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The palace hallways widen as I get closer to the executive level where the royal family lives and works. I know nothing about home decorating, but Queen Charlotte has managed to create a place that’s both ornate and comfortable. There are pictures of the family everywhere, along with large pieces of artwork. Plants are tucked away in corners, and there’s furniture that is actually nice to sit on.
Not that I spend much time here that isn’t working. Topher invites me, of course, but I know my place. Even a best mate of the prince doesn’t belong in certain wings of the house if he isn’t on duty or also royal. My father—once one of King Johnathan’s principal advisors—taught me that.
And Ireallydon’t belong here looking and smelling like I do, but that can’t be helped at the moment.
Still, when I turn a corner and nearly run the queen and king down, I wish I’d taken just a few moments to shower off and change.
“Oh!” Queen Charlotte places a hand over her chest, her kind eyes crinkled in surprise—and amusement. “Training for a marathon, are we, Frederick?”
I instantly assume the pose of my station. Back straight, chest erect, hands clasped in front of my body. “No, Your Majesty.”
The queen pats her dark hair, which is pulled back at the nape of her neck. She’s casual today in a pair of trousers and a long-sleeved collared shirt with buttons. “At ease, soldier.” She laughs, and her smile reminds me so much of Chloe, it hurts.
Chloe, who I haven’t seen in months. Whose teasing laughter I can always count on to lift my spirits. Chloe, who brings light into every room she enters.
“What’s the meaning of this?” King Johnathan is much more like his son as he frowns and narrows his dark eyes, his shoulders broad and unyielding. He’s got on a full three-piece suit, which he wears like a badge, and his gray beard is closely trimmed like a bonsai tree.
“I’m sorry, sir. Your son rang and I came as soon as I was able.”
The king grunts and turns from me. This is not how it always was between us. Before my father’s trial, King Johnathan treated me like another son, welcoming me warmly and showing favoritism to me among all the bodyguards. (Of course, I’d have rather he didn’t do the latter, but I do miss seeing his eyes bright with pride when they looked at me. Not … this.)
But thank goodness for Queen Charlotte, the epitome of grace and forgiveness—even if there is nothing truly to forgive. “It’s so good to see you, Frederick. How are your loved ones? Are they in good health?”
By “loved ones,” she can only mean my parents, but even she can’t bring herself to ask specifically about them. The Shaws arepersonae non grataearound the palace.
Around all of Kentonia, really.
It doesn’t matter that Dad was innocent. People believe what they want to believe.
Which is why my parents moved to the mountains nine years ago. But not before my father gave me a speech that will forever be burned into my brain:“After what he did for us, you owe the prince your life, your allegiance. No matter what they throw at you, you hold your head up and serve the crown well, just as the Shaws have done for over one hundred years. You cannot allow the tradition to be broken with me—with you. Do what I no longer can. Redeem our family name.”
What choice do I have in the face of such a request, especially when I’m the only Shaw left who can? If only Matthew was still alive …
I clear my throat. “They are well, thank you, Your Majesty.” As well as can be expected, anyway. Thanks to the depression he’s dealt with for the last decade, Father can no longer hold down a job, so Mum’s had to work. I don’t get to visit them as much as I’d like, but they get by.
In full view of her silent husband, Queen Charlotte places her hand on my upper arm, squeezes. “I’m glad to hear it.” Her voice rings with conviction, so strong, so regal.
Just like her daughter, she is a force to be reckoned with.
“We won’t keep you from Christopher now. Tell him his mother says hello. I hardly see the boy anymore, despite him living a few hallways down.”
“I will, Your Majesty.”
Once they turn from me—and I’ve officially been dismissed—I hurry toward Topher’s study, where Stevens is standing on duty. He gives me a quick nod, indicating I can go in, so without knocking, I open the French double doors and head inside.
Topher is pacing—never a good sign—but when I enter, he stops. “Frederick.” His shoulders sink with what I presume is relief. He places a hand on the wooden mantel above the fireplace that’s helping to keep his large study rimmed with bookcases warm. It may be chilly outside these walls, but the palace is a bastion of coziness. “Thanks for coming, mate. I see I’ve taken you from a workout.”
“Happy to bring my lovely gym aroma to your inner sanctum.”
With just the two of us here, I can allow myself a tiny sliver of informality. While it’s certainly safer for Topher and easier for me to do my job when he’s inside the palace, it’s rare for us to be alone here, to hang out as friends only, like we used to in the armed forces or when Topher was away at university and I was assigned to protect him there as his roommate and an undercover student.
I miss it. Being more than a bodyguard. Doing more than standing around waiting for life to happen, for someone to give me some directive. Making my own way forward.
Of course, maybe it’s better this way. People tend to get hurt when I’m the one choosing the path.
Topher chuckles at my dumb remark, brushing his fingers down the sides of his dark beard. “I’ll allow it just this once. The books will have to forgive me for subjecting them to your wretched smell.”
I approach him, my trainers hitting the plush red rug covering the wooden floor, before I turn and flop into an overstuffed chair near the fire. “And what about old Franny here?”
