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“Oh, look. They're opening the palace gates. We’re almost there.”
Passing through the large, wrought iron gates, the hum of the city fades. The expansive drive, lined with immaculate gardens and a row of perfectly oval-shaped trees, leads to the grand façade of the palace, an imposing structure with columns and tall windows and even an oversized balcony. I bet the royal family waves to the crowd from it, like they do from England’s Buckingham Palace.
Dad nudges me as he looks out at a row of guards, dressed in royal blue uniforms saluting us as we pass.
“They're doing that for you, you know,” Dad says.
“I've never had anyone salute me in my life.”
“By the looks of this bunch, you may have to get used to that, honey.”
I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip and give it a squeeze. How am I ever going to get used to this? People calling me ‘Your Royal Highness’, people bowing to me, people saluting. What next? Full body prostration to show their deference?
At this stage, I wouldn’t put it past them.
We drive through a grand arch and the car comes to a stop in front of large, open doors. There’s a red carpet that stretches from inside, down the stone steps, all the way to the vehicle, and before I have the chance to grab the door handle, a man in a black uniform with white gloves pulls the door open and bows his head.
“Hey,” I say, feeling like something the cat dragged in.
He simply bows once more, his features impassive.
Tough crowd.
I do my best to climb out of the car with regal elegance, but I'm not sure I achieve it, mainly because I have no clue how to climb out of a car with regal elegance. It's sure as heck not something I learned at public school, and I can’t say I’ve ever even thought about how I look when I get out of a car before. I just simply get out. One second, I'm in the car, the next I'm on the sidewalk or the driveway or whatever.
But right now, I feel like I've forgotten how to do anything, and as I put one foot down on the red carpet, I whack my head against the top of the vehicle.
“Ouch!” I cup my forehead in my hand and give it a rub.
“Your Royal Highness?” the man in the black suit says.
“I guess I found where the top of the car is now, just in case you were wondering,” I reply with a self-deprecating laugh.
He pulls his lips into a line. I bet I know what he's thinking. This new princess is a total idiot. And I wouldn’t blame him. I feel like an idiot. An idiot fish-out-of-water, thrown into a world where I don't know the rules, or what's expected of me—or even how to get out of a dang car.
I try again. This time I manage to get out without banging into anything—yay for the small successes in life—and I walk up the steps and inside the palace without doing any further damage to my cerebral cortex. Or to my dignity.
“Your head okay?” Dad asks under his breath and I nod, despite the throbbing.
There's a group of similarly dressed men and women inside, who all bow their heads or curtsy.
“These are members of the household staff, ma’am,” Vladimir explains, appearing at my side as though out of nowhere.
“All of them?” I gawk at the crowd. There's got to be at least 30 people, maybe more. But then this is a pretty big place. My Google search on the plane—hello, royal jet Wi-Fi—told me the palace has 42 bedrooms, 47 bathrooms, a bunch of state rooms, along with a pool, a lake, a movie theatre, and even an in-house spa where, apparently, I can get a massage or roast myself in a sauna anytime I like.
“All of them, ma’am,” Vladimir confirms.
“How's it going?” I say to the group with a wave of my hand. I catch the eye of a young woman about my age with sandy blonde hair and I smile at her.
“It's…err…going very nicely, thank you, Your Royal Highness,” she says before she averts her eyes to study her shoes, which I notice are black patent leather and a whole lot cleaner looking than my own shoes.
“Good. Great. I'm Maddie. I'm new here, but I guess you knew that.” My laugh pierces the air, taking even me by surprise.
Way to be dignified, Maddie.
I clear my throat and take another shot. “I'm delighted to make your acquaintance and I look forward to you…err, serving me.”
Did I really just say that?
