Royally Yours

by Liz Johnson

  Mom held her mug of apple cider halfway to her mouth. “And you won’t have any water until then? You should come stay at our house in that case.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. All the kitchen pipes are fine. It’s just the north side of the house that took the brunt of the cold.”

  “Row—”

  “Really, Mom. You guys are already packed in there like sardines. I’ll get my boxes out of the attic next week, too.” Although where she’d put them, she had no idea. She’d need to find a new place to live once the city was ready to sell the library.

  “I’m not worried about the attic. I’m worried about you. Where’s your royal friend?”

  “I have no idea. He—” Or, well, she took that back. There he was now, standing in the entryway, scanning the place. Against her will, her pulse immediately sped up.

  “I do hope you know how hard it’s been for me this past week ever since he came to Sunday dinner.”

  “What’s been hard?”

  Mom grinned. “Not calling you under the guise of inviting you for a mother-daughter coffee date, only to begin drilling you about your love life the second we sit down.”

  “Mom.”

  “Don’t ‘Mom’ me. It’s like Jade said—you invited him to family dinner. That officially makes it a thing.”

  “You heard that?”

  “Honey, the whole table heard that.”

  Which meant Jonah had, too.

  Jonah, who’d spotted her now and held her gaze and tipped his head in just such a way that she knew he needed to talk to her.

  And Mom, of course, saw it all. “I’ll be nice, though. I won’t grill you now. Especially since he’s obviously waiting to chat with you. But Row . . .” She reached for one of Rowan’s hands and clasped it between her own. “I’m not going to let us grow distant, okay? Things have been off for awhile. I knew when I married Eddie, it might change the dynamic a little. But you’re my daughter, my firstborn. Whatever changes come our way, whatever it takes, we’re going to stay close and connected.”

  “That’s what I want, too. I’m sorry I’ve been weird. I’m sorry I missed Thanksgiving and keep skipping family things. I think maybe I’ve been dissatisfied with life for quite awhile now and I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

  Mom squeezed her hand. “Well, I know one thing that’s going on. He’s standing over by the front door getting more impatient by the moment.”

  Rowan leaned over for a quick hug, then stood. “I love you, Mom.”

  “Love you back.”

  Rowan wove through a crowd of people until she reached Jonah. He wore his coat, his hat . . . but not the red and green scarf from the lost and found box. “Hey, did you leave for awhile?”

  “Yeah, I had to go back to the hotel.” He seemed out of breath, distracted. “Can we talk for a minute? Alone?”

  “Sure. I’d say we could go outside, but I’d rather not lose my fingers and toes to frostbite, so how about—” As she spoke, she caught a glimpse out the front window. Saw the car parked at the curb. A taxi? A taxi in Tinsel? Her focus shifted back to Jonah.

  And her heart dropped into her stomach. “You’re leaving.”

  At his nod, the sound of the quartet tuning their instruments and the clinking of the cash box dissolved into the background.

  “Why?” There was a pitiful pitch to her whisper, nearly a whine.

  “Hamish called. Geordie’s talking about seizing one of Harthingland’s ports. More than talking about it. He’s set up a meeting with the Armed Guard for Monday morning. He’s already asked for strategic options.”

  She knew all about Jonah’s nation’s struggles with their neighboring country. He’d told her why he’d sent Hamish home early. He hadn’t believed his brother would do anything truly reckless, but he’d wanted eyes and ears he could trust on the ground all the same.

  It seemed he’d believed incorrectly. “I’m sorry, Jonah.”

  “I don’t even know if I’m going to be able fly out tonight. Hamish wants to send the palace plane, but he said something about repairs to the fuel tank. Plus, apparently there’s a blizzard somewhere and commercial planes are being grounded. I’m still not sure what the plan is, but I need to get back as soon as I can. I ran to the hotel to pack my stuff. But I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  “I wish . . .” She wished a hundred things. None of which she knew how to put into words. So instead, she blinked before her gathering tears had any chance to escape and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll miss you, Your Majesty.”

  His brown eyes swam with emotion as she lowered. “If I wasn’t ‘Your Majesty,’” he whispered, “if I was just Jonah . . .”

  “I know.” If he didn’t leave soon, her rapid blinking would do no good.

  “Oh, here.” He handed her a book she hadn’t even realized he held.

  “Charlotte’s Web?”

  His soft smile was tinged with sadness. “You know what to do. Just look for the underlines.”

  And then he was gone. As quick as that.

  As shattering as that.

  And when she found his underlines, there was no more holding back her tears.

  “‘You have been my friend,’ replied Charlotte. ‘That in itself is a tremendous thing.’”

  Chapter 10

  Jonah’s brisk steps clanged on the cobblestone driveway after getting out of the car Hamish had sent for him.

  His clipped rhythm continued as he strode into the palace, marble floors polished to a sheen and uniformed staff scattered about the room all seeming to hold their breath at once.

  Hamish met him at the foot of the grand staircase. “Your flight?”

  “Infuriatingly long.” He’d spent half of Saturday night waiting to board a plane, only to have the thing land an hour later due to a storm. He hadn’t even made it out of the States until Sunday afternoon. “Remind me not to fly commercial again if I can help it.”

  Hamish marched up the steps beside him. “I’m afraid they’re not going to be happy to see you.”

  Jonah felt the force of his own grimace. “They don’t have to be happy. They do have to see me.”

  “I discreetly let the staff know you were coming. But Geordie and the rest of them are in the dark.”

  As he’d desired. “Good.”

  “I wish I could say there was time for a shower and change of clothes, breakfast and all. But Geordie, Brick, and the rest of them have been behind closed doors for an hour already.”

  “I can clean up and eat later.” Right now he had an out-of-control situation to manage. A trade war to stop.

  A throne to reclaim.

  They were halfway to Father’s office when the door opened. A short, thin man stepped out, only to freeze. Gasp. “Y-your Maje—” He broke off, looking back at the closed office door. Likely torn.

  After all, he’d been calling Geordie by the title for days.

  No longer.

  Jonah stopped in front of the young advisor. The one who’d stopped him in this same corridor only weeks ago and mentioned the 18th Decree. “Justus, tell my brother I’m here to see him.”

  “But he’s . . . he’s in a meeting. The Commander of the Armed Guard is in there and—”

  Not an ounce of patience left, Jonah brushed past the stammering man and burst into the office. The smell overtook him at once—Father’s pipe tobacco. It seemed to ooze from the wood-paneled walls and hover in the air about him.

  And for one brittle moment, a doubt he’d managed to keep at bay since the moment he’d left Tinsel and boarded his plane threatened to cloud his purpose. They might not listen—Geordie and Brick and the head of the Armed Guard. They might force him from the office. Refuse to acknowledge his return.

  But at the sound of Hamish planting his feet and crossing his arms beside him, he cast away his worry and forced a strength he wasn’t sure he possessed into his words. “We need to talk, Geordie. Now.”

  Geo
rdie stood slowly from behind Father’s desk, not a single crease in his starched suit.

  Unlike Jonah’s faded jeans and untucked button-down. Maybe he should have changed. Would five more minutes have made a difference?

  “Brother, it’s good to see you. But you weren’t expected. As you can see, we’re in the middle of business.”

  “I won’t be put off, Geordie.”

  “George,” his little brother said through gritted teeth, a dark undertone in his words. “Or more appropriately, ‘Your Majesty.’”

  Jonah ignored the correction, turned to Brick and the others in the room. “Leave us.”

  Brick didn’t even raise his eyes to Jonah, but the Commander of the Armed Guard looked almost relieved. He and his entourage silently left the room despite Geordie’s protests.

  “You don’t have to go. Don’t have to listen to him. I’m your king.”

  Brick stood, his lowered gaze darting back and forth between the brothers as if clueless as to which one to obey.

  “Brick, I am asking you to leave the room.”

  Geordie rounded the desk with a scowl. “And if he doesn’t? Are you going to forcibly remove him or have your henchman do it for you.” He jabbed a thumb toward Hamish.

  “Hm, never been referred to as a henchman before.” Hamish shrugged. “Can’t say I mind it.”

  Jonah kept his unwavering stare on the advisor. “Brick.”

  Thankfully, the man took it as the final warning it was. He left the room with quick steps, acknowledging neither Jonah nor Geordie, which was just fine with Jonah. He’d deal with the Advisory Council later.

  He’d deal with his brother first.

  “I’ll be just outside,” Hamish said as he retreated, but not before adding a pointed, “Your Majesty.”

  The moment the door latched, Geordie lashed out. “You have no right. No right interrupting. No right driving them away. No right even being here.”

  “You’re speaking of rights, Geord—George—really? From what Hamish tells me, you’re on the brink of starting a trade war. Worse, an actual war. Threatening to seize a port? What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

  Geordie covered the distance between them in harsh, stilted steps. “I was thinking I’d been left in charge of a country that for too long has waited for its king to take action. You would let Harthingland take advantage of us indefinitely. Did you really expect me to just sit around for four weeks? The people are tired of this. They want a king who rules.”

  “How do you know what the people want?”

  “I know because I’m here. Because I didn’t run away—”

  Something unleashed in Jonah, something feral and foreign. And before he realized what he was doing, he had his brother by the collar, fingers gripping the cotton of Geordie’s shirt, pulse hammering. “You encouraged me to go. Was this the plan all along? Did you tell Justus to talk to me about the 18th Decree?”

  Fear and defiance warred in Geordie’s hard eyes. “Our whole childhood we went without a physical fight. I didn’t think you had it in you, Jonah.”

  With a grunt—or maybe a groan—he thrust his brother away from him. He reeled away, jabbing his fingers through his hair, rubbing his unshaven chin. “I’ve already spoken with King Nester. I’ll be traveling to meet with him in two days.” At Geordie’s gasp, he faced his brother once more. “What did you think I’d do? Let you raise hostilities in my absence only to hand it all over to me when I returned?”

  He read something in Geordie’s face then. Something that punctured all his bravado. Stole all his last hope that he might be able to smooth over whatever this was between them in one conversation. Betrayal lodged in his throat. “You weren’t going to hand it all over.”

  Geordie’s jaw clenched.

  Jonah slumped into one of the leather wingback chairs. “The day I signed the abdication letter you said one month wasn’t long enough to make a mark in the history books. But you wanted to make a mark, didn’t you?”

  Geordie turned away, moving across the room to look out the window. How many times had Jonah seen Father in the same spot, standing just as Geordie did now?

  “Father wished I’d been his firstborn. He always thought I was better suited to the throne.”

  Did Geordie honestly think Jonah didn’t know that? Over and over, for twenty years, he’d replayed that overheard conversation between his parents. Heard Father’s voice saying he couldn’t see the leader in Jonah.

  And Mum’s defense. “Then you aren’t looking hard enough.”

  What did you see, Mum? I wish I knew . . .

  A different memory interrupted just then. Rowan’s face, her voice, words he’d brushed off at the time but found himself considering now. “You should look in a mirror sometime, Jonah. Really look. You might just see the hero I do.”

  For two decades, he’d let the way his father viewed him effect him. For two years, he’d constantly been concerned about what his advisors thought of him—the public, the palace staff, the papers.

  And Adelaide. For every day of their brief marriage, he’d worried that all she’d seen in him was what he hadn’t been able to offer.

  Maybe it was time—finally—to consider what he saw in himself. To look in the mirror, just like Rowan said. To see the man God had created—with weaknesses, yes, but also with strengths and a calling.

  A calling to do hard things when he needed to.

  “I understand, George, that you were trying to take decisive action for the betterment of our country. But I believe peace with Harthingland is possible. It’s an ongoing work, though—peace. It takes a willingness to talk to each other rather than about each other. I want Concordia to be a nation that’s willing to do the work.”

  He stood from his chair, began reciting words he’d memorized on the plane. “‘At the time of the abdicating sovereign’s choosing, he must write a letter to be presented to the interim ruler announcing his readiness, willingness, and desire to reclaim his title and all associated obligations. Unless possessed of outstanding and unquestionable reason to deny this privilege, the interim sovereign will accept the letter and step down.”

  Jonah walked to his brother’s side and pulled a folded paper from his pocket.

  Geordie glanced the letter. “That’s it? You hand me a letter and I just move aside. Back to being the useless younger brother?”

  “You’ve never been useless, George. Help me bring Harthingland back to the table. We can do this together.” He lifted his hand to his brother’s shoulder. “I value you. I want your input. I understand that maybe it wasn’t fair of me in the first place to leave you in charge while expecting you to simply hold tight until my return. I may not agree with the direction you’ve taken, but—”

  Geordie shook free. “I’ll go to France.”

  “What?”

  “Or maybe Spain. I’ve got any number of holiday invitations from any number of friends. I always gallivant—your word, not mine—around Europe during the holidays. Why should this year be any different?” He whirled away from the window and stalked across the room.

  “You don’t have to leave, Geor—”

  The slam of the door rattled every shelf on the wall.

  Rowan braced herself against the bitter cold as she stepped out of the empty downtown building that wouldn’t be empty for much longer.

  “It’ll make a fine library, Rowan.” Mayor Haden followed her out the door. “You’ll see.”

  Actually, surprisingly, she did see. Yes, it was just gray walls and one long open space. No, there weren’t all the little touches that made the Cape Cod house charming—no dormer windows, no brick fireplace.

  But as she’d walked through the sprawling room with the mayor, she’d kept hearing the echoes of Jonah’s voice. “It might feel completely different once you’re in there. It might have, oh, I don’t know . . . an atmosphere. It could surprise you. Try to picture it filled with shelves and books.”

  That’s exactly what she’d do
ne as she looked around. She’d imagined creating a children’s area by using tall bookshelves as makeshift walls. She’d visualized a display of new releases in the front windows and figured out which corner would make the best spot for the circulation desk.

  It would work.

  As long as she didn’t think too hard or spend too much time mentally comparing it to Grandma’s house.

  “Thanks for letting me do a walk-through, Mayor Hayden. It’s so cold today I’m sure you didn’t want to leave the house.”

  “Oh, it was no problem. I was glad to get your call. I’ve felt horrible about disappointing you with this whole thing. But I hope you understand. As for the cottage, we’ve already had an offer from a potential buyer.”

  “But it’s not even up for sale yet?”

  “I know. But you see, it’s not going to go to ruin.” Mayor Hayden locked the building and turned to Rowan. “The old place might not house the library anymore, but I’m positive it’ll be well-loved by its new owner.”

  Rowan nodded as she pulled on her mittens. She’d called the mayor first thing this morning, asking if she could take a look at the building, intent on accepting the inevitable. She’d let herself cry Saturday night and again on Sunday.

  But at some point last evening—after church and dinner at Mom and Eddie’s and a long afternoon in the little apartment she’d soon need to pack up and vacate—she’d come to the realization that there were some things she didn’t get to choose and things she did.

  She didn’t get to choose where the library was located. But she could choose to make the best of it. She could choose to keep Grandma’s legacy alive in a different way in a different place.

  If only she could muster up as dignified of a response to Jonah’s leaving. As it was, she owed the library a new copy of Charlotte’s Web. She’d torn out the page with the quote he’d underlined and even now, she carried it in her purse.

  She was pathetic.

  “Need a ride?”

  The call came from the street where her stepfather’s cop car had slowed at the curb. “I promise I didn’t break in this time, Eddie. No need to worry.”