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“Welcome to my sanctuary,” I announced as we entered the billiard room and I set the dog down.
Grace’s eyes widened in awe, taking in the grandeur of the room. “This. Is. Incredible.”
“Probably my favorite place in the palace, after the art studio,” I said. “Here, let me help you with this stuff.” I reached for the dog’s belongings Grace had been carrying, setting them down in a spot in front of one of the leather chairs.
She immediately set about arranging a comfortable spot for the dog, complete with food and water bowl. She even laid down pads and explained that they were there in case he had to “do his business” as she called it, even though he had just gone. It was obvious she had a genuine care for the little guy.
She pulled one of the chew toys from the bag and tossed it. “Get the toy!”
The dog scurried across the room, his nails clicking against the tile floor. He grabbed the toy, then plopped down to play with it.
I pulled two bottles from the refrigerator behind the bar and held one up. “Straight from the bottle or frosty mug?”
“Straight from the bottle,” Grace said.
I popped the tops off, handed her a cold one, then clinked it. “To forgetting about our troubles for a while.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she said, taking a pull of her beer, still glancing around. “How many rooms does the palace have?”
“I can’t remember,” I said.
That made Grace laugh. “Seriously? You’ve lived here all your life and you don’t know how many rooms there are?”
“It’s not as simple as ABC,” I said. “For instance, you are standing in what many would consider a room, but some might call it the billiard hall.”
Grace nodded. “Okay, for simplicity’s sake, let’s convert the halls to rooms. How many are there in total?”
“What about the ballroom?” I asked.
She took another drink of her beer. “Ballroom. This ain’t rocket science. Start converting.”
I nodded, then took a sip of my drink, thinking. “Seventy-seven.”
Grace almost spit out her beer. “For a family of four?!”
“You’re right—it feels cramped sometimes.” I chuckled, then said, “And please don’t ask me how many staff members there are.”
“I don’t think I want to know,” Grace joked, then began inspecting the paintings on the walls, her eyes flickering from one piece to another. “Did you paint any of these?”
“A few of them,” I admitted, feeling oddly bashful about my talent, but still gesturing to them. “Those two of the palace over there, the portrait of my brother Theodore, and the one of Dante in front of the fountain.”
Grace pointed to the wall behind me. “This painting is such a contrast because you don’t expect to see a prince sitting on a BMW motorcycle. Is he a member of your family?”
“My brother, Prince Augustus,” I said.
“He lives here at the palace as well?” Grace asked.
I chuckled. “No, no. August is what you might call the free spirit of the family, always opting to do his own thing. He is presently riding his motorcycle across South America.”
“Why is he able to do what he wants, but not you?” she asked.
“Because he is not next in line to be king,” I answered. “Do yourself a favor and do not mention his name around Mother.” I pointed to the large painting behind the bar. “Oh, and that one over there is my father, King Henrik, right before his passing.”
Grace turned to me. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know the story of your father.”
“He was a great man, a great king, but even more, he was the best father a child could ask for,” I said, reminiscing. “Although he would occasionally get irritated with me because I would follow him around like a puppy dog.” I wrinkled my nose after admitting that. “I guess you could say I was clingy when I was younger.”
Grace smirked. “I don’t know—you were kind of clingy at the gala.”
