mother were given an entire tower for their stay. If he wanted to speak with his man then he could have called the American up to his royal suite.

  I look down the empty hallway and understand. It's the same reason I came down here instead of calling the man up. Royal walls have many ears, and anything you say can be overheard. Anything discovered by prying ears can be twisted and come back to bite you later, even if your words were innocent, bland, or vague. I've had it happen to me; every royal has, including, I assume, Prince Toras.

  He's come here to confess something. To have a conversation that won't be heard in the empty, unguarded rooms surrounding them. The servants are all at work, so there's no one in the adjoining rooms to overhear.

  Except I'm here, listening where I shouldn't be to a secret my fiancè wants to keep.

  And when I sit and think in silence while the American tries to console my fiance, I come to realize the topic. The message is simple and clear:

  Toras doesn't want to marry me.

  When the notion strikes me, all at once like a hammer to a forging sword, I rush out of the hallway, ready to lock myself away for the rest of my life.

  Chapter 7

  Toras

  A jolt runs up my spine when I hear a knock at the door. All the other servants should be upstairs preparing for the meal; I won't be overheard while I speak with Isaac, the only person in this or any kingdom who I trust. Standing with tension knotting heavily in my shoulders, I put a hand on the doorknob and turn it slightly, pulling it open just enough to make out the face of the old butler.

  "Dinner," he says without preamble, "will be served in the dining chamber promptly at six, your Grace."

  I knew that. I still don't mind the reminder - so long as the butler just arrived and hasn't been lingering outside the door while we talked. Now I'm kind of wishing we kept the music loud to drown out my privileged complaints.

  I really do still think I have a point. Isaac would never say it because he knows me too well, but other people would find my dilemma utterly unsympathetic, for one reason in particular: Royals rarely stay loyal to their spouses. King or Queen, Duke or Duchess, or even lowly Earl, all will have an affair with a visiting countess or a noble party-goer or (if he thinks he can get away with it) a commoner. The women have their own dalliances too, of course: they're just more subtle about it. Either way, the sex lives of the royals become the entertainment fodder of everyone from neighboring royals to the most rural village small folk.

  It's not the gossip that concerns me, at least not when it comes to my duty. Truth is, I only want to be with the person I marry. Yet when that person is a boy, my well-meaning plans become vexed.

  The butler knows none of this about me; it's hard to tell what he knows. His wrinkled face hides deep-set eyes that may be stoic or perhaps flinty. He's either a consummate professional or a right bastard. They sure know how to hire them here.

  "Thanks."

  With a simple word the butler nods in a slight bow and makes his way down the hall, back toward the real castle to go about his apparently manifold duties.

  "What time is it anyway?"

  "You've got about an hour."

  I look out at the empty hall.

  "One more hour of freedom, huh?"

  "It's not a death sentence, dude. You'll still be yourself."

  I keep the door open a moment, staring down the hall. There are things I could be doing right now upstairs. Greeting the servants, for one thing. Thanking them for putting this all on. They work hard and are completely ignored, I've found, no matter what kingdom you're in. I'd like to see more of the Femnosi castle as well, admittedly, and meet with the King before dinner if I could. He wouldn't be able to help me out of this, but I'd still like to know my future brother-in-law.

  Instea
d, I shut the door and lock it again.

  "You know," I sigh, "you might not be able to stay on once I'm married."

  "Yeah. Wait, what?"

  I resume my seat, brushing lint off the front of my pants. "I’m serious. You know I'd do anything to protect your not-assistant job. Once I'm married off and made King I'm not technically allowed a Royal Servant, since, y'know, the whole Kingdom technically serves me."

  "Well can't you... I mean, you're the King, right?" Isaac brings the tip of his thumb to his lips, biting it lightly in a nervous gesture I remember from our youths. "Change the rules?"

  I expose my palms. "I can't even pick who I get to marry, Isaac."

  He bites harder, then nods.

  "Well then. Sounds like we're both kind of fucked."

  I wear a bitter smile as I shake my head.

  "I don't like it anymore than you do, old friend."

  Chapter 8

  Anya

  "But why doesn't he like me, Ellory?" My shoulders sit slumped with my hands in my lap. We're back in my chambers, me sitting on the bed with my knees together and my face a dour mask, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I don't want to cry about this. I'd feel like a fool; I should have known. No royal would want me, especially not one like Toras. The plaintive question still comes from my mouth despite my self-pity, my eyes questioning and locked on my sympathetic, unhappy maid. "Why?"

  "The Dominari differ greatly from us, your Grace," she says, finally taking a seat beside me. I basically had to shout fire in a crowded room to get Ellory to return. The head castle guard had more important things to do than send a single maid to the prince's room, yet through my insistence brought on by my frustration I got his ass into gear. Ellory surely expected something dire to be happening for me to delay dinner like this. Instead, all she got was a stupid boy on the verge of sobbing into his pillow.

 

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