“At five thirty he is retired to his apartments, preparing for our evening dinner. You will be free to walk through the palace without question.”
I nodded.
The king’s gaze again narrowed. “You have passed the point of no return.”
“I’m aware. Your health?” I asked.
“Is my son asking?”
“Shouldn’t he care?”
“He should. The reports are exaggerated. I am stronger each day.”
“That is good to hear, sir.”
“Anne didn’t mention her conversation with you at the young prince’s birthday. That means she thought nothing of it. After seeing you, I can understand why.”
“It is an honor—”
“No, son, it is a duty. Do not look upon me, your mother, or any other world leader or dignitary with honor. Each one thinks they’re more important, more unique, more special than they are. Everyone can be replaced. After all, we’re all replacements of another. Success comes in the right replacement. Your role…Roman’s role” —he emphasized— "is to understand that. I hope that he will, sooner rather than later.”
“Once he does…?”
“You will be dismissed with a substantial payment and a vow of secrecy.”
Hearing those words was a relief to say the least.
The king’s answer meant that there was an end to this road, one that hopefully didn’t stop at a Molavian prison.
“Tomorrow, five thirty.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when I ask what you know, I expect a well-thought-out answer.”
I nodded.
“Tell Lord Martin he passed.”
“He?” I grinned.
“I wish I could tell you that what you’re doing will end at a particular date. I cannot. Much depends on Roman, the damage he’s done and his willingness to repent. In the meantime, the world must see him as an active participant in Molavian as well as European and world affairs. Molave needs him to be seen.”
“Yes, sir, I will be seen.”
“Your accent is uncanny. If I didn’t know...” He grinned before asking me one last question—was I confident in this position? He didn’t speak the question in English but in Norwegian.
I responded in the same language, assuring him that I was and would continue to learn all that I could.
That meeting was two weeks ago yesterday. Each evening at five thirty, I presented myself to his office and briefed the king on my acquired knowledge. Either he would discuss the matters I mentioned or discuss more recent happenings.
Two days ago, I was informed I would be moved to the prince’s suite.
The curtain had not only risen on this performance but had been ripped from its valance, leaving it in a perpetually opened state.
Lucille stood, placing her napkin on the bottom edge of her plate. After a curtsy, she nodded to the king and queen. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a trip to take.”
“What is the harm in one more night?” Queen Anne asked.
“I should—”
“You may leave in the morning,” I said, interrupting the princess. My voice stayed steady, calm, and dry, yet my heart was beating at untold speed. If it were not for the padded shirt, it would probably be visible.
Queen Anne smiled. “There. That wasn’t difficult.” Her focus went to Lucille’s plate. “Oh dear, you didn’t eat. I was so happy with your recently improved appetite.”
“Too many cakes at tea, Your Majesty.” Lucille curtsied again. “I look forward to seeing you both soon, if it is to be.”
I watched as Lucille departed without a word to me. With her posture straight and chin held high, she was the epitome of everything I imagined a princess to be—without the joyfulness Disney liked to include.
Once Lucille was gone, the queen looked my way. “You should take her some cake. Eating is essential to a healthy pregnancy.”
Pushing my chair back, I threw my napkin on my plate as I stood. “Really, Mum. Stop.”
Her lips pursed and her neck straightened. “Roman, you’re sending her away.”
My volume rose. “It is my concern, not yours.”
“Roman,” the king admonished.
It was almost comical the tolerance that everyone bestowed on the prince’s outbursts. Maybe I’d talk to the chief minister about an appointment with the royal physician. There were medications that could bring Roman down a notch or two.
“I’m going out to the gardens.”
With that, I turned and walked away from the king and queen. As I was walking through the multiple parlors on my way to a door leading to the gardens, Lord Martin appeared.
“Your Highness. Is all well?”
“I need air.”
With a bow, he allowed me passage.
While the temperature was lower than it had been during the day, the absence of rain made my stroll comfortable. My options were limited. I could go to Roman’s offices, to the one where the classified documents were now held. However, that would require contacting the chief minister for a deputy. I’d also been told that wasn’t the prince’s normal routine.
I couldn’t go up to the apartments, knowing Lucille was close. It was difficult enough last night when she didn’t know that I wasn’t Roman.
It didn’t help that the queen had basically commanded that I bed my wife.
My walking stopped as I turned toward the gazebo. “Princess.”
Her blue stare came my way. “Your Highness.”
Lucille
With my hands gripping the railing, I waited as Roman came closer. I scanned from his hair to his shoes, looking for anything that would alert anyone to his deception. The resemblance was uncanny. As he neared, I longed to ask his real name. However, common sense told me that if I thought of him as Roman and spoke to him as Roman, no one would be the wiser.
“Do you come out here often?” he asked, stepping into the gazebo.
“I used to. Before we were married.” I turned and smiled. “You know what I mean.”
“I wasn’t looking for you.”
My smile dimmed. “You weren’t?”
He shook his head. “Not because I don’t want to see you. I wasn’t looking for you because I want to see you more than I should. Monovia is the best place for you while I perfect this role.” He looked out into the gardens and back to me. “I read where you lived here in the palace before your wedding.”
“I did. Not in the royal wing. During that time, I had visions of princes and princesses. Every American thinks they understand royalty, but they don’t, not really. No one can tell you what it’s like.”
“You can tell me,” he said, reaching for my hand and tugging me toward the cement bench.
Smoothing my skirt from behind, I sat. The sight of my shoes made me grin. “I wore shoes this time.”
“I was afraid you’d become ill. It was downright frigid that night.”
“Your coat helped.”
Roman turned my direction. “I believe I’ve made a dreadful mistake.”
I sucked in a breath. “Oh no. Does the queen suspect?”
“No. My mistake was being honest with you. In doing so, I’ve put you in possible danger. If this ends poorly...”