Apparently there is.
Trying not to let my nerves show, I walk to the opposite chair and lower myself, sitting with my legs at a ninety-degree angle.
“Slant them.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you keep your legs positioned as such, it’s possible for someone to glimpse what’s underneath your skirt. Always sit with your legs slanted down, preferably crossed at the ankles.”
I fight the urge to tell her this wouldn’t be a problem if I were allowed to wear pants. I do as she asks and slant my legs slightly to my right, crossing them at the ankles. It’s not exactly the most comfortable position, but I act as if it’s normal.
“Lovely. Now you look a little more polished, although we still have our work cut out for us.”
She lowers herself into the chair across from mine, her movements graceful and refined, head raised and back straight. Once she’s situated, she nods at the man, who pours tea into her cup before mine. I don’t make any move to bring my tea to my mouth just yet, waiting for her.
When she does, I watch her movements, attempting to mimic them.
“Keep your pinky in,” she chastises. “Pinch your index and thumb through the handle, using your middle finger to support it. At no time should you ever extend your pinky.”
I correct myself, the position awkward at first, but I eventually get used to it. I lean over the table slightly, meeting the cup halfway to take another sip.
“You don’t go to the tea. The tea comes to you. Don’t lean in. Don’t hunch your shoulders. Keep your back straight. If I were to put a book on your head, it should remain there the entire time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond, squaring my shoulders and doing my best to follow her directions.
Perhaps if she’d instructed me to just pretend I had a giant stick shoved up my ass, I would have known how to sit, because that’s how this feels.
“Better.” She nods her approval. “Now, return your cup to the saucer.”
I do as she instructs, confident I can’t mess this up.
Wrong again.
“Three o’clock if you’re right-handed. Nine o’clock if you’re left-handed.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s pardon. By some miracle, you may be royalty soon. You never excuse yourself. You pardon yourself.” She waves her hand at my cup. “And I was referring to the handle on your teacup. Since you’re right-handed, it should always point to three o’clock when on your saucer.”
I glance down to see my handle is pointing more to five o’clock and correct it.
“Good.”
I sit straight, afraid to even breathe for fear she’ll say I’m doing that wrong, as well. It seems there are rules for everything.
Do they have rules regarding sex, too? Is someone going to be in Anderson’s and my room on our wedding night to critique us?
“Good form, sir. Perhaps a nipple pinch would help. Maybe suck on it, too.”
I do my best to push down a laugh at the image of some uptight member of the royal household giving pointers to Anderson in the bedroom, but it’s impossible. A snicker escapes.
She sets her teacup on its saucer and levels a disapproving stare at me. “Is something amusing, Ms. Tremblay?”
I adjust my posture, holding my head high. “Sorry, ma’am. I just remembered something Anderson—”
“Prince Gabriel,” she admonishes. “You will refer to him as Prince Gabriel. Nothing so…familiar as a middle name. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“This world isn’t like anything you’re accustomed to. We have strict protocol and traditions for everything. You’re already questioning our reason for doing things. However, I can assure you that everything we do, these rules we have in place, are there for a reason.”
“And what reason is that?” I ask, despite the voice in my head telling me to just accept what she tells me and not act like an impudent toddler.
“To maintain the illusion.”
“The illusion?”
“Precisely. I’m going to give you a piece of advice Queen Angelique gave me when I sat where you are right now. And that’s to never let the cracks show. People in this country and around the world harbor a sort of fascination with the crown. It carries a certain mystique, casts a spell over all those who aren’t allowed to see behind the curtain. It’s our job to make sure they never do. To make sure they don’t see that being close to the crown can at times be more of a…burden than a blessing. You’ve heard that saying ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown’?”
I swallow hard. “I have.”
“Do you know what it means?”
I shake my head. I have a feeling, but doubt I’d phrase it correctly anyway.
“It’s from Shakespeare’s Henry IV, although it was actually ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’. It more or less means that those who are charged with incredible responsibility also carry a heavy weight most people can’t even fathom being able to shoulder. That we are…burdened. There’s no way around it.”
I nod in agreement. I’ve already had to sacrifice my own needs for the monarchy in regards to my wedding. What else will I have to sacrifice in the future? What else will I be burdened with in the future?
“As royals, we undertake a responsibility to our country, our people, and God,” she continues. “We commit our lives to service. To charity. To the betterment of our people. But in order to do that, we must also further the illusion of a charmed life. Of an unburdened life. The king doesn’t just rule over the country. He also must reign. That means entertaining the masses with the fairy tale that’s always been associated with royal life.”
“And if we don’t?” I ask. “If we allow them to see behind the mask?”
“We risk becoming a mere footnote in the history books.”
She peers into the distance for a beat, revealing a crack in her own armor, despite her warnings I not do the same. In that split second, she appears vulnerable, looking like her almost ninety years. But it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, her expression hardening on me once more.
“Which is why I need to be quite frank with you. The job looming in Prince Gabriel’s future won’t be an easy one. Not only will he need to manage the running of this country, he’ll have to do so in a way that will keep the spectacle alive and well. It’s not an easy task. And is one best carried out with as little…distractions as possible.”
“Distractions? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Love is a distraction.”
I blink, my blood pressure beginning to rise, heat prickling my skin. “How can love be a distraction?”
“Feelings make you weak. Make you vulnerable. Force you to lose your focus on what’s important.”
She brings her teacup toward her mouth and takes a sip. I simply stare at her. I couldn’t even drink my tea if I wanted, nausea rolling through me.
“I assume the crown prince has mentioned the referendum that’s going to a vote in a few months.”
“He has.”
“That’s a prime example of why he cannot afford any distractions. This isn’t the first time such a referendum has garnered enough support to be taken to the people for a vote. And it won’t be the last. I’m sure you’re a…lovely girl…” The distaste in her expression is evidence she thinks otherwise, “but Gabriel will face enough hurdles with his condition. He doesn’t need anything else to distract him. And that’s all you’ll be. That’s all you’ve been to him this past year. A distraction. You’ve taken him away from his duties. Made him shun his responsibilities not only to the Crown, but to his country. I have every reason to believe he’ll do the same in the future, as well, as long as you’re still in the picture. It’s generally frowned upon for the heir apparent to marry for love, and for good reason. It causes needless problems. Ones this country cannot afford, particularly right now.”