Page 5 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
Mittens, his three-year-old Cavalier King Charles spaniel mix, had been snoozing at the foot of Nick’s four-poster bed, but now he lifted his head from his paws and shot Nick a forlorn look. The pup was in full pout mode over Nick’s recent absence, despite getting the literal royal treatment while Nick had been away. He didn’t need to ask Mittens where he stood on the abominable issue. His sister was another story. Nick could usually count on her to be somewhat objective.
Emilie tucked her arm through Nick’s and dropped her head onto his shoulder as they made their way to the palace press office in the more public area of the castle, where they’d both been summoned for a family meeting.
“Am I reading too much into it, though?” Nick narrowed his gaze at the iPad’s screen. “Abominable is hardly a compliment.”
“They’re not talking about your personality…even though everyone knows you can be a bit of a grump at times.”
“Thanks.” Was that supposed to make him feel better? “I think.”
Just because he didn’t particularly enjoy frivolous things like royal balls or hanging out in cafés for hours on end talking about nothing, it didn’t mean he was a grump. He was just focused. He had big shoes to fill one day. Enormous ones. No one else in the palace seemed worried about that very significant fact, but Nick certainly was. King Noël had done his best to prepare Nick for his destiny since the day he’d been born. He’d taken Nick under his wing, and when he’d fallen ill a year ago, Nick had been splashed all over the headlines—and not in a good way.
Now here he was, still trying to shake off the shame of disappointing his grandfather during the beloved king’s last days…and the press was calling him more unflattering names.
“It probably doesn’t help that you have the household staff iron your boxer briefs,” Emilie said with a smile in her voice.
Nick’s jaw clenched. Were people ever going to forget the details of that interview with his ex-girlfriend Sarah Jane? “That is categorically untrue. Even if it were, it’s more an example of fastidiousness—not crankiness. Just to be clear.”
“You sound super laid-back right now,” Emilie said. “Not cranky in the slightest.”
Nick offered her a stiff smile. “Duly noted.”
“Relax, would you? I’m pretty sure they just mean you look like a Yeti.” Emilie gave his unkempt beard a sideways glance. “I can’t imagine why.”
A Yeti? Had the reporters expected him to look like a picture-perfect Crown Prince with gold epaulettes on his shoulders and a sash across his chest?
Probably. He was the future king, after all.
“I think Yeti is a slight exaggeration,” he said under his breath.
Emilie laughed. “Suit yourself. But three of my friends have already texted me animated gifs of Bumble, the abominable snowman in that old Rudolph film. With a crown emoji pasted onto his head.”
“Your generation spends far too much time on electronic devices,” Nick said, mildly aware that he sounded a decade or three older than his thirty-two years. Five weeks away without cell service had been blissful. If thinking so made him a grump, so be it.
“Says the man whose face is currently buried in his iPad.” Emilie snatched the tablet out of his hand and powered it down as they reached the press office.
Even the business area of the palace was dripping in holiday decor, as it always was this time of year. Swags of silver garland intertwined with sparkling Swarovski crystals hung from the crown molding, and jingle bell wreaths tied with icy blue velvet ribbons decorated every door.
“Stop obsessing,” Emilie said. “The Bumble thing will blow over.”
Let’s hope so. Nick had his doubts. He’d been down this road before.
With a swift motion, he smoothed his tie. He hadn’t had a chance to tackle the beard yet, but at least his attire was a bit more regal than the climbing gear he’d been wearing in the photos currently making the rounds in San Glacera. Emilie flashed him one last smile as he held the door open for her.
The press office was made up of a large conference room with windows overlooking the village square. A corridor to the right led to the smaller, individual offices for the staff. In the main room, a long conference table stretched from wall to wall, surrounded by a dozen leather chairs embossed with the family’s royal crest. A fire roared in a hearth at the far end of the space, and a portrait of King Noël hung above the mantle. Nick paused, his gaze fixed on his grandfather’s kind face, before unbuttoning his suit jacket and preparing to take a seat.
“Well, there you two are.” Queen Livia sashayed toward them from the window.
Dressed in her unofficial uniform of a pastel tweed Chanel skirt suit, large pearl earrings, and a spritz of Creed Fleurissimo perfume, Nick’s mother was as effortlessly regal as a person could possibly be. He’d never seen her with so much as a lock of her sleek platinum bob out of place. No one in the kingdom would dare refer to her as abominable.
Ever.
“Good morning, dear,” she said to Emilie and then paused to give Nick’s shoulders a squeeze while she kissed his right cheek and then his left one. “My darling snow prince. Welcome home.”
Nick arched a brow. “Et tu, Mother?”
She waved a hand at him. “I’m just teasing you, as is the press, I’m sure. After all, you did look a fright in those photographs. Rest assured, everyone in San Glacera is delighted you’re back. And just in time for the holidays.”
“I’d never miss Christmas in San Glacera,” Nick said. The very idea was unthinkable. “I know how important this time of year is for the kingdom.”
