The realization I’d kneed a princess in the groin almost floored me, and I held my hand out for the requests, which came in the form of several sealed envelopes. While I came to terms with having assaulted a princess, I skimmed over the proposals.
Whoever His Royal Majesty of Montana was, he had a serious dislike for the New York princess, not that I blamed him. I suspected the woman hadn’t changed any; her letter, which demanded the Texan congress approve her participation in the charity auction, confirmed my belief.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me that I’m not going to like, Senator Layman?”
The congress dissolved into laughter.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I set the envelopes on the podium and straightened the pile.
“You’re a smart woman, that’s why.”
“All right. I’m ready. What am I not going to like?”
“As we Texans are renowned for being insufferable busybodies when it comes to family relationships, I’m pleased to propose that all single ladies of congress, in addition to all associated lady committee members, be required to participate in His Royal Majesty of Montana’s auction. It has also been proposed that all single gentlemen of the congress be obligated to participate in Her Highness’s auction. The Royal family has already agreed to this proposal and has put the motion to the vote of the congress.”
I heard the capital R and gave up all pretenses of professionalism, slumping over the podium with a heavy sigh, resting my forehead on my folded arms. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I vote aye!” the wavering voice of the congress’s oldest member, ninety-three-year-old Dorothy Hughes, called out. “You don’t stand a chance against me, sweetheart.”
I supposed a widow counted as single. “I need a raise,” I complained. Straightening, I snatched the gavel and slammed it against the block as hard as I could. To my disappointment, nothing broke. “The official vote for confirmation of all single women of congress, including associated committee members, is up for debate.”
Senator Layman raised his hand.
“Senator Layman has the floor.” I took a single step away from the podium to indicate he was the current speaker.
“I propose we vote on the motion,” he stated, turning to return to his seat.
“Of course you do. Does anyone wish to second the motion?”
Every hand in the room went up, and to make Representative Hughes happy, I pointed the gavel at her. “Representative Hughes, you have the floor.”
“I second the motion.”
Per Congressional Hall rules, voting took a maximum of ten minutes, and the method never failed to make me laugh. Despite the invention of computers and mobile devices, all votes were cast on paper ballots, and everyone came to the podium to cast their votes. Once all votes were cast or time ran out, it was my job to sort through them all while the King’s Herald recorded the answers.
The practice made sense; it required every committee leader to interact with everyone in the congress, which was meant to limit political divides and nurture a sense of community. I thought it failed at that miserably, although the practice did offer those bored enough to view the public sessions some entertainment.
What the exercise really did was remind me how many people had awful handwriting. Senator Madison of Fort Worth took the top prize for illegible answers and nonsensical scribbles, so I saved his vote for last.
I was unsurprised everyone had voted aye. When I reached Senator Madison’s response, I made a show of turning the paper every which way. “Senator Madison, did you draw a picture of a…” I turned my head to get a view of the image at a different angle. “Is this a goat? I’m not sure ‘goat doodle’ is an allowed vote.”
“It says yes beneath the sacrificial goat, Chairwoman Little. I was making a sacrifice to help you find a man worthy of you,” he quipped with a grin.
Ugh. I really was a chairwoman. I stared at the vote and wished it would disappear. “I propose we send Senator Madison home for the day. He is obviously fevered.” I turned and glared at the board, which confirmed every last member of congress had lost their sanity. “It seems you all voted aye, and as such, the motion passes.”
I really liked smacking the gavel. Smacking the gavel would be my silver lining in the clouds of handling auction committee affairs. If only I could’ve managed to get the entire congress to agree on null rights.
Then my efforts would’ve meant something. Shaking my head over the idiocy of forcing every single member of congress to sell themselves for charity, I concluded my part of the session with thanking the congress for their time and escaped while I could.
I needed a new job, but until I won the battle for null rights, I was trapped in a prison of politics and legislation.
I wasn’t allowed to abandon the session, and congress kept me dancing to their tune until nine at night. I ran four more sessions before they were satisfied. My medications continued to have their way with me, and I longed to take a nap. On the sidewalk would do, if only I could find a quiet place no one would notice me. I considered calling a cab, but with so many aides also leaving the building, I wasn’t willing to gamble on getting lucky.
It’d be faster to walk the three miles home.
To fill the time and check on my daughter, I called my boss.
“I was wondering when you’d call me, Mackenzie,” he answered.
“Congress just let out. I think they like it when I make fun of them, as they fabricated four extra sessions so they could vote on bogus motions just to toy with me. It’s obviously revenge for bothering them for the past ten years. Five public sessions today, Douglass,” I hissed. Taking several deep breaths, I forced myself to adopt a calmer tone of voice. “Senator Madison drew several horrible pictures of mutilated goats in the hope I will find a single man worthy of me. The entire congress needs psychological help.”
“It sounds like you’ve had a busy day.”
“Representative Hughes informed me I had no hope of competing against her for a king’s attention. She’s probably right. What use do I have for a king? Also, it turns out I kneed a princess in the groin a decade ago. Do you think a drunk princess will remember that?”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “How’s Mireya?”
“Sound asleep. I booked us into a hotel near the testing center. They want to do additional exams tomorrow.”
“What? Why?” Mireya wasn’t coming home? “Douglass!”
“Relax, Mackenzie. You’ll survive without Mireya for a night, I promise. To make it up to you, when I found out I’d be keeping Mireya overnight, I took some liberties. There’s yams and chicken in your fridge waiting for you with directions on how to warm it up. Mireya conned one of the security guards into letting a friend of mine into your condo.”
“One of my daughter’s new friends?” I guessed.
“Well, one of her friend’s parents. I promise nothing untoward happened in your condo while you were hard at work.”
I grunted. “Why have you stolen my child?”
“Mackenzie, I’m telling you this as your friend. You and your daughter need to develop a hobby other than being insufferable know-it-alls.”
“Now you’re just being mean.”
“I submitted an application on your behalf for testing.”
“Wait, what? Tests aren’t going to show anything useful, Douglass. They never have.”
“Yes, they will. They’ll show your IQ. If your ten-year-old know-it-all is this smart, you have to be, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Hardly.”
“You could pursue any degree you want, and don’t try to pretend you weren’t denied your choice of field when you were in college.”
I scowled. “I’m thirty-six. I work in the private sector. Today, I rubbed elbows with members of congress, pretending I belong among them because some group of idiots thought it would be a good idea
to appoint me as the head of a committee. What do I need a new degree for? The one I have is fine.”
“You’re going to make me cry. Please just take the test.”
“If it’ll make you stop whining, I’ll take the test. When are you bringing Mireya home?”
“Tomorrow night unless they want to do additional testing.”
What was I going to do with my Saturday with Mireya gone? Cry, probably. Damn it. “All right. Call me if there are any problems.”
If there were any problems, I’d hitchhike to the testing center if needed.
“Of course. Have a good night. Don’t forget your medication.”
How did he expect me to have a good night without Mireya around? Sighing, I stowed my phone in my purse, changed my mind on destination, and headed for the office.
When all else failed, working distracted me. Little girls were supposed to grow up, and I kept reminding myself of that. Testing was an important step forward for her, and she needed to do it on her own.
I hated every minute I spent thinking about how my little miracle was learning to survive without me.
Chapter Fifteen
I couldn’t find a picture of His Royal Majesty of Montana, not one that showed his face. In all public appearances, he wore a plain white mask that obscured his features, and black gauze hid his eyes from view. He had dark hair, and the few pictures exposing his arms showed a healthy tan. In one photo, he wore a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his jeans were so worn and dusty I bet he’d been riding the range pretending to be a cowboy.
According to the article, he’d finished a ten second ride on the meanest bronco Montana had to offer before the beast had managed to pitch him off into the dirt.
It took six hours of research to learn the king’s family name was Niell. Ever since the formation of the Royal States, Montana’s kings had ruled behind plain masks.
The custom intrigued me.
His Royal Majesty could be anyone, living among his citizens without anyone knowing who he was. Only one member of the family served openly, and she was one of the king’s sisters. Her name was on my list of those willing to entertain a betrothal as part of the auction festivities. What I liked most about Olivia Niell was her good humor about her appearances.
In her words, she presented too much of a challenge for plastic surgeons, so why bother? Those who didn’t approve of her lack of beauty could go screw themselves.
I wanted to meet her.
With so many people concerned about their appearances, I understood why His Royal Majesty might choose to wear a mask. I thought it sad anyone would resort to the social elite’s version of wearing a paper bag over his head. I wondered how his reclusiveness would affect his attempt to find a bride.
Since physical attraction wouldn’t factor into drawing interested women, I needed to find a way to showcase the king’s personality.
Then again, he was a king. His rank alone would draw women from around the world. Montana covered a lot of land, too, having absorbed a large portion of Canada and parts of Wyoming, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Idaho. Rumor had it Utah and Colorado were considering merging with Montana, and both royal families were planning to relinquish their right to rule to the masked monarch.
If the two kingdoms merged with Montana, His Royal Majesty would rule the second-largest kingdom in North America, second only to Canada.
I crawled home at four in the morning, falling into an exhausted stupor on the couch and had yams and chickens for breakfast. After the first bite, I swore I’d kidnap the chef so I could have it again.
The mystery of Montana’s king kept me busy through Saturday, and in the evening, my boss called and begged forgiveness, as he needed my daughter for at least one more day.
I snarled my agreement, which triggered another wave of profuse apologies. Once again, my little girl had fallen asleep. In what I viewed as a victory, I managed to hold onto my fraying temper until after hanging up on my daughter-thieving boss. Then I wailed my unhappiness and went back to work so I wouldn’t fixate on being alone.
On Sunday, I began building the initial proposal and questionnaire for the betrothal auctions. At noon, my office phone rang, and the display notified me it was from my daughter’s cell. I snatched the phone. “Hello?”
“Mommy!” Mireya squealed in my ear.
Squealing meant happiness, which meant nothing was wrong, so I breathed a relieved sigh. “Hey, spawnling. What’s up?”
“I need to go to Houston.”
I blinked. “You need to what?”
“Go to Houston. The testing center there is larger, and they want me to take more tests.”
I needed to make plans to murder my boss at my earliest opportunity for stealing my child and making her excited to take tests far from home. “Do I need to go to Houston with you?”
I wanted her to say yes.
“Mr. Douglass said he’d take me. He might not be in the office on Monday because of it.”
Murder would be too good for my boss. No, I needed to extend his suffering for an eternity. “All right. If you need to go to Houston, you need to go to Houston.”
She squealed again, and I hated myself for being guilted into the last thing I wanted. “Tell Mr. Douglass he better call me himself if he has additional reasons to extend your testing adventures.”
“Okay, Mom!”
“Good girl. Are you having a good time?”
“The tests are hard, but they’re fun. The first few tests were ridiculous. They start with kindergarten level and work through the grades until failure. It’s interesting!”
I dreaded finding out what grade she belonged in. “I will remind you that you’re ten years old, and as a result, you are in fourth grade, where you will remain until next year, after which you will be in fifth grade.”
“Mom,” she complained. “I’m so much smarter than fourth graders.”
“Yes, you are. But if you’re in fourth grade, you get recess and playtime. If you were to go into ninth grade, for example, you get study hour and no recess or playtime. You would also be unable to attend classes with friends your age. Being smart is wonderful, but don’t cut your childhood short because you’re smart.”
“Oh.” I could almost hear the wheels turning. “But what happens if I know everything they can teach me?”
“What have you been doing since kindergarten, spawnling?”
“Studying what I like.”
“Exactly. You’ll continue to do that.”
“So, I can go to Houston?”
“You can go to Houston.”
“You’re the best, Mom!” Mireya squealed a final time and hung up on me.
Monday came and went without sign of Mireya, and on Tuesday morning, my boss stuck his head into my office. I eyed my desk for potential weapons, grabbed my stapler, and flung it at him. It cracked against the metal doorframe and broke into three pieces, which bounced off the floor.
My boss retreated with a yelp. “I’m sorry!”
“I will kill you. Where is my daughter? I do not see my daughter. You have returned without my daughter, Douglass Smithson.”
“She’s in Houston. Her friends decided to take the placement tests with her, and their parents went to Houston and are providing adequate adult supervision. She’s having a great time. She’s absolutely brilliant. Please don’t kill me, Mackenzie.”
“You didn’t call me. You also didn’t give me the relevant details, Douglass. I trust you, but don’t you think I should know where she is, when she’s coming back, and who she’s with?”
“If I let you start grilling me, you’d never stop asking questions, you’d never be satisfied, and I could present a full RPS evaluation of the people Mireya is with, and you still wouldn’t think they’re good enough. I saved us a lot of bullshit. I vetted them top to bottom, I trust them, and you need to get used to her being outside your sphere of control. Also, I knew you’d get mad at me for stealing your daughter again. I didn’t
want Mireya to feel bad for enjoying the testing.” My boss peeked through the door, staring at the bits of broken stapler strewn across the floor. “Thank you for missing, however much I deserved to be hit with a stapler. She’s having a great time, in case you were wondering.”
“So I gathered from the squealing she’d done the one time I’ve spoken to her this weekend.”
“I detect a certain amount of resentment coming from the mother of an exceptionally brilliant child.”
“I’ve made a decision, Mr. Smithson. I’ve decided if anyone of any rank tries to take my daughter from me, I will murder them like I murdered my stapler. At my court hearing, I’ll just plead guilty and tell the judge I enjoyed it.”
“Mireya is safe and sound, I promise. She’ll also be returned to you in the same condition she left. She might be a bit tired, but she’s really enjoying the time with her friends.”
“I’m still mad at you.”
“As evidenced by the death of your stapler. Once again, thank you for missing. How is the auction organization coming along?”
“I have a king and his sister willing to sell their dignity at auction, so I’m going to showcase them while having Princess Ambrose and another gentleman as side auctions.”
“Princess Ambrose is going to be insulted if she’s not a headliner.”
“Good. If she wanted to be a headliner, she shouldn’t have made demands of the congress. She’s lucky she’s still a participant. As it is, she’s going to be a hard sell. She’s not an heir, she’s not even in line for the throne. She’s a seventh child, and she has a reputation.” I’d spent just long enough researching her to discover nothing had changed since our first meeting. “Frankly, if I could punt her from the auction, I would. She’s not going to draw anyone with half a grain of common sense, and those with a grain of common sense are going to pick the beast over the beauty.”
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