Were they royalists, thrilled to have their missing princess back—along with her hanger-on pseudo-sister? Or were they nationalists like the man who’d shot her, pissed as hell that an American would dare taint the centuries-long reign of the House of Villani?
So yes, maybe the footmen were mocking her. That was waaay down on her list of things to worry about.
With a rush of relief, she recognized the portrait of 18th century Queen Nicola on the wall. This was the right wing, with her room and Kelsey’s. The footman in his purple vest nodded at her before knocking on Kelsey’s door.
Geez, even that was different. She’d spent her whole life first sharing a room with Kelsey and then just barging into whatever room Kelsey slept in whenever she felt like it. Not here. Alcarsa Palace might as well have been surrounded with a ten-foot-deep moat of protocol. It was Mallory’s job to stay on top of all of it.
Kelsey sucked at 1) respecting and 2) following protocol. From day one, she’d resisted her princess-hood, pushed back hard against all the protocol she knew, and pretended to ignore what she didn’t. Mallory was the one who’d dived into it, determined to not let her sister embarrass herself.
That meant pushing down her annoyance every single time she came to a door, waiting for the footman to knock, waiting for him to announce her presence to those within, and waiting for the royal okay to enter.
Footmen. Why were they all men, anyway? There weren’t any gender-specific requirements to the job.
She did not wait for him to open the tall, gilded door more than a crack before pushing inside. “I’m here.” Mallory waved a green velvet box in the air. “With the aquamarine and pearl earrings from the Royal Jewel Vault. There really ought to be a pneumatic tube system to get stuff from down there up to your room. It is a hike.”
“Some people have treadmill desks in their office to get exercise while working. Instead, you get to wander a palace filled with priceless antiques and artwork.” Kelsey looked up from where she sat in the middle of her canopied bed and raised one blond eyebrow. “I think you’ll live.”
“Um, you’re the one who complained about having to wear these gorgeous earrings tonight.” Earrings that were more than a century old. Earrings previously worn by princesses and queens. Kelsey might not care about what she derisively called “princess perks,” but Mallory loved jewelry. Jewelry with a history? Just touching them gave her a thrill and a chill. “I think that gives me license to bitch about retrieving them.”
With a glance at the gilt and porcelain clock on the mantel, Kelsey’s snide demeanor changed to one of sympathy. “Oh. You got lost again, didn’t you? That’s the real reason you’re complaining.”
“I think my brain was still dazzled by everything I saw in the vault. I got turned around when I came out and ended up on the wrong floor by, ah, the green sitting room?”
“That’s it. I’m getting Elias to get you a map. The Royal Protection Service must have schematics of this place they use.” Kelsey’s boyfriend used to be her bodyguard. Before love became one heck of a conflict of interest in his career. He still worked for the RPS, just training new recruits.
After carefully setting the jewelry box on the corner of the bed, Mallory grabbed a pillow and thwapped Kelsey’s shoulder. Repeatedly. “They have maps? Why didn’t you give me one when I got here?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think of it. I’ve always got someone escorting me. I’m sorry.” She scrambled off the bed to give Mallory a tight hug. “I forgot that you only get bodyguard protection when you leave the palace.”
Yup. Because regular ladies-in-waiting didn’t get security. To the rest of the LIW on the palace payroll to the senior royals, it was just a job.
But for the non-blood-related sister of the princess who’d taken a bullet for the royal family, things were different. The guilt the House of Villani carried for her attack meant full protection when off palace grounds. Which wasn’t as awesome as it sounded. Not all the bodyguards were as scrumptiliciously hot as Elias.
Putting the pillow back on top of the other seven with their pale lavender satin embroidered with golden peacocks, Mallory said, “Have him produce a map by morning and I’ll forgive you.”
“Done.” Kelsey popped open the case and put in the earrings. “Do they look weird?”
“They are stunningly beautiful.”
“Exactly.” She hurried into the closet/dressing area that was bigger than their entire Manhattan living room to look in a mirror. “Do they look weird? Because I’m not in a fancy gown or anything?”
Kelsey had come around to the idea that jewels and, yes, even tiaras were necessary in her new lifestyle. She had not, however, come around to the idea of wearing them every day.
“Your stylist suggested this particular pair. I’m quite certain they’re appropriate.” Mallory watched her sister push her blond hair behind her ears then pull it forward to cover them. Then flick the delicate golden drops. “If you stop fiddling and fussing with them.”
“The kids will think they’re weird.” Kelsey was on her way to a fundraiser for Moncriano Youth Services. Her job was to hang out with the kids and help them decorate sneakers. As a former graphic designer, she could whip their sketches into real designs on the computer by the end of the night. The gala guests would then bid on them for exorbitant amounts.
Seriously, it seemed like more than half of Mallory’s job was coaxing Kelsey into doing all the things she didn’t want to do.
Which, hey, was no different than her role as older sister and decades of prodding and pushing Kelsey into doing her chores. Or finishing her homework. Or writing college application essays instead of just creating logos and branding for her portfolio.
With 200 percent more patience than she actually felt, Mallory calmly said, “You have to mix and mingle with the glitterati first. They’ll appreciate your earrings. Remember, you have cachet now. There are people who are attending just to say they rubbed shoulders with a princess. And they’ll spend more money in an attempt to impress you. If you look the part.”
The mirror perfectly reflected the snarky side-eye Kelsey rolled at her. As well as reflecting the famous Villani violet eyes…that looked nothing like her own green eyes.
Not to mention that standing next to her sister drove home that Mallory’s auburn hair and rounder cheeks bore zero shared resemblance. Really, it was a miracle their parents had kept the secret of the two sisters not actually being blood-related for so long.
Kelsey elbowed her. “That sounds a lot like the speech you gave me two hours ago.”
“Why should I reinvent the wheel? Sometimes efficiency is more important than innovation.”
“Stop with the corporate speech. I’m going, I’m going.”
Mallory did a quick zip around the room, picking up a wrap, a clutch, the iPad, and the phone. “Here you go. Remember, I’m only a text or a call away if you need me. Or, more importantly, if someone is wearing a really hideous outfit and you need me to snark about it on your behalf.”
Kelsey froze, mere steps from the door. “I wish you could come with me.”
She gave each of these official appearances the same combination of disdain and fear that used to mark the first day of a new school year. The fact that people looked up to her, wanted to just be in the room with her, still didn’t sit right at all. And that snowballed into the fear that they’d be let down once they did meet her. Disappointed in what was, until May, an average American woman.
Gah. She wanted to be there to back up Kelsey. They’d always been an inseparable team. Mallory forced lightness into her voice and a reassuring smile onto her lips. “This isn’t a huge event. No entourage needed, I promise, or you bet I’d be exactly one and a half steps behind and a little to your left.”
“But what will you do tonight?”
That was the question, wasn’t it?
Ano
ther night holed up in her suite watching Netflix? She’d done enough of that recovering after her injury. If she went down to the family dining room, she’d be alone with Kelsey’s real family. Her aunt was nice, but her grandmother was downright scary. And even though it was just family, meals with them felt formal and forced.
Life in a palace was definitely not the fairytale existence she’d always pictured.
“If I told you, you’d be jealous. You might try and weasel your way out of going to have the awesomeness of hanging with me. So get out of here. Princess Kelsey won’t ever be late on my watch.” With a hug, she shooed her sister down the hallway.
It was only a—relatively—few steps further into her own suite of rooms. As soon as Mallory shut the door behind her, the quiet hit like a wall. The pale blue-tasseled canopy that matched the floor-to-ceiling drapes muffled all sound. It couldn’t be more different than the squawks and honks and yells that had punctuated their brief time in Manhattan.
She might as well be in a damask, tasseled coffin.
At least her hospital bed had the beeps of the IV and the pulse-ox monitor. Sheesh.
This couldn’t be the sum total of her nights alone for the next six months. If she would’ve been brave enough to take on Manhattan, she could darn well take on the capital city of a European country the size of Maine.
Mallory grabbed her cell phone off its charger and dialed the communications center for the Royal Protection Service. “Klaus, let’s blow this pop stand.”
“I don’t understand, Miss Wishner. You want to blow something up? Unless it’s a balloon, we frown on that sort of thing.”
Moncriano took in most of its income from tourism, so the citizens were amazingly fluent in English. Except for idioms. And pop culture references. Which Mallory never remembered until she’d said something that sounded ridiculous when translated literally.
“Ah, no. But I do want to leave the palace.”
…
Prince Christian, heir to the throne of Moncriano, prowled the circumference of his office like it was a kennel.
There was an American movie—History of the World, Part 1—Kelsey had made him watch. Mel Brooks as King Louis of France buried his face in the boobs of every woman at court. Then he’d look up and say, “It’s good to be the king.” Sure, King Louis lost his head to the guillotine, but before that, he’d had a good run.
It was, however, not good to be the prince acting as king. Not now. Not here.
In fact, it sucked giant monkey balls.
“Does France still use their guillotines?” he mused. “I mean, scientifically? It does seem faster and more humane than hanging.” Moncriano had banned capital punishment over a century ago, so he wasn’t exactly up on the subject.
“Your Highness? Do you mean that you want to borrow a guillotine from France? To display, perhaps?”
Christian squeezed his eyes shut. Crap. The three people in the room hadn’t magically disappeared. Worse, they hung on his every damn word. When he’d just been a prince, they’d only hung on maybe every fourth word. But ever since he’d started covering for his absentee father?
Well, he could evidently toss out a random “guillotine” reference and get an offer to have it appear.
He dug his fingers into the base of his skull. Even though it was pointless. Right now, a jackhammer could go to town on his neck muscles and the headache still wouldn’t go away. Protocol-overload headaches tended to stick around.
“No, ah, Lord Lionel.” Probably. Could be Lord Lorenzo. All of his father’s courtiers and advisors sort of blended together into a giant bowing and scraping Transformer. With another tip of the hat to Kelsey for turning him onto that action schlock-fest. “Thanks for being on the ball, but a rusty guillotine would probably set the wrong tone for the State Dinner.”
Crap squared.
That was what they were discussing still, wasn’t it?
Because before the State Dinner meeting, there’d been one about the Harvest Festival. Another just around security for the State Dinner. A meeting with envoys from three African tribes that wanted to hold their mediation in his neutral country. Updates on the temporary housing of the families affected by the fireworks factory explosion. Two different foundations. Daily security briefing. Three speeches to review. And a draft itinerary for a trip to Australia that wouldn’t happen until spring.
Christian wanted to pay attention. To give every meeting and suggestion due consideration. But he’d hit overload, oh, about seven weeks ago. Which had been one week into starting to take on his father’s duties.
Because his father had gone AWOL.
Not physically. He stayed in his suite here in the palace. Wouldn’t come out. Wouldn’t talk to even his children. Wouldn’t show up for a single official duty. All because—according to the Court physician’s best guess—he was stuck in a sort of PTSD from having his missing daughter reappear after twenty-four years and then almost losing her again to an assassination attempt only a few weeks later.
The world didn’t stop turning, though. And their country sure as hell didn’t stop needing a leader. Despite having a fully functioning parliament and a spanking new prime minister, they still needed a king.
Or, at the very least, for Christian to act like the king.
“If you’d rather, Your Highness, we could take up these discussions with someone else in the royal family. Your aunt, Duchess Mathilde, perhaps? Or the Princess Genevieve?”
Christian noticed that his ferocious grandmother didn’t get suggested. Ha! They were cowards. He’d sic the Grand Duchess on them as punishment for boring him to the brink of, well, guillotine ramblings.
It was an exit strategy that would probably turn out for the better, overall. “That’s an excellent thought. You know, my grandmother has more State Dinners notched on her tiara than anyone else in the palace. Why don’t you get on her calendar?” Then he turned around in time to watch them, yes, blanch.
“Certainly, Your Highness. As you wish.” Two of them bowed and scraped and hightailed it out.
That left him with Sir Kai, who crossed his arms and stared down the prince from steely gray eyes.
“That was mean. Punitive, I dare say.”
Christian didn’t see the point in lying to his private secretary. He trusted him to know everything—and figure out how to spit-polish his screw-ups whenever necessary.
Nothing wrong with sidestepping the truth, though. “You can’t deny that my grandmother could do a State Dinner blindfolded.”
“Oh, she knows everything about them. And will run roughshod over those two to get it done exactly to her specifications.”
#NoGuilt
Christian shrugged as he dropped down onto the blue velvet couch. “Works for me. Seeing as how I have no thoughts on seating arrangements, music, the menu, the flowers, or the fucking order of toasts.”
Kai arched a salt-and-pepper eyebrow. “You don’t usually swear in meetings.”
“Well, I’m not in a fucking meeting anymore, am I? I’m just stuck here with you.”
“A thousand thanks, Your Highness,” the older man said drily. “I feel so seen. So necessary. Appreciated.”
Christian didn’t have that many people he could wholly let down his guard around. His immediate family—not the hangers-on innumerable cousins, great-uncles, etc. who’d gladly elbow each other out of the way for a photo op with anyone higher up the line of succession. His best friend, Elias. Kai. Probably less than a dozen, all told.
So when he did drop the layers of formality and protocol and propriety…well, sometimes he went too far.
His temper got shorter, his patience thinner, with every day this façade of a cover-up continued.
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. You don’t deserve to catch the shit mood I’m trying to slough off.”
“I’ll s
urvive. As a matter of fact, I do believe ‘mood receptacle’ is in my job description.”
“Really? I thought it was ‘emotional spittoon.’ Did you jazz that up in hopes of a raise?”
Kai turned a chair away from the desk to face the prince. He expertly flipped up the tails of his upper-level palace staff uniform before sitting. “Any one thing in particular that sent your day off the rails?”
“I had”—Christian paused to do a quick tally on his fingers—“eleven meetings today, as well as a photo shoot and a luncheon. None of them were with the one person I actually wanted to speak with.”
In a far softer, kinder tone, Kai asked, “Your father’s doctor, perhaps?”
“He was supposed to give me a report yesterday. He’s late.” Christian wasn’t pissed that an underling wasn’t snapping to do a prince’s bidding. He was pissed that his father wasn’t well, wouldn’t allow anyone to help him, and that the doctor didn’t have any answers.
“I’ll go out on a limb and assume that means there’s no news.”
“Well, that in and of itself is an update, isn’t it? And only takes twenty seconds to craft into an email. No, he’s dodging me. Today’s luncheon was in honor of some staff at his own hospital, and Dr. Elonth still gave me the slip.”
“Did you consider he might’ve been tending a patient?”
All day? The man didn’t perform sixteen-hour transplant surgery. And, if that was the case, he would’ve had an assistant send word to the palace. No, this was intentional. For fuck’s sake, Christian was being ghosted by this doctor. Another colloquialism he’d learned from Kelsey.
So yeah, he let his irritation hone his tone into the sharpness of an assassin’s blade. “The king’s his patient. And he shouldn’t leave the palace until he sees him.”
“If that were so, we’d need to bring up a cot for him. Seeing as how the king has repeatedly refused to speak with him.”
Kai was always the standard-bearer for the voice of reason. Logic. Calm.
Ruling the Princess Page 31