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Marco sets me gently on my feet and straightens, looking up, away from me. He turns into a soldier in front of my eyes. All of us, the guards, the aides, the secretaries and me, we all turn towards the double doors.
The king is about to walk into the room.
…
Dad said he wouldn’t come to meet me at the airport; he said his first public appearance after the scandal would have to be an apology, but he didn’t want to do it yet for two reasons: One, I was still away from Asteria, and his appearance might give rise to a new wave of hatred towards the monarchy and me. He’d rather I was safe under his and Asteria’s guards’ watch when that happened.
And problem number two was the little unresolved matter of who his other child was—the fourth one.
He still didn’t know, and he’d rather make his address having all the facts under his belt. He’d rather be holding all the cards. He his team were afraid that whoever the other child was, he or she or a team of people backing him or her would suddenly reveal the truth and try to make a scene, a la the ‘rotten royals’ posts. Except, you know, in actual, real life.
On live television.
So, long story short, I backed him up one hundred percent on his decision to delay his first official address. He just went about his duties, doubling down and working twice as hard as everyone else, as usual. He just stayed invisible while doing it. Kings are really good at staying invisible when they want to. When they have to.
Which is why I am so surprised to hear him announced here, in this dingy little airport backroom that Marco and I are hiding in.
He walks in, his slender figure immediately commanding everyone’s attention and respect. There is a huge smile on his face as his eyes land on me, and even though there are no reporters here and the little room is guarded more heavily than my room in the palace, I suddenly realize why he came here right now.
Because this is what he wanted his first public appearance to be: meeting his daughter.
He walks over to me and hugs me.
“Welcome home,” he says in a voice thick with emotion. “I’m so happy to see you home again, safe.”
“As long as you agree to ever let me out of it again,” I joke, “so am I.”
He elbows me in the ribs lightly. “You are glad to see me too, you big old softie,” he says. “Admit it.”
“Never!” I laugh, and he hugs me closer.
There’s still a bit of desperation in his hug. It still lasts a few more seconds than it used to, it’s a little bit too tight, a little bit too scared that he’ll lose me once he lets go. But eventually he does, and his eyes meet Marco’s over my head.
They exchange a look and I have no idea what it means, except that my dad’s arm tightens slightly around my shoulders as he looks at Marco. Marco’s body remains rigid and straight, his head held high, his eyes focused as a soldier’s.
“Where did you come from?” I ask dad. “Did you… did you see?”
Suddenly, my stomach clenches with nerves. This is exactly why I wanted to do this speech right off the plane: I didn’t want to worry about my dad’s opinion of it. I wanted to be unbiased, honest. But now that he’s here, I can’t help but want his approval.
“I’m sorry,” dad says, “I was in the car with Hector, waiting for you. I couldn’t not come meet you at the airport now, could I? I saw and I heard everything.”
“And?”
He doesn’t answer for a while, just presses his lips to my temple.
That’s all well and good, and it makes me feel safe and warm in a way no other hug in the world does. But I am going to need his words at some point.
And then, while I wait, forgetting to breathe, something happens that’s never happened before: Marco breaks protocol. He literally turns his head, and looks at me. Directly at me. With his boss watching and everything.
And then, when I meet his eyes, he winks at me.
My eyes go round in surprise, and immediately, Marco looks away, morphing into a faceless guard once more. But it was enough. Enough to remind me that I’m not alone. I have him now. I always will, God willing. And I have Angel and Hector.
I know that no matter what happens, I’ll have them and I’m not going to be alone. Maybe we’ll even be friends, the three of us. Maybe we’ll watch movies together. Maybe we’ll turn the Rotten Royals into a silly nickname, a shadow of what it used to be, something to use as a username in top security private chatrooms so that we can be stupid and silly and ourselves.
Together.
Any time we want. Even in the middle of the night.
