Page 96 of Thrones We Steal

Our waitress gushes a sigh of what I presume is relief and thrusts a fist into the air. “They’re going to freak when I bring Celia Chapman-Payne back. Oh, and I’m Amber, by the way,” she says and drops into one of the most awkward curtsies I’ve ever witnessed. “Here, let me grab your plates. We play in the back room.”

As we follow her out of the dining room, Henry whispers into my ear. “Told you that smile wasn’t for me.”

I sock him in the stomach with my elbow.

Trivia Night is held in a room that looks much the same as the one we left but is occupied by a louder, more boisterous crowd. People laugh and toss back pints of ale, settled in for a night of fun. Fried fish, cigarette smoke, and malt all clamor for position as the dominant scent. I feel like a peacock in the desert in my fuchsia blazer.

Amber sets our plates on one of the small round tables dotting the room, which has been divided in half. “You guys take a seat while I get this lot sorted.” Her sharp whistle brings the volume in the room down to a hum. “Listen up! It’s time to start. Each team will have sixty seconds to come up with their answer. Anyone on the team is eligible to answer, but only the first answer will be accepted, so use your bloody noggins and work together. Clive will ask the questions for my team and I’ll ask ‘em for his. Any questions?”

I have roughly twenty, and my hand nearly rises out of habit, but there’s no need to attract the attention of the entire room. I’ll just have to figure it out as we go along.

“What’s the theme, Amber?” someone calls from the back of the room.

“Wesbourne history,” she replies and throws a wink at me. By now, my face has become a fire hazard.

I’m expecting your run-of-the-mill primary school questions like Who was the first king of Wesbourne? In what year did Wesbourne gain independence? But there’s nothing ordinary about these questions.

Our team’s first question is how did the “crispy” come to be Wesbourne’s national dish? I’m positive we won’t get it, until a girl with a tangled mass of red hair says a pub owner was closing for the day when a nobleman came in and demanded a meal. Scraping together the only ingredients he had left in the kitchen, he made him a sandwich featuring fried pan fish. The rest is history.

We get the point, and the next five minutes are spent in a raucous discussion about the official ingredients for a crispy—red onion slices, shredded lettuce, sliced gherkins, a dash of celery salt, a sweet-spicy sauce, and a brioche bun—until Amber stands to read the question for the other team.

The questions volley back and forth between the teams, and I can’t believe how many nuanced details these people know about our country’s history. And not once have they been awkward about having their future king and queen sitting at greasy pub tables with them.

“Drink up,” Henry says. He pushes his ale toward me. Everyone is facing the center of the room where Clive and Amber ask the questions. I’m sitting in front of Henry, ever cognizant of his knees occasionally brushing my back. “It’ll help you relax.”

He’s in his element here: the jostling, the noise, the drinks. I would much prefer to blend into the smudgy background. But I do as he says and take another drink.

Amber appears in front of me. “Fill in for me? I’ve gotta make rounds out front.”

I fight for the words to turn her down, but she’s already disappeared.

“Come on, C. You got this,” Henry says and squeezes my shoulders.

I walk to the center of the room on what feels like sea legs. I can handle eyes on me, but these eyes are different. We come from different planets. I don’t make a habit of frequenting pubs, drinking ale, and certainly not participating in trivia nights.

“Give ‘em something hard, Your Royal Highness!” someone calls out.

It’s the first time anyone has addressed me as such tonight and the title throws me. It seems as out of place in the room as my blazer. I meet Henry’s eyes. He grins and nods his encouragement. “Don’t go easy on them, C!”

Resolve solidifies in my stomach. I walk back to our table and chug the rest of Henry’s refilled glass of ale, to much whooping from the crowd. Then I shrug out of my blazer and toss it to Henry. This causes even more cheering as I take my place in the center of the room, wearing only my white tank and blue jeans. I look just like one of them now.

It takes me just a few moments, and then I address the team across the room. “Where was Queen Helena originally from before she married King William the First?”

As they huddle together to discuss their answer, I turn around to see the reaction of our team. I’m greeted with grins, thumbs-up signs, and a wink from Henry.

Clive’s team guesses France to the amusement of ours. “It’s Ireland, you dumb-asses!” someone yells. “Don’t you read Celia’s blog?”

Questions continue between the teams, and the more I let myself relax, the more fun I have. By the time Amber comes back into the room, I’ve been unofficially elected to replace her as team captain. We win, accused of cheating by the other side, but they must not be too sore because Henry and I are bombarded with hand shakes and good-natured back slaps by the time it’s over.

I was wrong before. Wesbourne is so much more than a country, so much more than the political climate or the brash opinions shared in the news. This is the heart of Wesbourne. We’re all made of good and bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

“This was the best trivia night we’ve ever had,” Amber says as Henry pulls out his wallet to pay for our meal.

I don’t hear the rest of their conversation because the sight of that palm-sized fold of leather has snatched the breath from my lungs. I can still smell the shop—that earthy, woodsy scent, broken by the occasional whiff of tobacco. The proprietor glaring at me over the rim of his glasses. Pulling out the three large, crisp bills to appease him. Watching the engraving machine burn his name into the bottom right corner. The feel of the soft, supple leather in my hands. The confidence that he would love it.

It was the last gift I ever bought for him.

Fortunately, the rain is nothing more than a slight mist when we get outside. The seats of the car are cold to the touch, and Henry cranks up the heat.

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