Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1

by Jennifer Chance

  “Seriously, the man has a gift. I’ll even forgive him for not including new underwear.”

  “He values his life too much.”

  Emmaline laughed, hurriedly towel-drying her hair after she slipped into the shift, then finger-combing it as Dimitri dressed. He looked up to find her surveying herself critically in the mirror. “Not exactly the way I envisioned meeting the queen.”

  “And the king too.”

  “Not helping.” She scowled, but to him, she had never looked lovelier, her eyes bright, her damp hair curling around her shoulders.

  “Come—Dimitri is probably grinding his teeth to dust. We might as well get the introduction finished, so you can rest. If you’re sure you don’t want to return to your friends yet?”

  She chewed her lip, glancing away from his reflection in the mirror as she worked the last of the water out of her hair. “Do they know I’m here?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then no,” she decided. “They know that I’m safe. They’re not worrying about me. Another night won’t change that. Unless…” She frowned at him. “Oh, Kristos, I didn’t think. Of course it’s an imposition to your staff to put me up in separate rooms. I don’t at all want that. I’m sorry, I can—”

  Kristos cut her off with a raised hand. “It is no imposition. In fact, I suspect my mother will insist upon it.” He lifted his brows at her. “Just remember, she can be a ruthless interrogator. The only way to get her off a subject is to bring up her charity work—or clothes. Neither of which will work tonight, I suspect.”

  A knock sounded on the doorway, and Kristos reached for her. “Are you ready?”

  The emotions that played over her face told him that she clearly was not, though she nodded quickly. “Of course.” She put her hand in his, and they stepped out of the doorway to where an equally tidied Dimitri stood, his expression carefully polite as he raked his gaze over them.

  Two palace guards in dress uniform stood behind him.

  “Your Highness,” he said, gesturing with all pomp for Kristos to precede him. He glanced down at their joined hands. “Unless you want more questions than you can possibly want to answer, you may want to let her walk behind you with me.” He glanced meaningfully down the hall, and Kristos sighed. Cameras. Theo wasn’t the only one with a penchant for spying on his own household.

  He turned and lifted Emmaline’s hand to his lips, but she removed her fingers from his grasp almost before his mouth touched the knuckles.

  “It’s perfectly all right,” she said, only a shade too cheerfully. “I won’t have to curtsy or anything, will I?”

  Dimitri laughed. “Only if you’d like. Most American women shake hands.”

  They moved down the corridor, and Kristos felt the loss of Emmaline’s touch like a physical ache. He shook himself. She was reacting with grace and dignity to their changed situation. He should as well.

  But he couldn’t keep his hands from closing into fists as he walked, no matter who was watching.

  It took less time than he would have imagined to traverse the distance to the reception hall, the second of two that the castle boasted and by far the smaller one. Dimitri stopped and turned, glancing down to Emmaline. “They’re very excited to see you both,” he said, and she nodded in gratitude at his bolstering words.

  But as his eyes lifted to connect with Kristos’s gaze, his look was plain.

  The time for freedom is over.

  Chapter 14

  Em almost swallowed her tongue as she walked into the sumptuously decorated room and took in the two figures standing at the far end, both of them dressed not in gown and crown, as she’d expected, but like well-appointed business professionals.

  King Jasen and his wife, Catherine, were an absolutely stunning couple, their regal stature augmented by exotic good looks and thick, dark hair. The only concession to their true station was the queen’s delicate tiara. Em tried not to fixate on it, instead clasping her hands demurely—what she hoped was demurely—in front of her and attempting not to stumble.

  “Relax. They’ll think I ravished you if you don’t ease up,” Kristos said, startling her, and she blinked at him as he strode the final steps forward to greet his parents.

  “Mother, Father, I’m honored to present Miss Emmaline Andrews. She’s been gracious enough to endure the results of our first meeting for these past few days, and I’m sure very glad to be back to normal.” He turned to her, his expression wry. “Well, almost back to normal.”

  “Miss Andrews.” King Jasen spoke first, and his deep, resonant voice drew Em’s attention. His gaze was kind but remote, a diplomat used to maneuvering through shifting waters. “Please accept our apologies for your introduction to Garronia. Normally, our media are not quite so enthusiastic. But we have awaited the accession of a crown prince for a good while now, and the story was ready to happen.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” He bowed to her, so Em inclined her head in a way that she hoped wasn’t stupid. Was that what she was supposed to do? She wasn’t going to stick her hand out, no matter what Dimitri said.

  “Emmaline.” Unlike her husband, Kristos’s mother held both of her hands out in clear welcome, stepping toward Em with a warmth that didn’t quite mask the shrewdness of her gaze. Acting on instinct, Em lifted her hands as well and found herself enveloped in the elegant embrace of the queen of Garronia. “Kristos has been selfish to keep you all to himself, but I’ve enjoyed meeting your other friends so much.”

  Em winced. She could count on Lauren and Fran to hold their own, but how had Nicki behaved? Not well, she expected. “Thank you for hosting them. We would have had a far more difficult time of it on our own.”

  “The media can do so much good, but they can also be exhausting.” Queen Catherine tightened her hands on Em’s before withdrawing. “And you’ve seen them on some of their less well-behaved days, I’m afraid. But your adventure took you—where?”

  “Theo’s.” Kristos’s words were placating. “We were perfectly safe, and to make sure of it, Dimitri was with us.”

  “I’m not sure I would necessarily classify him as safe, but very well. And why didn’t you see fit to inform us as to your whereabouts?”

  Em tensed. Kristos was correct. She got the feeling that his mother enjoyed asking these sorts of questions with the same passion that a bulldog pursued a bone, but Kristos met her head-on. “We suspected that our communications might be compromised. And though we were careful, we might well have been right. Tonight’s change of plans was precipitated by media helicopters making a sweep of the area. Theo might return home to find that he has a drone or two hovering, waiting for someone interesting to appear.”

  King Jasen shifted. “Did they see you?”

  “We don’t think so. Our entry into the castle an hour ago was a bit more problematic, but even that appeared not to draw attention.”

  “Such a charming introduction to our own home as well.” His mother sniffed. “Stefan would have told us if anything had shown up in the local chatter, but we will leave you two to that discussion. Emmaline looks like she’s about to drop on her feet. Come along, dear.”

  Em nodded and turned to Kristos, surprised when he stopped her by reaching for her hand once more. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it perfunctorily, but the look in his eye was anything but dismissive. “Good night, Emmaline,” he said, inflecting her name with the weight of a foreign word. “Try not to let my mother railroad you.”

  King Jasen might have humphed, but Catherine swept forward, drawing Em with her. “Oh, enough. Go read your reports or whatever it is you two do when you act like you have the cares of the world on your shoulders. Emmaline and I will see you in the morning.”

  She turned and led Emmaline through a side door in the room, and they stepped into a long tiled hallway, centered by a thick Persian rug. “I had rugs installed in every hallway in the palace when I first came here,” Catherine confided, walking briskly. “I have to be careful that no on
e creeps up on me unawares, but by the reverse token, I learn ever so much more than I would otherwise, simply by lurking at doors.”

  At Em’s surprised look, she laughed. “The men of the Andris family have many worthwhile qualities, don’t get me wrong. But one of their most irritating quirks—of which they are all guilty, Jasen’s father, Jasen, and his sons—is their belief that women cannot think of anything more complicated than running a household and overseeing charitable works. Never realizing that those are two very different and valuable jobs in and of themselves, but not jobs that are best served by keeping me in a vacuum. Ah, here we are.”

  She turned and ushered Em into a room not dissimilar to the one she’d had at the hotel, only far more opulent. Rich red tile gleamed underfoot, brilliantly white furniture fairly glowed in the warm light of faux candle sconces and the very real flames of the gas fire, and she could see the edge of an enormous bed through the far door of the bedroom, a door that stood open and inviting. Sleep clawed at the back of Em’s eyes, which surprised her. She hadn’t thought she’d want to let this day end.

  “I would very much like for you to chat more with me as soon as you’ve gotten some rest,” Catherine was saying, recalling her attention again. “Kristos might have warned you that I am inquisitive by nature, but I assure you I don’t mean to pry in the manner of the media hounds.” She shrugged elegantly. “On a need-to-know basis, I simply always need to know. It’s the only way I can survive such an exasperating household.”

  Em shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have very much to tell you about myself. I only met your son yesterday, and quite by accident, as I’m sure you’ve already been told. I confess I didn’t know much about your country at all before Lauren suggested we all take this trip.”

  “Lauren, yes.” Catherine hesitated. “I promised I wouldn’t tire you more, but would you like to share a brief drink? I admit I’m not eager to go back to my rooms while Jasen is reading Kristos his rights over whisking you away.” Without waiting for Em to answer, she moved over to where several bottles of wine stood on a thick-topped shelf that rested against the wall, the glasses lined up beside them like eager soldiers. She selected a bottle that stood at the center of the collection and poured a clear liquid into two small glasses resting in a bowl of ice, then offered one of those glasses to Em.

  Em took it, then followed Catherine to the plush white chairs. She sniffed the clear liquid and wrinkled her nose. “That’s strong!”

  “Tsipouro,” Catherine said, settling into her chair. “Definitely an acquired taste, though in this country, you acquire it around the age of five.” She raised her glass to Em. “To your safe homecoming.”

  “Thank you.” Em watched Catherine take a measured drink, and matched her as best she could, though her sip was much less assured. She eyed the glass curiously. “This is what Lauren was drinking the other night when she tried to hold her own against a local in some kind of ill-advised contest.”

  “She told me that story.” Catherine’s smile was approving. “There’s not much that holds her back from doing what she sets out to do, it seems.”

  “Ha! Definitely not.” Anticipating the queen’s next question, she continued. “We met in college, freshman year, all of us in the honors wing of the women’s dorm. Nicki was in journalism, Frannie was studying…you know, I don’t remember what she started out in. But she switched to psychology midway through our first year. And Lauren was business. She always thought she’d go into law, but she switched majors after she realized that the law students weren’t all that much fun. Or at least that’s what she told us.”

  “And yourself?” Catherine’s brows lifted at the obvious detail missing from Em’s story. “What did you study?”

  Em tightened her lips. Why was admitting her field of study to these people so difficult? Then again, why should they be any different from anyone else she’d ever met, who seemed to consider the study of music about as useful as the study of migratory dodo birds? “It almost seems silly now that I’ve graduated, and that’s all so far away. But I studied musical performance. Specifically the violin, though I’ve also played the harp and viola. Not the cello, though it is beautiful. I never had the right reach.”

  She was beginning to babble, and she eyed her drink thoughtfully. She should probably set the glass down, but it felt right in her hand, round and full, perfectly weighted. It was easier to keep holding it than to set it anywhere anyhow. The small coffee table was not well positioned for that use.

  In any event, Catherine was continuing. “Violin! But that’s lovely. Do you still play?”

  And at that moment, Em was glad for her drink. She rolled the glass in her hand, watching the clear liquid slide almost to the edge, then back again. “Only for my own entertainment these days,” she said. She could hear the note of regret in her voice, and she firmed her resolve. “My parents were involved in an accident about a year ago. It was quite severe. My father is finally recovering, his injuries healing, but my mother suffered some brain damage as a result of the collision. It’s reversible, they say, but her recovery has been slow. Her mind…is not what it was, and with my father not recovering as fast as he should either, it’s been an adjustment.” She waved the glass expressively, hoping the rest spoke for itself.

  Catherine nodded. “You quit your music to go help them.”

  “I gave up my scholarship, yes.” At the flicker of surprise on Catherine’s face, she rushed on, feeling the need to explain. “Graduate studies. I’d earned a scholarship for advanced musical studies at another university and had accepted when I received the call about my parents.” She found herself staring at the glass again, the tsipouro forming patterns against the backdrop of her memories.

  “That must have been very hard.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t really,” she said, her voice seeming to echo in her own ears. “They’re my parents, and I love them. My father blamed himself for the accident—still blames himself—and my mother is lost in her daydreams for a good portion of the time. She’s happy there, and I believe they’re helping her recover as well. She’s simply doing it in her own time and way.” Em’s smile seemed to lose its form on her face, and she forced it to remain steady. “She was the brains of the family, my father always said. It’s been difficult on him.”

  “Difficult on you too, I would suspect.”

  Em shook her head again. “I have the easy part. My father won’t forgive himself for a slip anyone could have made. My mother is trying to find a path she’s forgotten existed. That trumps missing out on a few years of music.”

  “You don’t play for them?”

  She blew out a long breath. “My father feels a lot of guilt. Hearing me play reminds him of my mother. She thought the violin was the perfect instrument for a prin—” Em caught herself in time, trying to redirect. “Well, what I mean is, she teaches literature at the college level, only she fell in love with fairy tales when she was a little girl. So she became a bit of a scholar on fairy tales and would spin the most amazing stories when I was young, about princes and violins and kingdoms full of music. Most of them, I understand now, were simply her means of convincing me to practice.” She lifted a hand to encompass the whole palace. “She would have loved this place, really and truly. When she was young, she traveled Europe and visited any castle she could find. She said she even named me the way a princess should be named.”

  The queen’s brow furrowed. “Emmaline?”

  “Not that part, but my middle names are Aurora and Grace, and she always said Emmaline might one day be a prin—well.” Em stopped herself just in time. Really? Can I please not embarrass myself any more for one day? “She always did love a good fairy tale.”

  “She sounds like a wonderful person.” Catherine’s tone was warm, her words almost too understanding. “Your father too. His pain at his wife’s injury is understandable. Men always blame themselves, even when they’ve no right to do so.”

  Em nodded but didn’t trust h
erself to say more. As if sensing her sudden awkwardness, Catherine stood. “I have kept you awake long enough. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

  “Of course.” Em stood as well, then a sudden thought struck her. “Do you have notepaper I could use? A pen, anything like that?”

  Catherine nodded. “Yes, certainly. In the drawer. There are envelopes too, and postcards if you prefer to write something shorter.”

  “Oh, it’s not a letter.” Em shook her head, too distracted to explain, despite Catherine’s surprised glance.

  When the queen of Garronia finally took her leave, however, Em found her pursuit of notepaper and pen still delayed. The thick, creamy stationery was exactly where Catherine had said it would be, but it lay next to a DVD of “Garronia, Jewel of the Aegean.”

  “You have got to be joking.” Em lifted the video out of the drawer like it was some kind of buried treasure, blinking at the images of the castle she herself was staying in, a picture of Jasen and Catherine standing in formal attire in front of a crowd, another of Kristos rigidly at attention in full military dress.

  She practically ran to the large flat-screen TV that dominated the sitting room, sliding the DVD in the slot on its side. Clicking on the remote, she took an involuntary step back as already-familiar images filled the screen. The royal residences of Garronia, the king and queen, the tragic death but honored life of Aristotle, and finally, Kristos.

  Em’s breath caught, and she sat down hard on the couch as Kristos filled the screen. His rich voice spoke in the lush accent of Garronois, but that was the only soft thing about his presentation. Though the captions that ran at the bottom of the screen were full of hopeful rhetoric, and though everyone around him was smiling gamely at the media assembled before the podium, Kristos might as well be announcing some horrible catastrophe. He looked nothing like the man she’d held in her arms just hours ago, laughing and splashing through the water. His bearing was excruciatingly formal, even more than his military uniform required. His jaw was tight, his eyes flinty and hollow. All of his bright passion was gone, replaced with a surly intensity that seemed almost foreign on his handsome face.