“Right,” said Lord G briskly as soon as she sat down at the table. “Here’s your copy of today’s schedule.”
He slid a crisp piece of paper across the table. Carly picked it up and scanned the agenda on it.
6:30 a.m. – drive to Alaborn
7:00 a.m. – shopping with Lady Corinne
10:00 a.m. – meet Crown Prince Humphrey
11:00 a.m. – meet LePointe family
Noon – luncheon with communications minister and his family
1:00 p.m. – meet Overton family
2:00 p.m. – visit royal chapel and cemetery (P)
3:00 p.m. – meet tourism minister
4:00p.m. – tea with Prime Minister Clement
And so on, until 8:00 p.m.
“Three hours for shopping?” was the first question Carly asked.
“Trust me, my dear, you need it.”
Since she was still barely awake, Carly let that dig slide. “Isn’t Lady Corinne Arthur’s mother?”
“Yes. And a member of one of Evonia’s greatest noble families, the Irvines.”
“If she doesn’t have time for Arthur, why does she have three hours to take me shopping?”
“Because you are Princess Charlotte Frederika Isabelle Valmont.”
Carly suppressed a frustrated sigh. That didn’t seem like a fair answer. And this didn’t seem like the ideal way to learn about her new country or her future duties. “Could we maybe go to the national museum at some point? I noticed that it’s really highly rated on most tourism websites . . .”
Lord G gave her a stern look. “There is nothing you can learn in a museum that you can’t learn from me.”
“Oh . . . kay.” Carly looked back down at the schedule. “What’s this p in parentheses at two o’clock?”
“Short for ‘photographers.’ There’ll be a few at the cemetery.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it’s good publicity, my dear. You are good publicity. Our people love you.”
“But I’ve never been here before,” said Carly, confused. “They don’t know anything about me.”
Lord G smiled. “Which is why you’ll be so easy for them to love. You’re about to become the country’s biggest celebrity. Shall we get going?”
***
The twenty-minute drive to the capital city was a longer version of yesterday’s car ride: Carly and Lord G in the backseat, Seton and the driver up front. Carly was grateful that Arthur wasn’t tagging along. This was stressful enough as it was.
Photographers. Celebrity. Our people love you. Her mind kept looping back to that. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that a future queen would be famous in her own country. But it felt creepy. Was her picture going to end up on Evonian news sites? In Evonian tabloids?
“Now then,” said Lord G as the car sped down the single country road that led away from the estate. “Think of me as your museum. What questions do you have for me?”
Carly tried to put the photo op out of her mind. She looked down at the schedule. “Well, for starters, can you tell me more about these families? The LePointes, the Overtons . . .”
“Oh dear.” Lord G sighed. “You’re not familiar with the names of our noble families, are you?”
“Well,” said Carly, a little defensively, “that’s not the kind of thing that was covered in the guidebook. And I haven’t had time to check every corner of the Internet for information about Evonian nobility.”
Lord G grimaced. “The less you rely on the Internet, the better. I can see I’m going to have to start with the basics.”
The basics took up the whole ride to Alaborn.
“. . . The line of succession goes through the oldest child. Queen Emilia was the oldest of five children. Her younger brothers and their descendants are all members of the royal family but they’re very far down in the line of succession. The queen’s heir, as you know, is Crown Prince Humphrey. And since he has no children, his heir would’ve been his younger sister, Princess Isabelle—my wife. After she died, our son Frederick—your father—took her place in line. And then when Frederick died, you took his place.”
It was weird to hear someone call her dad Frederick. Carly’s mom had always called him Rick. In fact, Carly remembered doing an Internet search for his name once, back in elementary school. Rick Valmont hadn’t turned up any helpful results. If they had, she would’ve found out about this royalty stuff a lot sooner.
“And who’s after me?” Carly asked. “I mean, what happens if I don’t have any kids, like Crown Prince Humphrey didn’t?”
“Then,” said Lord G grimly, “the crown would go to Isabelle’s next-oldest descendant. Your cousin, Arthur.”
Carly let that sink in. “I guess that explains why he dislikes me so much. I’m the only person standing between him and a three-hour shopping trip with his mom.”
Lord G snorted in amusement. “You do have a way of cutting straight to the heart of things, don’t you, Charlotte?”
“Um, thanks?”
“You’ll want to be careful what you say around Lady Corinne, though. Honesty doesn’t have much charm for her.”
Carly straightened up a bit. “I know how to be careful about what I say, m’lord. I’m captain of the debate team at school.” She instantly regretted saying that—as if one extracurricular activity made her qualified to be a queen.
“Well, being captain of the ‘keep quiet and smile’ team would’ve been better,” said Lord G. “But we’ll work with what we’ve got.”
Carly tried to push down her annoyance. “If you don’t mind my asking, m’lord, how come you’re the one walking me through all this? I mean, no offense, but you’re not even a member of the royal family. Not by birth, anyway.”
Lord G smiled wryly. “Very true. But I married Isabelle when we were both very young. I spent years in the midst of royal traditions. And after I lost her . . .” He trailed off, and Carly saw his face twitch a bit, as if he was fighting to control it. Then he snapped out of it. “I had to steer Frederick through everything. Your great-uncle Humphrey couldn’t be bothered. Humphrey can never be bothered. And the queen didn’t have the time. She trusted me to guide Frederick. And despite how that turned out, she’s trusting me to guide you now.”
Carly wanted to ask what he meant by that. What had gone wrong with her dad? Other than the fact that he’d died so young, of course.
But by now they were entering the capital city. The downtown area was a beautiful cluster of stone and brick buildings packed close together along winding streets. Looking out the car window, Carly felt as if she’d been transported back in time. Or into some fairy-tale setting outside of time.
What am I doing here?
The panicky thought rose up out of nowhere. Carly squashed it down. You’re Princess Charlotte Frederika Isabelle Valmont, she told herself firmly. You belong here as much as anybody.
But it was harder to believe than she would’ve liked.
***
Lady Corinne was beautiful, fashionable, and perfect. And Carly disliked everything about her.
She was as polite as her son was rude. But it was fake politeness. At least Arthur’s unpleasant behavior seemed genuine.
She chattered pleasantly the whole time she was with Carly, never letting Carly get a word in. She shuffled Carly through a massively overpriced department store, selecting outfits for her to try on. She decided which clothes and jewelry and perfume to buy. “Charge it to the Count of Linland’s account,” she told the clerk breezily when they were finally done.
And she completely ignored Seton, who was with them every step of the way. For some reason this annoyed Carly the most.
By the end of the shopping excursion, Carly had ten bags of clothes she didn’t need. And zero patience left.
Lord G was waiting for her in the car, reading a book. “Don’t worry,” he said without looking up. “Now that you’ve got Corinne out of the way, everyone else will be delightful by comparison.”
“Easy for you to say, m’lord,” Carly said dryly. “Are you just going to sit in the car and read the whole day?”
“No, I’ll be with you on all the other stops. To make certain you don’t embarrass me.”
“I’m touched.”
“You should be,” said Lord G, finally closing his book. “Plenty of people would give anything to be able to embarrass themselves on a world stage.”
Carly wasn’t sure whether to be amused or unsettled by that comment. She ended up feeling both.
***
Prince Humphrey, her great-uncle, lived in a massive stone house. Lord G insisted it wasn’t a castle or a palace, just a house. The crown prince was a quiet, awkward man, a little older than Lord G but much less fit. He looked as if he didn’t move around much. Or smile much.
They sat in an elegant, airless room and ate scones. After Lord G made the introductions, the conversation limped along. The scones were dry, but Carly ate several just to have something to do in the long stretches of silence.
“Your house is beautiful,” Carly told the prince.
“Thank you.” Then nothing.
Next she tried, “This is my first time visiting Evonia. I know about all the big tourist draws, but I’d love suggestions for places to go that are off the beaten path. Do you have any recommendations?”
He frowned, thought for a moment, then said, “Not really.”
Her last-ditch effort was, “That’s an amazing portrait on the wall. Who is it?”
Prince Humphrey looked where she pointed. He squinted at the portrait as if he’d never seen it before. “Oh. That’s Queen Charlotte the First.”
“Every royal and noble household has a portrait of her,” Lord G added. “There’s one at Mortmain Castle that I’ll point out to you, my dear.”
Carly felt a fresh spark of irritation. So the one interesting thing in this room turns out to be totally unoriginal. Great. “Well,” she said. “This one really brings her to life.”
Prince Humphrey shrugged. “I didn’t choose it. The queen picked out all the furnishings for Valmont House years ago.”
After the way Lady Corinne had handled the shopping, Carly couldn’t say she was surprised. It seemed as if being directly in line for the throne didn’t involve making many decisions for yourself.
She picked up a fourth scone.
***
Back in the car, Carly stared at the schedule and bit her lip.
“That went well,” said Lord G cheerfully.
“Uh, did it?”
“Certainly. You said nothing inappropriate.”
“That’s your measure of success?”
Lord G shrugged. “Well, how did you think it went?”
Boring. Frustrating. “Prince Humphrey seems—”
“Useless? Yes.”
“I was going to say sad.”
Lord G squinted thoughtfully at her. “You know, I never considered that.”
Carly suppressed a sigh. What is WRONG with these people?
And how can they expect me to become one of them?
7
At two o’clock that afternoon, Carly stood in front of her grandmother’s grave. Her Royal Highness, Princess Isabelle Emilia Alexandra Valmont was engraved on the elaborate headstone. The grave next to it belonged to her uncle, Sir Walter Valmont. Visiting these graves was even stranger than the times her mom had taken her to visit her dad’s grave back in Ohio. At least she’d occasionally thought about her dad, imagined what he was like. She had no frame of reference at all for this dead grandmother and uncle.
“Can I ask how Arthur’s dad died?” Carly said to Lord G, who stood beside her. She pointed to Sir Walter’s headstone.
“Car accident,” said Lord G grimly. “Walter was a walking stereotype to the very end. Much like his son.”
The words hit Carly like a bucketful of ice. How can he talk about his own son that way? “What does that mean?”
Something over by the cemetery gate caught Lord G’s attention. “It means you’d better look serious and somewhat grief-stricken because the photographers are here.”
Carly whipped her head around to follow his gaze.
“Don’t look at them,” Lord G said irritably. “That defeats the purpose. Just carry on as you were before. You were doing very well.”
Carly glared at him. “I wasn’t pretending.”
“Even better. Carry on with that. It’ll be good for the public to see you paying your respects.”
It boggled Carly’s mind that Lord G seemed so comfortable with the paparazzi intruding on this private moment. More than that: he’d invited them. And he seemed to think it was Carly’s job to perform for them.
Carly stepped to one side so that Seton blocked her from the photographers’ view.
“None of that,” said Lord G. “Seton, give us some space.”
“You’re supposed to protect me,” Carly hissed at Seton.
“Protect you from actual threats to your life,” said Seton. “Not from your life itself, your highness.”
Her bodyguard retreated to a spot about twenty feet away from them.
This is ridiculous, Carly fumed silently. This whole day is ridiculous.
And it wasn’t even over yet.
***
The prime minister of Evonia smiled at Carly across yet another plate of scones. Carly felt like she had eaten at least thirty scones today. She picked up another one.
“How lovely that you’re finally seeing Evonia,” said Prime Minister Clement. “And are you in finishing school?”
“Am I—finishing school? Yeah, I’ll be starting my senior year in September—”
“No, dear,” Lord G cut in. “Finishing school is a type of boarding school for young ladies. You’re attending a public school in the United States, yes?”
“Oh. Yes. Not a boarding school, no. But it’s a good school. I mean, my teachers say I have a good chance of getting into a top college.”
The prime minister looked intrigued. “You plan to go to university? That’s interesting. Most of the Valmonts don’t. Do you know what you plan to study?”
The honest answer was no. She hadn’t settled on anything, had been too torn by everyone else’s different expectations for her. But when she opened her mouth, she realized a different answer was on the tip of her tongue. “I—well, I think I might major in something like international studies in undergrad. And then maybe go to law school after that.”
“Very interesting,” said the prime minister. “What sparked your interest in law?”
“I like researching things,” said Carly, perking up. “And convincing people to agree with me.”
The prime minister grinned. “A highly useful skill.”
“Yeah. And . . .” She set her scone down, choosing her words. “I’ve always liked fixing things that aren’t fair, or things that just don’t make sense. For example, when I was twelve, my brother Rafe wanted a pet rabbit, but my mom and stepdad weren’t on board with that. I came up with a list of reasons why it would be a good idea. Rafe would take care of the rabbit, so he’d learn to be more responsible. And we’d get it from an animal shelter—rescuing a rabbit that needed a home.”
“Did it work?” the prime minister asked very seriously. Carly appreciated that he was actually listening to this slightly silly story.
She grinned. “It did. Rafe still has that rabbit.” She saw Lord G raise his eyebrows at her. Clearing her throat, she added, “Anyway, that kind of educational background could be useful for me down the road.”
“I suppose so,” said the prime minister cautiously. “Though it would be more useful for someone with my job. Your career is going to be in public relations, really. Managing your image, your family’s image.”
The half-digested scones in Carly’s stomach suddenly felt very heavy.
“Oh, but I’m not downplaying it,” the prime minister assured her. “It’s very important that royals know how to behave. And it’s not as easy as it loo
ks.”
“Yeah,” Carly sighed. “I’ve picked up on that.”
***
The sun had set by the time they got back at Mortmain Castle. Carly had eaten so many scones that she’d barely touched her dinner. Being at a fancy restaurant with strangers—another noble family that was vaguely related to her—hadn’t helped. She felt totally drained as she trudged inside with Lord G and Seton.
In the front hall, Lord G pointed to the portrait at the top of the staircase. “Queen Charlotte the First. I like our painting better than the crown prince’s, personally.”
Carly crossed her arms and studied the portrait. Charlotte the First was middle-aged in this one, swimming in jewel-studded gown with puffy sleeves and a puffy neckline. She’d been younger in Prince Humphrey’s portrait. Younger and less bored-looking. “Well, it’s bigger.”
Before Lord G could reply, Arthur’s voice echoed across the hall. “Hail the conquering heir to the throne,” he called from the top of the stairs.
Lord G let out a loud sigh. “I’m going for my nightly walk. Charlotte, Arthur, I’ll see you both in the morning.”
As soon as he was gone, Arthur came down the stairs, blocking Carly’s path.
He held up his phone. “Looks as though you had a good day. If the media can be trusted. You’re all over the gossip sites. I suppose you do look good from a distance.”
Carly bit the inside of her mouth for a moment. Then she said calmly, “I think I look just as good up close, not that it’s anyone’s business.”
“Wrong on both fronts,” said Arthur smugly. “First of all, up close it’s clear that you’re unpolished and ignorant. You don’t know anything about Evonia. You don’t have a clue how to be a princess. The charm of your outsider act is going to wear off fast.”
Carly sucked in her breath—but clearly Arthur wasn’t finished.
“And secondly, it’s every Evonian citizen’s business. You’re going to represent them to the world someday. They own you, and you have to give them as much of yourself as they ask for. Pictures, interviews, parades where you stand on a balcony and wave. That’s your job. You stay in your lane, or you get disgraced. And do you know what the Valmont family does with its disgraces? Erases them.”
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