Page 1 of Awestruck
Chapter One
Freya
Inallmyyearsof preparing to become a queen, I never thought it would be an American to stand in my way. Literally.
“Mr. Reid.” My voice is laced with irritation, and it is far too early in the day for that. “Is there any particular reason you are blocking the doorway?”
Reid’s expression does not shift a millimeter. As I have quickly come to learn is his way, he keeps his gaze just over my head so he looksoverme rather thanatme. “My apologies, Your Highness, but I am following orders.”
“Whose orders?” They certainly were not mine.
“Her Majesty has directed me to—”
“Mum,” I grumble under my breath. What is she up to? Standing on my toes, I try to bring myself higher so Reid is forced to look me in the eye, but his gaze simply rises along with me. “Have you forgotten that you work for me now, Mr. Reid?”
There. The slightest twitch of his mouth, though I could hardly call it a smile. This man has been training under my old bodyguard for the lastmonth, and I have yet to see him smile once. If I did not trust my friend Derek with all my heart, I would not have agreed to give Reid a chance as my personal protection officer based on the little I know about him. His American nationality, rather than being a native Candoran, is difficult enough to stomach—such a break from tradition will not sit well with the people—but if I am to endure his aloof stoicism for the unforeseeable future, I will be seeking out an alternative within the month.
Eight bodyguards in the last year. Eight failures. Eight reasons to wonder if having protection is as necessary as the Royal Council seems to think. It is not as if I leave the palace to begin with.
“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Reid says to the air above my head, “my position as your protection agent doesn’t go into effect until after the Council Meeting this afternoon.”
I wonder how he manages to show no emotion like that. I am practiced in keeping my expressions muted, but I have never been able to hide everything I feel. It is a sore subject for my mother, who has spent the last fifteen years as Candora’s reigning monarch and is all things royal and respectable.
She blames my inability to fully school my features on my attachment to Derek Riley and the other American friends I have grown close to over the last few years. She is as attached to Derek as I am, but her argument remains. Because of them, I am not entirely the proper princess I should be.
Folding my arms, I drop back to my sensible heels, noting the way Reid’s gaze dips with me. He is disciplined, I will give him that, but I require far more than discipline in a bodyguard. “You are aware that you are currentlypreventingme from attending that Council meeting, yes?”
He nods. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Behind him stand the large wooden doors to the conference room, where I am certain the entire Council is already gathered, along with the king and queen.
“Why am I not allowed inside?” I ask Reid.
He tightens his jaw and says nothing.
My irritation only rises. “You have only been in my country for five weeks and are already loyal to the queen? I thought you Americans were generally more willful than this.”
“Oi, best not insult the man’s pride and joy,” a voice says behind me. “Elliot gets touchy about his patriotism.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn to greet my younger brother, unsure which one he is until I see him. “Hex.” He and Sander, his twin, sound eerily alike, and most people cannot distinguish between the two. Even I sometimes have trouble. I suspect my brothers make it difficult on purpose; though twenty-seven years old, they have yet to mature into sensible adults.
To my surprise, Hex throws an arm around Reid’s shoulder and faces me. The bodyguard hardly reacts, but there is a new light in his eyes. “My darling sister,” Hex says with a condescending tone he has perfected solely for me, “surely you know better than to speak poorly of the land of the free. The home of the brave.”
Reid clears his throat and ducks away from Hex’s arm. He tugs on his suit to straighten it, then returns to his stiff stance, a hand locked on the other wrist in front of him and eyes on the corridor behind me. “You are supposed to be in your fencing lesson, Prince Hendrik.”
Hex scoffs and leans against the wall, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other. He looks very much like me, blond hair and blue eyes, but his bearing is entirely different from mine. Sometimes I envy his ability to be casual, but I would never give up my chance to be queen and lead my people. Hex and Sander have no aims for the throne, and their carefree natures reflect that. I do not have the same luxury.
“It’s no fun sparring with anyone but you,” Hex says. He looks at me. “Did you know Elliot is a fencing master, Fringe?”
I narrow my eyes at the nickname, but I am more concerned with the familiarity between the man who is supposed to be my bodyguard—notfor another hour, apparently—and a prince of Candora. “I was not aware,” I say slowly, studying Reid carefully. There is a tightness around his eyes, and I would guess he knows he is out of line by sparring with my brother when, as my bodyguard, he is about to become one of the most important people in the country.
As it seems I am not permitted to attend the Council today, perhaps I could use Hex’s presence to learn a little more about the man before me. I have not had the opportunity since his arrival last month, which has frustrated me to no end. “You were a soldier prior to your appointment, were you not, Mr. Reid?”
He stands a little taller. “Yes, Your Highness. Sergeant First Class in the 10th SFG Second Battalion. Special Forces.”
I do not know what that means—Candora has been fortunate in avoiding wartimes for the past two generations—but I nod as if I understand. “Is fencing a common practice among the Special Forces in America?”
Another ghost of a smile twitches at the corner of his lips. “No, ma’am.”
