by Sofia Stone
“We’ll need to leave with a few pieces today as well as the customs,” Lady Nancy informed the tailor, who hurried to assure them that would be fine, she had just the thing.
“Of course,” Lady Nancy added when she left the room, turning to Amelia, “we’ll introduce you to our clothier in the capital, back home.” Back home meaning Zavinia, Amelia guessed. She was going to live in Zavinia. It still hadn’t quite sunk in yet. “This is just to outfit you for the next two weeks. We have some preparation to do.”
“Yeah, about that,” said Amelia, smoothing her hands over herself nervously. What exactly did I sign up for? she wondered. Gabriel had given her a little to go on—but not that much. “You said something about . . . lessons?”
“We understand, of course, that you didn’t grow up in court,” Lady Nancy explained. “There is much you have to learn—the history and current state of our country, the noble houses that make up the council you’ll be answering to, and matters like etiquette and the social role you will play.”
It was enough to make Amelia’s head spin. She would be expected to wear fancy clothes to fancy occasions and eat fancy food she’d never heard of at fancy state functions and she’d probably have to learn how to dance, good god, she hadn’t danced since senior prom and that was just swaying to pop music—
“It sounds like very much, I realize, but you don’t have to worry. We will be with you every step of the way, guiding you. Your success is our success.”
They sure had placed an awful lot of faith in her, she thought to herself, and wondered why. Surely there was some distant cousin out there in the family tree, who actually lived in Zavinia, who would be a better choice.
She pushed that thought out of her mind. Out loud, she said, “Your English is amazing.”
"You needn't worry. English is the primary language of state business in Zavinia, so we all grow up speaking it. The nobility do, anyway.”
“Oh, thank God,” said Amelia with some relief. “My French is a little . . . rusty. I took French classes all throughout high school and college, but never had a chance to really use it, and that was years ago.”
“We’ll practice your French. It’s in your blood, after all.”
The tailor returned with a river of fabric draped over one arm. “I have a selection of our various house pieces here. Now, if you will try these on, we will see how they look and have them fitted . . .”
A storm of cashmere and silk followed. As it turned out, princesses didn’t dress in ball gowns 24/7. Who knew? Among the outfits were day dresses, pantsuits, and upscale versions of everyday wear. Some outfits the tailor tutted at or conferred with Lady Nancy about.
Before she knew it, three hours had passed, and she was on her second glass of champagne and walking out of the shop with several bags hanging from her arms.
The car was waiting for them outside. It felt a little bit like winning a prize on a TV show, even though there were no cameras following her around and no one had come to her front door with a giant check. But there was something glamorous about riding in a limo around the city she was so familiar with—the city that looked so different through these dark-tinted windows.
“So where are we going now?” Amelia asked, from amidst a mountain of shopping bags. She now owned at least four very expensive pairs of heels, which was four more than she’d ever owned. At least they weren’t outrageously high. She’d managed to convince Lady Nancy it wouldn’t look so good if the princess was stumbling around all the time. Still, she got the impression she would be spending a significant amount of the next two weeks walking back and forth in her heels with a giant textbook on her head. Was that a real thing people did?
Lady Nancy began describing the great noble houses of Zavinia and their sigils to her, which she would apparently need to memorize. She learned about the Durands, whose house sigil pictured a sword with a dragon’s tail wrapped around it, and the Dubois, whose sigil pictured a forest with a dragon flying overhead, and the Martins, whose sigil pictured a dragon with three heads.
I’m guessing etiquette wouldn’t allow me to question all of these people about why they’re obsessed with dragons, Amelia though to herself, suppressing a smirk as she took the papers Lady Nancy offered her—a brief description of each house—and saw the dragons all over it.
But in truth she was enthralled as Lady Nancy continued describing the history of Zavinia. Apparently, what was known as Zavinia today had an origin story rich in the stuff of mythology and imagination. Before it was founded, there were many scattered city-states each ruled by a dragon-lord and his family. Whether the lord had dragons at his disposal or was a dragon himself wasn’t clear—Amelia heard it both ways.
Maybe they’re like us, said the voice in her head hopefully.
But war between the dragon-lords could ravage a countryside and destroy an entire town easily, the story continued. And the common people began to grow and harvest a substance that would strike fear into the heart of any dragon-lord: a tiny, white flower called dragonsbane. With this flower, dragons could no longer be a supreme weapon of terror and the dragon-lords lost most of their power. So chastised, the dragon-lords banded together with the commoners to create a society representative of all their interests: and that was how Zavinia was born.
As origin stories went, Amelia had to admit it was one of the best she’d ever heard.
But her brain snagged on a specific detail. “So is that how you get a council of all these houses? They’re all supposed to be descended from the dragon-lords? That doesn’t sound very equal.”
“There is a council of ordinary humans as well, with equal powers—a balance was struck, between the humans and the dragon-lords,” Lady Nancy explained. “And, of course, they possess control of the dragonsbane.”
“Of course,” Amelia echoed.
I don’t like the sound of this plant, said the dragon-voice, fluttering her wings.
Not the problem I was going to identify, thought Amelia wryly.
Might as well play along. Out loud, Amelia said, “So it’s a kind of mutually assured destruction thing, isn’t it? If the dragon-lords get out of hand, the regular people have this dragonsbane stuff to defend themselves.”
As absurd as it sounded, it made a certain kind of sense. A wacky Dungeons & Dragons kind of sense, but sense nonetheless.
“You have grasped the essentials of the situation,” Lady Nancy allowed.
This discussion carried them back to the hotel, Amelia finding it easier to go with the flow of what seemed to be an extensive mythology-slash-fantasy-world-building roleplaying game than to rock the boat and burst out with “Why are you people so obsessed with dragons?!” every two minutes . . . though her patience was sorely tested when they insisted she look at pictures of dragonsbane and be able to identify it amongst a sea of pictures featuring similar-looking flowers.
Well, her dragon said loftily, rustling her wings, I want to know. It seems like useful information to me. And to our mate, if we must protect him someday.
Amelia was trying hard not to think of Gabriel, because it made her heart flutter and ache, so she didn’t respond to that.
When they arrived, Amelia stumbled out of the dark limo into the bright sunlight, blinking furiously, bags hanging heavily from her arms. The hotel staff rushed to help her by divesting her of her burden.
So this is what being rich feels like, she mused. I could get used to it.
“There’s been a change of plans,” Lady Nancy announced as she was walking Amelia back to her suite.
Amelia looked over her shoulder as she unlocked the hotel door and swung it open. “What kind of change? Which plans?”
As she was talking, her gaze wandered to the inside of her suite—where Gabriel was standing. She took in a deep breath to steady herself; even just the sight of him made her tingle.
He tugged on the edge of his black suit jacket, the only rupture in his professional demeanor, before stilling his fingers.
; “Miss Amelia,” he said formally, inclining his head. His tone gave away nothing about their connection—nothing at all. It was as if they were strangers.
Amelia kept her chin up. “Gabriel,” she greeted, then tore her gaze away to look at Lady Nancy, who had bustled in behind them, none the wiser. “Wasn’t Edric going to be my personal guard?”
Lady Nancy flicked her fingers as if she were brushing aside something insignificant. “It was brought to my attention that Gabriel would be better suited. You’ll need to meet together for some of your lessons, anyway. And he is the captain of the Royal Guard: he will be an excellent protector, you need have no worries on that front.”
“Right,” Amelia said weakly. She couldn’t exactly protest that one-two punch of logic, and she most definitely couldn’t tell her the truth: that she was afraid of jumping his bones the second they were alone together.
“Excellent.” Seeming to sense nothing amiss, Lady Nancy regarded her with a brisk, businesslike efficiency. “You and I will meet each morning for an hour to practice your French. Gabriel has some readings prepared for you to begin tonight as well. I hope you will set yourself to your studies with the diligence and thoughtfulness befitting a member of the royal family.”
With that parting encouragement, Lady Nancy dismissed herself, leaving them alone together.
Nothing awkward about this, Amelia told herself.
“Did you know that you were going to be my personal bodyguard?” she asked. “Because it would have been nice to know yesterday when we were. . .” Making out. “Talking about putting some space between us.”
His eyes widened slightly. “No, of course not. And it wasn’t my idea. The dowager queen proposed it.”
“And you couldn’t say no because . . .?” she asked. But she couldn’t quite suppress a little thrill at the idea of him wanting to be close to her. Down, girl, she told herself.
He colored slightly. “I tried. For your sake. But it was impossible to protest too much—it would have roused her suspicions. And when she wants to know something . . .”
“You couldn’t have pretended you’re just really annoyed by me or something?”
His gray eyes looked at her steadily, warmly. “No, I couldn’t do that,” he said with total seriousness.
Amelia was taken aback, unexpected butterflies winging it all over the place at his surprisingly intense response. “Oh. Well . . . okay then.”
“Okay then,” he agreed, the corner of his mouth turning up.
“We’re two professionals and we can be professional. Totally. We can do this.” Amelia knew she sounded like she was trying to convince herself, so she took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Lady Nancy said something about you having books for me?”
Gabriel snapped his fingers and started for a suitcase. “Yes. She sent me out for basic English-language books about a few different subjects, and we brought some books about Zavinian history, politics, and culture with us. There are less than you might think—Zavinians are very selective about what’s written down and published. There’s a lot of oral storytelling.”
“Why?”
He raised an eyebrow at her over his shoulder as he zipped open the suitcase. “Why do you think?”
She had no idea, not really. Maybe she was supposed to guess. “It’s a very secretive country in general, I guess.”
“Right. Some things are best kept secret from the rest of the world. But some types of writing are allowed. Like this.” He held up a slim, blue, cloth-bound volume between his fingers.
“What’s that?” Amelia asked, intrigued.
“It’s a collection of stories—fairy tales, you might say. The kind of stories you might tell your children as you tuck them in.”
“Did your parents read them to you?” she asked curiously.
“My mother told me some of them, yes.” He looked wistful for a moment.
Amelia didn’t miss that he only mentioned his mother and not his father. “Which one’s your favorite?”
Gabriel flipped through the pages of the book, drawing her attention to his hands. He had beautiful hands: dexterous, strong, big but with a kind of elegance and a delicate touch. The kind of hands that could really do something to a woman. She wondered how they would feel against her bare skin, sliding over her back and pulling her close . . .
He cleared his throat, interrupting Amelia from her daydream. “There’s one in here. I’ve bookmarked it for you. If you’re interested.”
She was absolutely burning with curiosity about him, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “Sure. When I have an extra moment or something. But while I’m not gonna complain about getting to read kids’ stories instead of dry doorstoppers about macroeconomics, I have to ask—why these?”
As he brought over a small stack of books, he grinned—it was unfairly heart-stopping. “Don’t worry, I have your macroeconomics textbook right here, along with a few other dry-as-dust tomes.” He showed her the spines, and Amelia could almost feel her eyes crossing.
“But to answer your question, cultural knowledge,” he continued. “It’s not just a matter of knowing facts about imports and exports.”
“Gotcha. I think I’ll start here.” Amelia plucked the slim book of stories away from him. The tips of their fingers brushed, sending a zip of desire down her body all the way to her toes.
He chuckled. Did he sound a little breathless, or was that just her imagination? Sometimes she was so sure he felt the same way about her as she did about him . . . but other times she wasn’t so certain.
The answer never came—but her pondering was interrupted by a growl from her stomach.
Great. Could that be any more embarrassing?
“How about we hold off on the fairy tales for the moment and get some dinner?” His tone was the very soul of tact, but then he pressed his lips together in an obvious effort not to smile.
“Don’t laugh at me. Buying clothes the rich people way is a lot more work than I imagined.”
That coaxed him into a full-on smile, which made her heart sing.
“What do you want from room service? I think there are some menus around here somewhere . . .” He got up to start rummaging.
“Honestly . . . a cheeseburger.”
The rummaging paused. “Are you willing to eat it with a fork and knife?”
“And why exactly would I do that?” she asked.
“Dining etiquette is not part of our curriculum—I think Lady Nancy intends to cover it herself—but I thought practicing with me first would be . . . less stressful.”
Amelia laughed. “No doubt. But did I do that badly at dinner last night?”
“No, not at all. Truthfully, you did much better than I did when my father began bringing me into society.”
“Really?” She couldn’t tell if he was just being nice or if he was telling the truth, but she wanted it to be true.
“Really. I was thirteen,” he recalled, taking the stool at the bar next to her and looking off into the middle distance. “My mother was a relatively normal woman—a painter, in fact, from England.”
“I was wondering about your accent,” Amelia revealed. “It’s different from the others.”
Gabriel nodded, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. It made her want to brush it away. “She was the mistress of a married noblewoman. And thus, I was born. As you can imagine, high society did not look kindly on her. Or on me.”
She frowned. “Why would anyone look down on you? You were just a kid, it wasn’t your fault.”
He gave a short, sad laugh that made her heart lurch. “If everyone shared your view, I would have had a very different childhood.” His tone made her reach for his hand. He squeezed her fingers lightly, running a calloused thumb over her knuckles.
“They sound old-fashioned and hidebound.”
“They are, for the most part. Lady Nancy looked past my pedigree and took an interest in me, and I was sent to boarding school. The same one attended by many aristocra
tic sons of Europe—assuming they didn’t get into any others on the continent. She was the only one.”
“I’m finding this pretty hard to imagine,” she confessed. “She just seems so . . .”
Gabriel smiled. “There’s more to her than meets the eye. Anyway, I went to my first formal dinner at thirteen and did everything wrong—I sat first, I served myself, I put my napkin in my lap before the host.”
“That doesn’t sound that bad,” Amelia protested.
“It was that bad,” he confirmed. “My father was livid. Of course, he didn’t show it until afterward. He’d told me the proper way to do everything. But I was so nervous that all the rules went right out of my head.”
And just like that, she felt better. How did he do that?
“So you really think I’ll be able to pull this off?” she asked quietly. “Trick everyone into thinking I’m a real princess?”
His free hand came up and touched the bottom of her chin, lifting it.
“You are a real princess. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” he murmured with fiery intensity.
Amelia’s heart hammered against her ribcage, so hard it was all she could hear. Is he going to kiss me? she wondered. The dragon’s voice within her cried: yes, yes!
“Gabriel,” she whispered, wide-eyed.
Abruptly, he pulled away. Her skin where he’d been touching her felt like it was burning, and she mourned the loss of his touch.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, not meeting her eyes, his tone more formal. “I apologize, princess.” He cleared his throat. “What should we get for dinner?”
Chapter Four: Gabriel
T he next few days went by both very quickly and very slowly. All his time was spent with Amelia. During the daytime he accompanied her places and assisted with her princess lessons—hours that seemed to blur together and pass too quickly right before his eyes. Imports/exports, history, treaties, laws . . .
And during the evening . . . they lived and slept and ate in the same hotel suite, and the time passed with agonizing slowness. Each moment was precious, and yet time felt like it was slipping through his fingers. Sooner than he wanted to admit, they would return to Zavinia, and Amelia would take her proper place as the princess.
