Royal Mistake #6 Page 6

  My brow furrows. “The black is fine. And I can get myself dressed.” My lips flatten to a line for a moment as I stare at her, waiting for her to finish her earlier comments. I finally decide to just ask. “How did you… I mean, how did you find out so quickly? Did Andrew—?”

  Her smile falls a bit at my question. “No, no, of course not. Forgive me for saying anything, Ms. Simpson. I spoke out of turn.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “You didn’t. And I didn’t mean to offend you. I mean, I’m not royal. I don’t have a title or anything—”

  “Yes, and that is what the staff have been discussing today. What we should call you now that you are engaged to His Highness.” She smiles again. “The rumors here never end—I’m sure you’ll learn that quickly enough. Though, the staff do try to maintain as much discretion as possible. We would never speak outside the palace, of course. But inside…”

  “I get it. I was a celebrity reporter for too long not to get it.” I nod at her, trying to return her smile. “I understand wanting to talk about celebrities as though it’s a sport.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly it.” Her shoulders drop as she realizes I’m not angry with her. “Most of us have been employed here our entire adult lives. Some even had parents and grandparents who worked for the family…” Her smile falls a bit. “We devote our lives. And, well, the royal family is our family. I hope…I hope you understand. I…I know you do, but I hope you won’t…” Her voice trails off.

  “I won’t. Tell them—if that’s what you’re asking.” I glance over at the dress and back at the woman. “Could…could you do me a favor?”

  “Of course, Ms. Simpson.” Her smile widens again. “Victoria. Whatever you need.”

  I nod. “Well, I have no idea what a reception for a king entails. If you could…I don’t know. If you could tell me what I need to do, maybe? I mean, I don’t know how to bow or anything—”

  “Oh.” Her brow creases and the smile falls from her lips. “Oh. I…I wish I could tell you. I do. But…” She glances at the dresses and back at me. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Simpson. Victoria. I’ve never been to a reception, either. I…I only received the promotion to lady’s maid when you arrived a few weeks ago. Before that, I worked in the kitchens and sometimes cleaning in the guest wing. But I…” She glances around, almost in a panic. “I could ask.” She nods. “I could ask Stanley—he’s one of the footmen. He would know. He…he likes me, I think and I—”

  I walk over to her, placing a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. You don’t have to ask anyone—I just thought maybe you’d know the protocol better than me.”

  She smiles at me and gives me a little curtsy. “Should you change your mind, I’m happy to ask. I’m sure someone would know, though I’d prefer not to have to ask Stephan unless you really need it. I…” She grimaces. “I’m sorry. I’m speaking out of turn again.”

  I shake my head, squeezing the top of her arm a little before I drop my hand. “No. I don’t want you to ever think you’re speaking out of turn—not around me, anyway. I can’t speak for anyone else who lives here, obviously, but I don’t want you or any of the staff thinking of me like that.”

  She does another small curtsy. “Are you sure you can dress yourself? I’m more than happy to assist—”

  “I can manage it myself, I promise.”

  She nods and turns for the door. She glances back at me before she exits. “Should you change your mind, don’t hesitate to pick up your phone.” She gives me a weak smile. “And if you decide that you need…you know.”

  “Help?”

  She nods, her smile widening ever so slightly. “Yes, help. I would be honored to assist you. I mean that, Ms. Simpson.” She pauses. “Victoria. If you’re sure calling you by your given name is not impertinent…”

  “I’m very sure. And thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure. Victoria.” She grins. “And I’ll see what I can find out for you. Discreetly, of course.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fly by the seat of my pants if I need to. I’m good at that.”

  Her brow furrows. “Fly? And I’m sorry, Victoria, but you shouldn’t wear pants to the reception—of that I am certain.”

  I shake my head and close my eyes for a moment. “No, sorry.” I open my eyes to return my gaze to hers. “It’s an American expression. Never mind.”

  “Apologies, then.” She smiles. “Please do let me know should you need anything else.”

  “Of course.” I smile again and watch as she walks out the door.

  I pull on my dress and put my hair up into what I hope is an appropriate style bun. I suppose I could have asked my maid about that, but it seems fairly unimportant given everything else going on.

  A few minutes later there’s another knock on my door. I don’t even get a few steps before the handle turns and Andrew walks in.

  He looks me up and down, nodding with approval, though there’s no smile on his lips. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you?” My words come out as more of a question, though my real question is about the concern in his expression.

  He doesn’t seem to hear it, though. The lines between his eyebrows deepen. “King Maximilian is here. I’ve asked Stephan to bring him to the receiving chamber in ten minutes.”

  “Oh. That’s not a lot of time, Andrew. I mean, you said you were going to go over everything with me. How I’m supposed to act and everything.”

  “Right.” His voice is flat, and it’s pretty obvious there’s something else going on.

  “What is it?” I walk over to him, taking his hand in mine.

  He frowns, gazing into my eyes. “I’ve just been told they’ve taken my father into surgery. I…I would have come to you sooner, but I’ve been on the telephone.” He glances to the door and back to me. “We should go to meet with King Maximilian.”

  Andrew

  All of this is happening too fast. King Maximilian’s visit, my father’s surgery, and everything else—it’s almost too much to bear, even for me.

  But that’s not even the worst of it. When I was changing, I was informed that King Maximilian brought a surprise guest with him—his son, Prince Reginald. The very man who started it all.

  I should have waited until after this was over to propose to Victoria, I think. Instead, I’ve dragged our happy occasion into the middle of a political mess.

  I hold my arm out to her. She hesitates before taking it, but I see the determination in her eyes as her fingers curl around my elbow. We’re in this together.

  No matter what happens next, I think, I’m going to make it up to you, Victoria. I swear it.

  “You’ll do just fine,” I tell her as we head down the corridor. “You don’t have to say a word during the entire audience if you don’t like. The most important thing to remember is that custom dictates you should curtsy when entering and exiting the presence of a visiting monarch. However, since we are now engaged and you are effectively considered an extension of this family, you may do a half-curtsy instead.”

  Her fingers tighten on my arm. “I don’t even know how to do a half-curtsy.”

  “You know what a curtsy is, don’t you?” I say gently. “Traditionally in our culture, when you bow into a curtsy, the top of your head should be below the level of the other person’s shoulders. In a half-curtsy, your head only goes as low as their chin.”

  “Oh.”

  I place my free hand over hers. “You’ll do fine. And as I said before—no one expects you to know all of our customs yet. Even Maximilian normally avoids such pettiness. If he makes any comments about it—if he resorts to nastiness—then we’ll know we have the upper hand. He’s a cunning fellow—and he’s much more dangerous when he’s quiet.” I glance back down at her. “Not that you should let that worry you. I’ll handle him. But we are stronger together.”

  Her eyes fall to the carpet beneath our feet as we walk. For a long time she says nothing, but I can see the wheels turn
ing in her head.

  “Everything will be all right,” I say.

  She looks back up at me. “Stop saying that. You don’t know that.”

  “But I choose to believe it. Because I don’t want to think about the alternative.” I don’t want to know what happens if Maximilian isn’t amenable. If this political situation spins out of control. I don’t want to know what happens if my father dies. Or if I haven’t done enough to win back the trust of the people of Montovia. It’s better not to think of it at all until I must. If I must.

  She squeezes my arm again. “Okay. I think I can get behind this plan. I think.”

  “Sometimes it’s the only option.”

  She looks back up at me. “Your father… I should have asked about him earlier. Is the surgery…?”

  “It’s dangerous, but they think it gives him the best chance. And I trust our doctors completely.” I couldn’t go on otherwise. “They’re to send word the moment he’s out.”

  She nods. “Your father’s strong. And stubborn. I have a feeling he’s not ready to go yet.”

  In spite of myself, I feel one side of my mouth curl up. “No, I suspect he isn’t. He still has quite a few things to lecture me about.”

  My smile fades, though, when I realize we’ve reached our formal receiving chamber. It’s time to face King Maximilian, whether we are ready or not.

  I stop and turn toward Victoria.

  “Remember,” I say softly. “We are a team, you and I. A united front against those who would oppose us.” I lift my hands to her cheeks. “Remember too that I love you. I love you so very much.”

  I lean forward and kiss her, and her lips part beneath mine. My hands slide around to the back of her head. I want to hold her forever. Kiss her until the rest of the world fades away and only we remain.

  But I have responsibilities. And in spite of my newfound sense of freedom, I see no alternative at present. I made this mess—now I must handle it.

  I pull back. “Come,” I say, reaching down and taking her hand. “Let’s face the beast together.”

  She nods—though she looks a touch paler than usual.

  Please let this be the right decision. Parading her in front of Maximilian is risky, but as I’ve told her, I refuse to act as if I’m ashamed of her. On the contrary—I’ve never been prouder.

  I take one final deep breath and push open the doors into the receiving chamber.

  We reserve this room solely for visitors of extremely high status—kings, presidents, and world leaders of all kinds. Most visitors are received in the receiving rooms on the eastern side of the palace, a suite of lavish, ornate rooms with a stunning view of the city below. When we receive ambassadors or dignitaries, our aim is to impress. To give them a royal experience they’ll never forget.

  With our truly important visitors, though, circumstances are usually very different. If a monarch or ruler arrives here, there are usually intense business discussions to be had. To lead them through a big display of luxury would be seen as garish. Instead, the room we keep for meetings such as this is far simpler. While everything here in the palace is of the highest quality, there are far fewer ornaments and decorative items in this chamber. There’s also a large round table in the center of the room, as most meetings here turn into long—sometimes heated—discussions.

  Maximilian is already seated at the table. He doesn’t rise when we enter. If anything, he looks almost bored—at least until you get to his eyes, which are as sharp as a hawk’s.

  If you stood Maximilian and Princess Justine side by side, you’d be hard-pressed to spot the resemblance. Justine has a softness and a kindness about her face, but her father is just the opposite. His features are sharp and angular, from his long, pointed nose to his prominent jaw. He wears his silver hair cut short, and his beard is trimmed to a point just below his chin. His clothes are simple but luxurious, and though I’ve never known him to be a particularly ornate man, today he wears a small gold circlet on his head—no doubt a reminder that he is a king and I, as yet, am not.

  I’m both surprised and unsurprised to find him alone. Part of me expected to see his son here with him, since technically I owe my debt to Prince Reginald. But Reginald has never taken much interest in politics, even when he’s directly or indirectly involved—he’d rather spend his days carousing and taking full advantage of all the money and freedom at his disposal, letting his father handle the more mundane task of actually ruling. And Maximilian is a shrewd ruler, there is no doubt about that. I’m grateful I don’t have to greet Reginald’s smug face, but I’m not looking forward to being alone with the man in front of us.

  I do a half-bow, and beside me, Victoria executes a beautiful half-curtsy.

  “King Maximilian,” I say, lifting my chin. “A pleasure to receive you. I hope you and Reginald have found your accommodations to your liking.”

  He doesn’t say anything. His hard eyes are focused on me, taking me in from top to bottom. After a moment, his gaze shifts to Victoria.

  This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have brought her in here with me. There was no need to subject her to this. But it’s too late now.

  “May I introduce Ms. Victoria Simpson?” I say, refusing to let him intimidate me. “She and I are recently betrothed.”

  Maximilian’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit—but that tiny movement is enough make my stomach tighten.

  Stay strong. Stay in control.

  “Shall we sit?” I ask Victoria.

  I lead her to the chairs opposite Maximilian. After helping her into her seat, I go over to the sideboard, where one of my staff has left a bottle of brandy. Thank God.

  “Something to drink?” I ask Maximilian.

  “No,” he says, his eyes on Victoria.

  I quickly pour glasses for Victoria and myself and carry them back over to the table. I want to get his attention off of her as soon as possible.

  “I apologize that my father isn’t here to receive you,” I say. “As I’m sure you’re aware, he’s indisposed at the moment.” The last thing I want to do is talk about my father’s health with this man, but there’s no point in tiptoeing around the truth. “I am, of course, ready and able to conduct all royal business in his stead.”

  Maximilian’s eyebrow rises. “Oh, I highly doubt that. You aren’t fit to act as king, not when you still make decisions like a spoiled child.”

  My fingers tighten on my glass, but I try not to let my anger show. I raise my brandy slowly to my lips and take a long sip, trying to calm my temper.

  “I am aware that of late I’ve made some decisions of which you do not approve,” I say evenly. “But it is my priority to make decisions in the best interest of Montovia.”

  His eyes narrow again. “Are you being willfully daft? I hope for Montovia’s sake that you don’t truly believe your recent choices actually benefit this country. If so, your reign will be very interesting.”

  “We are not here to discuss my reign,” I return. “If you have business with me or my family, I request that you get to the point. I have things I must attend to today.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches—he doesn’t like my tone. I need to be more careful—while I’m not afraid to stand up to Maximilian, I also don’t want to start an international incident because I can’t be diplomatic about resolving our differences.

  “You know exactly why I am here,” he says. “You humiliated my country on live television. You made a laughingstock of my daughter.” His eyes flick to Victoria, then back to me. “And you’ve broken our agreement. I’m here for the scepter. But I fear it will take even more than that to make reparations for this breach of trust.”

  “There was no formal agreement,” I say calmly.

  “Is a king’s word worth so little here in Montovia? I was given a promise—a royal wedding in return for the return of the rights to your beloved national symbol. But perhaps the scepter doesn’t mean as much to you as I thought? After your behavior these past few weeks, I’ll adm
it that I find myself wondering how dedicated you are to this country of yours.”

  My jaw tightens, but I refuse to take the bait.

  “I am open to negotiations,” I say. “I am as eager to settle this matter as you are. But before we proceed, I’d like to make two things clear—first, that I will be marrying Victoria Simpson. And second, that the scepter will remain here in Montovia.” I reach inside my coat and withdraw the pages I copied from Montovia’s founding documents. “According to Section Two point Thirteen, the three national treasures—including the royal scepter—legally belong to the king until the time of succession. Ownership may not be sold or transferred.”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t give a damn about Montovian law,” he says. “And you were not on Montivian soil when you and Reginald made your little bargain. That scepter rightfully belongs to my family now, unless and until we choose to return it to you under the circumstances of our choosing.”

  “Ah, but you see, that’s the issue. The scepter was never rightfully mine. According to Montovian law, it belongs to my father.”

  “You put it up as a stake that night in Prague.”

  “I could have put up the Eiffel Tower or the Pyramids of Giza, but that doesn’t make them mine to stake.” I straighten my shoulders. “I fully admit my error, but we’ll have to make some other arrangement.”

  “And I’m to trust your word after this?”

  My hand tightens on my brandy glass. “It is our only choice going forward. I am willing to compromise on everything but the two points I’ve just mentioned.”

  His eyes are two dark specks of coal. Beside me, Victoria shifts in her seat, and her leg brushes against mine beneath the table. I reach down and place my hand on her thigh, trying to bring both of us a little comfort.

  Maximilian stays silent for a long time, then finally clears his throat.

  “Very well,” he says. “Let’s see if I can take you at your word. In exchange for the debt—debts—you now owe me and my family, I want full land rights to the Amhurst Valley.”