The King And The Kindergarten Teacher (The Rebel Royals Series Book 1)

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The King And The Kindergarten Teacher (The Rebel Royals Series Book 1) Page 9

by Shanae Johnson


  There was a note of desperation in his voice when he spoke to her. A pleading in his gaze for her to understand. She did understand.

  She understood that the feelings she was certain he was developing for her were inconvenient. She understood that he was increasingly powerless to do anything about them as they grew. She understood all of this because she felt the same way.

  She didn’t say any of that. She didn’t need to. She knew that it was as clear to him as it was to her. She simply had no plans to resist it.

  “If I don’t see much of you over the next few days … I hope you enjoy your time here in my homeland.”

  He inclined his head. He turned on his heel. And then he was gone.

  “Ah, you don’t want him to show you around,” said Alex. “He’ll take you to the state house to see where our laws are made, or to the mint where our money is printed, possibly even some battlefields. All boring things.”

  “Not for a teacher,” said Esme.

  Alex grimaced, as though he’d forgotten Esme’s profession. “Well, then you definitely need an expert on the fun things to do in Cordoba. Please allow me to be your guide.”

  “May I come too, Uncle Alex?” asked Penelope.

  “Of course,” he said. “It’s high time you study the fine art of royal recreation.”

  “Are you sure,” said Esme. “We don’t want to take you off your schedule or be a bother.”

  “My job as the second-born son is to traipse around the country and look good while doing it. You could look it up. It’s a constitutional law.”

  “It is not,” giggled Penelope.

  “Well, they’ll never know that because we’re not going to the state house.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Wonderful job with your speech the other day, your majesty. I’m given to understand the Almodovars approached you about joining with their maritime enterprise?”

  “That’s not all I hear they want to join with, our good king.”

  A round of guffaws sounded around Leo’s office in the east wing of the palace. Looking up from his desk he saw a line of rotund torsos shaking in a cringe worthy mockery of out of shape belly dancers. Much of the nobility were older men who’d grown fat on the wealth their status and their ancient fortunes provided them. But also in the room sat many of these men’s sons, the next generation who would take over as gout and heart disease claimed their father’s in the end.

  “Did you not speak at all of agricultural trade during your time in the states, King Leo?” the soon to be Baron of Balansya asked.

  The blond-haired, baby-faced man was by far the youngest in the room; a year or two younger than Alex, if Leo remembered correctly. The current Baron of Balansya was at present bedridden, but still grasping firm to his title. Balansya was one of the most fertile regions in all of Cordoba, with coffee beans being their best crop.

  “I didn’t only speak with the Almodovars about maritime opportunities,” said Leo. “I reached out to a number of other countries and industry leaders. Many will be at this weekend’s Union Day celebration.”

  “Excellent,” smiled the young baron in training.

  In Leo’s mind, the training wheels were ready to come off, and the man could, and should, take full ownership of his family’s lands before his father ran what little profit remained into the ground.

  “What about the Almodovar woman?” pushed another of the old guard.

  “Yes, are we expecting a new queen soon?”

  These grown men were like teen girls gossiping at the lunch table. Leo could tell them that he and Lady Teresa had met and had a connection, of sorts. He could tell them that she’d agreed to come visit and pursue their potential relationship this weekend. But his mouth stayed shut for some unfathomable reason.

  “I still say my daughter is the best option,” said the Duke of Ebra.

  “Your daughter is sixteen years old,” said the Viscount of Jucar.

  The baron’s son discreetly pulled out his cell phone and began texting. Leo doubted it was to any friend or paramour. The young man was likely looking up stock prices of coffee beans. Coffee he could have with any girl he wanted, being a baron and not a king.

  Leo noted the Earl of Larida sitting in a corner with his head in a book as per usual. Daniel would read the ketchup bottle if it were the only thing available in the room with printed words. He and Esme would get along perfectly. Both liked to live in made up worlds rather than the reality. Earls didn’t have quite the same restrictions as kings either. Daniel was free to marry whomever he chose, within a certain degree. But that degree was more than Leo had.

  “Is the fate of our great nation boring you, Larida?” asked Leo.

  “Oh, no. Not at all. Carry on.” Daniel didn’t even bother to look up. He waved his hand, and his head disappeared entirely in the book.

  “I just figured you might have something to add to this conversation?”

  “About your intended bride, agricultural trade, maritime expansion, or statutory rape?”

  Leo bit his tongue so that he didn’t chuckle. He should’ve known his friend had caught every word of the conversations around him. Daniel simply wasn’t interested in them.

  The man was lucky they were close friends or Leo would throw him in the dungeons. But that would likely be a vacation for him. Sitting in a cell where no one would bother him. He could read all day and night to his heart’s content.

  “If that’s all, gentlemen,” Leo said. The phrase was a statement, not a question, that meant he was done with this audience. It was Leo’s favorite power as king. Besides, he did have a full schedule for the rest of the day that didn’t include entertaining the nosey lords of the realm.

  As the room cleared out, Leo leaned back in his desk chair. It was his great grandfather’s desk, but his father’s chair. Inheriting the desk made him aware of his responsibilities to this country, to his people, to his family. But the chair was what let him know that he was king.

  He’d come in here often as a child, sit quietly in a corner and watch his father conduct business of the state. He was always quiet and watchful.

  Outside the window, he heard giggling and laughter. Leo stood and peeked out the curtains. He saw the lush gardens his great grandmother had had installed. Guarding it along the path were stone dragons, a gift from Asian royalty that had once visited the island over a hundred years ago. Though the dragons were all in need of repair. He added that to his list.

  Finally, he found the source of the laughter. It wasn’t Esme. It was other children. He recognized a few as children of nobles who were staying in the castle for Union Day, including the Duke of Ebra’s teenage daughter. The girl smiled at a child, and Leo caught sight of her braces.

  He shuddered and pulled back from the curtains, but not before seeing a few younger boys at play. He remembered a time when he, Daniel, and Omar, the Marquis of Navarre, would run, and laugh, and play.

  They never played knights. They played soldiers as was part of their training as nobles. They never rescued damsels. Well, Daniel had brought it up once before being laughed down by Leo and Omar.

  Though the two could marry whomever they chose, Daniel and Omar were still expected to make a good match. Twenty years later, neither the marquis nor the earl had tied the knot even once.

  Back down in the gardens, the boys chased each other, nearly knocking down the two older girls. The girls giggled. But when an adult came into view, they all straightened up, just like good, noble children were trained from birth to do.

  Whenever his mother or father came near, Leo would also wipe the smile off his face and put on the blank expression expected of him. Penelope had learned to do the same. But not these past two days.

  His daughter grinned ear to ear when she was with Esme. So did Leo. Except today, when he had to turn his back on her.

  He had no choice. The more time he spent with Esme, the more he forgot his blank stare. The more time he was near her, he craved the next time t
hey’d be together.

  It was easy for him to imagine Pea and Esme laughing and giggling. They were likely somewhere in the city holding hands and having a fine time without him. Esme’s eyes were likely wide with wonder. Of course, they were. She was living inside a fairytale.

  She hadn’t noticed the poverty encroaching around the corner, or the repairs needed on the roads, or the politics brimming under the surface of it all. It was all magic to her.

  “You’re not yourself.”

  Leo turned to find that Daniel had remained behind. He’d closed his book and was studying his oldest friend.

  Leo shrugged and turned back to the window. “I can never be anyone else.”

  “Am I going mad, or is Leonidas Almeria waxing philosophic? That’s my role, and you can’t have it.”

  Now that they were alone, Leo did drop his royal facade and grinned. Daniel looked at him expectantly. But Leo wasn’t ready to tell the tale of the king and the kindergarten teacher. As long as he hadn’t started the tale, he never had to admit to the inevitable ending.

  “It was just a long trip,” he said. “And now duty calls.”

  “It always does,” said Daniel. “As the king, you can decide when and what to answer.”

  Having been king for more than five years now, Leo knew that wasn’t true. He answered every call his country put forth to him. It was his responsibility, and he would not fail.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cordoba was as close to a fairytale in real life as Esme would ever get. They’d spent the morning driving along the coast to see the fortress built to protect the early inhabitants from Spanish attacks from the west and French attacks from the north. The fortresses looked like mini castles. They were no longer inhabited by guards but were renovated into tourist attractions for the beachgoers.

  They made it to the city by the early afternoon. Esme’s jaw dropped with delight when she saw that some people still rode on horseback. Others in golf carts and small European cars. In and out wove bicycles and pedestrians down the cobbled lanes where tables and tents lined the walkway like a bazaar.

  Beyond the bazaar, at the end of the street, were a high street of expensive shops. There were also common staples like The Gap and Old Navy.

  After lunch, when they were making their way to the castle, Esme couldn’t help but notice the abundance of gardens and parks everywhere. It was a very walkable country, Alex told them. So much so that hikers and outdoor enthusiasts flocked to its pastures, mountains, and beaches.

  There were churches and mosques and temples at every turn. The people coming and going were every shade of the human rainbow. Some were covered from head to toe in bright fabric. Others were nearly bare in strips of fabric that left only a little to the imagination.

  “It’s like a utopia,” said Esme. But she had to amend her statement when they pulled up to the palace. “No, it’s paradise.”

  The castle was built into the side of a mountain. It looked like a small city that sprang from the earth. The stone looked more golden than like actual brick. The spires sparkled as they reached up toward the sky. Lush green foliage sprouted between some of the buildings furthering the notion that the castle had sprung fully formed from the ground.

  “That’s why the clouds moved in on what had previously been a fine day.”

  They looked up to see a man, who could only be described as dashing, coming down the steps of the castle. His skin was honey gold. His hair jet black. His huge, almond-shaped eyes were blue. His accent was somewhere at the center of a Venn diagram of British, French, and Spanish.

  “Oh, who let the refuse in here,” Alex groaned. But he smiled as he did so. He took two steps at a time until the two men met in the middle. Once forearms were clasped, they continued on with a complicated handshake, and then the two embraced. “Zhi, it’s good to see you.”

  “Your highness.” Zhi came down the steps and bowed to Penelope.

  “Hello, Duke Mondego,” said the little princess. “I should warn you. Uncle Alex flew in a chef to win the baking competition, and she’s very good.”

  The man’s blue eyes landed on Esme. “Oh, no. It’s not me.”

  Beside Esme, Jan gave a little wave.

  “Well,” said the duke, as he looked Jan up and down, “if her cooking is as lovely as her face, then I’m toast.” He reached for and kissed Jan’s hand.

  But before Zhi’s lips could make contact with Jan’s palm, Alex swatted them apart. “None of that. Don’t let him get into your head.”

  “I would do no such thing,” said the duke. “And because my sworn frenemy here doesn’t possess the manners to introduce us properly, may you allow me to present myself. I am Diego Zhi Wen den Bernadino, the Duke of Mondego.”

  “Wow, that’s a mouthful. I’m Jan.” Jan pressed her hand to her chest. “Jan Peppers of Jersey City. Um, may I present my friend; Esmeralda Pickett of Long Island.”

  The Duke reached for and kissed Esme’s hand. Thankfully, Alex didn’t swat them apart. When Zhi’s lips touched Esme’s skin, she felt a hint of warmth, but not a tingle. Definitely no sparklers.

  “Low blow putting someone in the kitchen as beautiful as this, your highness.”

  A lesser woman would’ve blushed and batted her eyelashes at the praise. Jan was not a lesser woman. If Esme knew her best friend well, and she did, she knew Jan would think the reference to her looks instead of her culinary skill was an insult.

  “Well, it just so happens I’ve hired a ringer myself,” Zhi continued when he didn’t get the response he was looking for from Jan. “A certain James Beard award winner.”

  Alex snorted. “Which is why you’ll lose. Again.”

  “I suppose Chef Peppers is a fusion foodinista?”

  “She’s a sorceress with spices.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to give your food a try.” Zhi winked at Jan, but still got her game face. He frowned and turned back to Alex, who was smiling with glee at his friend’s failure to entice his chef. “In the meantime, I hear wedding bells may be heard soon?”

  Jan and Esme looked to Alex.

  Alex’s smug grin dropped, and his hands went up as though a fire sprang to life before him. “Oh, no. Not me. He’s talking about my brother.”

  That knocked the wind out of Esme. “Leo’s engaged?”

  “Not yet,” said Alex. “But he is looking.”

  “King Leo needs to have a male heir,” said the duke. “Or our wayward prince here will take the throne when he kicks on, heaven forbid.”

  “You’re next in line after me,” said Alex.

  “Egad,” said the duke. “We all know that Pen is best suited for the job.”

  Penelope, who was leaning into Esme’s side nodded in agreement. The little girl was likely tired from all the day’s activity and needed a nap.

  “Speaking of the Pea,” said Alex, swooping Penelope up into his arms and rallying her, “we need to get her inside before she turns into a pumpkin.”

  “Uncle Alex, that’s make believe. And it was a carriage that turns into a pumpkin.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t read fairytales,” said Esme.

  Penelope shrugged. “They’re hard to avoid. I may have glanced at one or two.”

  Alex deposited the three girls in the capable hands of the Head of Housekeeping, Mrs. Dolevitt. The woman had a warm smile and a crown of fluffy white hair that bounced as she walked. She sent Penelope up with a maid and then turned her attention to Esme and Jan.

  As Mrs. Dolevitt led them down the hall of the old castle, Esme kept stopping and touching and looking and even sniffing things like a curious little puppy. The housekeeper was tolerant. She appeared to love the castle as much as Esme was falling in love with it.

  “How long have you worked here?” asked Esme.

  “My whole life. My mother worked here before I did, and her mother and grandmother before her. We are the longest serving family in the castle.”

  “You’re practically royalty y
ourself,” said Esme.

  “The only throne I’ve sat on is a porcelain one.” The older woman laughed. She looked to be of middle eastern descent. Somewhere between Spain and the tip of Africa, but to Esme’s ears, she rolled her R’s like a French woman.

  Esme stopped again when they passed a statue of a warrior with his sword drawn in preparation to face whatever monster might come his way. Just then, a low moan sounded from the walls. Logically, Esme knew it was likely pipes, but to her imagination, it sounded like a dragon preparing to attack.

  “Careful, dear,” said Mrs. Dolevitt. “There are a lot of repairs going on in preparation for the gala, so please excuse the mess and the noise.”

  As if on cue, the groaning noise sounded through the walls, practically vibrating the floor. Though she knew there were truly no such things as dragons, Esme’s imagination was already running away with her. What if there was a beast in the belly of the dungeons? Or a griffin on the roof. Would Leo come down from his throne and rescue her? Would she even see him again this weekend in this massive place with all these people?

  “I’m so sorry, my dears, but we weren’t expecting you. Typical of Prince Alexander. I’m afraid we’re quite full. All fifty royal guest bedrooms are taken.”

  “There’re over fifty rooms in the castle?” said Jan.

  “There are over five hundred rooms. Ten state rooms, forty offices, seventy bathrooms, one hundred staff bedrooms. And there are two ballrooms.”

  “You never have to leave,” Esme sighed.

  “In the early centuries, the queens of Cordoba never did,” said Mrs. Dolevitt. “Women are treasured in this country, protected.”

  “What was the last queen like?” asked Esme.

  “Queen Isabel was a good woman. Smart. Very beautiful. And kind. She took her duties seriously. She had many charitable endeavors. She and the king tried for many years to have children before being blessed with the princess. The queen’s greatest sorrow was not giving the kingdom an heir before she passed away.”

 

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