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After a loaded silence, I start thinking aloud, “Let’s assume for a moment it’s true. She’d become a gold digger. Then why set the palace on fire? The investigators concluded she was a pyromaniac nutcase!”
Louis rubs his jaw. “Her scheming to seduce a courtier does seem to clash with her being a pyromaniac.”
I feel like hugging him.
“Not necessarily,” Linda says. “Arsonists can be otherwise very sane. Foxy even.”
“She wasn’t an arsonist—” I begin.
“Fact is, six people died in that fire,” she interrupts me. “That sweet boy Gaston who was the crown prince’s attendant. My friend Katie. Three guards, including the one who was a MESS agent—”
“Wait, slow down!” I flash a palm at her. “Did you just say that one of the guards was a Mount Evor Secret Service agent? Which one? What was he doing in Prince Theodor’s wing?”
Her eyes become shifty, panicked even. Gasping for air, she grabs her mask, plasters it to her face, and leans back as she sucks on it. Her eyelids come down. Without looking, she reaches out and presses the call button on the wall.
The director stands up. “I’m afraid you must leave now.”
We thank her, say goodbye, and exit the room.
CHAPTER10
LOUIS
Early this morning, Grandpa and I held a quick presser, and then Rudy drove Camille and me to Pombrio.
Angie had booked separate suites for us in the Royal Inn, but she had to cancel the reservation. Prince Richard had insisted that we stay at the royal palace for the entire week until my new posting is formalized and we leave for Paris. Our apartments are in Max’s wing, and they include a room for Angie, one for Rudy, and the Guest of Honor Suite for Camille and me. Our suite consists of a bedroom and a salon, two walk-in closets and two bathrooms. I’ll be sleeping on one of the sofas in the salon. They’re all long, wide and plush enough, so no problem.
Every time I’m a guest at Château des Neiges, I can’t help comparing it to Falcon’s Nest. Falcon’s Nest always wins. In all objectivity.
“We learned something crucial from Linda,” Camille says as we make our way through the festively decorated royal palace.
“The thing about Jeannette’s schemes to find a sugar daddy?” I ask.
“No, the thing about the MESS agent.”
I glance at Angie over my shoulder and point at the fork in the hallway ahead. “Which way from there?”
She checks her map. “To the right.”
We’re headed to the Prince Fredric Hall where Camille is set to compete in the annual Royal Ladies’ Talent Contest. Technically, she isn’t my wife yet, but the contest has been open to the wives-to-be since its conception over two hundred years ago. Camille tried to wriggle out of participating this year with my full support, but the head of Royal Protocol was adamant. No royal lady can skip the contest unless she’s on her deathbed.
He also told us to prepare for the traditional Annual Christmas Wife-Carrying Contest that falls on the day after Camille and I are officially married. The public expects the new Duke and Duchess of Arrago to compete with other newlyweds. If we snub the popular contest under any pretext, it will be perceived as a sign of arrogance. Therefore, we must participate.
Normally, I like our traditions. But this week, I hate them.
I turn to Camille. “It doesn’t shock me that MESS would assign an agent to Theodor’s wing. His job was probably to keep an eye on the guards and servants.”
“Then why did Linda panic after she’d spilled the beans?”
“Because she realized she’d said too much.” I shrug to stress how unimpressed I am by this particular lead. “His being an agent was something she wasn’t supposed to know, let alone blab.”
Camille grunts. “Let’s say you’re right. Then what do you think about Jeannette’s sugar daddy schemes, as you call them?”
“What do you think I should think about them?”
“On the one hand, I’m refusing to believe my sister had turned into a gold digger.” She fidgets with her eyeglasses. “On the other hand, I want to believe it, because it undermines the pyromaniac theory.”
“Or not.”
