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Huh. He despised that word. It was inelegant. Vague. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m surprised you don’t live in the palace.”
Why? Because she knew so much about him, about his job, about Eldovia, about how the monarchy functioned here? “Historically, the position of equerry was related to overseeing the stable.” He could hear the lecturing tone creeping into his voice, but he didn’t care. “It was traditionally filled by an officer of the king’s cavalry. The role has evolved over the years away from that into more of a . . .” How to explain?
“Ship’s engineer?” she suggested with an irritating degree of cheeriness, though that metaphor she was now invoking for the second time wasn’t bad.
“The royal family still keeps horses,” he continued without acknowledging her interruption, “but they’re in a more modern stable. And of course these days, they’re for recreation and ceremonial events rather than for military campaigns. I personally have nothing to do with them. But there was an old apartment above what used to be the main stable.”
“What is it now?”
“It isn’t completely unrelated, I suppose. We house the main sleigh there.”
“The mainsleigh?”
“Yes.” Was he not being clear?
“As in Santa’s sleigh?”
“Of course not.” Honestly. “It’s not pulled by magical flying reindeer, but by horses—that’s why I say the current use of the building isn’t unrelated to its historical identity. In modern times, equerries to the Crown have lived in a suite in the palace. But in the nineteenth century, they lived in the apartment attached to the stable. I favored the idea of returning to tradition, of livingwhere many of my predecessors had.” He liked the privacy, too, especially at Christmastime. “So I undertook a bit of a renovation.”
“You really are a sucker for tradition, aren’t you?”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
When they reached the foot of the staircase that led to the main entrance of the palace, Ms. Delaney said, “I’m fine from here, thank you.” He was struck again by how little her face gave away what she was thinking or feeling—or plotting. She turned partway up the stairs, illuminated by the lights mounted around the palace’s large entrance, which threw into relief the dark circles around her eyes. He feared he had a matching set. “Thank you for making me feel so welcome today.”
Matteo didn’t know if she was being earnest or facetious. He studied those dark circles, as they were the only hint on her face as to what was going on below the surface. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since he collected her at the airport. She probably felt the same. “I hope you sleep well.” He meant it.
He watched her disappear into the palace and thought about how beastly he’d been to her today.Overtlybeastly. So beastly that she’d called him out.
He resolved to do better.
Chapter Three
Thirty days until Christmas
Matteo thoughthehad a policy of arriving early for appointments, but the next morning when he arrived at the palace breakfast room a few minutes before Ms. Delaney was to meet the king, she was already there.
Matteo had had to scramble to get here when he’d learned that the king had unexpectedly summoned Ms. Delaney—he generally liked to be more than five minutes early. It irritated him when the king deviated from the agreed-upon schedule—His Majesty and Ms. Delaney had been scheduled to meet in the car on the way to their morning engagement at the Morneau production facility and to breakfast there—but Matteo supposed he should count himself lucky it didn’t happen very often.
“Good morning,” Ms. Delaney said as Matteo made his way to the coffee urn. Her tone was pleasant enough, but she was eyeing him warily.
He was considering how and whether to say anything aboutyesterday—not apologize exactly, but perhaps acknowledge that he hadn’t acted as well as he should have—when the king appeared in the doorway. Honestly. How was he supposed to get anything done ifeveryoneinsisted on arriving early?
“You must be Cara Delaney.” The king swept into the room. He had a regal air about him that came naturally, from being born knowing one’s destiny. Ms. Delaney was remarkably at ease, stepping forward and shaking the hand the king extended. Foreigners meeting the king often stumbled. A handshake was the correct form of greeting if one was not Eldovian and therefore not a royal subject, but foreign visitors, especially those from outside Europe, often did not know that. Their impressions of monarchies were formed primarily by television, or, god help him, those dreadful Hallmark movies. The result tended to be a great deal of awkward bowing and curtsying that was not only not needed, but was, frankly, embarrassing for all parties. Matteo, an admitted devotee of tradition, merely dipped his head in deference to the monarch, unless they were at a formal occasion where more ceremony was called for.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Ms. Delaney said smoothly.
“You as well. I asked you to meet me here because I was hoping to speak to you privately about a sensitive matter before my daughter joins us for the trip to Morneau,” the king said.
Matteo whipped his head up from his phone, where he’d been composing an email to a group of parliamentary aides he was hoping to get on his side for a project. He had no idea what the king could have to say privately to Ms. Delaney. He was not accustomed to having no idea about things to do with palace business.
“Of course,” Ms. Delaney said, glancing at Matteo.
The king followed her gaze. Were they going to ask him to leave? He made to leave before he had to be asked. Less humiliating that way.
“No, stay, please, Mr. Benz. None of this will surprise you.”
