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“You may find it…dull that nothing’s changed much over the years. Our customs and traditions are important. They’re what make us…us. Without them, our monarchy would be nothing. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Her voice brightening, she attempts something resembling a smile, but it looks foreign on her face.
“Now that you’re finished with your studies—”
“Actually, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” I interject. “I’d hoped to—”
“It’s time to start thinking of your duty to the crown,” she continues, as if anything I say is of little consequence.
“I’ve been fulfilling my duty to the crown, even when out of the country. I’ve continued supporting various charities, regardless of the time constraint on my studies. The reason I hoped to talk to you and my father face-to-face is—”
“And that means getting married.”
Her statement steals my breath and I snap my mouth closed.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s pardon, Esme. How many bad habits have you picked up while away? Have those French friends of yours undone all of your etiquette training? You don’t excuse yourself. You pardon yourself.”
“Okay. Then pardon me,” I say somewhat dramatically. “But it sounded like you mentioned me getting married.”
“I did.”
I blink, lips parting, but no words come.
“I’d prefer to announce an engagement by the end of the summer. Then a wedding in the late spring. I do think that’s the best time of year for a wedding. Don’t you? All the flowers in full bloom.”
She doesn’t look up from her notepad, prattling on as if she didn’t just pull the proverbial rug out from beneath me. As if we’re discussing which place settings to use at the next state dinner. Not the fact she wants me to get married. And who does she think I should marry? I’m not even dating anyone.
Then again, I fear she has an answer to that, as well.
She always does.
“I’ve had our public relations team do some polling of possible matches. We believe the best match for you is Jameson Gates. He’s purported to be named one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, if you believe some of those publications. His father is Henry Gates, head of Gates Enterprises, the largest private military company in all of Europe and arguably the world. In addition to that, they’ve spearheaded several non-governmental organizations to help combat human rights violations they’ve witnessed in war-torn countries. Extremely charitable and successful family. Plus, the public recalls seeing photos of you and Jameson dancing together at a gala last year and thought you made a great couple. I’ve set up—”
“I’m sorry, but what fresh hell have I walked into?” I blurt out, finally finding my voice after listening to her drone on about Jameson Gates’ finer qualities.
Or, more accurately, the finer qualities of his bank account.
“Have I just stepped onto the set of some regency romance where females have lost all say over their own future? You do realize how absurd this sounds, right? Tell me you haven’t lost your goddamn mind.”
Pinning me with a glare that would make most people run for cover, she forms her lips into a tight line as she squares her shoulders.
“I’ll ignore your rather…colorful language for the time being, as it appears some etiquette refreshers are in order. But I assure you, this is no ‘fresh hell,’” she responds, using air quotes. “This is your reality, Esme. You’re the Princess Royal. Second in line to the crown. As such, you have a duty to marry, and marry well. Lord forbid anything happens to your brother. In that case, you’d be heir apparent, which is why it’s so important you have a…masculine presence supporting you.”
Every feminist bone in my body is on the verge of rioting, ready to burn bras and dismantle the patriarchal system that’s still alive and well, even in the twenty-first century.
Especially in a monarchy.
“Now I trust you haven’t been sexually active?” She lowers her glasses over her eyes, pen in hand, ready to jot down my response.
“Excuse me?”
She glares at me, but doesn’t correct me.
For once.
