Page 30 of Royal Daddy


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King, father, whatever, I was becoming a bit annoyed with how he was speaking to me. “You haven’t seen your daughter—me—in how long and this is the way you want to welcome her?”

“Twenty-two years,” he replied, his deep voice carrying across the room. “That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen you last. In person, that is.”

My father placed his hands on the table, closing his eyes for a moment. I had the sense he was trying not to get ahead of himself.

“My apologies. This meeting is… a bit difficult for me and I am trying to approach this in an appropriate way.”

I craned my neck, trying to see him past the candleholders on the table.

“Well, I’ve got an idea that might make it feel a little less weird.”

I stood up, and as I did, a set of doors opened. Two members of the serving staff entered, each of them carrying a tray of food.

“I’m actually going to sit there,” I said, pointing to a chair near the king.

“You’re what?” my father asked.

I flashed him a grin before heading over to one of the chairs near his end of the table and pulling it out. It was heavier than I’d guessed, a loud squeak sounding through the room that caught the attention of the staff. I dropped into the chair, now only a few feet from him.

“Better?”

I was close enough now that I could make out his expressions in more detail. My father was clearly surprised by what I’d done.

“It is closer, that’s for certain.”

The attendants brought over their trays, one of them glancing at my father, as if wordlessly asking him if this new arrangement was alright. He nodded, and within moments, food was placed in front of us.

“Trout from the Langford River,” he said. “Thought you’d appreciate a taste of our local seafood.”

The spread looked delicious. The trout was cooked to perfection, diced potatoes on the side with crispy edges, along with a small serving of green beans. I wasted no time sticking my fork into the trout and scooping off a bit.

“Verdict?” he asked as I chewed.

“Pretty damn good for a country in the middle of the mountains.”

My father nodded.

“Now,” he said. “I would like to know about your life. Tell me what you have been up to.”

“Not sure how to condense a couple of decades, but I’ll do my best.”

As we ate, I told him my life story—I told him that I lived with my mom and my half-sister until my mom passed away and how I’d gone into foster care because my sister’s father couldn’t be bothered to raise someone else’s kid. I told him about going to college, how I’d studied business before working at restaurants all around Seattle, then starting my own business when I felt I was ready.

He listened with an impassive look on his face, not reacting one way or another. It was totally impossible to tell what he was thinking.

“And now I’m here,” I said. “Princess-to-be.”

“Princess-to-be,” he repeated.

I glanced down to see that my plate was clear, but he had only taken a few bites. A quick glance at a grandfather clock on the wall revealed that twenty minutes had passed.

He looked away. Then without another word, he dabbed his mouth with his napkin and rose.

“Stay and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be receiving supper in my office tonight, so let the staff know whatever you’d like to eat.”

He left, his footfalls once again clicking on the floor.

“Uh…”

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