Page 12 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
“Just take it.” Clara let out a shriek. “It’s the palace.”
Gracie’s heart drummed as she fumbled for the phone.
The palace?
What palace?
Surely this wasn’t about that fancy royal contest Clara had entered. Gracie had written that off as a pipe dream days ago. But the maniacal grin on Clara’s face told her otherwise.
Gracie’s stomach took a nosedive, as if she were perched atop the Swiss Alps in one of the glass gondolas that Clara had shown her on the palace’s website. The phone slipped from her fingers, and as she scrambled to catch it, she accidentally pushed the FaceTime button.
A man’s face came into view. He had striking gold hair, razor-sharp, Nordic features and—from what Gracie could tell—he was wearing a business suit, like he was a regular person at a regular job. Not that Gracie expected kings and queens to wear their crowns to work every day. She had no idea what royals did Monday through Friday. The man appeared to be sitting at a conference table in a room with lavish, not-so-regular gold accents. Swags of blue spruce intertwined with silver garland hung from the crown molding behind him.
Great. Gracie was already messing this up. Please don’t let him be the king. Or the prince. Or even a duke…
Were dukes still a thing in San Glacera? Had they ever been a thing there?
“Hello? Gracie Clark?” The man smoothed down his tie. “This is Jaron Lutz from the royal press office in San Glacera calling on behalf of His Majesty, King Felix.”
Not an actual royal, then. Gracie breathed the smallest possible sigh of relief. Was he calling because she’d won? Surely the palace wouldn’t personally call to reject her—although after the recent meetings at more banks than Gracie cared to think about, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
“So sorry. I didn’t mean to force you into a video chat. I was in the middle of a performance and then I dropped the phone, and—” She shook her head. She was babbling. To a man sitting in a castle. “Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lutz.”
He offered her a polite smile. “Please call me Jaron.”
“Oh.” A rush of warm air tickled the back of Gracie’s neck, and she did her best not to fidget, seeing as she was on a video call with a royal representative. “Okay then, Jaron.”
He frowned and leaned closer to the camera. “Is that a, er, live reindeer standing behind you?”
Gracie turned to find Jingle quite literally breathing down her neck. Her face went hotter than a flaming Yule log. “Yes, actually. It is. I’m afraid you’ve caught me in the middle of something.”
Jaron’s gaze narrowed. “I hadn’t realized reindeer were quite so large. Or friendly, apparently.”
Gracie ducked her head as Jingle poked at her tiara with her nose.
“I’m so sorry for the distraction. Santa has a head cold,” she said, as if that made any sense whatsoever. Ugh. What if she had won, but she was being so awkward, they changed their minds?
“Well, then. Please give Santa my regards.” Jaron gave the collar of his dress shirt a slight tug. Gracie could sense the poor man’s discomfort clear across the globe. “I’ll make the rest of the call brief, as it appears I’ve caught you at a bad time. I’m pleased to inform you that you’ve been chosen as the winner of San Glacera’s Winter Wonderland Contest.”
Gracie’s knees buckled.
She’d known it was coming. But hearing the words come out of Jaron Lutz’s mouth and seeing even a tiny glimpse of the castle’s interior in the background were just too much.
“This is such a surprise.” She shook her head. Was this really happening? “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll accept our offer to come tour our kingdom and perform as Princess Snowflake at the Christmas Ice Festival.” He gave her another polite, regal smile. “The royal family is very much looking forward to welcoming you to San Glacera and hearing you sing.”
“I…”
Wait.
What?
Gracie’s heart pounded so hard and fast that it felt like a hummingbird was trapped inside her ribcage. She pressed a hand to her chest. The bedazzled snowflakes on the velvet bodice of her princess gown dug into her palm, but she barely noticed.
Surely she’d misheard. He hadn’t just said that he expected her to sing, had he? In front of an audience? An audience that would include a real royal family?
