Page 31 of Guarding the Princess
“Wow, you clean up nicely.” She seems surprised I can wear something other than a polo and slacks.
“Your American phrases are coming along nicely. And you are…” I trail off, realizing the right phrase to describe her hasn’t been formed yet. “Stunning. Just breathtaking.”
She blushes and tilts her head like she’s shy, which I know she’s not. There’s a very thin tiara situated in her hair, the diamonds flashing as they hit the overhead lights. This is Princess Charlotta, in all her glory, and I can’t believe I’m the lucky guy who gets to walk her into dinner and stay by her side.
I give her my elbow, which she wraps her hand through, and walk her down the hall.
“I plan to tell them after dinner. I can’t believe I haven’t gotten a moment to tell them today.” She looks apologetic.
“It’s fine. Today’s been busy, but we have time. I’m not going anywhere.”
She squeezes into my side tighter and we chat all the way to the dining room where two butlers stand at attention at the double doors. A staff member bustles over and guides us to our seats, Charlotte on the right-hand side of her father at the head of the table, and me to my seat at the far other end of the thirty-person table.
“Wait—” Charlotte’s interrupted by the entrance of the King and Queen, who quickly take their seats at the opposite ends of the table. Lucky me, I’m one plate away from Charlotte’s mother who’s already lifting an eyebrow at my presence. Guess I’ll be sitting away from Charlotte tonight.
There are about twenty-five of us who take our seats immediately after the King and Queen sit down, as is customary at a formal dinner. I don’t recognize most of the faces. Magnus sits across from Charlotte and doesn’t waste any time giving me a squinty-eyed smirk. My irritation grows by the second. This isn’t how today is supposed to have gone. I tamp down the reflex that wants to convince me this is an example of how Charlotte and I don’t fit.
“Thank you all for coming. Our Charlotta is back with us and we couldn’t be happier. To Charlotta.” The King raises his glass and we all toast Charlotte’s return.
“Thank you, Father. I actually have an announcement.” Charlotte stands up and turns her gaze to me before looking directly at her mother and father.
“I’m happy to inform you all, Ryker and I are officially dating.” She turns her smiling face to me and the simple announcement does something to bury her even deeper under my skin. Her willingness to go to bat for me, for us, is everything I need to feel like maybe this will work out after all.
There’s complete silence around the table for several long moments.
“Glad you got that lover’s quarrel worked out,” Magnus says wryly, the smirk on his face more pronounced. I’m sure he thinks this announcement will work in his favor. More proof the princess isn’t fit to lead and he needs to step in. He doesn’t know I’ll do anything to make sure she gets what she wants. There’s no way I’ll let being tied to me bring her down. Not when she’s the most fit person to run the country in this room.
“No quarrel, Magnus. But there is much to be done and I want to make it clear Ryker will be by my side through it all.”
Charlotte sits down and proceeds to eat her salad, like everything is normal, so I follow suit. That is, until the Queen lets out a laugh. It actually sounds like a small farm animal dying. I almost leap out of my chair to administer the Heimlich maneuver, though I don’t think she’d care for my hands on her even moments from death’s door.
“Mother…” Charlotte’s disapproval is evident.
The Queen is laughing.
At the thought of Charlotte and me together.
She swipes her hand in the air and dabs her napkin to her eyes. “Oh, Charlotta, I forgot what a sense of humor you have.”
Charlotte drops her fork on her plate and the loud clank is like the shot heard round the world. The air in the room turns decidedly frigid. Everyone freezes and watches these two battle it out like they’re at a tennis match, heads swiveling.
“It’s not a joke. He and I are actually together, so I suggest you get used to the idea.”
The Queen throws her napkin down on the table and unleashes. “Please. I’m not an idiot. You’re faking a relationship with your bodyguard so you can get out of your family duty. I gave you three years to get this—whatever it is—out of your system with the caveat that if you find true love, you can marry and be released from your duties to the throne. Faking a relationship with some American you just met and whoworksfor you is not acceptable. You will be at the coronation and you will marry a proper member of Regora society as is expected of you. Do you understand?”
Charlotte’s cheeks are pink, and as much as I wish to jump in and protect her from her own mother, I know it’s not my place to do so. She sits up taller and there goes the nose in the air.
“We’ll discuss this later in private. For now, let’s all eat.” Charlotte smiles down the table, and gestures to everyone to pick up their forks. To anyone who doesn’t know her well, you’d think she’s fine. Her eyes have lost their natural sparkle and I know that facial expression is more grimace than smile.
The King, bless him, starts asking questions of his guests, which dissipates the tension in the air. I can feel Magnus’s stare, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking his way. Instead, I eat my salad and wonder if what Charlotte and I are doing is the right thing. My heart says yes, but how can it be right when it’s tearing her family apart?
“Excuse me, ma’am, but one of your guests has received an urgent phone call.”
One of the stony-faced butlers has whispered—loudly I might add—into the Queen’s ear.
“Please go on,” she says back, not caring the entire table has turned its collective attention to her end. I suppose she’s used to that as Queen.
The old man chances a glance at me before he attempts to whisper again, his voice booming and echoing against the wood walls. My blood runs cold. My instincts are kicking in again, warning me of danger.
