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It was a question asked by the sharp-nosed duchess. And I had been warned to avoid answering any real questions by my staff and Princess Eliza. As there was a risk that any answer I would give could be twisted and given to the press.
“Do you not prefer trains, Duchess? Why?” I questioned with a head tilt.
She stared back as if she were surprised I did not answer her. “No, Your Grace. It takes so much time.”
“Oh? Well, the palace has been planning it, so I doubt any time will be wasted. And I am looking forward to seeing the country.”
“And there is no better way to see the country than the royal train,” came the unwanted voice of Sabina Franziska as she waltzed into our small circle, a glass of champagne in hand, and smile faker than my own. She curtsied to me, but I almost felt as if she were mocking me considering our last encounter.
“You’ve been in the royal train, Sabina?” one of them asked, stoking a fire they wanted to see burst, and of course Sabina was here for all the drama…the evil little bi—be gentle, Odette. Be gentle.
“Yes, when I was much younger.” She giggled and then looked to me to explain. “King Lionel invited my father, Sir Adam J. Franziska, Your Grace; they were hunting friends. They even went to university together. My father brought me on the trip when I was about ten. The royal train was so beautiful, I felt like I had entered a wonderland, as was the Rozem Estate. I believe there is still a photo of that trip hanging in the entrance hall.”
Was it too early for me to say, “Off with her head?” Because I could definitely channel my inner Queen of Hearts and go full Henry VIII on her! I could feel everyone’s eyes now shift to me to see what I had to say to that.
Gentle, Odette. Gentle.
“Did you go in the winter or the summer?” I asked her as if I were not at all bothered, though part of my soul was screaming.
“I believe it was the summer, ma’am,” she replied with the same gentleness back.
“What a shame. Then you wouldn’t know what type of shoe would be best for this season.” I smiled and tilted my head. “But then again, it has been so long since you were there as you are…how old now?”
“Thirty, ma’am,” she added.
“Right.” I nodded. “Twenty years. I’m sure things would not be as you remember. But thank you for sharing.”
“Sabina is all about sharing, Your Grace,” an auburn-haired woman with olive skin and dark eyes said to me with a wide grin. I believed her name was Prudence? The countess of something…oh whatever. “The Count of Gormsey always held that as her greatest quality.”
Oh shit.
The royal tea had gotten a little hotter than I was expecting, and from the look on Sabina’s face, as well as the few other women who were smiling behind their teacups, everyone knew exactly what Prudence was trying to do. And because I was petty and just…couldn’t stand the sight of her, I couldn’t help myself.
“Is that so? Unfortunately for me, I am not very good at sharing, at least not everything,” I said to her before looking back to Sabina, who stood there…calmly like a bomb that had not yet been set off, gripping her glass tightly. “Ms. Franziska, are you all right?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said before pressing the glass to her lips.
I was about to speak with the other women when all of a sudden, the doors opened, and once again, he was announced, “His Royal Majesty, the King.”
And once more, everyone bowed their head. I watched as he entered, scanning the room until his eyes met mine, the corner of his lips turned upward; however, his smile almost fell when he saw who was standing beside me.
Walking up to me, I curtsied to him and smiled as he outstretched his hand. Taking it, he kissed the back of it.
“Was I missed?” he asked me.
“Always,” I said.
He glanced over the tables. “Ladies, if you will excuse us, I am in need of my wife’s company.”
They giggled…well, all but one of them did, as he led me away from them and toward another table where we would make small talk with other people. I didn’t mind. At least I wouldn’t have to talk to Sabina, the homewrecker wannabe. And it wasn’t just her. For the first time, I noticed how all the women—some married, unmarried, it didn’t matter—looked at Gale as if they would sell their souls just to get him to look at them.
Which made me wonder. If they looked at him like horny teenagers when I was next to him, what were they doing when I wasn’t? I didn’t realize how angry I was getting until Gale leaned in and whispered, “Breathe, bevilën.”
He squeezed my hand slightly, and I squeezed back, glancing up at him. He offered a small smile, and I smiled back.
I really was head over heels for this guy, and it was making me crazy. No, actually, it was making me into my mother! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her, slightly farther away from everyone else, talking to Mr. Greensboro. They were easy enough to spot as both of them were two of the very few people of color here.
All the times that I begged her not to make a scene, not to say anything too harsh, to just let it go, flashed through my mind. I never understood why she felt the need to rip people in half over the slightest little comment, and here I was, doing the same thing. I was nowhere close to her level yet. But the me that I was now, next to Gale, was not the same me that was present over a year ago. In the past, I would have just left snobby parties I didn’t like, gone home, written songs, watched movies, and forgotten anyone who had said something stupid. I was the avoid-conflict type. Now…I was Laila Ali?
