Page 32 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
“You’re correct,” he said, ignoring her apology. “I regret to inform you that I’m not, in fact, Prince Charming.”
Who talked like that?
His gaze went straight to her crown, and his lip curled ever so slightly. “Nice tiara. Princess Snowflake, I presume?”
Seriously? He was judging her?
She lifted her chin and drew herself up to her full height, but he was still a full head taller than she was. If she squinted hard enough, she could imagine him with a beard and eyebrows full of icicles. Someone had clearly introduced him to a razor in recent days.
“That’s my character name. My real name is—”
“Gracie Clark.” He gave her a frosty look. “I’m aware.”
“Then you’re also aware that I’m here by royal invitation, so I’m not sure why you seem so appalled by my appearance.” She sent up a prayer of thanks that she’d remembered to get the icing out of her crown. “You brought me here, Your Majesty.”
“Not me, specifically. I assure you. And you don’t need to address me as ‘Your Majesty,’” he said.
“Thank you.” That seemed fair, since a few hours ago he’d told her to call him Nick.
As in, Nicolas Luca Montavan, the Crown Prince of San Glacera. How had she not realized who he was?
“The proper form of address for a prince is ‘Your Royal Highness.’ No need to call me ‘Your Majesty’ until I’m king.” A muscle in his jaw flexed.
Finally, a joke. Gracie laughed, even though it wasn’t technically all that funny.
Nick, however, didn’t so much as crack a smile.
She blinked. “Oh, you’re serious.”
Wow. Just…wow. She was beginning to understand how Nick had gotten his nickname, icicles aside.
Also, he was going to be the king someday? Of course he was. That’s what happened when a person was a Crown Prince. He moved right up the ladder to king. Gracie couldn’t help but think that the last thing Nick needed was a throne.
Perhaps she was being too hard on him. The misunderstanding had definitely thrown her for a loop once she realized what was going on.
“This is awkward, I know. I obviously didn’t realize you’re a real prince, and you didn’t realize that I’m a performer,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
“A performer,” Nick said, and he may as well have made those annoying air quotes as he did so.
Gracie’s face went hot, and the shame that coursed through her felt sickeningly familiar. Like she was standing onstage beside Philip all over again.
“Let me guess—you were expecting a genuine princess,” she said hotly.
He glowered in response. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Princess Alana of Vernina.”
“So suddenly I’m not good enough for your fancy waffles, just because I’m a commoner?” Commoner. Gracie had never used that word before in her life, least of all in reference to herself.
“It’s not your position. It’s your...” His gaze flitted over her costume as his voice drifted off.
“Do you have some sort of problem with party princesses? Do you even really like waffles?” Gracie crossed her arms. She was wearing faux fur-lined opera gloves, part of Princess Snowflake’s winter ensemble for outdoor appearances on cold Denver nights. The gloves had always seemed exceptionally regal to her.
Not anymore.
Nick cut his gaze toward a passerby who’d just aimed a camera phone in their direction. The man pocketed the phone immediately and did a little bow.
Everything about this encounter felt surreal.
Nick turned back toward her and lowered his voice. “To answer your question, yes. I love waffles.”
