Page 1 of Royal Caleva: Luis

CHAPTER 1

“Ten minutes until start time, Su Majestad.”

Luis Dragón, King of Caleva, nodded to the young woman wearing a dark suit. She curtsied before scurrying out of the private chamber where the king, his son, Prince Raul, and his assistant, Bruno, waited. Luis was here to preside over the annual opening of the new session of the two legislative consejos that helped govern Caleva.

He treasured this particular ceremony because each year he used it to set forth his hopes, dreams, and plans for the country he both led and served, the country he loved to the marrow of his bones. This fresh beginning gave him the chance to rise above the daily responsibilities of being the head of state to express his larger vision for Caleva, with the goal of inspiring others to join him in it.

He glanced around the salón reserved for royalty when they visited the Palacio de la Ley, the building where the legislature had met for three centuries. It was in the oldest part of the original government structure and had rough stone walls, carved wooden beams in the vaulted ceiling, and heavy oak furniture with Calevan green velvet cushions trimmed in gold.

“I have your speech here.” Bruno held up the black leather folder embossed with the Calevan coat of arms, as though Luis had been searching for it in his survey of the room. Bruno would place the folder on the podium just before Luis arrived there, so no one could sneak a peek at its contents.

“Gracias.” Luis walked to an ornate gilded mirror to make sure his medals were still neatly lined up on his deep-red uniform jacket. He had long ago stopped wearing the crown and cape for this ceremony, but every other embellishment of gold braid and regal embroidery was on display.

The royal uniform reminded the members of both councils that Luis’s power came from a different source than theirs. They were voted into and out of office at the whim of their public.

After the election, Luis would still be king.

“You look magnificent, Pater,” Raul said.

“You look equally resplendent,” Luis said with a smile.

Raul was also dressed in full royal regalia, although with fewer medals and less gold braid. When he looked at Raul, Luis saw himself at the age of thirty, with the same dark brown hair, pale blue eyes, high-angled cheekbones, and lean, athletic build. Raul had an easier smile and a more relaxed charm, but behind those surface attributes burned the same intensity and devotion to the crown that Luis felt.

Of course, now Luis’s hair and beard were salt-and-pepper, a sign of maturity he blamed more on being king than on his fifty-odd years of age. Running a small but wealthy and strategically important country required a constant balancing act on both the domestic and international fronts.

Raul tugged at his high, gold-encrusted collar. “You could use one of these jackets as an implement of torture.”

Luis had been king for almost three decades, so he barely noticed the discomfort. Raul had been born just before Luis was crowned and therefore was less practiced.

“The collars are meant to force you to stand straight,” Luis said. “To impress your loyal subjects with your strong backbone and authority.”

“And your ability to endure strangulation.” Raul made a comical face.

Despite the joking complaint, Luis was struck by how much his son had matured in the last couple of years. Guilt over his cousin Gabriel’s kidnapping had toughened Raul, even though he bore no blame for the terrible crime. As a father, Luis wished Raul had not been forced to learn in such a harsh way about the burden of being the heir to the throne. The position he was born into meant that people would put themselves in harm’s way for him, as Gabriel had, whether Raul wished them to or not.

As the king, Luis appreciated the fact that Raul was now better prepared for his future. In fact, his son was already taking on some of Luis’s lesser duties and excelling at them. He was ready for more.

The door opened again. “Five minutes,” the same young woman said with another curtsy before she dashed away.

Sparks of energy fizzed through Luis’s blood.

“Let’s go give them hell.” Raul reached for the doorknob, but the door swung open before he could grasp it.

“Su Alteza Real, Su Majestad.” Mikel Silva, the behind-the-scenes head of security for the royal family, bowed to Raul and more deeply to Luis. The man somehow managed to make his formal greetings both respectful and ironic. As always, he was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and sober red tie. “My apologies for disturbing you at a critical moment, but we have an urgent situation.”

“I have an important speech to give,” Luis pointed out, although Mikel knew that, of course.

“Yes, Señor,” Mikel said. “However, you need to read this.” He held out a plain white envelope.

“What is it?” Luis asked as he accepted the envelope.

“A letter from Odette Fontaine.”

Luis hated only three people in the world, a surprisingly small number, given how long he had been king.

Odette Fontaine was number one on his list because she had orchestrated the kidnapping and maiming of his nephew and had tried to murder his son.

Cold fury at the woman whipped through him. “What the hell does Odette want?”

---