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The things we don’t say out loud in royal company could fill a book.
For instance, I still don’t know what I’m doing at the palace.
I’ve been invited to breakfast, and we’re waiting for Torben to arrive. But I do not know what purpose my presence serves.
I’m standing here drinking tea in the breakfast room, smiling and chatting with the monarchs, wishing I was still at home, in my bathrobe, with my favorite mug of coffee.
Still, it’s a lovely setting on a perfectly sunny morning. Birdsong and light fill the room, bordered on one side by an enormous aviary. The morning sun pouring in casts a golden glow on the sweeping sandstone wall that frames an intricately carved fireplace, crackling with life. Not a bad invitation, if you can get it. I really should count my blessings.
The timing of this summons feels more than coincidental: The Favored Prince has been found, and returned to Gravenland early this morning.
A part of me suspects that the monarchs still want me to marry Torben, produce an heir, and secure the monarchy. But no one, since my arrival, has done me the kindness of verbalizing my purpose here.
In the meantime, I’m subjected to small talk about my beloved UN job—the one I’ve put on hold now, thanks to dear old dad leaving the family business in dire straits.
I won’t mention those unsavory facts. My job here is to put a smile on the royal faces while regaling them with stories of trips to Malaysia and Micronesia. They don’t want to hear a quick sidebar about the Human Rights Council and what we could do with a donation from the palace coffers. No, they want to listen to an amusing story of my first encounter with an elephant.
Because small talk is what we do. We don’t talk about the elephant in the room, as it were.
I was hoping the king would lead the conversation into the subject of Frost Bay Beverages, possibly allowing me an inroad to negotiate a lower lease on the land and delaying the repayment of my father’s loans to the palace.
Changing the subject abruptly would be the height of rudeness with the king and would also reek of desperation.
As we chat about one inane thing after another, I feel like I’m bursting out of my skin.
Finally, the queen says it.
“It’s so lovely to see you again,” says the queen. “We really must have you to breakfast more often. Well, once Torben lays eyes on you after the week he’s had, I’m sure we’ll see much more of you, my dear.”
And there it is.
Buckle up, buttercup. You’re about to save the family business.
“That’s interesting that you bring that up,” I say. “I was hoping to schedule a meeting for us to discuss the matter of my father’s debt to the palace.”
The king chortles. “Oh, your father’s always been indebted to me. That will be paid; don’t you worry about that.”
A chill runs down my spine as I think back to the eldest prince’s 18th birthday, when I was all but presented to him on a silver platter and was rejected. Could it be that my father has been indebted even then?
And did I somehow play a role in his hopes to have his debt forgiven, even at my young age? No, it’s too gross to even think about that.
But now I’m a grown adult, fully aware of what I’m getting into.
I don’t love Torben. But I can save the family business. I can protect the family name. I can perform royal engagements related to work I care about. Once I’m queen, the work of the Human Rights Council will be front and center, and get loads more coverage in the media, as it should.
“Oh, my dears, I didn’t see you there!” The queen has looked past me at someone new entering the breakfast room. I turn and see Torben walk in…holding the hand of a young woman. I swallow. The queen goes on to say, “Kala told us the most fascinating story about her recent trip to Malaysia. Torben, you remember Kala, don’t you?”
I turn and smile, giving a small curtsy. The Favored Prince replies stiffly, and my stomach clenches. “Of course I do. How are you, Kala?”
“Very well, Your Highness.” When I look up, something in the prince’s eyes sends me back to that awful day seventeen years ago. I’m about to get rejected again, aren’t I? “Thank you for asking. I hope Your Highness had a pleasant summer.”
His smile is genuine, and almost warm. “Very pleasant. How is your family?”
I beam at him. “Father is enjoying his retirement in Spain. I plan to join him and Ilsa there soon. Unless I am called upon to be of service in another capacity.” We might as well try to lead into the subject that no one is discussing, even if no one will directly address our probable engagement.
Behind me, Etienne coughs. I ignore him. He, of course, is taking my “service” comment sexually. Because, of course, he is.
Torben queries, “I thought your father sold the beer business to an American company? Are you running the local headquarters, then?”
