Ruling the Princess

by Christi Barth

  Yes, they were making progress. She’d suggested taking less staff on official trips. Theo had been thrilled at her idea and the way that she was participating rather than just fighting his process. But what if it wasn’t enough to change his mind? “I need you to do one more thing.”

  “If it’s to accompany you to the music thing, the answer is hell, no. In fact, I’m going to make sure I’m off the palace grounds so there’s no way Gran can drag me into it.”

  “This is an easier favor. I need you to take Theo out. Oh, take his friend Simon along, too.”

  After taking a beat, Christian said, “Theo the auditor?”

  “Yes. You had fun hanging out with him at Kelsey’s Fourth of July barbecue.”

  “He’s a decent enough man. But that was an accident. I don’t usually take the royal accountants or lawyers out for a banging night of fun.”

  “This isn’t fun. It’s work. I mean, Theo needs to think it’s fun.” She sprang up, spreading her arms wide. “I want you to treat him to a night that only a prince could provide.”

  “Genny, he’s not allowed to take bribes. And from what I saw of his file, the man wouldn’t accept one, anyway.”

  “Not in a million years,” she agreed. Theo was as devoted to presenting the truth as she was to presenting a favorable view of the royal family. It was one of the many things she was discovering to be admirable about him. “This isn’t a bribe. He’s all bogged down in the minutiae of the numbers. You saw what happened at the Order of the Peacock ceremony.”

  Her brother gently pushed her arms back to her sides. “I saw what you engineered to happen. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out you did all that to make a mockery of him and his audit?”

  “I didn’t mean to mock him. I simply wanted to show how ridiculous some of his suggestions were. Show that he’s only looking at the columns of numbers rather than factoring in tradition and honor and the expectations of our subjects.”

  “That’s a valid argument. Will you admit that you overshot a bit?”

  “Yes,” she said, hunching her shoulders. “But this plan is better. No possible embarrassment. Take him, oh, I don’t know, to watch the Grand Prix in Monaco?”

  “Genevieve.” Christian put his palms on her cheeks, locking eyes. “Listen to me. This audit isn’t a personal vendetta by Lord Theo.”

  Really? Because it had felt that way from the start. Something she’d forgotten as they became closer. But it might be an important line to tug. Did Theo have a grudge against the crown he was working out—coincidentally—through his audit?

  She wouldn’t ask Ambra to dig into that. She’d do it herself.

  Christian lifted her chin. “The man’s doing his job. Any interference on our parts will only reflect poorly.”

  “Which is why we’re neither bribing nor threatening him. Merely opening his eyes. Despite my poor handling of it, the Peacock ceremony did make an impact on him. He realized that there are times when tradition trumps thriftiness. He’s starting to see that it matters to the people that we are larger than life. That it’s how we perform our jobs. How we make a difference.”

  “You’re very persuasive. How the hell has he held out against you this long?”

  Genny knew her brother meant about the budget. But she was wondering how Theo kept holding out against sex.

  They came closer and closer every time they were together, but all of his, ah, incursions stayed above the waist. It was clear how much they wanted each other. Did he think the king expected a proposal before he was allowed to have sex with a princess?

  “It’s a mystery,” she said flatly.

  Christian fisted his hands at his waist. “I’m not taking him to Monaco. That would be an unnecessary extravagance. But I’ll take him and his friend out. Show him that the House of Villani are just decent people doing a job.”

  “That would be perfect.”

  “You’ll owe me. Especially if his friend’s a jackass or a boring pencil pusher.”

  “Which one would be worse?”

  “I’m not sure.” They laughed, and Christian folded her into his arms for a hug. “We’ll get through this, Genny. We’ve gotten through worse.”

  “True. But we’ve also got a far higher bar than most. Surviving our sister’s disappearance and our mother’s suicide doesn’t mean that things only a tiny bit less dramatic aren’t still rough.”

  “Then we’ll keep it light.” He kissed the top of her head before letting her go. “Do you remember when you learned the Game of Thrones theme?”

  Genny shrugged. “You’re hard to buy a birthday present for. You toured all the sites in Iceland and Croatia that year, you were so crazy for the show. I thought it’d make you laugh.”

  “It did. Can you still play it?”

  “Of course.” He really needed to stop making fun of her ability at the keyboard. Genny also played the harp and violin, whereas Christian’s trumpet teacher gave up on him after five months. The big lug couldn’t keep a beat if there was the entire Royal Battalion Band backing him up.

  “How about you rock that when Gran asks you to play this afternoon? Your own small insurrection.”

  She laughed, then considered it. The theme was a beautiful song, if you didn’t know how much bloodshed and pillaging it brought to mind. It would be fun. Sneaky fun.

  “I can’t believe they’re going to let you run this kingdom one day, Christian.”

  In a surprisingly somber tone, he muttered, “Me, either.”

  Chapter Twelve

  After he’d stayed out celebrating Bastille Day with random Frenchmen at a bar, the shrill ring of a telephone was not how Theo wanted to wake up. Especially not when he glanced at the screen and saw that it was only three in the morning.

  “Simon, if you’re just going to crow about beating some child in New Zealand at Fortnite, I may have to kill you. And every court in both of our lands would deem it justifiable homicide.”

  “Okay, that is why I’m still up. But it’s not why I called. I’ve got the telly on. Can’t understand it, of course,” his friend grumbled.

  Theo groped for the glass of water he’d set on the nightstand. “Oh, no. Don’t be that Brit. The sun does, indeed, set on your empire now. Get over it. Not every station in the world has to broadcast in English on the rare chance someone with Union Jack underwear is watching.”

  “You’re very verbose in the early morning.”

  “I’m talking to stay awake.” He drained the glass in three long gulps. “To ignore the possible start of a hangover. And to keep from running down the hall to inflict a serious punishment for waking me up.”

  “Shut it, you wanker. This is important. Breaking news. It looks like there’s a fireworks factory on fire.”

  Theo yawned. “That’s…ironic. And dangerous. Sad, but since when do you give a rat’s ass about local news in the middle of the night?”

  “The factory’s in a crowded part of the city. You know how they have all the houses wall to wall here, with no room in-between? Lots of explosions. Smoke. Casualties.”

  “Sounds bad.” Theo sniffed the air. Seemed fine. No orange glow where the blackout curtains refused to meet. “But seeing as how your room is six doors down from mine in this hotel, I gather we’re not being evacuated, or you’d have led with that. At least, I hope you would’ve.”

  In a slow, deep voice, Simon said, “The royals are there, mate.”

  Theo jackknifed off the pillows. “At the exploding, burning factory?”

  “Yeah. Not at the factory, obviously, but down at the scene.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Where was the remote? He patted all across the king-sized bed, swore. Scrambled out to find it on the dresser and turn on the television. The screen filled with shots of tourist destinations. Great. The fucking hotel channel. And Theo had been gone so
long from Moncriano that he didn’t remember which channels were news. He started flicking through.

  In a voice about half an octave higher from pique and pissyness, Simon said, “I don’t speak the language, but I can certainly recognize the big guns in House Villani when I see them in the shot with the emergency vehicles. Even the new one, with the cast on her arm is there. And I know this sounds impossible, but I think Prince Christian’s working as a firefighter.”

  None of that was what Theo needed to hear. “Simon, what about the princess?”

  “I saw her in two shots. Right in the thick of it, not off on the sidelines.”

  “Be quiet for a second,” he ordered. Between the news crawl on the bottom of the screen and the announcer, the gaps in info filled in quickly.

  A summer lightning strike hit the illegal (no wonder it was located so poorly) fireworks factory. It used to be a metalworks, so apparently shrapnel injuries were high. Because while at the edge of the capital city, it was surrounded by tightly packed homes. Several blocks were being completely evacuated. There was concern about many more explosions were still ahead. Concern that more buildings would catch fire.

  Concern that they’d lose track of who was in or out of their houses. People might not know if their loved ones were safe. Concern the explosions could hit gas lines.

  Theo flicked off the television before he heard any more “concerns.” He’d had his fill. One filled his head and tightened like a noose around his heart.

  Was the princess all right?

  Was she safe?

  He couldn’t sit here, flipping through channels, hoping to glimpse that blond hair at the edge of a frame. He couldn’t wait.

  “Get dressed,” Theo ordered. “We’re going over there.”

  “Come again? I’m…I’m not a firefighter, I’m an accountant,” Simon blustered. “And, not to be a broken record, but I don’t speak the language.”

  “Neither does Princess Kelsey. You can help her. It’s a bloody crisis, Simon. I’m sure they need all the extra hands they can get. Meet me at the elevators in two minutes.”

  Theo glanced out of the window as he yanked on jeans and a black tee. Starbursts of color filled the sky. Pretty—if you didn’t know how much damage they were inflicting.

  An illegal factory undoubtedly meant packing in as much quantity as possible was the higher priority over safety. The initial explosions were bad enough, but how fast would the fire spread and take out the surrounding homes?

  He checked his wallet for the royal credentials that gave him access to the palace. Hopefully flashing them would get him past the inevitable cordons of police to keep gawkers at bay.

  Nobody would stop him from getting to the princess. Theo had to make sure she was safe. Out of harm’s way. Not posed like a figurehead on top of a fire engine trying to look royally motivational.

  She had to be okay.

  …

  Sure enough, the royal crest on his ID bought them entry to the staging area of the danger zone. Thick, black smoke didn’t so much swirl as suffocate, a blanket keeping out all the oxygen. The row of four-story, gabled houses that shared connecting walls ended at what had to be the factory. There wasn’t so much a building there anymore as there was a formless inferno.

  Fire had already engulfed at least seven houses. It had also jumped the alley to whatever buildings were behind it. Looked like the firefighters were also trying to contain it from spreading across the road. The roar of the fire, shouts through bullhorns, blasting water, and screaming people made it a truly horrific scene.

  “This is bad,” Simon summed up grimly.

  Theo couldn’t reply. Not with his heart suddenly lodged in his throat, worried about the princess. Where was she in all of this?

  Simon grabbed his arm and pointed to a crowd of people lined up at a tent on the near side of the fire engines. “I think I see the princess in there.”

  They were only a few steps closer when Theo saw her, too—and realized that Simon meant Kelsey. Wrong princess. But duty kept him moving forward to where she stood by flats of water bottles, mylar safety blankets, and a stack of clipboards.

  “Your Highness, do you need any help? I brought reinforcements.”

  The lights rigged up in the corners of the tent showed the stark relief on her face. And that of her bodyguard, who eyed the panicked crowd with surprisingly visible concern.

  “Oh, Lord Theo. I’m so glad to see you. Genevieve ordered me to stay here and keep everything moving. But I’ve never been in a situation like this. It’s a little, ah, overwhelming.”

  “It is for everyone,” he reassured. “This is my friend Simon Brunner. Make him your right-hand man. He’s British, so he’s all about keeping calm. Except when watching a soccer match.”

  “Hi.” Kelsey shook Simon’s hand before he could even get off a nod of his head, let alone a bow. “We’re supposed to pass these things out, but only one at a time, because it could be a while before more supplies come. The clipboards are to gather information so we can figure out sooner rather than later who is missing.”

  Simon was born with a crumpet in one hand and a family tradition of royal-watching that bordered on the ridiculous, thanks to their new money and a desperate desire to join the ranks of nobility. So he was able to smartly execute a respectable bow/nod combo. Too bad the mostly American Kelsey wouldn’t appreciate it.

  “Right then. You stay back here, behind the table, and I’ll walk about the line with the clipboards. Just give a shout if you need me, and I’ll be back in two shakes.”

  “Thank you, Simon.” Relief beamed off her brighter than the spotlights on the news helicopters circling overhead.

  Theo couldn’t push aside his worry a moment longer. Politeness and protocol would have to freaking get in line behind his escalating panic. “Where’s your sister?”

  Kelsey toyed with the strings of her acid-green hoodie. “Umm, I’m not sure? She was coordinating between different emergency crisis divisions. Incident response teams? I’m not clear yet on what everyone is called in this country. Police and fire are here, along with volunteer fire brigades. They set up a medical triage tent. There’s a holding area for the media. The Red Cross team should hopefully be here soon to do more than I can. Oh, and another division to rule out terrorism?”

  Literally every sentence Kelsey uttered made his blood run cold. If it was terrorism, there could be even more explosions in other buildings. What business did Genevieve have running interference in such a dangerous situation?

  “Just point me in the direction you saw her last.”

  “Lord Theo? I’m sure she’s safe.” Kelsey nodded toward her bodyguard. “Lathan would let me know if anything happened.”

  “Of course, Your Highness,” he murmured smoothly. “Still, now that you’ve got Simon, I’d like to offer her my aid.”

  “Mmm-hmm. You’re just being a good citizen, is that it?” Kelsey fisted her hands on her hips and stared him down. “Do you really think you’re fooling me or just yourself? It’s as obvious as a heart attack that you care for Genny.”

  The woman saw right through him.

  Fine.

  Theo couldn’t let her make it public knowledge, though. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Princess.”

  She rose up on her tiptoes. Arched one eyebrow. “Hogwash. And once this crisis is over, we’re going to have a longer talk about all of this. For now, if you want to find Genny, try the medical tent.” Kelsey pointed to an area that was thankfully set further back from the flames.

  “Thank you.” He bowed.

  A loud crack split the air. Instinct had him ducking, along with everyone else under the tent. A smell similar to scorched hot dogs layered on top of burned wood, and then a pink and green starburst appeared, the top of it barely above the rooftops. A second later, sharp pings rang out. Shrapnel? />
  It didn’t matter. Theo couldn’t stay under the relative safety of the tent while Genevieve was out there, God knows where, doing God knows what. Despite the flare of the flames and a sizzling noise that couldn’t be good, he hurried out.

  Prince Christian and his bodyguard Elias were unspooling a hose, dragging it across the street. Their faces were already black with soot, streaked where lines of sweat dripped. Even though Simon had told him the prince was fighting the fire, Theo hadn’t entirely believed until seeing it with his own eyes.

  The man who would be king someday, who in his book shook hands and played polo for a living, was in the scrum with his subjects. Literally fighting for their lives and property. Putting his own life on the line.

  It rocked Theo to his core.

  The day he’d watched Genevieve comfort the families and patients at the hospital—that had put a significant crack in his foundation of disdain for the royal family.

  Watching the prince selflessly toil away shoulder to shoulder with his subjects under life-threatening conditions? It crumbled away the last of it.

  Clearly, the House of Villani were not the spoiled figureheads he’d always painted them to be. They did care—deeply—for the people in their kingdom. And their actions spoke far louder than the column totals of expenses he was supposed to be trimming.

  He didn’t find Genevieve talking to the media, although apparently she’d already made a statement. He didn’t find her at the police command post, although she’d already been there, too. She’d promised approved overtime for everyone necessary to wrap this up safely—promised to pay it herself if Parliament didn’t follow through. The princess had also promised to visit Parliament later today to make a personal plea for the funds.

  Then she’d offered all the Royal Protection Officers not currently on duty to come and help. The quote already being passed around the scene? “My safety and that of my family doesn’t matter unless our people are also safe.”