by Kati Wilde
“That he wants to marry you.”
His reply is a punch to the chest, but I conceal that, too. “All right. Tell him that I’ll look for a clear space on my calendar,” I say easily, then turn toward my camera, because I can only pretend so far. With throat aching, I tell him, “Now I hope you’ll forgive me, but the sun keeps moving. If I don’t take these photos at the right moment, the shadows will be all wrong.”
From behind me comes a brief and palpably befuddled silence. Then, “You want me to tell the king that you’ll look for a clear space on your calendar?”
“Mmm-hmmm,” I hum the confirmation while I snap a few shots, then tug my phone out of my pocket and open the calendar app. “Let me see. It looks like…” I scroll through the months. And continue scrolling. “I have a few days free in October.”
He nods sharply. “I will inform him—”
“October of next year, that is.” With a shrug, I return to my camera. “I’m so very busy, after all. But I’m sure that His Majesty understands how it is, as he himself is so very busy that he could not even come here in person to announce our forthcoming wedding. Indeed, I’m astonished that he’s had time to think of marriage at all, since he has been working obsessively for months to negotiate this trade agreement, and that was only signed an hour ago. Simply astonished!”
“As am I,” Sauer says dryly, then offers a stiff bow. “Thank you for your time, my lady.”
I’m not a lady. My father was a baron—and now my brother is—so I don’t rate higher than a “miss” when someone addresses me. Someone who worked for the royal family would know that. And an emissary from the king would have been prepped before coming. Viciously I click the shutter again before smiling at him pleasantly. “You’re welcome, Mr. Sauer. Don’t forget to report to Liz and tell her how her little joke went.”
He hesitates for a moment, as if about to say more, then shakes his head and departs.
I stand in place, the viewfinder blurry and unfocused through my tears. Liz couldn’t know how this prank would hurt me. She teases me now and then about my girlhood crush on the king—and sometimes that teasing includes asking me if I never date because I’m still waiting for him to make me his queen. No doubt she believed I would be as unaffected by this joke as I am when she teases me.
Except I’m not unaffected, even by the teasing—I just pretend to be. And I am waiting for the king to make me his queen. Kind of. Because as the years pass, the possibility of marrying him seems to move further away, not closer. At eighteen, the reason for the delay was clear. My father had just succumbed to a brain tumor, and I was so young. At twenty-two, when I graduated from university, I was probably still too young—and Kapria was still recovering from King Leopold’s rule. It made sense that Maximilian wouldn’t want to indulge in an expensive wedding celebration while so many people in his kingdom were still struggling. And I don’t expect a fairy tale where Maximilian shows up and sweeps me into his arms, declaring his passionate love. But a little acknowledgment would be nice. In all this time, I’ve only received one message from him—congratulations for earning my university degree. But I’ve done so much more since then. And although I understand all of the reasons for keeping the betrothal secret, I’ve moved from feeling as if he’s being discreet…to feeling as if I’m invisible to him.
And I’m not too young to be queen now. Instead I worry that if he waits any longer, I won’t be young enough.
Because I can’t stop time any more than I can stop the wind. Or stop the Earth from turning. And while I’m wallowing in my hurt, the sun passes beyond the peaked roof of the manor house and the wildflowers fall into full shadow.
So much for waiting for the perfect moment.
But surely more than one perfect moment comes along in a lifetime. And it’s not as if I can change the past now. I just have to move on.
I pick up my tripod and begin scouting for another spot—and wonder whether it’s time to move on in other ways, too. Because I’m not Sleeping Beauty, untouched by time and unaware of its passing. I’ve been awake all these years, waiting for my king to arrive. But Maximilian hasn’t shown any inclination to come.
So maybe I should tell him that he doesn’t need to.
Maximilian
My cheeks ache from smiling. They genuinely fucking ache, the way my shoulders sometimes do after one of Karl’s particularly grueling sparring sessions.
Who the hell would have thought that a face needed an exercise regimen?
The Minister of the Treasury’s face is getting a workout, too, but the laugh lines etched deeply around Philippa’s dark eyes prove it’s one that she’s accustomed to. Me, I’m just glad it’s over. The gaggle of journalists and foreign dignitaries have been ushered from the throne room, leaving only the members of my ministerial cabinet and a bevy of assistants and palace staff.
With a grin, Philippa hands me a crystal snifter and pours in a measure of good Kaprian brandy. “You must feel as if the weight of the world just dropped off your shoulders.”
I’ve never carried the weight of the world. Only the weight of a kingdom. And that burden only feels marginally lighter now. Licensing the reactor’s technology will bring in a fortune to Kapria, but the licensing agreements have a fifty-year expiration date, and soon enough the world will have adapted and updated the Vic-10 far beyond its original design. So I have a single lifetime to make certain that Kapria becomes an economic and financial powerhouse, with enough stability to weather the eventual decline in foreign income. I won’t leave the same mess to my children that my father left to me, and I refuse to let my people struggle and suffer as they did under his rule.
This was a significant milestone. But it’s not the end of the journey. There’s still much to do—beginning with my children. Because I don’t have any. Yet.
But it’s the next item on my agenda. One I’m eager to start.
Hopefully Victoria is ready, too.
I’ll know soon if she is. I turn toward my assistant, seeking any news he might have received from Karl, but pause when Philippa’s hand settles on my arm. A sudden silence falls over the throne room, and I realize each of the cabinet members are facing me with a drink in hand.
Solemnly, Frederich Groener lifts his into the air. “Raise your glass to His Royal Majesty, who has dragged our fair kingdom out of the pit of social and economic ruin”—his lips twitch beneath his graying mustache—“despite the frequent kicking and screaming from the old guard.”
Quite frequent. I chose each of my advisors partially because they openly opposed my father’s policies, sometimes at a dear cost to themselves—but that doesn’t mean they always support my policies. Or at least, not the way I go about implementing them. Our goals are often the same but my cabinet ministers almost always advise me to take small steps instead of giant leaps, and to be more restrained in my decisions.
They think I’m reckless. But I have no time for restraint. Not when the goal is improving the lives of my people.
“To Kapria,” I reply, lifting my own glass. “May she ever shine bright.”
“She’ll shine brighter than the sun thanks to the Vic-10,” my agricultural minister quips, drawing laughter from the others.
When it fades, Philippa adds softly, “And to Wilhelm Dietrich—may God rest his brilliant soul.”
I’ll happily drink to that. By handing over his fortune to Kapria’s royal family, Wilhelm Dietrich gave the kingdom new hope for the future. In return, the dying billionaire only asked that his own family’s future was secure and their legacy was preserved. I promised him that it would be, but that obligation is still unfulfilled.
Though not for much longer. Setting the snifter aside, I glance at my assistant, Geoffrey, who might be the living embodiment of the Vic-10 reactor. He’s small, efficient, possesses boundless energy—and, as far as I can tell, is fueled entirely by water. He’s been with me for eight years and I’ve never seen him eat.
“In five minutes, you’re sched
uled to meet with Jeannette in your offices,” Geoffrey immediately rattles off, “followed by an interview in the White Chamber with Andrew Bush from Vanity Fair. I’ve also arranged for tea in the south gardens a half hour into the interview. Since you’re already decked out in the formal gear”—he waves his hand at me, indicating the uniform I’m wearing—“I told them they needed to complete the photo shoot today. And Jeannette confirmed with the magazine that you will be featured on the cover.”
Good. This is a critical period. The Vic-10 has secured the world’s attention. While we have that attention, we need to make the world look past the reactor to the kingdom itself. If that means plastering my face across a magazine—or fifty of them—I’ll do it.
“Ask Frederich to join us in my offices,” I tell Geoffrey, then offer Philippa the escort of my arm. “Let us go and further secure Kapria’s future, madame.”
“Maximilian.” Her tone contains a gentle admonishment as her fingers curl around my proffered forearm. “You never rest. Will you not at least spend the remainder of the day celebrating your success?”
Celebration can come after the work is done. “On my eighty-fifth birthday,” I tell her. “I’ll send up fireworks and watch them…for a few minutes.”
If I don’t waste those minutes before then. Simply shortening my stride to match Philippa’s grandmotherly pace has me bursting with impatience. The few minutes that I promised to celebrate fifty-two years into the future feel as if they are being burned away as we slowly make our way down the long corridor toward the palace’s north wing.
One of my personal security guards tails along behind us—Stephen, not Karl. Which means he hasn’t yet returned from the Dietrich family’s estate in Gentian, a small village tucked away in a narrow valley about twenty miles from Kapria’s capital city.
So I won’t have Victoria’s answer before this meeting starts. But if she had decided against the marriage, she’d have probably notified me before now. After all, she’s had twelve years to change her mind. I haven’t received a letter breaking it off, so I assume she’s still willing to be my bride—and Kapria’s queen.
And if she’s had second thoughts or doubts, she knew where to find me. My offices take up the first level of the north wing, and are situated beneath my personal chambers. Unlike the remainder of the royal residence, my offices have been stripped of the palace’s opulence. No priceless artwork, no ornate furniture. The sleek decor and cutting-edge tech wouldn’t have been out of place on the executive floor of an international corporation. Which, in some ways, is exactly how Kapria functions. When solving the kingdom’s problems, I don’t look to past regimes for inspiration. Instead of I often look to the most profitable organizations and the most progressive governments. So these offices serve only one purpose: as a base for me to conduct the business of ruling a kingdom.
Jeannette’s waiting at the conference table when we arrive. Add forty years, a sharp tongue, and an even sharper brain, and Jeannette could be a female version of Geoffrey—except that I’ve seen her eat. Sometimes she settles for food, but usually she just devours the people who stand in her way. Officially, she’s my social secretary, but in truth she oversees the equivalent of Kapria’s marketing and public relations departments. Every social media post, every news release, and every function that I attend are vetted and approved by a dragon in heels.
But even the dragon defers to a king. When I walk through the doors, she abruptly ends a phone call and rises to her feet. “Your Majesty.” She nods to me, then to Philippa. “Minister.”
“Frederich is coming, too.” Somehow even more slowly than Philippa and I did. I’m tempted to start without him but rein in my impatience. I’m including both cabinet members because I’d be a fool to plan a wedding without advising the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the Minister of the Treasury of my intentions. “Let’s go through to the study.”
I head for the open seating area in the center of the large chamber. This meeting should be short and simple. I’ve been betrothed almost as long as I’ve been king. Now it’s time to marry the girl. There’s not much more to be said than that.
On the sofa opposite my chair, Philippa and Jeannette exchange pleasantries and pour tea. I’d rather ask Geoffrey to stomp on my balls than to pass the time in the same manner. And where the hell is Geoffrey, anyway? I snap up the computer tablet from the coffee table and skim the day’s political briefings. All the news is the same as it was yesterday. The whole fucking world is a mess. But with the trade agreement signed, with the Vic-10 out there, maybe tomorrow will be a little better for some of the people living in it.
And a lot better for the people living in Kapria.
Another ten minutes that I’ll never get back pass before Frederich finally arrives. Geoffrey rushes in behind him, carrying a stack of folders. His eyes widen in helpless apology when he sees my irritated glower. Scampering over, he sets the folders on the table in front of me.
“So very sorry, Your Majesty,” he whispers while the ladies and Frederich exchange their greetings. “The minister asked me to collect these from his office.”
Frederich could have sent his own damn assistant. But no matter. He’s here now, so we can get this shit done.
I don’t wait for them to settle in before I announce, “I intend to marry before the end of this year.” Eight months should be long enough to plan and execute a wedding. “Jeannette, you will coordinate with the bride and decide upon a suitable date. I will pay for the ceremony with my personal funds but you will need to consult with Philippa regarding the budget for any related state functions, and with Frederich regarding the names of foreign officials who should—or shouldn’t—receive invitations.”
A hushed moment passes while Jeannette, Frederich, and Philippa share an uneasy glance. Then Jeannette asks, “Do you intend for Victoria Dietrich to be that bride?”
“I do.” When they share another look, I sit forward and frown. “Why? Did she already marry someone else?” Another thought strikes me. Surely I would have been informed if she were in an accident. Unless it happened recently. “She is still alive?”
I ask Jeannette since she’s supposed to keep abreast of events in Victoria’s life, but I don’t wait for her response. I glance at Geoffrey and he’s ready with an answer.
“She is alive and well, Your Majesty. Or at least she was twenty minutes ago, when Mr. Sauer left her home.”
Now those shared glances hold a touch of alarm.
“You’ve already made arrangements with her?” Philippa asks in a troubled voice.
“I sent Karl to inform her that I want to marry soon.” Unless…shit. Now Geoffrey’s the one who is looking uneasy. “What did Karl say? Did she refuse?”
“No—“
Satisfaction floods through me. “Good.”
“—but she didn’t believe him, either.”
My scowl sends him stumbling back a step.
But upon hearing that nothing has been settled yet, relief seems to fill the three people facing me. Jeannette says, “We understand that you made an agreement with Wilhelm Dietrich, but—”
“But nothing.” I sit back. “I have a duty and an obligation to marry his daughter.”
Looking pained but determined, Frederich shakes his head. “That obligation was to a man who has been dead ten years. As no official betrothal announcement was ever made, very few people outside of this chamber even know of the agreement. You can easily choose another bride. A woman who is more suitable for your purpose.”
Few people know of the betrothal for damn good reason. Victoria’s privacy would have been shattered if I had announced the betrothal twelve years ago—or even two years ago. She could never have lived an independent life unburdened by the demands of her future position. Instead, at merely sixteen years of age, she would have been thrust into the public eye and forced to play the role of future queen.
From the date of my birth, I had been prepared for a similar role. But when I became king at
twenty, I was still overwhelmed by the weight of the crown. I didn’t want Victoria to carry the same burden. Not that young.
And I don’t give a fuck if the betrothal was never official. I made a promise to Wilhelm Dietrich. I gave my word that I would marry his daughter—and two years later, I gave my word to Victoria, as well. While her blue eyes were swimming with tears and we were standing over her father’s grave, burying him next to her mother, who’d died in childbirth years before. So even the Almighty himself couldn’t turn me away from this course.
But now I wonder how much of a fight this is going to be. “You don’t think she’s a suitable choice?”
“She’s a horrible choice,” Jeannette says bluntly.
“Particularly at this moment,” Frederich adds. “This marriage could be an opportunity to strengthen ties with neighboring nations and allies. Look instead to the sisters or daughters of the powerful political players in Europe.”
“Or the powerful financial players.” Philippa delicately sets her teacup in its saucer. “Give them more reason to invest in Kapria.”
Both would be solid options if I weren’t already betrothed. So instead the options are just a waste of my time. “Her father was one of those financial players,” I remind them.
“Was.” Philippa emphasizes the past tense. “Now that family has almost nothing. An estate, a minor title, a little money. They hardly have anything to offer Kapria now.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “Dietrich’s money still pays your expenses, provides the electricity you use, and paves the roads you drive on. And the Vic-10 will continue providing for us.”
“Yes, but the Vic-10 already belongs to Kapria—and so does Dietrich’s money,” Frederich breaks in. “So the question becomes: What more can the Dietrich family offer the kingdom? That answer is…nothing. And we must look to the future.”
I am looking to the future. To a queen and heirs. But I don’t need to fucking explain myself.
