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Maddie
Vladimir returns to advise that I'm due to meet my grandparents, aka King Harald and Queen Maria of Malveaux.
Me? Nervous?
That would be a big fat heck, yes.
I have enough time to splash some water on my face, run a comb through my hair, and give my teeth a quick brush before there’s a knock on my door and some of the guys in the black suits and white gloves arrive.
I smooth my hands over my sweatshirt. Next to them I look like a field mouse who snuck into the palace in search of a wedge of cheese.
I'm expecting one of the men to tell me it's time to leave for the big meet and greet. Instead, they simply stand back like perfectly poised statues as an elegantly dressed older couple sweep gracefully into the room.
“Their Majesties King Harald and Queen Maria of Malveaux!” one of the men announces.
Seriously, all we need is a couple of trumpets with crested flags and this would feel like a scene from Shrek.
I blink at the couple. There are no crowns, no oversized, sparkling jewels. They’re a perfectly ordinary looking couple in their early 70s, but for the fact that they're wearing what even I can see are expensive clothes. My grandmama’s attractive face is made-up, her hair brushed back into a simple and chic French twist. My grandpapa’s hair, on the other hand, is virtually non-existent, and what he does have is closely clipped around his ears, giving him more than a passing resemblance to Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise.
Both sets of eyes are trained on me, and instantly I wonder how I’m supposed to greet them. I mean, I've watched The Crown. I know everybody still bows or curtsies to the monarch, even if they’re related. But these are my grandparents.
I should curtsy. For sure.
I grab where a skirt should be, hook one foot behind the other, and dip down into the deepest curtsy I can manage without falling over, muttering the words, “Your Majesties.”
I hope I'm reading the room right.
“Aren't you adorable?” my grandmama exclaims. “Isn't she adorable, Harald?”
“Quite adorable, my dear,” he agrees, and I rise from my curtsy, relieved that at least I've done something right today.
“It’s been too long since we’ve seen you, my dear. Far too long. And you, too, Douglas.” She smiles, and not only do some distant, murky memories of her come washing over me, but I'm struck by just how much she looks like my mom. She has the same face shape, the same blue eyes, and her smile lights up her face, just the way Mom’s always did. “Come and give your old grandmama a hug, dear,” she instructs, her arms held open wide.
Without a second thought, I step into the hug and she wraps her arms around me.
“Welcome to Malveaux, my dear Madeline. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have you here,” she says as I breathe in her floral perfume.
“Thanks. It's cool to be here.”
“Cool?” she questions. “That won’t do at all. Alice, have some wood brought up to make a fire for Princess Madeline,” she instructs my lady’s maid, who is currently hovering at the door.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she replies before she turns to leave.
“No! Wait!” I call out, and she turns back. “It's just an expression. It means great, awesome, I’m happy to be here.” I punch the air to emphasize the positivity behind the word, and every set of eyes in the room regards me questioningly.
Note to self: they don't use the word “cool” here for anything other than a way to describe the temperature.
Second note to self: maybe don't use the word “lit” either. They might call the fire brigade.
“Well, that all sounds really quite wonderful,” Grandmama replies. “We think it’s ‘cool’ that you're here, too.”
And now she's trying to relate to me? Definite points for trying.
“Your grandmama is right. We are absolutely thrilled that you have taken the opportunity to become my heir to the throne,” my grandpapa says in a surprisingly sonorous voice for a man of his age and stature.
“Oh, I—” I shoot Dad a concerned look.
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Maddie’s come to meet with y’all and look into the options for her future, but she's free to leave if she decides against it,” Dad says firmly.
