Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1

by Jennifer Chance

  Her heart seized up. No, no and no. She couldn’t play that, she would ruin it, ruin this moment, ruin everything. That world was gone to her, she dare not even try it.

  Beside her, the small music store owner watched her with worried eyes, his joy turning to concern, then even to dread. No! She could not ruin this.

  Em shook her head slightly, readjusted her chin. Then she bent into “The Lark Ascending.” It had always been her favorite.

  Kristos stamped down the hallway, muttering ever more creative curses as he went. First, his father had him meeting with some of the most prestigious men of the National Council, for the pomp and circumstance of him signing the final papers to render the Crown his upon the death of the king. That alone would put anyone in a foul mood. To make matters worse, however, he’d no sooner finished the first round of that nonsense when his mother had summoned him preemptorily to attend her in the solarium, of all places. He was forcibly reminded of his original reasons for joining the GNSF’s ranks at the earliest possible moment when he’d been only seventeen. His parents were a colossal pain in the ass.

  He whirled around the corner, already forming in his mind the most polite but firm dismissal he could, when he was brought up short by the unfamiliar sound of music flowing from the open doors of the solarium. A violin—no two violins, were playing in point and counterpoint, a composition he didn’t know but was instantly charmed by.

  The staff and guards clearly were too, as a small collection of them stood just outside his destination, too polite to intrude but clearly transfixed by the music that came from within. It took Kristos only a moment to realize what his mother had done, and he quickened his pace, striding past the staff and into the verdant gardens of the solarium.

  He slowed only as he came around the corner of a small flowering bush and saw Emmaline. She was dressed simply, in a tank tunic and long skirt, but she might as well have been in the formal gown of a concert soloist given the elegant extension of her neck, the graceful arc of her arm as she drew the bow across a gleaming violin. A short man in a suit played next to her, but while Emmaline’s eyes were closed, his were fixed on her, her movements, her angles, playing an underpinning of riffs and rolls as if to extend the reach of Emmaline’s violin.

  With the music filling the solarium, Kristos didn’t glance at his mother, though he knew she was sitting beyond Emmaline. Instead, he focused on Emmaline’s face, her transported expression telling him that she was no longer in this space, in this castle, but somewhere riding the whispers of her own daydreams, in a place where there was only light and music, where stories always turned out the way they should. He swallowed hard and stood his ground, not trusting himself to go closer, lest he break the spell that Emmaline wove around them.

  After another several measures, Emmaline’s eyes fluttered open, her attention going to Catherine as she seemed to recall herself to the current place and time. She turned to her fellow violinist, her smile filled with sweetness, and for once, it wasn’t she who blushed but the much older man, as together they drew the song to a close, the melody seeming to drift up, up, up until it finally winked out.

  “Oh! That was lovely!” His mother clasped her hands together and stood, her manner almost overly bright. “And look who has joined us in time to hear it as well.”

  Emmaline, frowning, turned his way and nearly dropped her violin in surprise. “Kri—Prince Kristos!” she stammered, the expressions chasing over her face an unexpected balm.

  “That was beautiful,” he said, bowing to Em. He turned to his mother. “I am sorry to interrupt you both, but I was told you needed me?”

  Her smile was guileless. “Well, I did, the hour ago that I sent for you. But I know you are busy.”

  “Hour? The message was only just delivered.”

  “Mm. Then I have your father to blame, it appears, and not you.”

  Kristos closed his eyes. That, he could believe. His father might love his bride as much today as the day they’d married, but that didn’t mean he always bowed to her demands until he was ready. “My apologies.”

  “Think nothing of it,” his mother said, less perturbed by far than she usually was when she was made to wait. “But now that you’re here, I do have a request for you. Something that’s a bit delicate.”

  Her gaze shifted to Emmaline, who seemed to take its meaning immediately.

  “I’ll explore the gardens,” she said. She offered her violin to the man in the suit, who pushed it back into her hands, his voice eager, his words a flurry.

  “Accept it, please, or he’ll be heartbroken,” his mother said as Emmaline’s eyes widened. “We’ll repay him, I promise.”

  “I—” Emmaline swallowed but graciously held the violin close, as if it were a precious child. She bowed to the old man. “How do I tell him the violin is lovely?”

  “Absolutely beautiful.” Kristos’s translation drew Emmaline’s gaze, and whatever she saw in his eyes did cause a blush to flare in her cheeks. She transferred her attention to the violin maker, however, and repeated the words with her soft voice, trying to not destroy the words with her accent. The older man bowed to her again, and then a second time, but before he could burst into more chatter, the queen redirected the man’s attention, thanking him for his time and advising him that an aide would be waiting to guide him out of the castle. The violin seller devolved into a series of statements about his heartfelt thanks. After watching him for a moment, Emmaline turned into the gardens as if she really did plan to explore their very depths—depths that extended only about twenty feet.

  “Kristos.”

  He glanced back at his mother, suddenly wondering if she’d set him up to catch him by surprise with Emmaline’s playing. He certainly wouldn’t put it past the woman. She’d been benignly manipulative his entire life, getting what she wanted with soft words when no amount of brute force would have succeeded…but getting what she wanted all the same.

  His mother was no longer looking at him, however. She leaned down at her feet and picked up a large folder, gesturing for him to sit. “I won’t keep you, especially not with Emmaline here as well, but I didn’t know when I’d get the chance to speak with you prior to tomorrow’s events. Your father was quite insistent that you would not have time for social planning in the scant thirty-six hours he had to prepare you for your meetings with the Council.” She shook her head. “Why we can wait a solid year to move forward with your accession and then have to do everything in a rush is simply beyond me, but the influx of media has heightened everyone’s tensions. I rather suspect he thinks he can leverage it to let drop some of our recent foreign policy decisions he wants publicized, but I can tell you for a fact that this particular media contingent is interested only in the newest and undeniably attractive royal prince—and whom he might wed.”

  Kristos stared at his mother, trying to process everything she’d just managed to say in one breath. He wasn’t even sure she was looking for an answer, but she used his momentary lapse in focus to open the folder on the table between them. At first glance, he knew this was not where he wanted to be.

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Nonsense. Sit down and go through it with me. You need to be aware of who will be presented to you tomorrow night. No one expects you to make any sort of choice—other than your father, the Council, and most of Garronia—but you should know at least enough to be polite to these girls. They are from the finest families in Garronia and of our allies.”

  “Allies!” Kristos frowned, even as he dutifully took a seat opposite her. “How could you possibly have assembled anyone to come in this quickly, Mother? I was informed my time was up only two days ago. Surely this ball hasn’t been on some sort of national calendar.”

  “The expectation that it was going to happen this week or next has been on the minds of the interested parties for several months now, Kristos. You’re worth clearing a schedule for. You need to be aware of that. Now look. Irina is probably the best-looking
of the bunch, so you’ll notice her straight away.” She tapped the folder, drawing his attention down to a classically beautiful Greek woman with large eyes and full lips. The dossier had several photos of her, as well as a listing of her education, extracurricular activities, and charitable work.

  “I can’t believe you’re making me look at this.”

  “Very well, another choice is Maria. I’ve always liked her family.” The first set of pages was replaced with a second and the image of a woman Kristos vaguely remembered.

  “This is barbaric.”

  “Well, get used to it,” his mother snapped, her veneer of civilized calm thinning as she glared at him with unexpected irritation. “All these young women are entertaining hopes of catching your eye tomorrow night. Like it or not, they are being held up for your consideration, and you can treat them with scorn and dismissal, or you can treat them with kindness and grace. The former may be your natural inclination, but it is certainly not becoming of the behavior of a prince.”

  Kristos scowled at her. “I don’t see the reason for this stupid tradition at all. It’s outdated and ridiculous.”

  “One could easily say the same for the idea of a single family serving as the governing power for a modern nation-state,” Catherine shot back, echoing aloud the words he’d already thought to himself countless times. “You cannot pick and choose the traditions that suit you best at any given time. Whether you are the president of the United States, the prime minister of England, or the grand sultan of Turkey, there are certain expectations and affectations that come along with the position. And how you perform and treat others within the context of those expectations will have a profound effect, whether or not you want it to. So I would ask you to sit here and review the guest list with an eye toward treating these young women the way a future king would, and not mock them for being trapped in the same system in which you, quite gratefully, I should hope, find yourself at the top.”

  “Your Highness?”

  The queen’s tirade was cut short as Emmaline emerged from beneath an orange tree. She spoke with bright cheerfulness, as if she hadn’t just interrupted a family spat. “I was hoping I could call my parents while you continued your discussion. I’m happy to return here after that, if you would like?”

  “That is an excellent idea.” Catherine removed a cell phone from the table and hit a few buttons. Almost immediately, an aide appeared at the far edge of the solarium, and she spoke to her in quick Garronois, then turned back to Emmaline. “She’ll bring you to wherever I find myself, depending on how far Kristos and I progress.” She beamed as Emmaline departed, while Kristos managed only a polite nod, grateful beyond measure that Emmaline neither understood his country’s language—nor the farce that was about to be enacted.

  Once Emmaline had passed through the solarium doors, his mother returned her gaze to him. “I’ve memorized it,” he said tersely, indicating the papers in front of them. “Show me the next.”

  Instead, she leaned back, a frown marring her brow. “Kristos, your preference for military life is no secret. If you should truly wish to return to that world, it would be a sacrifice for us, but one we could make.”

  He blinked at her. “What are you talking about? I’ve just spent the last twelve hours being drilled on my responsibilities to the Crown.”

  “Responsibilities, yes. Obligations, in fact. But you need to want to be king as well.”

  He stiffened. “That may be asking too much.”

  “You seem so eager to return to the military, even though you would give up so much—”

  He leaned forward. “I would gladly do so. You know that.”

  “—perhaps more than you even realize,” his mother continued inexorably. “The chance for family, actual love…those are in short supply for a man who dedicates himself to battle as a way of life.”

  “Love!” Kristos sensed the danger here, but he couldn’t root it out. “My love for my country is enough.” He gestured to the folder, the pictures. “These women here—they don’t know me. They won’t miss me.”

  “And Emmaline?”

  The question was asked so softly, he wasn’t sure he’d heard it. He found his gaze shifting to where Emmaline had just stood, framed by the overhang of the orange tree, her manner soft and gentle, her eyes almost transparent with her emotion. She wasn’t one of the options before him on the table; she couldn’t be. His mother knew that more than anyone. “She would never be accepted by the ministers.”

  “Oh, of course not.” His mother’s manner shifted so quickly, Kristos jerked back, startled. She leaned forward to shift the papers, not looking at him. “It was just theoretical, a question of what it would take for you to be happy. Perhaps you’ll only find that vaunted state in the military, but that’s not a choice you can make in any event until after the Accession Ball. For now, you must play a different part.” She glanced up, and offered him another page. “A part the country needs no less than another man at arms, regardless of how skilled that man might be.”

  He gaped at her. “So you would not condone me returning to the military?”

  His mother shrugged. “I would condone anything that would make you happy, Kristos, as long as it’s for the good of the country as well. And today, what’s good for the country is for you to at least consider a life commanding Garronia’s forces, not serving in them. So come, then.” She shook the page in her hand when he didn’t take it immediately. “Consider this different future for a bit longer. A leader must understand what he’s giving up, before he can choose what he wants to take on.”

  Chapter 17

  The aide stood at the doorway, at a far enough distance that Em didn’t feel crowded, though she did wonder if her voice echoed as loudly as she thought it did in the expansive office. Her hands shook as she waited for the line to connect, as if she’d done something wrong and was calling to report her failings to her parents. What was wrong with her? She was twenty-three years old and on vacation for the first time in a year. Her parents were fine, her parents were—

  “Hello?”

  Her father’s gruff voice made her heart lodge in her throat. “Dad!”

  “Emmaline? Are you okay? What happened to you? Are you safe?”

  The rush of words was so unlike her father that Em wasted another precious moment trying to swallow the lump in her throat. When he said her name again, more urgently, she forced the words out.

  “Yes! Yes, I’m fine, I’m safe. I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner, but we’ve been on lockdown and—”

  “Don’t talk to me about lockdown,” her father grumped, his sudden return to his taciturn self serving to calm her nerves. “After those idiots talked to your mother this morning, I’ve told everyone to leave us the hell alone.”

  Em frowned. “Idiots?”

  “Oh, some fools calling her, trying to find out more about you. I think it was Channel 2. You know how lousy their news is. Wouldn’t be surprised if they quoted the National Enquirer as their confidential source.”

  “She—Mom didn’t say anything, did she? Was she upset?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. I got to her quick enough. And that pissed me off, tell you the truth. If I’d known I could move that fast without that damned walker slowing me down, I’d’ve thrown the fool thing away months ago.”

  Em pursed her lips into a smile that somehow seemed her only barrier to tears. They’d been quietly urging her father to take more control of his exercise plan, to get out and walk, but he’d not been up to doing much more than stare at Mom, as if he could will her brain to mend more quickly than it was. And her mother was improving, she was. She could speak now, though her words were still slurred, and she could eat on her own. She could also walk, though she got so dizzy that walking any distance made her ill.

  But she still wasn’t anywhere near recovered. She just wasn’t fully present anymore, not the way she used to be. Not the way Em had always known her. And that was the hardest part for her father as well
. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting around better as well. Is the nurse still okay? You don’t need me?”

  “Of course I need you. I’ll never stop needing you,” her father snapped, and Em blinked, a strange, sharp reaction welling up inside her. She flashed to the image she’d just seen in the solarium, Kristos and his mother. Did Kristos’s mom need him the way her father needed her? What would the queen do to ensure her son’s safety?

  Her father drew her attention back. “The nurse is fine, brainiac pain in the ass is what she is, and, yes, I know you’re listening.” Her father pitched his voice to be heard by whoever else was in the room with him. “Knows more than any one girl should except your mother, or at least how, how she—”

  “You be nice to the nurse,” Em said quickly, her words smoothing over the catch in her father’s voice. “She probably knows more about how you’re recovering than you do, and you’d do well to take notes. I’ll be home all too soon, and then you’ll be back to your regular physical therapists.”

  “Well, at least they’re less pushy.” He paused. “When are you coming home, Em? Your mother misses you.”

  She hesitated, hearing the transparent need in her father’s voice as guilt stabbed at her. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about daydreams of Kristos, no matter how he’d looked at her, or how she’d felt when she’d seen him in the solarium just now. Or on the video. Or at Estral Falls. How could she think of doing anything but head back home? The piece she’d just played was an old favorite, not her audition piece. She hadn’t mastered that in longer than she could remember. Besides, her music wasn’t more important than her parents. Her fantasies about Kristos weren’t either. “Is she awake now?”

  “Nah. She tried walking a little while ago. Wore her out.”

  Em closed her eyes. Her mother used to walk all the time before the accident, long treks through the wooded trails near their home. It was her way to unwind, to think, to give her brain permission to walk around too, she always said. “I’m glad she was up, though. The doctors said—”