by J. J. McAvoy
“My mother was right about you,” she stammered out, but I wasn’t sure if it was shame, embarrassment, or anger. “You are nothing but a gold digger, a social climber, looking to be relevant in any way you can. Our father—”
“I will stop you there before you get yourself hurt. The past is the past, Augusta. The future is what matters. And in the future, I am the mother of the next Queen of Ersovia. So why would I care what you or your mother think? Don’t answer—that is a rhetorical question. Mr. Greensboro, please show Mrs. Washington to the door. I should stop talking before I say somethings that will really hurt her feelings,” I replied, turning away from her.
Augusta stomped out the room, slamming the door before Charles could talk to her.
“The nerve of that child.” I huffed, returning to my seat. “The training of their generation is absolute trash.”
“I blame their parents.”
“Oh, I do and—” I stopped when I saw the look on his face. “What? Why are you looking at me that?”
“Everything you said to that little girl was uncalled for. Do you have to be so cruel?”
“If the truth hurts, that is her problem.”
“And when you said ‘And in the future, I am the mother of the next Queen of Ersovia,’” he mocked, shaking his head at me. “Really, Wilhelmina?”
“What? It is not like I lied.”
“No, you just couldn’t wait to say it, though. I am sure you are just itching to run into Yvonne so you can say it a hundred more times.”
“Oh, will you please stop analyzing me. I know I am a flawed person, all right. But I have survived these many years as I am and do not plan on changing now. So, we need to use your energy for something more productive, like figuring out how to help my daughter through this hell.”
His shoulders dropped as he took a seat on the chair beside the couch. “Wilhelmina, at some point, you are going to have to accept that you cannot protect her from this.”
I did not want to believe that.
But the more I watched, the more I regretted ever helping them get together. I would gladly give up being the mother of the future Queen of Ersovia if it meant I did not have to watch my daughter get slandered all over the world by people who did not know her but thought they had a right to speak about her anyway.
Honestly, what have I done?
“People will see through the narrative the media is trying to push, right?” I whispered—no, begged him.
And he did not answer.
Because he knew that I knew the answer.
People only saw what they wanted to see.
The Morning Eagle
Friday, May 11
“The King Does Not Approve!”
King Lionel abhors Odette Wyntor.
According to sources close to the palace, the king, whose health has taken an even greater turn for the worse over the last few months, could not be more upset with the Adelaar’s choice for a wife.
His voice could be heard yelling at the pair upon her arrival at the palace, saying she is not fit to be the future queen, and he will not abdicate unless the Adelaar breaks off their engagement.
The Morning Eagle
Thursday, May 17
“Odette Wyntor Demands Everyone Speak English Around Her!”
According to our sources at the palace, since Odette Wyntor arrived, they have been forced to speak only English as she does not understand Ersovian and fears everyone is talking about her.
While it might seem understandable to some that she does not know the language yet, others think it is mindboggling that the future queen does not even know how to speak the national language and, instead, is forcing everyone to learn hers. She should be immersing herself in Ersovian any time she can.
The Morning Eagle
Wednesday, May 23
“The Palace Is Worried About Being Embarrassed By Odette Wyntor!”
It is customary for there to be at least one royal sighting after the introduction is made. However, one week later, Odette Wyntor still has not left the palace.
Our sources tell us it is because of how poorly trained Odette Wyntor is for her new rule. They worry she will embarrass the royal family and, therefore, have tried to hold off on allowing her outside the place.
The Morning Eagle
Friday, May 25
“Royal fail!”
Odette Wyntor commits “royal faux pas” as she is spotted crossing her legs during her FIRST public outing with HRH Princess Elizarosa for the Countess of Goscutan’s 29th birthday.
Her Royal Highness and the countess all sat as custom, with the duchess slant.
Is she even trying to learn protocol? This is the easiest one.
Apparently, Wyntor managed to offend the countess by refusing to curtsy to her, stating that she is the future Adelina and, therefore, should not have to, even if she is not yet married to Prince Galahad.
The Morning Eagle
Friday, June 2
“Odette Wyntor Snubs Her Sister!”
Augusta Wyntor-Washington, Odette Wyntor’s younger sister, claims her sister has snubbed her.
Now that Odette is to become a royal, she does not bother to talk to her sister anymore, telling media sources in America that she “has no idea what is going on in her sister’s life.”
Apparently, Odette did not even tell her sister that she was engaged to Prince Galahad, and she found out about it in the news.
Chapter 14
“And that is all for today, miss,” stated my Ersovian history tutor, Mr. Tabellion, as he closed his notes. “Do you have any questions for me?”
I thought for a moment before remembering something I had wanted to ask earlier. “Yes. My secretary—his name is Sir Wolfgang von Wolfgang XII. He tried to tell me the reason behind his title but was interrupted on the first day I came here. Something about the order of something.”
“Ah.” Mr. Tabellion wrapped his arms around himself and stroked his beard, something I had noticed he did a lot. “The Order of the Fallen Knights.”
“Yes, that is it.” I nodded. “What is that?”
“Ah, well, good question.” He grinned, and he reminded me of a professor. He enjoyed teaching. “About three hundred and twelve years ago, a faction in the military rose to overthrow the king and end the House of Monterey.”
“So, a coup?” I asked, and he nodded.
“Their plans for a coup d’état had gained some support of a few other nobles too. So, a scheme was hatched to massacre the royal family on Christmas night. One thousand soldiers stormed the palace gates, and most of the guards abandoned their posts, except for two dozen knights who refused to abandon their king.”
“They stormed this palace?”
He shook his head. “No, Marimier’s Palace, in the southern region of Chourmondeley.”
He must have seen the confusion on my face, so he lifted his tablet to show me a map of the country. “Remember, Ersovia has been divided administratively into twenty-two regions. This one is Chourmondeley, where the House of Monterey originates. Every other Christmas or New Year’s, they go back there.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“As I was saying, the knights were able to hold off the traitors until dawn, allowing the king and his family to escape. The king returned with his navy and ten thousand men, crushing the rebellion to the ground. However, of the two dozen knights, only one survived long enough for the king to return. On his death bed, the king said he and the other men were noble and, therefore, should be made nobility. However, the knight said his greatest honor was to be a knight and serve and protect his king. The king created The Order of the Fallen Knights for the twenty-four men who died protecting him. He proclaimed that for as long as their bloodlines continued and they remained loyal, they and their descendants would always be considered knights and welcome into his palace.”
“So, for the last three hundred years, there has been a Wolfgang von Wolfgang working in the palace? So, Wolfgang—th
e current Wolfgang—is named after his ancestor, the first Wolfgang von Wolfgang?”
“Exactly, miss.” He nodded approvingly.
“Do all of the descendants pass down their names? So, Iskandar’s name is Iskandar Ruegg XV, then or something?”
“No, the first Ruegg knight was named Matevos. So, it is not a tradition of all their families.”
“They are knights. The modern-day would-be guard. So why is he a secretary and not a guard?”
“Another good question.” He stroked his beard again. “But I do not know. Personal preference? Or maybe he did not pass through the academy. I do not wish to speculate. It would be best if you asked him directly.”
“Of course, thank you, Mr. Tabellion,” I replied, rising to my feet and outstretching my hand.
He took it but only shook it once, nodding to me. He exited the room, and a second later, Gelula stepped in.
“The Lady de Marissonne is here, miss. Do you need a moment?”
“No, it is fine. I’m ready.”
She turned back to the door to allow the fabulous Lady de Marissonne, my tutor, for what I called Etiquette 101, to enter the room. She was a very thin, much older biracial woman—at least in her late sixties or early seventies—with a small head and big eyes. But what was more interesting about her was her overall style and look. She wore a knee-length beaded dress, like a 1920s flapper, with stockings and two-inch heels. And it got better. She also wore purple lipstick and eyeshadow, along with thick eyelashes. I couldn’t help but think of Yzma from Emperor's New Groove the moment I saw her.
“Your Royal Highness, it is a pleasure.” She waltzed in and curtsied to me. Before I even opened my mouth, she’d already lifted her head to look at me. “Your reply must only be delayed for three to five seconds, Miss Wyntor. Any longer than that, and it will seem as if you are angry with me. Any shorter, it will seem as if you are uncomfortable with the greeting and, therefore, clueless. There are many times to be distracted, miss, but an introduction is not one of them. Remember, you must always be alert and attentive.”
Obviously, it was a pop quiz, and I failed.
“Today, we will go through all the basics of proper tea etiquette,” she went on.
“Tea etiquette?” I repeated. “Do you mean sticking my pinky out to drink?” I snickered at the thought of it; however, she looked much more disturbed.
“Never, under any circumstance, ever raise your fifth finger to drink tea. It’s rude and connotes elitism.”
“Aren’t monarchs the elite?” I asked carefully, not wanting my Americanness to come out too much, fearing Queen Elspeth would come out of nowhere and tear into me over it. Over the past few weeks, I had spent most of my time learning to walk, learning to sit, and how to curtsy, the proper titles for everyone, and how they were to be greeted—the fundamentals. And I could not even complain because the one second I had forgotten to sit like a duchess, the press lambasted me.
“Yes, but that does not mean it should be so on the nose, as you American’s say.” She walked over to the cart, lifting one cup and sticking out her pinky. “See how undignified it looks? As if to say, ‘Look at me, look me, I have a pinky.’ We are already looking at you, and we all have pinkies. So, either you are desperate for more attention, or you believe we do not have the same appendage. Ridiculous, no?”
This was very serious. “Okay,” was all I could manage to say.
“Very good. Pinky stays tucked in.” She folded her fingers. “Now, when partaking in tea, you must pinch the teacup handle with your index finger and thumb, while your middle finger holds the bottom, and your fourth and fifth fingers should curl in toward your wrist. Make sure the handle of the cup faces three o’clock, and always, always take a sip from the same place each time. The last thing anyone wants to see is a cup covered in lipstick stains around the rim. Now also, when stirring your tea, avoid clanking your teaspoon against the cup. Instead, swirl it quietly, gently as if you are trying to hypnotize your lover. Then rest the teaspoon behind the cup on the saucer with the handle facing toward the teacup handle, logical of course. You are never, ever, ever to leave the teaspoon in the cup or your mouth. Understand?”
“Yes.” I think.
“Very good, now we will test all the skills you have learned together. I will pretend to be ladies of different statuses, and we shall both go through a whole tea arrangement while adhering to the protocol for each person. Let us practice.” She was out the door again before I got another word in.
Oh, what fun.
“Thank you, Lady de Marissonne,” I said at the end of our lesson.
She curtsied deeply to me, and I nodded slightly with a small, closed-mouth grin at her immediately.
“Very good.” She nodded, and I stood a bit taller, happy to be complimented for once. However, as she left and Wolfgang entered with a tablet in hand, the small smile vanished.
He waited until the door closed before stepping forward, the deep frown on his freckled face telling me I was going to hate this. Gale had all but banned newspapers or anyone from talking to me about what was said in the press. I had not said anything to him about it. Instead, I just had Wolfgang basically translate what was said.
“The Morning Eagle again?” I asked him.
He nodded. “They are getting more vicious.”
Sighing, I sat back down, and instinctively, I wanted to cross my legs, but I remembered the last photo of me in the media and sat with my legs slanted.
“Read it.” I hung my head, waiting.
“Odette Wyntor snubs her sister. Augusta Wyntor-Washington, Odette Wyntor’s younger sister, claims her sister has snubbed her.”
“What?” I looked up at him in shock.
“Apparently, your sister spoke to some reporters last night. She is quoted throughout the piece.”
I reached for the tablet, and he gave it to me. Sure enough, there were quotes, not one or two, but several. Augusta declaring to all the world that I had ignored her, lied to her and that I was...
“Please tell me my translation is wrong, and this does not say, ‘My sister, Odette, always says she doesn’t want fame but then goes and tries to make herself the most famous person possible. If she is not the center of attention, she is upset.’”
What the hell? This could not be right.
“Yes, that is pretty much the correct message.”
“Was she drunk?” I gasped. But she could not have been drunk. She was pregnant, which meant she must have been insane. “I need to be the center of attention? Me?”
“Miss, there is a possibility that she was misquoted, that the press is simply trying to put words into her mouth. Do not get upset.” He tried to calm me down.
And if only it were that easy.
“My phone—”
“Miss.”
“Wolfgang, if it is a misquote, I want her to tell me. If it is how she feels, I also want her to tell me. Please give me my phone.”
He nodded, giving it to me, and when he did, I immediately dialed Augusta. Yes, it was true that I had not talked to my sister for the first two days I was here. But I did call, and I broke protocol by explaining what was happening that caused me to delay. Now I was snubbing her?
“Well, if it isn’t Her Royal Majesty,” was what she said through the phone.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling. “Hello, Augusta, you must forgive me for calling you. I know it is late—”
“Is that how they train you to talk now? ‘You must forgive me.’”
“What is wrong with you?” I snapped, not understanding where her attitude was coming from. She sounded drunk. She couldn’t be.
“Me? I am perfectly perfect. Why wouldn’t I be? So, what is wrong with you?”
I ignored the nagging feeling in the back of my mind because I simply wanted to get off the phone call with her. “You spoke to the press about me?”
“They asked.”
“Augusta!”
“Odette!” she yelle
d right back. “What, am I not allowed to talk to whoever I want?”
“Not about me!”
“Why not?” She snickered. “Because you are a future queen? Well, Odette, that is of another country, not here. You do not tell me what I can and cannot do or what I can or can’t say.”
“So, you really did say it then? That I want to be the center of attention?”
“Well, don’t you?”
I wanted to reach into the phone and wring her neck. “I have never wanted that—”
“Oh, bullshit. You always say that! And yet, somehow, we are always talking about you. Oh, Odette won another beauty pageant. Oh, Odette is going to Juilliard. Oh, Odette is releasing an album. Oh, Odette! Oh, Odette! Oh, Odette! For someone who does not want to be the center of attention, you seem to be there a lot.”
I really could not believe what I was hearing. I was stunned. Just stunned. “Augusta—”
“Oh, please do not call my name like that. I was asked questions, I answered. And because it was about you, you found time to lecture me? But you are there for weeks, and I get a call only twice?”
“I am busy!”
“And so am I!” she snapped, hanging up on me.
What in the actual hell? My sister had her moments. We had fought in the past, but this—this was a whole new level I had never seen from her. It was like she had just flipped and gone mental on me.
I tried to call her back, but she did not answer, so I called Malik.
“Hello?”
“Malik, it’s Odette.”
“Hello, Ms. Princess.” He chuckled into the phone.
“Don’t give me that. I just spoke to Augusta. What is going on? Is she okay? Did something happen? Because she is acting like she’s lost her mind.”
“Honestly, I have no idea. I haven’t spoken to her in days.”
I looked at the phone for a moment. Was this still reality? “Malik, she is your wife—your pregnant wife. How have you not spoken to her in days?”
“It’s complicated. We had a fight. I am out of town for a game, so Augusta went to her mom’s. Look, Odette, I am kinda busy here. I hope you are okay, okay? Bye.” And just like that, he hung up.
