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I pulled off the freeway, taking us on a smaller road through the rolling hills of the countryside.
“I was there to help him. I guided your father through his responsibilities, always there by his side. We grew close and became friends. And that hasn’t changed to this day.”
“And my mother? How did she come into the picture?”
“Your father wed her as a gesture to the new finance class of Edoria, the daughter of a wealthy banker. It was to show the union of old and new in Edoria, that our nation could be modern and traditional at the same time. However, your mother didn’t take to the life of a queen. Hence why she fled.”
“And you knew her, right? What was your relationship like with my mom?”
I tensed. “I knew her. That’s all you need to know.”
“That’s all I need to know? How about you tell me the rest, and I’ll decide what I need to know, exactly?”
I lifted my finger toward a small village clustered on the Langford River. “There. That’s the town of Westford, our destination.”
She gave me a look that suggested that while she was willing to let the subject go for now, she would be revisiting it sooner or later.
We approached Westford, a fishing village of around five thousand. The place was all old-world charm, with stone buildings and streets, the town centered around the cathedral, the bustling marketplace clustered around it. Villagers stopped and watched the car as we drove past.
“Very cute place,” she said. “Is there something special about it?”
“Yes. Two somethings, to be precise. The first is that this place is Edoria to the core. The architecture, the people, the feeling in the air. I wanted you to see what the nation looks like beyond the limits of Lausanne.”
“And the second thing?”
I allowed a small grin. “They have the best fish soup in the country.”
I drove through town, parking on a small side street near the river. We stepped out, the shimmering waters of the Langford visible in the near distance. I led Ava through the winding roads, some of them aging back centuries. Before too long, we reached a riverside café called Martin’s, one of my favorite places to dine in the country.
The staff all knew me, giving their greetings and passing along their best wishes to the king. We were seated on the patio, the view of the river and the green, rolling hills on the other side of it some of my favorite scenery in Edoria. The docks on the riverside were alive with activity, fishing boats here and there in the water. On the patio, we dined on a lunch of fresh bread and butter with big bowls of fish soup, the flavor unlike anything else one could find in the country.
“I don’t want to sound paranoid,” Ava said as we ate. “But people are… kinda staring. Do they know who I am?”
“Not yet. If you want to know why they’re staring, you don’t need to look any further than the top of your head.”
She seemed confused, that is, until she realized what I was talking about.
“Oh, the hair.” Ava looked around. “Doesn’t look like wild colors are in style around these parts.”
“In the more modern parts of Lausanne, perhaps. Rural Edoria is a touch more conservative when it comes to those sorts of fashion choices. But don’t worry, they’re just curious about it, is all. It’s something they are not used to seeing.”
The people did their best to not stare, but rural Edorians weren’t exactly subtle about such things. We finished our meal and decided to take a walk by the riverfront to help our food digest. The hush of the Langford River’s waves upon the shore was the perfect accompaniment to our walk.
Our stroll, however, was interrupted by a small girl with bright green eyes and red hair. She approached the two of us fearlessly, beelining for Ava.
“Hey, kiddo!” Ava said, squatting down and putting her hands on her knees and smiling in a warm, inviting manner. “What’s up?”
“Are you the princess?”
“The princess?” Ava asked.
“People are saying the princess is coming back from America. Are you her?”
Ava glanced up at me, clearly not sure how to answer. I shook my head in response. There would be a time to reveal to the nation their new princess. There, on the riverside, our bellies full of bread and soup, was not it.
“I’m not the princess,” she said. “No more than you are.”
Now, there’s a diplomatic answer. It’s true that she’s notyetthe princess, not until the naming ceremony makes it official.
