A Royal Shade of Blue (Modern Royals Series Book 1)

by Aven Ellis

  He puts his knife down and places his hand on my knee, and when I gaze up at him, I see sincerity is back in his eyes.

  Then I get it.

  I’m the one person, outside of his very small inner circle, who has treated him like Christian. He doesn’t want me to change to fit into his family, and my speaking more formally, in his mind, was like the first domino to fall, when nothing could be further from the truth.

  I smile at him. “You’re lucky. Because of this incredible roast beef, I shall forget that comment,” I say, teasing him. “And for good measure, I promise you I’m still your Fiona even when you are being ridiculous.”

  King Arthur observes us with interest.

  “When I watch you two,” King Arthur says, pausing to take a sip of his wine, “I feel as if I’m watching two people who have known each other much longer than you have. How is that possible?”

  “We spent hours talking before we met,” Christian says, staring at me with love in his eyes. “We got to know each other very well.”

  “I assume you were the reason for Christian’s sudden urge to go find himself in the United States?” King Arthur teases.

  I blush. “Yes.”

  “Meeting her in person just made our bond stronger,” Christian says, ignoring his food as he talks. “It was as if we had been dating the whole time and meeting in person made it official.”

  I nod. “Despite the time difference, lectures, and my internship, we made the time to talk.”

  “We made each other a priority,” Christian explains. “But I knew from her first message that Clementine was special. She was funny. I loved that.”

  “I like that about you, too,” I say, my heart growing warm. “You were sharp. Clever. I couldn’t wait to talk to you again.”

  “Same,” Christian says, gently squeezing my knee underneath the table.

  “We talked about everything,” I continue, eager to share our story with King Arthur. “From the state of the world to our dreams to our favorite TV shows and what we liked to eat.”

  “Don’t ever serve her fish,” Christian says. “Clementine has a mortal fear of it.”

  “Ha, at least I like cilantro.”

  “It’s coriander, and it’s disgusting. It tastes like soap.”

  “Did you eat soap to make that comparison accurately?”

  “I’m ignoring you.”

  “Ha, you’d like to try,” I say, “but you can’t.”

  “No, I can’t,” Christian says, smiling lovingly at me.

  I feel King Arthur’s gaze from across the table. I look at him, and with a jolt, I realize his blue eyes, identical to Christian’s, also reflect his emotions.

  I see sadness in them as he studies us, which makes my heart break for him.

  He must feel me staring at him, because he picks up his cutlery and busies himself with the task of eating.

  Christian fills the void, asking his father about his upcoming trip to Denmark, and I listen quietly as I hear the various events on the king’s schedule, including dinners with the queen, prince, and prime minister; visits to various charities and meetings; and trips to local museums in Copenhagen.

  I see how the king’s eyes change as he talks about this visit. They light up when he talks about meeting the people of Copenhagen and explains how he always loves the exchanges that come when he interacts with people on the street.

  He’s like Christian, I think. He enjoys people who engage him with what they do in their day-to-day lives. King Arthur likes learning about what they do and likes drilling down on it, asking questions and seeing how other people live.

  He enjoys hearing about people who live differently than he does, who have normal lives as opposed to those chosen by birth.

  “Let me guess, Her Majesty’s diary is full that week?” Christian asks as he finishes his meal.

  I nearly choke on my Yorkshire pudding. This is the first time all afternoon Queen Antonia has been brought up.

  King Arthur blots his lips on a napkin and lays his knife and fork across his plate to signal he’s finished. The household staff springs into action like ninjas on a mission, and as I’m about to take a bite of roasted potatoes, my plate is taken from me.

  “I-I’m not finished,” I say.

  The room is silent.

  The man with my plate appears perplexed by my comment.

  Christian clears his throat. “When the king is finished, we are all finished with the meal.”

  Oh, crap.

  My face burns in humiliation. I had no idea that was a rule. I thought I was doing well with the curtsy and keeping my knees locked into that most uncomfortable position at that practically protractor-measured angle.

  “Miss Jones may finish in her own time,” King Arthur insists.

  The man with my plate immediately sets it back in front of me, and now I’m really embarrassed.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m so sorry. I eat very slowly. Ask Christian. It took me forever to eat two pieces of fudge. I’ll drive him batty in the future because I’m such a deliberate eater. So you can take it away. I’m fine.”

  I stop to take a breath, and Christian and King Arthur are both smiling at me.

  “You know, that rule is woefully outdated,” King Arthur declares. “Handy for a state dinner when you want to get things moving, but since Queen Antonia isn’t here to remind me we don’t deviate from the house rules, I’m fine with it. It has to be annoying to have your plate removed mid-bite.”

  “I’m enjoying my meal so much,” I say. “I’m not a woman who picks at her food. I want to eat everything, and I’m already wondering what the menu card means when it says assorted desserts. I’ll probably want to try all of them, and now I’m rambling, so I’m going to eat now.”

  I quickly spear a roasted potato and eat to shut myself up. King Arthur laughs at my admission—a true, deep laugh—and Christian and I join him.

  “I see why my son is smitten with you,” King Arthur says, smiling at me.

  I keep my gaze down as I eat, my face growing hot from his kind words. I swallow and force myself to meet his gaze.

  “Thank you, sir,” I say.

  He clears his throat and shifts his attention back to Christian. “In regard to your question, Christian, your mother does have a full diary next week with her patron charities and will not accompany me on this trip.”

  “Let me guess. She’s busy caring for her subjects and couldn’t come to meet Clementine today?”

  I freeze mid-bite. I know she wants nothing to do with me, and there’s no doubt in my mind she is probably mortified the king is sitting here in my presence, let alone letting me keep eating my meal after he’s finished.

  “No, I didn’t invite your mother,” King Arthur says slowly. “I wanted to meet Clementine and see how you were without the dramatics that come with Her Majesty.”

  Whoa. I blink in surprise, and from the way Christian’s back went straight, I think he’s surprised, too.

  “She will be furious,” Christian says. “Of course, she would have refused the invitation, but she would have demanded you come nowhere near us. I told you what she said about Clementine in that text message.”

  “I don’t care,” King Arthur says. “You are my son. I want you to be happy, and I wanted to meet the woman who got you out of your flat and into the open with a smile on your face.” He turns toward me. “I’m glad I’m having lunch with her today. In fact, once Clementine is finished with her meal, I’d like to show her the private gardens before dessert—if you don’t mind me borrowing her for a little walk.”

  I nearly choke on my food. The king wants to walk with me alone?

  “Are you all right with that?” Christian asks.

  I put my cutlery on my plate to signal I’m finished. The same man who took my plate before quickly reappears and clears it before I can blink.

  I know this is an important invitation, even if it terrifies me.

  The King of the United Kingdom is going to m
ake sure I’m here for his son and his son alone. I can feel it with everything I am.

  And whatever his test is, I intend to pass it.

  “A walk before dessert would be lovely,” I say.

  I’m nervous as I stroll with King Arthur through the most beautiful garden I have ever seen. Spring bulbs are blooming everywhere, and the grass is rich and green. Normally, I would savor this walk, stopping to take a video and pictures, but not today. This isn’t a walk to enjoy the English countryside.

  I know this is a make or break moment. If the king doesn’t approve of me, it will make Christian’s life harder.

  But no matter what he thinks, or if he tries to dissuade me from continuing a relationship with Christian, King Arthur will find I’m just as formidable as Queen Antonia when it comes to my love for Christian.

  “These gardens are beautiful, sir,” I say as we begin our stroll.

  “Please, you can call me Arthur,” he says. “At least when it’s just us.”

  I smile. “Okay, Arthur,” I repeat.

  “Sandringham is my joy,” King Arthur explains as we walk. “I’m happiest out here in the country.”

  I nod. “I know Christian loves his country walks with Lucy. We plan to go on one tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”

  “My son has changed because of you,” King Arthur says. “Those pictures yesterday—”

  “Those were all my fault,” I interrupt. “I talked him into taking them. I only wanted him to have some fun, and I swear I’ll take my lead from him in the future and be very, very care—”

  King Arthur stops and puts his hand on my arm. “No. Don’t stop being you. Don’t you see you are breaking him free from his fears?”

  I’m shocked by his words. I keep quiet and let him continue.

  “Christian knows what his duty will be,” King Arthur says. He begins to walk again, and I fall into step next to him. “But he hasn’t found his own direction yet. He has successfully hidden away at Cambridge. I know he hates the constraints placed upon him. I understand that better than anyone, as I grew up groomed to become a king. Alexander has it worse, but he’s gone the opposite direction. He sees this as his chance to have fun and push the envelope before people expect him to be serious. Alexander doesn’t care if people like him for his title, whereas Christian has a mortal fear of people using him to get close to the monarchy.”

  King Arthur is pouring out his heart to me. I know he trusts me, and I decide to do the same.

  “I fell for Christian before I knew he was a prince,” I say as we walk. “He introduced himself as CP Chadwick. I’m not a follower of the royal family, so I had no idea what that stood for. I know our relationship won’t be easy because of who he is, but I know what I feel for him. I will do anything to be with your son, Arthur. He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Christian is strong, intelligent, and compassionate, and he treats me like a normal girl.”

  “What do you mean by that?” King Arthur asks.

  I draw a breath of air. “May I tell you something in confidence?”

  “Of course.”

  “When I was a teen, I had a brain tumor,” I say slowly. “It was benign, but I had to have it removed. The surgery left a little paralysis on the right side of my face. I still have to have periodic scans to make sure everything is fine, and so far, everything has been. But because of it, my parents have been ultra-protective.”

  “I’m sorry, Clementine. That’s frightening as an adult. I can’t imagine what you went through as a teenager, or what your parents went through when they were told.”

  “I feel guilty,” I say. “Because my tumor changed them. It was a terrifying time for all of us. But ever since then, I ceased to be Clementine. I’m now the child who had a tumor. Fear drives them to treat me as if I’m fragile. Christian knows all of this, and I had a scare this winter. Christian was the only one who allowed me to speak freely about my feelings. He never wavered in how he treated me. He never saw me as fragile. Christian was strong for me, and I knew he would walk with me on whatever road I needed to take. I also knew I would still be Clementine to him.”

  I look at him, and I see recognition dawn in his eyes.

  “With each other, we are normal,” I say softly. “I’m not the girl who had a tumor. He’s not a prince. We love each other for who we are when the labels are stripped away. The one gift I want to give Christian is the ability to be himself, to find a way to embrace his duty as the amazing man he is and let people into his world.”

  King Arthur’s eyes hold steady on me.

  “Christian has kept a high wall around himself, and I don’t blame him,” King Arthur says, shifting his gaze straight ahead. “His family life hasn’t been what I wanted for him, and it guts me that I am part of the reason he is the way he is. I know you know what I mean.”

  I swallow hard, emotions swelling in me as I think of how Christian grew up.

  “This is why I wouldn’t let him run into the military,” King Arthur says. “It was another wall to hide behind. I want him to take a year and figure himself out. If he’s called to serve after that time, I will stand behind him. But now you’ve entered his life, and the walls are already lowering. I know you love my son for who he is. I hear it in your voice. I see it in your eyes when you look at him.”

  “I do, Arthur,” I say, my voice growing thick. “I know the road for us won’t be easy, but when you love someone like I love Christian, you get through it.”

  “You’d have to give up a lot to be with my son,” King Arthur says seriously.

  “I’d have to move here,” I say as we walk. “I’d have to start over with a new life, one with intrusions from the press and rigorous protocol, like learning to eat faster,” I tease.

  King Arthur laughs. “There are absurd rules, but some perks as well, like getting a tea tray with exactly what you want on it, delivered to you daily.”

  “What if I don’t drink tea?”

  King Arthur stops walking. “What blasphemy is this?”

  “I hate it.”

  “You two better end things now, before the British press finds out.”

  We both laugh.

  “In all seriousness,” I continue as we move down the garden path, “I would give all that up for a life with Christian. I’d find a way to share my love of antiques and history as part of my royal duties, if we progress to that point in the future. I’d support Christian in pursuing his dreams, too. There will be awful days, but every couple has them, royal or not. At the end of the day, if I can hold his hand and rest my head on his shoulder, then that is all that matters.”

  I feel King Arthur staring at me. I lift my gaze to meet his, and he stops walking again.

  “You are everything to my son,” King Arthur says. “You are his one. No matter what happens ahead, what arguments or bad days you have, I want you to remember that. I see what you have, and you both have my full support.”

  Tears of gratitude fill my eyes. “Thank you.”

  King Arthur takes my hand in his and squeezes it affectionately. “The Dowager Queen and Queen Antonia are not going to be so accepting of you. But after talking to you, I know you are strong, a fighter. You love Christian as the man he is. You are formidable in your own right, remember that.”

  “I will,” I promise.

  “All right. Let’s head back home. I think it’s time I return you to my son.”

  We turn around on the path and head back the way we came, but everything is different now. There’s a warning in Arthur’s words of what lies ahead, but I know King Arthur will be on our side. The road ahead is going to be hard, with roadblocks and challenges I can’t yet imagine. But no matter what they are, Christian is worth it. We’ll navigate them as a team.

  First, however, I need to do one thing.

  I need to address Christian’s overreaction to the way I spoke at the dinner table. I need to reassure him I’m not changing to fit into the system but adapting when I need to. It doesn’t mean I’m becomi
ng a different person.

  And that conversation needs to happen right now.

  Chapter 19

  A Private Waltz

  King Arthur leads me to the entrance of the grand ballroom. One of his aides, butlers, valets—I still have no idea who all these different people are—but someone on his staff told us Christian was waiting there.

  “I think our walk is done,” he says, smiling as he stops in front of the closed doors. “I have no doubt my son is eager to see you.”

  “I enjoyed getting to know you, Arthur,” I say, smiling up at him. “Thank you for spending that time with me.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he says. “Enjoy the rest of your stay in Cambridge. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you in London soon.”

  My heart races from his words as he walks away. Christian and I haven’t spoken that far ahead, but I can see that as my future, too.

  I push that thought aside and open the doors to the ballroom. I gasp as I enter the majestic room. I’ve stepped back in time, with a glorious red, patterned antique rug over the hardwood floor, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and weapons and armor displayed on the walls.

  Christian is leaning against a piano, his suit jacket off, watching me as I step across the floor.

  “This is spectacular,” I say, staring up at the ornate ceiling as I move across the room.

  “I had to show you this ballroom; I knew you’d love it,” Christian says.

  “I do.”

  “The weapons on the walls might distract a bit from the romance, however,” Christian teases.

  I stop in front of him, and he draws me into his arms.

  “How was your walk with Father?” he asks, fiddling with a strand of my hair.

  “Your father—Arthur—is lovely,” I say, sliding my hands around his back, feeling the luxurious fabric from his dress shirt against my fingertips, followed by the warmth radiating from his skin. “I did address him as that, Christian.”

  He flinches from my words, and I know he knows where I’m going.

  “I’m sorry I was such an arse at lunch,” Christian says, continuing to stroke my hair. “I heard this strange formal speak coming out of your mouth, and it flipped a switch in me. I love you as you are, and I don’t want you to change for the family business.”