Page 46 of Rivals
Louise shook her head. “We aren’t playing the ordinary way, where I come up with three names and you sort them. Tonight we’re playing a version where you have to do it all yourselves. It’s more personal that way,” Louise declared. “So, each of you needs to choose three people. One you would kill—not actually, of course,” she added. “Just someone you dislike. One you would marry. And one you would kiss.”
“Or more than kiss,” Sirivannavari corrected, and they all laughed.
This wasn’t so bad, Beatrice thought. She’d obviously like to marry Teddy, she hated Robert Standish, and…
“But you can’t pick just anyone. It has to be someone we all know; otherwise it’s no fun,” Louise clarified. “So, monarchs and heirs only.”
“League of Kings edition. I like it,” Alexei growled.
Louise tipped her head, and her tiara glittered magnificently in the light of the flames. “Here, I’ll go first. I would kill Princess Maria, because she wore the same dress as me to the opening day of Paris Fashion Week!” Louise said it lightly, with just enough self-mockery. “And I’d kiss Prince James. I’ve heard allkindsof stories about him.”
“Jamie?” Beatrice blurted out, surprised. The Prince of Canada was a little young for Louise—closer to the twins’ age.
“You know him well?” Louise asked, then answered her own question. “But of course you do! Your countries are neighbors!”
“It’s been a long time,” Beatrice demurred. Years ago, Jamie used to accompany his parents on their annual state visits to Washington. He and Jeff had been inseparable, a pair of dangerously charming troublemakers dreaming up pranks—until one year, when they stopped speaking. Beatrice had asked what had caused their rift, but Jeff never told her.
“Prince James is a dreamboat,” Bharat agreed. “Have youseenthe clips of him speaking French? Mmm.”
“I invited him to our party tonight, but he didn’t show! I wonder why.” Louise sighed. “As for marriage—I’d marry no one. I refuse to be tied down.”
It was a cop-out answer, but everyone let her get away with it, because she was Louise. She glanced across the firepit. “Bharat, my darling, you’re up.”
“Easy. I’d kill the Prince of Wales because, you know, he’s the absolute worst.” Everyone murmured in agreement. “I’d kiss you, Louise.”
“Anytime,” the French princess cooed, leaning across the firepit to peck him on the cheek.
And so the game went on, interspersed with fits of light, fizzy laughter. Beatrice noticed that the friends named one another for various categories—Alexei said he’d marry Louise,who replied breezily that she could never live somewhere so cold; Princess Siri said she’d kill Bharat, because he stole that hot reporter from her at the Cannes Film Festival, at which Bharat pointed out that the reporter wouldn’t have been interested in her anyway.
Finally, they were all gazing expectantly at Beatrice. She felt her mouth go dry.
“Um, well. I guess I would kiss…”
“Nikolaos?” Sirivannavari guessed, naming the Prince of Greece. “Didn’t you used to date him?”
“Ugh. Nikolaos was a terrible kisser.”
Beatrice felt ashamed the moment she said it. She and Nikolaos had only kissed once, a brief, awkward moment in the back of a moving car. But her remorse dissipated as everyone laughed uproariously at her words.
“Come on, Siri, you know Nikolaos doesn’t count. He’s a younger son, not an heir,” Louise admonished, though she was smiling broadly. She glanced at Beatrice, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You probably know that I went out with Nikolaos a few times, too. I agree, he was disappointing. Anyway,” Louise went on, “you still need to pick someone. Who would you kiss?”
By now Beatrice had a safe answer. “Prince Ugyen.”
“Of Bhutan!” Alexei protested, spluttering. “He’s only seven months old! He’s not even here!”
“Louise said that we were playing monarchs and heirs. She never specified that they had to actually be at the conference.”
Louise chuckled, delighted by Beatrice’s loophole. “Prince Ugyen is adorable. I just want to pinch those chubby baby legs.”
“And I wouldn’t marry anyone, either,” Beatrice added, emboldened.
“Good choice.” Louise met her gaze and winked. “What’s the point of a king consort, anyway?”
Those words struck a momentary pang in Beatrice. Before she could rush to Teddy’s defense, Sirivannavari cut in. “You forgot to say who you would kill.”
Beatrice hesitated. Perhaps she could name Alexei or Bharat; most of them had named each other, except she didn’t know any of them well enough for the joke to land….
“What about King Frederick?” Louise suggested.
