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“That’s very sweet of you to be protective of me. But it’s not their fault entirely. We should go to the king,” she suggests.
“No.”
“He and the queen can end all of this speculation,” she says. “It’s too much for you.”
Indeed. The king has graciously sent bodyguards and 24-hour surveillance of the cottage and grounds, as my wife has been receiving death threats online and through the post. She doesn’t accept my offer to find their IP addresses and crush their nuts with my bare hands. “Leave it to the professionals,” she says.
Now that my head is clear, I don’t want to sit back and let things happen. I want to live our lives in peace.
“Oh, some post came for you. Uther already opened it to inspect it, but I haven’t read it.”
I grimace and take the letter from her. In consuming so much news, I know Major Uther Nancarrow’s fan base. The royal followers love to comment on the mysterious bodyguard in the kilt, swooning over how sweet he is with my mother and Flora. He’s done nothing to earn my petty reaction other than to exist and be called a dreamboat by every Gravenlandian with a pulse. No commoner would dare go rogue and approach the queen with Uther standing nearby.
“Calm down. He’s a perfect gentleman,” Kala snorts. But even my devoted wife looks a little flustered just saying his name.
“Just because a man had an inhuman growth spurt in his teens,” I mutter, unfolding the letter.
“You’re being paranoid. What does the letter say?”
My jaw drops. I knew the answer was a 50/50 chance one way or the other, but I hadn’t expected this.
I hadn’t expected my father to outright lie.
“Right,” I say, handing her the letter.
Kala’s eyes widen, and her mouth gapes. “I knew it,” she breathes.
“Seems you’ve won this argument, darling. We have to go see the king,” I say. “I’ll call for the palace to send a car.”
Sheepishly, my wife turns crimson and admits, “Uther is already waiting at the front gate.”
I clear my throat and insist that I’m not jealous. Because I’m not. I’ve got much bigger, louder, tempestuous fish to fry, and the oil is good and hot now.
* * *
I’d thought approaching the palace and walking through those doors again would put me on edge.
With Kala's arm entwined with mine, I brace myself at the bottom of the steps to the main entrance.
“Anything I can prepare for you, Your Highness?” Rolf looks at me warily.
“Sparkling water, Rolf. Thank you.” I shake his hand and look him in the eye. The man has worked to meet my material needs every second of my life but remained behind the scenes.
His sharp eyes are so much like looking at my father.
“There’s much to say, Rolf. Much for me to apologize for,” I say.
“No need. It’s a pleasure to serve.” He turns to my wife. “And for the Princess?”
Her gracious smile is sunshine on this gloomy autumn day. “Just tea, Rolf. Oh, and hold on. We brought something for you.”
Before he can protest, my wife reaches into her large handbag and retrieves a small glass bottle of apple cider.
“What’s this?” Rolf says, chuckling, examining the label. “Windewall Cider.”
“It’s nonalcoholic cider…something we’re trying out,” I say quickly. “It’s probably not good.”
Kala squeezes my arm, and I know I’m babbling. It is good.
