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“We have all been the prey of media, Your Highness,” Hermenegild said, coming beside me. “Please, follow me. I have been informed dinner is served.”
I looked at Balduin, hoping he had an excuse to allow me to leave. However, he only frowned, shaking his head.
“Brilliant,” I managed to get out as I followed them. I prayed to make it through this unscathed, but knowing if I had such luck, I wouldn’t have been placed in this situation to begin with.
As we sat down—me at one end of the table and Ivan at the other—some bloody fool thought to say, “Isn’t this pleasant? If only we could all come together like this more often.”
Pleasant?
I smiled. “Yes, though I hope I have more forewarning next time as I had an important date tonight.”
“With Miss Wyntor?” the man asked beside.
“Yes, my fiancée.”
“Oh, is Miss Wyntor adapting to royal life?” Hermenegild asked as they brought the first course to me. “Actually, not just royal life but Ersovia.”
“She must be completely out of it.” His wife giggled, and when I looked at her, she immediately sat up straighter. “I mean, as an American, it is a lot to get used to. New language, new customs, new government.”
“Yes, it is challenging, I imagine,” I replied, nodding thanks to the server as he brought my plate. “However, she would not be first to do so. Throughout history, princes and kings have married foreign princesses. Like Princess Ingrid II of Denmark, who married my ancestor, King Kristoffer III, in 1802. And their son ended up being Armand the Great. Despite how hard it may be, not only is Odette willing to learn, she is learning quickly. In fact, she is to give a speech at Royal University. So clearly, neither she nor I am any different from anyone else that came before us.”
“What a pity it is that America does not have a princess, though,” Hermenegild replied—clearly stating that Odette was not like Princess Ingrid II.
“True. But to Americans, an heiress is just a princess without a title, correct?” another man stated, laughingly, though they were all silent.
And so, I lifted my spoon and ate.
“Very correct,” Sir Wolverhover said, responding late for some odd reason. “But would it not have been easier to marry someone Ersovian?”
“I do not believe love cares about what is easier. In all honesty, from the great writers and poets, it seems to me love prefers the harder.” I chuckled.
As did a few other men at the table.
“Here. Here,” said another man I vaguely knew to be part of the prime minister’s staff, leaning forward. “My wife is a good fifteen years older than me and had two children before we were married. If you only knew what my heart has endured chasing after her.”
I lifted my glass to him. “May they write fondly of you, Mr—forgive me. What was your name again?”
“Mr. Horvath. Mikel Horvath, Your Highness,” he replied.
“Pleasure.”
And it truly was because Mr. Horvath seemed to be like a shield and sword in tall grass, directing and creating paths for new conversation whenever the prime minister, his wife, or his party members seemed to want to push their ideology upon us. Notably quiet was Sabina, who ate and kept her attention on the guest who had invited her. It felt like it had gone on far too long before Balduin finally managed some excuse to free me from this.
I all but ran from the table. I told them all not to bother to see me off, and instead, to finish their meal, following Balduin toward the front. We had almost made it out before I heard her voice.
“You do not think you are being too cold?”
I paused, and Balduin looked at me.
And when I nodded at him, he stepped to the side, opening the door to the prime minister’s study. I allowed her in first before stepping inside. She turned to me, her arms crossed, and her eyes soft and downcast. But I wouldn’t fall for it. I knew her well enough, and I knew myself well enough.
“No, I do not,” I answered. “This is how I have always been with you, Sabina. Never have I ever promised or shown to you that there would be anything more. You were a friend—”
“A friend?”
“Yes, a friend, who helped me when I needed it. And I thank you. But I told you in the beginning, so I did not think I had to repeat it, but I shall now, so you do not keep appearing in front of my fiancée or me. There will never be a ‘you and me.’ Ever. Goodnight.”
“I know you. I’ll see you at your next crisis—”
