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Vladimir announces, “King Frederic of Ledonia, Queen Astrid of Ledonia, Princess Sofia of Ledonia, and Princess Amelia of Ledonia, may I introduce Princess Madeline of Malveaux.”
Well, that’s a mouthful.
Does he have to mention the place we're all from each time? That's like me meeting a new staff member back at the glazing company and introducing myself as Madeline Turner of the wrong part of Houston. It would be just plain weird. But I guess they have different rules here in Europe, particularly when everyone’s sporting priceless crowns and tiaras.
“I'm very pleased to meet you, your Royal Highnesses,” I say with my best winning smile as I curtsy to the King and Queen. I stretch my hand out to shake the King’s hand.
But instead of a handshake, King Frederic clasps my shoulders with firm hands and plants a purposeful and very dry kiss on each of my cheeks, the bristles of his moustache sharp and uncomfortable against my skin. Not that I'm complaining about the dryness of the cheek kisses, because sloppy, wet cheek kisses from a middle-aged man I've just met? Ew.
“Woah!” I say in the surprise, staggering back as he unclasps me.
It was made clear by Vladimir that when I meet a King or Queen, I’m supposed to shake their hands as though they are my equals—not get manhandled and poked in the face by surprisingly wire-like moustache hairs.
King Frederic pulls his brows together, looking thoroughly unamused.
Can this kind of thing cause an international incident?
I decide to style it out as best I can. “Well!” I exclaim exuberantly. “Well well well. You do look so well.”
“So well?” he questions, looking at me like I'm some kind of simpleton.
I really can't blame the guy.
I need to do some quick thinking.
“You are looking so well, King Frederic of Ledentia.”
“Ledonia,” Vladimir corrects.
“Ledonia,” I repeat.
How could I have gotten that wrong when it’s been repeated so many times?
“Which is awesome to see and makes me super happy because I am so very concerned that you are well and healthy and all those things.”
He looks at me blankly.
“So.” What do I say now? I've already messed this one up royally—no pun intended—but I guess at least I haven't punched the guy. That, it would seem, I reserve for strange men who may be related to these people, appearing out of thin air in hallway closets.
My hand throbs.
At my side, Vladimir clears his throat “I believe it's customary for Americans to comment on the health of the people they meet, Your Majesty. It’s a very endearing quality, don’t you think?”
I flick a thankful smile to him. Vlad to the rescue.
I jump on it. “We Americans are super concerned that everybody is well and healthy. You know, after the pandemic and all.” I tilt my head to the side and pull my features into a look of concern. “Wellness has to be a top priority. For all of us.”
Have I taken it too far?
Who am I kidding? Of course I have. He's looking at me like I'm some kind of a babbling idiot.
If only there was a way I could stop myself from talking.
“Princess Madeline. We are also very pleased to meet you,” Queen Astrid says with a smile that is so generous and warm, and in such strong juxtaposition to her husband’s icy glare, that I instantly like her. “I’m sorry our sons are not here to meet you. Our younger son, Maximilien, is currently at university at Cambridge in England, and our other son, Alexander, appears to have been detained.”
She, too, places a kiss on each of my cheeks, but this time I'm ready for them. And anyway, she doesn't have a moustache to stab me with, and she smells like a spring meadow filled with pretty flowers. It's altogether a much more pleasant experience.
“It's great to meet y’all,” I reply as I smile at the Queen and the two princesses. “I love your red dresses. You stand out so well against all the blue we've got going on here.”
