“Your Highness,” Lord Martin said, “I will return with recent happenings for your small talk and information about your sister’s family.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Lord Martin bowed his head and turned toward the door. Before he reached for the handle, he turned back with a grin. “Well done, sir. Your tone is sounding more impatient.”
“May I confess I’m not a fan of the impatient, entitled attitude?”
“No, Your Highness, you may not. It is who you are when you are he.”
I waved my hand. “Be gone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If the queen mentions the reported food shortages, assure her emphatically and impatiently that the rumors are poppycock,” Lord Martin said as he dressed me for the birthday celebration.
“I address the Queen as Mum.”
Lord Martin nodded.
My thoughts went to the food shortage topic. “I’ve seen the empty shelves on the television.”
“Telly, sir.”
“Quite right,” I said, “on the telly.”
“Reassure her majesty that those reports are fabrications, exaggerations by the anti-royal media. You have the situation covered.”
Lord Martin took a step back and smiled. “Yes, Your Royal Highness, you look like him.”
Turning, I took in my reflection in the full-length mirror. My hair had grown out since I arrived and now had the addition of a sprinkling of gray. The padded shirt gave me the appearance of an extra twenty-five pounds. Holding my shoulders back and my chin up, I could almost believe the man in the mirror was the crown prince of Molave.
“Splendid, sir,” Lord Martin said.
My gaze met his. “Do I?”
“Resemble the prince? Yes.”
“No, do I have the food shortages covered?”
“Matters of state, Your Highness.”
I recalled the report I’d watched this morning on the telly. There was an amateur video of Princess Lucille talking to people outside Annabella Castle. Not only did the report not make it sound as if the situation was handled, but there were also prognosticators who believed it would get worse. Something about retaliatory tariffs in response to a mining strike.
“Are you ready, Your Highness?”
This moment was the exhilaration of the curtain raising, with the added stress of a private audience. “I am.” And then I slipped into character. “Let’s get this over with. I have better ways to spend my time.”
Lord Martin nodded with a grin.
As we navigated the hallways, walking where I had never been, Lord Martin refreshed my memory on etiquette. I bowed only to the king and queen. Everyone else was in a state of subjugation to me, even my wife.
My steps stopped. “You said the princess wouldn’t be in attendance.”
“There has been a change of plans.”
“Certainly, you don’t believe I can fool his wife.”
“Aloof, sir, and your wife. The two of you have had words. There’s no need for more.”
Something within my chest twisted. “Words? Are you saying Roman wouldn’t speak to his wife?”
In lieu of answering, Lord Martin whispered as he opened a tall door, “The celebration is beyond this dining room.”
We both stopped in our tracks as the most stunning blue eyes opened wide at our presence before being veiled with long lashes and looking down. The princess dipped in an exaggerated curtsy. The sight of her in person took my breath away, making my heart beat in triple time.
“Your Highness,” Princess Lucille said before our gazes met.
“Lucille.” It was unscripted. Up until moments ago, I never dreamt we’d be face-to-face. Now that we were, I witnessed the same expression I’d seen in the films.
Her voice was a melody. “I will go back to Monovia following the celebration as I promised.”
Leave?
Why did they want her gone?
Was it because of me?
“Your Highness,” Lord Martin said, speaking to me.
Inflating my chest as I’d been instructed to do, I spoke, “Lord Martin, leave us.”
“Sir, we should—”
I waved my hand. As Lord Martin stepped away through the door to the celebration, I turned my attention to Princess Lucille.
“Your Highness,” she said, the pink drained from her cheeks. “I am sorry about the news reports. I realize how riled you rightfully are. It won’t happen again. As I said yesterday, it is my duty to be here, for you and for Isabella.”
Our relationship, or that of her and her husband, had not been explained to me. We weren’t supposed to meet.
Her words faded as I watched her lips, luscious and pink.
There was an attraction or pull that I couldn’t explain as I moved toward her step by step. The long-sleeved yellow dress she wore covered her flesh, but her curves were on full display. However, my concentration was on her beautiful face. The deep blue of her eyes, the sculpture of her cheekbones, and the pertness of her nose led me back to her kissable lips.
As her melody of a voice continued to explain and apologize, I sensed a strong, formidable woman lurking beneath the surface. I couldn’t stop myself as I gently reached for her cheek and brushed her lips with mine.
Sweet as honey, our kiss began tentatively. Much like a simmering pot of water, as our kiss lingered and the heat grew, the rolling boil came to life. Lucille’s breathing hitched as the rigidity of her posture melted, pressing her softness against my chest. Even through the padded shirt, I sensed her warmth, her passion, and her desire. Soft mews filled my ears as I wrapped my arm around her waist, tugging her closer.
I was completely lost in this stunning woman until my mind overruled the attraction.
This was another man’s wife.
Releasing her, I took a step back.
As if embarrassed or ashamed, Lucille looked up at me with her widened eyes. Her cheeks were pink and her lips swollen.
I’d been discovered.
Before the celebration even began, I’d been discovered for the impostor I was.
I had to do something.
Straightening my stance, I lowered my tenor. “You’re my wife. No further explanation is necessary.”
Nodding, Lucille quickly curtsied.
Offering her my arm, despite the thumping of my pulse, I forced my smile to dim. “Shall we?”
“Your Highness?”
“I will escort my” —I wanted to say wife, but she wasn’t mine— “princess.”
Lucille laid her petite hand upon my arm and looked up at me. “I feel as if I don’t know you anymore.”
Lucille
Yesterday upon my arrival, Roman was riled, even ruthless in his admonishment of my behavior. I’d disobeyed the family’s order to stay in Monovia. I’d pointed out that the chief minister was not the family. If Roman wanted me to stay at Annabella Castle, then he could have called me. I knew I was playing with fire. It seemed the more I was left to my own devices, the more I pushed.
I wanted a reaction.
Even fire was preferable to drought.
The reaction I received was not unexpected, yet it was a response.
Our encounter stayed verbal until Lord Avery showed Roman a video shot outside Annabella Castle of me speaking to the crowd. It was then the prince ordered Lord Avery to leave us. As red seeped upward from his thick neck, I awaited what was to come next.