Page 7 of The Midnight Princess
Karl shudders. “You looked like an auto mechanic.”
I snap the napkin out of its folds and toss it next to my plate. “One of us crossed a snowy mountain pass in leather-soled dress shoes. But sure, I’m the crazy one.”
“You’re the heir to the throne of Vorburg. I should have seen to our safety.”
I glance at Karl’s starched collar, the suit that whispers about inherited generational wealth, and the shine on his fingernails. If I had waited for him to see to our safety, he would have died in the snow. I would have had to eat him.
Karl checks his wristwatch. “It’s time for me to meet with the queen’s secretary. You are to check your appearance before you leave that door. Your teeth. Your hair. Put on your suit coat and adjust your cuffs...such as they are.”
“I’ve dressed myself before, Karl. Every day for thirty years.” Nothing I say eases the tight, anxious look in his eyes.
“Teeth. Hair. You move in five minutes, sir,” he says, setting a checklist at my elbow, along with an electric timer.
He gets in another bow before he goes, and I wolf down the eggs and sausage. I finish up by spreading cream on a bun, spooning a fat dollop of strawberry jam over the top. The jam slips, landing on the silk tie Karl conjured. It features the colorsof Vorburg’s national flag, white and green representing snow and forest.
“Chol nia.” I swipe at it, spreading the mess. Now it looks like a deer has been shot and field dressed in the forest. I dip a napkin in a glass of water, blotting in what I imagine is the correct way. It is not.
The timer beeps insistently. I silence it, run a sucking tongue along the front of my teeth, scrape strands of hair away from my face, don my jacket, and rip the tie off my neck, wadding it into a pocket.
When I find Karl, he takes one glance at the state of my shirt and looks as though I wandered into his medieval village with open sores and a suspicious cough.
On the other hand, the queen’s secretary,VrouwTiele, gives me a greeting and a brief nod, leading us into the administration wing. I shoot Karl a bland smile.See? It’s fine. No one is bothered.
“I hope you rested well,” she murmurs. “Her Majesty is looking forward to making your acquaintance.”
A big, fat, diplomatic lie. After Princess Freja eloped in The Stranger’s Parish, a chapel located in Handsel but on the grounds of the Vorburg embassy, my father pounced. Sondmark, our closest neighbor and oldest enemy, owed him a favor for the lapse in protocol. On my first mission as crown prince, I’m here to collect.
“We’ve got those Sondishzekleright where we want them,” he said. “We have to press our advantage while they’re swimming in humiliation. An elopement. Ha!” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “The queen’s guts will be melting. She’s going to wish you had never been born.”
I gave him a cold smile. “It won’t be the first time my existence represented an inconvenience for a European monarch.”
My father, a stranger to shame, laughed at that.
When we halt in front of a pair of white and gold baroque doors,VrouwTiele flashes me a gentle smile before throwing them wide and announcing the title. His. Royal. Highness. Jacob. Crown. Prince. Of. Vorburg. Every word is a chisel, carving me into shape, each strike painful and gouging.
How can I live up to it? I can’t. I enter the room like the queen of Sondmark is just another client employing me to build fitted bookshelves. I will be respectful, secure in the knowledge that I’ve spent long years of apprenticeship learning my craft.
Her penetrating blue eyes regard me as I cross the room, and with every step I am judged.
That’s fine. It’s good to know how it is right from the start. I’m an illegitimate son transformed by opaque legal processes into someone she has to condescend to notice. I’m a novelty—and not a welcome one. No necktie was ever going to hide these facts.
Queen Helena rises, and I bow. That’s the one thing Karl managed to pound into my thick skull as we navigated into Handsel last night. “Royal heirs bow to reigning monarchs. It doesn’t matter that she’s not your queen or that you’re in her home territory and that she’s the host. She outranks you. You must bow.”
The bow is awkward. I’ve performed two or three of them before this week, and every time I feel like I’ve wandered into a children’s puppet show. Act One: The Whiskered Walrus pays his respects to the Queen of the Ocean.
“Would you care for tea?” she offers when we’re seated. “Coffee?”
I grin—the wide American smile Karl disapproves of. “No, thanks. I just ate.”
Her eyes flick to my shirtfront but she clasps her hands. “I understand you’re new to royal life. How are you finding things?”
It’s ridiculous to talk to the queen of Sondmark like we have anything in common. “I’m getting used to it.”
“As you assume your new duties, we cannot help but feel that Sondmark, being such a close ally, should aid you in some way.”
She uses soft generalities, but I’m a carpenter and know better than to let things rattle about, unsecured. “You know why my father sent me,” I reply. I nod at the secretary sitting primly on the periphery of the room and smile. “I betVrouwTiele has been busy making the logistics happen.”
My blunt words bring a brief flash of irritation to the queen’s eyes. “She has, indeed. I understand you need to get up to speed on royal protocol before the state visit.” Her expression is polite, but I sense the control beneath it. “Twelve weeks between now and then. It’s interesting that His Majesty should choose such a sensitive time to introduce his only son to Vorburg and the international community.”
