“Excuse me?”
Alik gives a one-shouldered shrug. “I promised I’d show him all the paintings there. But seeing as how you don’t want me spending time with him, it’s up to you, brother.”
I blink at him a few times. “I do actually have work to do, you know.”
“Your choice, Luka.”
I should just let my brother proceed with his plans and focus on my work, but for some reason the thought of Aleksandr spending the following day with the American, talking and laughing and—no doubt—flirting, prompts an unpleasant reaction inside me that I can’t quite explain. I just don’t like the idea of it.
The next day, despite my better judgment, I head over to the East Wing to meet the American for his tour of the portrait galleries. When he arrives, he can’t hide his surprise upon seeing me waiting for him instead of my brother. “Prince Aleksandr has been detained,” I lie. “I hope you don’t mind if I take his place?”
He shakes his head. “No, not at all.”
I regret this decision almost instantly. Even just the sound of his voice has an effect on me, and if I’m not careful I’m going to end up in an embarrassing predicament. Another embarrassing predicament, that is.
But, fortunately, the American seems too interested in all the paintings to pay much attention to anything else, and after a little while I begin to relax and surprise myself to find I actually enjoy his company.
“Where’s your shadow?” he asks after we’ve been walking around for a little while.
“My shadow?”
He nods. “Boyd. The Scottish guard. He usually keeps pretty close to you.”
“He doesn’t accompany me everywhere. And today’s his day off.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re not planning an attack on me, are you?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “No, you’re safe.”
We continue with the tour and I can’t help being intrigued by the level of fascination he’s showing. “What made you choose this area of study?”
He startles in his step, as if surprised by the question. I suppose it would be a little unexpected considering the way I’ve been avoiding him recently. “It’s kind of a long story…so, when I was in elementary school my best friend was Joseph Kowalski. He was born in the states, but his parents, his grandmother and his older siblings had come out at the end of the Cold War and they all spoke Polish. His grandma actually spoke no English at all, and his parents were always much more comfortable speaking their native language. The more time I spent there, the more of the language I picked up and I eventually became fluent.” He smiles wistfully at the memory. “Their house was always so warm and inviting. I loved everything about being there, the language, the culture, the food. And it got me interested in learning about other cultures and languages.”
I nod, finding myself unexpectedly interested in his story. “Are you still friends with him? Joseph?”
He shrugs. “We drifted apart when we went to different high schools. We’re on Facebook, though.”
I nod. “So, that’s where you learned Polish. What about your other languages?”
“French and German I learned at school, and then Russian and Ukrainian I picked up at college. My original major was Eastern European Cultural Studies, and it was easier for research to know a few more of the languages. Especially for historical sources. And then once I’d learned Russian and Ukrainian I was able to add a languages major to my degree.”
“That’s quite impressive.”
He offers a wry grin. “No need to sound too surprised.”
7
JAI
I can’t say I blame King Lukas for how he’s been avoiding me the past week. I did walk in on him riding a dildo, after all. And lingered. Of course, he has nothing to be embarrassed about. At all. But I can still see how the situation might be a little awkward, especially for someone as uptight as the king.
So considering all of that—and the fact that he never really seemed to like me in the first place—the fact that he offered to take over this tour when Prince Aleksandr got tied up is both confusing and intriguing. Even more so is the fact we’ve been able to have some actual conversation while he’s been showing me the paintings. It’s beyond obvious history’s not his favorite subject, but he’s still quite knowledgeable, if not entirely enthusiastic.
We’re strolling down what is known as the Queens’ Gallery when I spot a beautiful tapestry that tugs on a memory. It takes a moment for me to place it, but when I do I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet with excitement.
“Has this tapestry always been here?” I ask the king. “It hasn’t been moved from somewhere else?”
He shakes his head, his brows drawn together in confusion. “No, I don’t believe so. This is its original position.”
With a little squeak of anticipation, I approach the tapestry and pull the corner aside.
“What are you doing?” Lukas demands. “That’s quite old, you know.”
But I ignore him as my fingers search the wall behind the tapestry until finally…I find the latch and push the door open.
“Oh! This is it! This is the sex room!”
“The what?”
“The sex room, this is where—” I catch the look of confusion on the king’s face and it takes me by surprise. “Wait, do you not know this? Is it possible that I, an ignorant American, know something about your family history that you don’t?”
“Would you care to enlighten me?” he says through gritted teeth.
“With pleasure. Back in the 1700s, your ancestor, Yelizavetta Romansky, was quite the—shall we say—free spirit. She took hundreds of lovers over her lifetime and she met them in secret right here.” I gesture to the secret room we’ve just found. “Well, the ones she screwed at this palace, anyway. There are probably other sex rooms at other palaces.”
I head into the room, and of course King Stick-Up-His-Butt starts blustering a protest. “What are you—? Why—?”
“Duh—I found the sex room. As if I’m not going to check it out!”
I grab his wrist and tug him inside the room with me, then I press the little latch that prompts the secret door to close. The look of horror on his face is priceless.
“What did you do? We’re stuck in here now!”
“Relax…the door will open back up just fine. But I want to explore this room a little first.”
“You could have done that with the door open,” he points out.
“And then everyone would know this room exists—do you really want every man and his dog knowing about your secret sex room?”
“It’s not my secret sex room. I’m still not sure I believe you that it’s anyone’s secret sex room. It must have had some other use.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Such as?”
His face takes on a thoughtful expression before his eyes light in triumph. “A hideout! It was probably designed as a hideout for the family for when the palace was under attack.”