The light drizzle fell to my hair as I stepped out. The loud chants quieted as people bowed and curtsied and murmurs of my name filled my ears.
Taking a step beyond my guard, I approached a woman. Wearing a dark mac and a plastic bonnet covering her white hair, she was soaked to the skin. I reached for her, and her chilled hands trembled in my grasp.
“Hello.”
The older woman managed a curtsy before grasping my hand. “Princess Lucille.”
Nodding, I looked at her and around at the others. The entire crowd was watching the two of us. “You will catch your death out here in this weather.”
“The young prince’s birthday, Your Highness. We’ve been here since yesterday morning, hoping to see you before you went to the palace.”
“I’m here. What do you want of me?”
Her eyes opened wide as the crowd took a collective breath.
“I want to know why you’re waiting,” I said with a sad smile. “How may I help?”
“We” —she looked around to the others— “come to you, humbly asking that you will please speak to King Theodore.”
“I shall, I’m certain.”
“The prince’s tariffs.”
“His tariffs?” I didn’t mean for it to sound like a question.
“Do you not know?” a man close by asked rather loudly.
“I’m sorry, no.”
The crowd grew louder.
Letting go of the woman’s hand, I lifted mine. “Please. I don’t know about the tariffs, but not because I don’t want to. I do. I’m headed to the palace in Molave City to take my place and represent each of you.”
“King Theodore has approved this?” the man from a moment ago asked.
“You have my word I’ll speak to the king.”
“Word is,” the older woman said, “the king is ill. He must know what the crown prince has done.”
“I will do all I can,” I said.
The discontentment eased as the crowd bowed their heads and offered words of appreciation.
“If you’ll allow us to pass,” I said. The air filled with chants of Princess Lucille.
Once I was back inside the car, I turned to Lady Buckingham. “I think our plan of arriving unannounced was for naught.”
“Perhaps you should place a call…”
My empty stomach twisted with dread for my first conversation with my husband. If he knew what had just occurred, he wouldn’t take my call. If he didn’t know, it was better to not rush his anger.
“To the palace,” I said. “I will speak with the prince in person.” I turned to my mistress and lowered my voice. “What do you know of the king’s health?”
She shook her head. “Only rumors.”
My chest twisted.
King Theodore was respected by the people of Molave, by those beyond the borders as well. Despite his title and power, he’d always been kind to me, even jovial. Yes, I’d speak to my husband, and also to the king.
Oliver
The apartment within a long wing of the third floor of the Molave palace made my condo in Hollywood look like a tenement house. For the last three weeks-plus, I had been living the life of a crown prince. There was a small entourage who were aware of my presence. Those people bowed and curtsied. They addressed me by titles such as your highness, duke, or prince. They were omnipresent in my preparation by immersion.
Within the palace, I was hidden and treated like a king, or a king to be.
My assistants and servants taught me how to stand, what to say, and how to respond.
In the last three and a half weeks, I’d read volumes on the Duke of Monovia. I’d already had one outing where I didn’t speak but was driven to a location where I waved to the crowd as I entered the building. An hour later, I repeated the performance as I exited.
There was no inkling that I was an impostor.
Gone were my blue jeans and canvas loafers.
Now I wore suits with a padded shirt beneath, giving me a similar shape to the man I was paid to impersonate.
Without a doubt, this was the craziest assignment I’d ever taken.
“Your Highness,” Lord Martin, my chief assistant, said with a bow of his head as he entered my apartment.
Lord Martin didn’t know my birth name, but he knew I wasn’t the crown prince of Monovia. From what I’d been able to learn, he and the others assigned to me were sworn to secrecy and well compensated.
“Yes?”
He tilted his head. “Not a question, sir.”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow is the birthday of Rothy, the son of the Duke and Duchess of Wilmington.”
“My sister, Princess Isabella, and her husband, Francis.”
“Very good, sir. I have been informed that Prince Roman is unable to attend.”
My breath caught as I felt the blood drain from my face. “They want me to attend a child’s birthday party with close family? Surely, in the presence of family, I will be discovered.” And then what…death?
I’d been assured that wouldn’t be the case; nevertheless, the more I learned the rules and customs of this sovereign country, the less secure I felt.
“If I may.”
That phrase was what Lord Martin and Lady Caroline said as a prelude to any tidbits of knowledge I would need.
“Go on.” Truly my accent was improving. At first, I sounded as if I were a Norwegian caught in Wales with a Scottish ancestor. In other words, it was bad. However, I’d spent hours each day working virtually with Andrew’s voice coach, Dustin Hargraves. Between those lessons, the conversations with Lord Martin and Lady Caroline, and speaking fluent Norwegian, I was improving.
“You, sir, are not close to your sister or your brother-in-law. You have only met your nephew on two occasions. The child will not realize you are different. As for your sister and brother-in-law, remain aloof. After an appearance for the palace photographers, you will be summoned and leave.”
“What about King Theodore or Queen Anne?”
“Your father, the king, is not feeling well. He will not be in attendance. The queen will be present. Carry on with small talk and if this goes well, the chief minister believes you will be ready to take a stronger role.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Lord Martin bowed his head. When he looked up, there was an unusual smile on his lips. “Not a question, sir.”
Taking a deep breath, I let my chest expand. I’d spent hours watching palace videos and news clips. Mimicking the prince’s movements and common gestures was much easier than making small talk with his mother.
“What of Princess Lucille?”
“She will not be in attendance.”
While that news made me more confident in my success, I found I was also disappointed. In the videos I’d viewed, I found myself watching her more than Roman. There was something I couldn’t put my finger on about their interaction. At times, I wanted to reach through the screen and grab Roman by the neck of his shirt and tell him to look at her, to see her and acknowledge her.
It was as if being acknowledged was all the princess wanted. In the many hours of tapes I’d watched, I rarely—if ever—saw that need met.