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“You’re a total flatterer, did you know that?”
“I’m only saying it like it is, princess,” I reply truthfully and I win a blush from her. “How about you practice on me?”
“Do you speak Malveauxian?”
“Of course I do. It’s one of several languages I speak, including Ledonian, of course, as well as French, Spanish, German, and English. How many languages do you speak?”
“Two, if you include Texan.”
I laugh. “We can include Texan. So, you’ve never spoken Malveauxian before?”
“My mom had this thing she’d say to me at night when she tucked me in, and I would say it back to her. It was Malveauxian, and I remember it word for word. Ti seet sivoltio dreetia, mi sheeri.”
“You are the light of my life, my darling,” I translate for her.
She presses her lips together as though overcome with emotion at the touching memory of a mother she lost far too early.
“Maddie, it’s a beautiful saying.”
She nods as tears pool in her blue eyes, made all the bluer by the color of her dress.
I leap to my feet and am by her side within a couple of seconds. I place my hand on her arm as I reach into the top pocket of my suit jacket and pull out my pocket square. Father taught me to always have a handkerchief available for a lady in distress, and I laughed at him as some kind of relic from a bygone age. But right now, with Maddie tearing up before her first speech as a princess, I’m glad I can offer her one.
“Thanks,” she mutters. She dabs at her eyes with it. With another sniff she pronounces, “You are such an old-fashioned gentleman, did you know that?”
“Not too old fashioned, I hope.”
She smiles a watery smile. “No. Just the right amount.” She sniffs loudly before she wipes her nose. “I figure you don’t want this back right now?”
“As delightful as I’m certain your snot is, thank you, but I’ll pass.”
She lets out a gurgling laugh. “Who needs a new princess crying over her dead mom at her welcome to Parliament party?”
“Absolutely no one,” I reply, and we share a smile. “Why don’t you dazzle me with your speech.”
She scrunches up her nose in an adorable way. “I’m not sure.”
I sit back in my seat and intertwine my fingers. “I promise I won’t bite. Or judge you, for that matter.”
She takes in a deep breath and releases it. “Okay. Here goes nothing.” Gripping her notes, she stands and launches haltingly into her speech, her Malveauxian heavily accented.
Once she’s done, she looks up at me with hope in her eyes. “How’d I do?”
“You did so well, considering you’ve never spoken Malveauxian before. Honestly.”
She grimaces. “That bad?”
She sees right through me.
“Try it again and I’ll point out where you said ‘peasants’ instead of ‘parliamentarians.’”
She looks at me aghast. “Oh, no, I didn’t!”
“No, but it would have been very funny if you had.”
She snorts out a laugh.
She practices again, me correcting her mispronunciation of a couple of words, before there’s a light knock on the door and King Harald and Queen Maria enter, wearing ceremonial robes. Malveauxian blue, naturally.
