Page 12 of Once Upon a Royal Summer
Ian and Rose both smirked in his general direction.
Oh boy, here it comes.
Henry’s love life, or lack thereof, was a favorite topic among his kingdom and the royal court—his mother, in particular. Not a day passed when she failed to remind him how happy Rose would be if he were to find another “special someone.”
In the first year or so after his wife had passed away, no one had breathed a word about Henry remarrying. Everyone had been content to let him grieve in peace. Rose’s mother had been a part of Henry’s life since childhood. She’d been royal by birth, the daughter of a high-ranking duke who ran in the same noble circles as Henry’s family. He and Jolie had attended the same prestigious university in coastal France, and once they’d graduated, all of Bella-Moritz seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of a royal engagement.
Henry had been happy to oblige. He’d known Jolie his entire life, and marrying her had just felt right, even though they’d been ridiculously young and naive at the time. Less than eighteen months into the marriage, Rose had been born—a precious royal heir.
And then Jolie had fallen ill, and Bella-Moritz’s fairy-tale romance had crumbled to the ground.
That was the thing with fairy tales, though, wasn’t it? They were only imaginary. Henry and Jolie’s relationship had always been based on friendship, and in the months before she’d passed away, Jolie had become disillusioned with life in the palace. She’d even mentioned divorce, but once she’d been diagnosed, Jolie and Henry had put on a brave face. The word had never been uttered again.
The months Jolie had been sick had been the loneliest of Henry’s life. He’d never mentioned his marital troubles to his mother, but nearly two years after Jolie’s passing, the queen had confessed to him his wife had come to her and asked about the possibility of ending the marriage. She’d been prepared to give up her title and leave both Henry and Rose.
A new sort of loneliness had settled over him then. What was he supposed to do with that information, years after the fact?
According to his mother, Ian, and everyone else in his life, he should simply start over. Find someone new, someone he could fall crazy in love with. He deserved that, didn’t he? Didn’t everyone?
Henry disagreed. Vehemently. He’d tried marriage, and it’d been a spectacular failure. If a literal Prince Charming couldn’t make it work, the prospect seemed hopeless. He was perfectly fine on his own. He had Rose and he had his role as heir to the throne. That was more than enough to keep him occupied.
But as time marched on, the rumblings began. His subjects wanted to know who he was dating. After all, Henry was too young to live the rest of his life as a widower. Every woman who crossed his path was analyzed in terms of her suitability as future queen. These days, he couldn’t even speak to a female over the age of twenty-five without the press insisting a royal wedding was in the works.
Ian shot Henry a serious dose of side eye. “Did you really dance with this Sweet Pea queen?”
Henry kept walking without a word. He’d danced with a pretend princess, just like he’d waltzed a million other times at royal balls—one of his many princely duties. There was really nothing more to say about the matter.
Except he’d felt a very strange, very real jolt of electricity when he’d taken the pretend princess’s hand in his…
And leading her around the ballroom had been the most fun Henry had had in quite some time. She’d expected him to bumble his way through the waltz like her theme park prince had done. Henry had winced during their entire dance. It had been painful to watch. Sweet Pea had noticed Henry’s silent critique, of course, and calling him out to participate in the dance lesson had been a challenge.
No one challenged Henry. Ever. Part and parcel of being the Crown Prince meant people deferred to him, day and night. Even Ian was guilty of it. Truth be told, it got a little old. “Princess” Sweet Pea’s little test had given Henry a wholly unexpected jolt of adrenaline. He rather liked being treated as a regular person, and her utter astonishment at his ability to put one foot in front of the other had made him feel like he was smiling from the inside out.
But neither of those things were any of Ian’s business, and now that Henry had exited the saccharine-sweet castle and was back in the very real light of day, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. There had been at least fifty people at that tea party. Fifty strangers, armed with phones and cameras. It would be a miracle if he didn’t end up on the worldwide news, waltzing with a theme park princess. The optics would be borderline insane. The press would eat it up with a spoon.
Oblivious to Henry’s massive lapse in judgment, Rose prattled on. “Princess Sweet Pea had a giant crown she wears all the time, even when she takes a bath, and her dress looked like pink cotton candy. Daddy twirled her all over the ballroom, and everyone clapped like crazy.” Rose clapped her little hands.
Ian regarded Henry and appeared to be doing his level best not to laugh. “Shall I alert the Queen? She’s been trying for a while now to pair you with a nice eligible princess.”
Henry arched a brow. “Are you quite finished?”
Ian shook his head, and he raked his dark-blond hair from his eyes. “No. I’m definitely going to need to hear more about this cotton candy princess.”
Rose was only too happy to elaborate. “She has pretty blond hair all piled up on top of her head, and she’s friends with birds and butterflies. Her footman is a bunny rabbit.”
Ian nodded. “Naturally.”
“And she loves to read books.”
“Ah, a well-read woman of royal lineage.” Ian slid Henry another glance. “Princess Cotton Candy sounds rather lovely.”
“Her name is Princess Sweet Pea,” Rose said, tiny brow furrowing. “While she was dancing with Daddy, the clock started bonging, and she ran away. Her shoe fell off, and then the tea party was over.”
Ian cocked his head. “Hmm, for some reason, this story sounds vaguely familiar.”
Henry’s memory snagged on what he’d said the moment Princess Sweet Pea had pulled away from him. Wait, where are you going? The words had slipped right out of his mouth as if he were an actor playing the part of Prince Charming, right out of central casting. Worse yet, he’d had the wholly irrational urge to chase her.
Maybe Henry actually had landed right in the middle of a storybook. Thinking about it was giving him a headache of the highest order.
