“Really?” He puts down the pen and has a sip of his drink. “This ought to be good.”
“It is good. At the pace I’m going, I’ll have her convinced long before the two months are up.”
“And then what?”
“Then, she will do the heavy lifting on our behalf.” I walk over to his drink cart and pour myself a bourbon. Fuck it. Might as well have a little nightcap at this point. “In fact, I’m certain if we were to poll the people again right now, we’d find that our approval rating has gone up just by having her here.”
“And yet, I still want her out of my home immediately.”
“We can’t get rid of her now. It would be a PR nightmare. Besides, things really are going rather well.” I can’t hide my stupid grin when I think of her, which is not at all helpful right now.
“Rather well? You’ve got an idiot living here who can’t manage to go more than two minutes without making a total fool of herself.”
“I wouldn’t say that. She’s actually quite smart. Prone to embarrassing little mishaps, yes, but the people find it rather endearing.” And by people, I mean me. “Plus, she does hold a lot of sway, and if you’ve bothered to read her blog lately, she is coming around to our side already.”
“Endearing, really? Sniffing her armpits on camera?” He wrinkles up his nose. “She’s making a mockery of us all. And don’t think I don’t know what’s been going on. Arthur, Crown Prince of Avonia, Duke of Wellingbourne, idiot who’s about to allow a mangy little twat to bring down the monarchy.”
“Do NOT call her that.”
“Oh, Christ, you are predictable.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Why shouldn’t I call her that? She is of no more consequence to me than a fruit fly landing on my plate.”
“It’s unfortunate that you see her that way, because she may be the one person in this entire kingdom that can save our sorry arses. Besides, I have a plan B tucked away should it become necessary.” I hate myself immediately when the words leave my mouth.
“Which is?”
I can tell that he already knows. This is a test of my loyalty, and there’s really no point in failing. Keep your enemies closer…
“Damien’s managed to dig up some dirt on her past that we can use against her. But like I said, we won’t need it.”
My father scoffs. He’s very big on scoffing, which is why I never do it. “You’re going to fail, you know. Even if your plan had a hint of merit to begin with, there isn’t even any time to execute it. But no matter.” He swats the air with one hand. “Now that I’m here, I’ll take care of things myself.”
“For once, can you just allow for the possibility that someone other than you might be able to—”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“About what?” Bollocks. I probably should know what he’s about to say.
“Tomorrow, the PM’s office will announce the referendum. They want to dissolve our powers once and for all. The vote is to take place in ten weeks.”
“Oh. I see.” I drop down into a chair and glance up at the crest behind his head. It’s the royal seal, carved out of wood then dipped in gold back in the days when Robin Hood and his merry men were running around the forest in tights. The shine has dulled and the wolves protecting the crown seem almost sinister to me at this moment—like they’re going to jump off the wall and attack me. I really shouldn’t finish this bourbon.
“Yes, now you see. Let me make something clear to you. We will retain power by any means necessary. Do you understand that? Any means. I don’t give a good Goddamn who gets hurt in the process. Not you, not your little blogger bitch. The only thing that matters is retaining our rule over this nation.” He pounds his fist on his desk, causing his pen to hop then roll onto the floor. It’s his signature move. Has secretaries jumping out of their skirts, and the old bastard loves it.
“So nice to know how much you care, Father. As always.”
“Stop being a child. Our family has held this nation for the better part of a millennium. We will not lose it under my reign.”
Things pretty much went downhill from there. He sniped at me for not knowing about the PM’s announcement that hasn’t happened yet. I sniped at him for backing the wrong horse.
He told me that should this moronic plan of mine fail, I will be single-handedly responsible for bringing down this monarchy and that I will go down in history as the first heir to never take the throne.
To which I responded, “I’d say you’ll go down as the king who lit the match that burned down the whole house.”
“If it does all go up in flames, it might be a blessing. You would make a terrible leader. You’re weak like your mother.”
This is where things got really ugly, because I said something I’ve never said, and never thought I would say in my entire life. Certainly not to him. I said, “Perhaps you’d like it if I took the same way out that she did.”
He stopped and just stared at me with his cold, dead eyes. Up until that moment, he had no idea that I know she took her own life. He may have suspected that I knew, but I never once said it out loud.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me, old man.”
Then he threw his glass of whiskey at me. I ducked and it hit the floor behind me.
So, now I’m lying in bed, listening to the seconds tick by on my wall clock and waiting for morning to come. If I’m really honest, I’d tell you I hate the man. Always have. Well, not always. There was a time when I was very small that I sought his approval above and beyond anything else. But when I turned ten, I realized it would never come. And it never did. Then when I found out how my mother really died, that was it for me and him. I was fucking done.
I should have just poisoned him myself a long time ago. I could have found some untraceable liquid on that black-market internet site with all the weapons. I wouldn’t be the first in our family to do it, either—poison a king, I mean, not shop online.
About two hundred years ago, the Duke of Elderbridge poisoned his brother, King Edwin, with rat poison. He was hoping to get the entire family in one shot, but he forgot which goblet didn’t have the poison and drank it himself, leaving his youngest sister alive and ready to rule. She did a bang-up job apparently. Managed to lower taxes by tossing almost all the prisoners out of the dungeons and putting them to work on the nationally-owned farms. So, at the same time she lowered taxes, she made healthy food available to everyone at a fair price. See? I told you women should run the world. Why does no one else see this?
Anyway, back to my father. The man’s got another twenty years in him if he’s got a day. And by the time he gets done with it, the throne won’t be worth sitting on, if it’s even here at all, come summer.
I wish Tessa were lying next to me right now. Or under me. I should really get up and crush some water right now. I’m going to be horribly hungover again tomorrow morning.
Or on top of me. I would like her on top of me, just as well as under me.
Twenty-Three
No Taxes Were Used in the Making of This Dress
Tessa
Text from Me to Arthur: Any chance you’re making eggs this morning?
Arthur: Not today. I’m afraid I’ll be tied up in meetings all day. In one now, actually.
Me: Good. I didn’t want to hang around with you anyway. I was just using you for your culinary skills.
Arthur: I’ve never been used for that before.
Me: Get used to it. They were damn good eggs.
I sit at my desk and wait for an answer but none comes. Mavis brings a tray of food. “I thought you’d want to take breakfast in your room again.” She sets the tray down. “There’s a note from Mr. Hendriks for you.”
I pick it up, leaving the food untouched. “Thanks, Mavis.”
I open the envelope and see a handwritten note.
Ms. Sharpe,
The next days will be busy for Prince Arthur. He and his father will be in meetings that must remain private
for the benefit and security of our nation. The Princess Dowager has requested that you attend her suite to choose a dress for the upcoming ball. She asks that you are there by ten o’clock sharp.
Please ring me at the number below should you need anything.
Kindest regards,
Vincent
I look at my phone again, but there’s still no text from Arthur. A pang hits me. Loneliness, maybe? Longing for something I can’t have and shouldn’t want, is more like it. Bugger. I’ve really gone and messed things up.
I tear a piece off the warm blueberry scone and pop it in my mouth. Mmm. Fuck me, these really do melt in your mouth. Some secret royal recipe that they hide from the public, who only get to eat very ordinary scones. Bastards.
Oh, dear, Tessa, is that all you can come up with? Delicious scones? That’s not exactly going to bring down the monarchy, is it?
It’s been over two weeks, and I haven’t found anything to prove my point. I know what the problem is. It’s that Arthur is far too good in his attempts to win me over. And my lady bits want me to let him convince me. Dear God, do they ever. I think about yesterday. The walk, the kiss, the luncheon flirty texts, toy shopping, the party… it was almost like fitting in a month’s worth of dating into one day. But it wasn’t, and we aren’t. And I have to accept that. No matter how much I laughed or how weak my knees went when he kissed me, we are very much on opposite sides of a battle, and it’s one I cannot afford to lose if I’m ever to get a second chance as a respected journalist.
I reach for my phone and dial Nikki’s number.
“There you are. Finally,” she says instead of ‘hello.’ “I saw you and Prince Charming on the news at the toy store yesterday.”
“There were cameras?”
“Someone in a shop across the street with a cell phone. That looked rather cosy.”
“It was fun, but don’t read anything into it. He’s desperate to do whatever it takes to please me, remember?”
“Well, going to your parents’ for a family dinner is above and beyond. It almost makes me feel like he deserves to be king someday.”
Me, too. “Ha! It’ll take a lot more than a family dinner and some flirty texts to convince me.”
“Flirty texts?” she asks. “Spill it, lady.”
Shit. “Oh, it was nothing. He’s just… exactly as charming as you thought he’d be.”
Nikki laughs. “So, I was right, then. Your biggest problem is going to be not sleeping with him. Wait. You haven’t slept with him, have you?”
“No, I have not slept with him. God. I’m not a complete idiot.” I huff.
“But… you want to.”
“Maybe a little.”
I hear the water slosh, and then Nikki’s muffled voice screaming. The water sloshes again and she’s back. “Sorry, about that.”
“Underwater scream?”
“Yes. You totally have to sleep with him! I mean, when in your life will you ever have the chance to shag a real prince? Think of the stories you’ll have for your grandkids one day.”
“I don’t think those are the kind of stories you tell your grandchildren.”
“Maybe not, but think of the stories you’ll have for all the other ladies at the nursing home someday?”
“They’d never believe me. They’ll just think I’ve got dementia. But, anyway, I called you to talk me down off the ledge, not encourage me to jump.”
“Okay, you’re right. You cannot sleep with him,” she says firmly. “It would be a huge mistake, it could ruin your career, not to mention cause you to lose what little morsel of respect your family has for you, should they find out.”
“That’s better. Keep going because I’m still getting the vision of him without his shirt on flashing in my brain every time I close my eyes.”
“Well, in that case, you should forget about everything and sleep with him.”
“Nikki! Seriously. I’m having a crisis here,” I say. “As my best friend, I need you to help me out here.”
“Why? Would he be up for a threesome? Because I’ve never thought of you that way, but if Prince Charming was down for it, I’d have to consider it.”
“Okay, number one, no! Number two, not helping!”
“Sorry. It’s just too much. My brain is short-circuiting with every word you say right now.”
“Maybe your brain has turned to liquid from living in the bath.”
“Possibly.”
I glance at the clock. It’s already nine-forty, which means I only have twenty minutes to shower, change, dress, and find my way to the Princess Dowager’s. “I have to go. I have an appointment to pick out a ball gown in a few minutes.”
“A ball gown? Oh, my God! I’m so jealous, my pruned-up skin is actually turning green.”
“If it’s any consolation, I wish you were here with me for all of this.”
“Thanks. Me, too. But if it can’t be me there trying on ball gowns and ogling the Prince, I’m glad it’s you and not some other bitch.”
“Aww. Thanks.”
Blog post – March 25th
Today I did something I never in a million years thought I would do. (Although that seems to be my catch phrase over the last two weeks.) I was fitted for a ball gown in the Princess Dowager’s suite, no less.
I have been asked to attend the upcoming anniversary ball that is to be held on Saturday, May 6th. As your eyes and ears on the Royal Family, I have agreed. Naturally, I require something to wear, but had assumed I would head over to the mall like I usually do when I go to a ball (just kidding, I’ve never been to a ball before). Anyway, the Princess Dowager had other ideas.
To be honest, going into this, I was certain that this would provide another perfect example of the lavish, over-priced, unnecessary lifestyle of the Royals, but I came away to discover that couldn’t have been further from the truth. The Princess Dowager explained to me that as a patron of the arts, and a supporter of female entrepreneurs, in particular, she takes every opportunity she can find to provide opportunities for up-and-coming designers to showcase their work.
Now, before you start to think that I have been bought by a shiny dress (it’s divinely sparkly, by the way), I want to make it clear that I’m paying for the dress myself. I worked out a deal with the lovely and talented designer, Olivia Paul, whereby, in addition to paying for the cost of the dress and for her time, I will help get her name out there. Therefore, no tax dollars were used for the making of this dress.
This is what Ms. Paul, who uses only cruelty-free, sustainably-sourced fabrics, had to say about the matter. “For years, I have been waiting for my big break. That’s how it is in this business. It’s years of hard work, toil, sewing until your fingers bleed, and praying that someday, you’ll have your chance to get your name out there. The Princess Dowager has given me that chance. My time has come to shine, and now it is up to me to succeed or fail.”
I, for one, hope she succeeds. If she doesn’t, I’m going to look horrible on May 6th (wink – just kidding, I wrote that because I’m rooting for her). She’s a very hard working, talented, kind person who deserves every success.
Ms. Paul went on to tell me that she lives in the industrial loft where she works. She barely makes rent each month, but she’s still living her dream. Her gratitude for this opportunity was so magnanimous that it was difficult to remain unmoved. The Princess Dowager was absolutely aglow with pride during the fitting. Their connection was something quite lovely to see, even for a hardened old soul such as myself.
For those of you who are interested in seeing the dress, the big reveal will happen on the night of the ball. And no, I won’t be Prince Arthur’s date, in case you were about to write in and ask.
Please visit Olivia Paul’s website for more information on her work (listed below).
Stay tuned for more on Life at the Palace!
Tessa
KingSlayer99: Tessa, what is happening between you and the Prince of Lies? I didn’t like the looks of that foo
tage at the toy shop yesterday. Has he found a way to blackmail you into making him look good? If so, tell me so I can help. I have connections.
Me: No need to panic. No blackmail.
KingSlayer99: Too bad. If you could catch him trying to blackmail or bribe you, you’d have what we need.
Me: I don’t think he’d ever do that. He’s actually not as awful as I thought he’d be. He can be surprisingly thoughtful.
KingSlayer99: It’s all an act. He’s just using you to get you to back down.
Me: And I’m letting him think it’s working, but don’t worry. I’m keeping my wits about me.
KingSlayer99: Good, because you’re our best shot at taking them down.
Voicemail from Mum: Tessa, It’s Mum. I’m still waiting to hear back from you about whether Prince Arthur would like that plate commemorating his parents’ wedding. He said he’d never seen it before, and I’m sure he would want it as a keepsake. Call me back and let me know.
Text from Nikki: I’ve just solved your sex problem. Two words. Chastity belt. I’m sure they’ve got one laying around somewhere. Just ask his gran if you can borrow one until you leave.
Voicemail from Dad: Tessa, still wondering about the lawn tractor situation at the palace. Pub night’s coming, and Artie didn’t seem to know what kind of tractors they use either. You’ve sure got him fooled. The way he went on about how smart you are. Oh, and your mum wants to know about that plate. She said she can bring it by the palace on Friday on her way to that Caring for Your Bonsai seminar she’s going to.
Voicemail from Daniel Fitzwilliam, owner of Wellbits: This is your last warning, Ms. Sharpe. Call me by end of business today or the next person you hear from will be my lawyer.
“This is Giles Bigly for ABNC. I’m standing outside the steps of the parliament building among hundreds of members of the press. In just a few moments, Prime Minister Janssen will be making what we expect to be a monumental announcement. Insiders say that he’s going to announce a referendum to remove the executive power function of Avonia’s monarchy and place the Royal Family in a ceremonial role once and for all.”
The Royal Treatment: A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy, Book 1 Page 16
