With my camera around my neck I jogged down the stairs, only slowing when I reached the black and white marble floor of the main hall and saw a couple of servants glance at me as if I had grown a second head. Perhaps one did not jog anywhere inside the castle. I would have to remember to keep everything to a sedate amble.
One thing the servant was correct about, the public gardens were amazing. Down a short set of steps was a large reflecting pool with a fountain in the middle featuring what looked like Poseidon surrounded by a couple of mermaids. Maybe Ricard had gone swimming here as a kid.
I shook my head. Sarcasm was a sure sign I was way out of my comfort zone, but I had my camera with me. That always grounded me.
To the sides of the pool were carefully manicured trees and shrubs with flowers providing a startling array of colors. Those weren’t nearly as fascinating though as the bright, fragrant blooms trailing from stone walls along the opposite side of the walk. I balanced my camera, zooming in and focusing on the fine details of one particularly vibrant blossom before pressing the shutter release.
Above me, I heard songbirds, raised the camera, and refocused before taking additional shots. All of this could definitely go into another travel book, especially since these were the public gardens of the palace.
A discreet clearing of the throat distracted me. Lowering the camera, I turned to face a silver-haired gentleman dressed in a suit that had obviously been hand-tailored.
“I must inform you that pictures are not allowed in any but the public gardens of the palace.”
Since he spoke in Calonian, I responded in kind, speaking slowly as I struggled to find the right words. “I apologize. Are these not the public gardens?”
His gaze narrowed. “American?” he asked, switching to English.
“Yes.”
“The public gardens are on the opposite side of the house. These are the Juvany private gardens, and pictures are not allowed.”
I flicked the power switch and capped my lens before letting the camera dangle by the strap around my neck. “No problem. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get clearance from Ricard later on.”
The older man’s somewhat bushy brows rose, giving him an even greater air of superiority. “You know Ricard?”
“We’re traveling together.” I was reluctant to tell him too much. After all, I wasn’t even sure who he was.
“So Ricard is back as well? I’m sure everyone will be pleased.” He studied me again. I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he regarded me with little more importance than if I were a butterfly pinned in his collection. “When did the two of you arrive?”
“Today. Not too long ago.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Daniel Leifsson.”
He took my hand in a grip that had about as much life to it as week-old fish. I kept my smile in place even if his handshake did creep me out.
“Bernat Masdu.” I waited for some additional elaboration, but nothing else was forthcoming. As he released my hand, he said, “I’m sure we shall see one another again.”
Then he was on his way. I stared after him for a moment, still feeling a bit off-balance and ill-at-ease. Meeting Masdu had somewhat dampened my enthusiasm. I needed to find Ricard, anybody really, who could give me an idea of what we were doing here. Reluctant to stumble into yet another place I wasn’t supposed to be, I retraced my steps to the main hall.
There seemed to be more activity, but still no sign of Ricard. I was just irritated enough at his disappearing act that I didn’t want to ask any of the servants going to and fro where I might find him. For all I knew, he might be locked in a dungeon somewhere. I pulled my phone out to try texting him, but got no response.
Once I had reached the rooms I had been shown to earlier, I extracted my laptop and downloaded the pictures I had taken from my camera to the computer. I needed to log and edit them. From long experience, I knew it was better not to delay the cataloging of what I had shot.
Sometime later, a discreet knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” I said in halting Calonian.
The same young man who had shown me to my room earlier opened the door and bowed slightly. “It is time to dress for dinner. I shall await you outside to escort you.”
“All right.” Dress for dinner. I looked at my khaki pants and oxford cloth shirt. Backpacking across Europe didn’t exactly call for evening attire. I shrugged. I’d have to do the best I could.
I had noticed that while I had been outside, someone had unpacked and hung what clothing I had with me. I exchanged my boots for a pair of loafers and noticed the navy linen blazer I had packed had been pressed. After shifting my shirts to the side, I located the sole tie I had packed. Both had been last minute additions at Ricard’s suggestion.
I narrowed my eyes. Had he known even then that this might happen? I hoped not. While I considered myself to be pretty easy-going, I didn’t like the idea that I might have been set up. My escort’s slightly widened gaze was enough to tell me my dinner dress probably was going to miss the mark, but it was all I had.
As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the older servant I had encountered before going to the wrong gardens stopped us. After a whispered conversation with my escort, he left. The younger servant turned toward me.
“I am to escort you to Prince Amand’s study.”
I barely stopped myself from asking who Prince Amand was. This whole thing was beginning to seem surreal. Ricard had disappeared. Everyone just assumed I knew what the deal was, and now I was being hauled before some European prince as if my encountering royalty were an everyday occurrence.
As my escort opened the door for me, I held on to the hope that Ricard would be inside, that finally I might be able to get some answers. It felt as though our tour of Europe had suddenly been hijacked by The Princess Diaries, only I was the gawky American roommate.
The moment I stepped into the opulently furnished room I had to revise my opinions. Ricard was not present, and not only was I not the gawky American roommate, I wasn’t even sure I held a status as high as human.
Behind the ornately carved desk stood a god, impeccably dressed in a classic tuxedo. He bore only the faintest resemblance to Ricard. This man’s features, aristocratic and aquiline, had none of the boyishness still present in my friend’s face. I felt my face flush under his intense stare.
Eyes still boring into me and finding me wanting, the man I had to assume was Prince Amand, extended a lean hand toward a chair in front of the desk.
“Please. Sit down.” He moved to take his own seat, keeping the polished surface of his desk between us. “I am Prince Amand Juvany, second son of the King, and Ricard’s older brother.”
“Daniel Leifsson.”
“I am aware of who you are.”
His dark gaze narrowed further as I perched on the edge of the chair. The butterfly on a pin feeling I had experienced in the garden returned.
“So, before we join the rest of my family for dinner, I must ask you—exactly what are your intentions with regard to my brother?”
“Intentions?” I wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking. Ricard and I were friends. Maybe he wanted the reason I was in Calonia. I wasn’t ready to divulge my hopes for finding distant family.
“Why are you here?” Prince Amand clarified, his tone controlled and cool to the point of freezer burn. A man more opposite than his brother I could not imagine.
“Uh…I was going to tour the countryside, taste the local dishes. I take pictures, write travel books. Look, I have a passport. Is there a problem with my paperwork because it seems as if I’m in some trouble here.”
The man facing me didn’t crack a smile as he responded, “You are in no trouble. We are delighted to extend the hospitality of the palace during your brief stay.”
I hadn’t missed his ever so slight emphasis on the word brief, and delight seemed to be as far from what he was feeling as I was from having a family take me in their loving arms.
“Since Ricard has n
ot seen fit, let me explain some of the rules of conduct for a friend of a Calonian Prince.” His gaze continued to rake over me from head to toe as he continued. “First of all, any photographs of Ricard or the family here in the palace are strictly forbidden. Under no circumstances are you to speak to any member of the press, nor will you be allowed to write about your visit to the palace.”
I nodded, getting the distinct feeling that any comment I might make was completely superfluous and unwanted.
“You may dine and socialize with Ricard as you wish, but interactions with the King and Queen are by invitation only. When you leave the palace grounds with any Calonian Prince, you will do so with a security escort. Of course, as a commoner, you are free to leave on your own to explore the city.”
The ‘and never come back’ was implied.
He paused. “Finally, we dress for dinner. We will make allowances tonight. However, if you wish to avail yourself of a local tailor, I can recommend one who will work quickly to upgrade your wardrobe.”
I coughed slightly into my hand to keep from laughing. A tailor? I seriously doubted the royalties from my newest book would buy even a button on a hand-tailored suit, let alone a tuxedo like the one so expertly covering Prince Amand’s impressively broad shoulders.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” I managed to say.
As if by magic, the study doors opened, and my escort was back to escort me to dinner. As if meeting Prince Amand was not enough, now it appeared I was to be a guest of the entire royal family.
I had serious doubts I would be able to eat even one bite, let alone figure out which fork and knife to use.
3
Amand
I stood near the window in the small salon that evening as Ricard introduced his American friend to the family. There was an easy camaraderie between my baby brother and his friend that was missing in my own relationships. Papa recovered quickly from Daniel extending his hand to shake and took the American’s lean fingers in his own. When they at last got around to Uncle Bernat, Daniel’s eyes widened.
“Ah, the man in the garden. Thank you for letting me know I had made a faux pas in taking pictures there. Prince Amand has since explained that’s not allowed.”
He had met Uncle Bernat earlier? It surprised me that my uncle had not fully informed him of his relationship to the family. Making sure people knew he was the brother of the Queen seemed to be a particular pastime.
The footman stopped next to me with a tray. Taking the martini that rested there, I sipped as I continued to study Ricard and Daniel, wondering what their relationship might be. They exchanged glances and casual touches as easily as any married couple. With his casually combed blond hair and midnight blue eyes, the American was hot enough to turn any man’s head, including mine. I couldn’t allow that.
Daniel laughed at something the Crown Prince said, the carefree, husky sound of it sending a shiver down my spine. As if aware of my perusal, Daniel’s regard flicked my way. For a moment, our gazes locked, the heat of awareness intensifying the blue in Daniel’s eyes. A frisson of awareness warmed my blood. The moment was broken as Ricard drew Daniel’s attention away.
I took a hasty sip of my drink, needing the feel of the alcohol to take my mind off that flare of attraction.
“Shall we go in to dinner?” My mother spoke in English for the benefit of our guest. I sighed with relief, but it was short-lived. My mother had seated Daniel to her right and me to her left, so I would eat dinner with his classically handsome features facing me the entire time.
As the first course arrived, I drew my uncle into conversation about the proposal I had received from our neighbor to the east.
“Movarino has requested use of our deep water port on the Ispian Sea. Have you had a chance to view their proposal, Uncle?”
As Bernat began a long discourse on why he felt this would not benefit Calonia, I surreptitiously studied the American. My mother was asking him of his plans and the way in which he spoke was entirely too informal. But what could I expect? He was an American, with no idea of how royalty from a family as ancient as ours should be treated.
“So tell me, Daniel,” my mother said, “besides Ricard, what has brought you to our beautiful country?”
“As I was going through papers in my grandparents’ home before settling their estate several years ago, I discovered they had immigrated from Calonia.”
“I am sorry for your loss but delighted to discover you are Calonian at heart.”
“I had thought, while I was here, that I might be able to research my family, see if I have any living relatives here.”
“Your mother and father are not living?” My mother managed to garner all the information she needed with a smile that never faltered.
“No. My grandparents raised me. They passed within a few months of each other, so I have no other family now.” His smile was wistful and made my heart beat a bit faster, especially when his gaze skittered over me once again. “Ricard is lucky to have such a large family—parents, an uncle, brothers.”
“You would not be quite so appreciative,” Ricard murmured, “if you had to forever seek to evade their meddling in your life.”
I glared at my younger brother. Before I responded, my father’s voice forestalled me.
“Amand is not meddling, Ricard. It is time for you to find some worthwhile work to occupy your time. Calonia and the Juvanys have survived this long through hard work and taking our responsibilities to our subjects seriously.”
“He has plenty of time,” my elder brother interjected, always the one to spring to Ricard’s defense. “He arrived only this afternoon. Surely he can take some time to settle in before taking up his duties as a Prince of Calonia. Perhaps he should guide his friend around the sights of our country. And perhaps, Daniel will make our nation the subject of his next travel book.”
As the discussion turned to Daniel’s writing and photography, I noted the way his emotions flitted across his face and hands shifted gracefully as he described some of the sights he had seen. His conversation never focused on himself, but on the beauty of what he had seen and experienced during his travels. I noticed entirely too much about him.
“Surely such a vagabond existence suits someone like you,” I commented, my tone colder than I really intended.
“What makes you think so?” Daniel’s tone was polite, but the slight narrowing of his eyes revealed a hint of temper. “Don’t each of us eventually want the simplest of things—a home, a family, someone who will accept us just as we are?”
My jaw tightened. As if I might actually ever be accepted as anything other than a prince. Who was this American to challenge me? “Then you must hurry to find your family before you have exhausted the wonders of our country.”
“You must see our coast,” Uncle Bernat commented, as if he were attempting to head off an argument. “It is said to be one of the most beautiful in this part of Europe.”
“I will certainly be sure to do that.”
“We have seen so many things,” Ricard interjected. “Daniel is a genius when it comes to seeing the small, out of the way places in Europe that many tourists miss.”
“Cheap, too, no doubt.” Even as the words left my mouth, I knew how rude they sounded. But the goal was to make the American uncomfortable enough to leave. Only then would Ricard focus on his family responsibilities.
“I like to think of them as budget conscious,” Daniel said quietly, his stare telling me what his words did not. He would not rise to my bait.
“We have visited remarkable museums,” Ricard said with a trace of heat in his tone. “There was a small art museum at the very top of a hill in Winterthur, Switzerland. You would never suspect it held such amazing artwork. Yet it cost next to nothing to explore to our heart’s content. Remember the fantastic wiener schnitzel we ate? Daniel is lucky. He can find these places and enjoy them without being bound by rules and responsibilities.”
I narrowed my gaze on our guest, who stared a
t his plate with a slight frown.
“A free spirit then,” King Gregore commented. “Is that how you would describe yourself?”
“Perhaps,” the American responded. “I certainly see the value in having roots and a family. Appreciating the value of that is easier to see, I believe, when it’s something that a person has never had.”
I did not want to feel sympathy for Ricard’s friend. I wanted him to go away, to live up to the stereotype of the rude American in some way.
“Daniel is an artist, Papa,” Ricard said. “You must see some of his photographs. He will tell you they are just his vision of the places he has visited, but the images he captures of both nature and the people in the countries he visits are unforgettable.”
“It is unfortunate that few artists are truly appreciated during their own lifetimes,” the Queen said. “Why look at Bach. While he was known as an organist while he lived, it was only after his death that his true gift as a composer became apparent.”
I dropped my gaze, unwilling for them to see my resentment of the direction in which the conversation had gone.
“Is he not one of the more famous composers for cellists, Amand?” Constantin asked smoothly. When I did not immediately answer, he continued, “Our brother is modest, Daniel, but he is quite an accomplished cellist.”
I raised my gaze and found it captured in a laser blue focus.
“I have no time for that anymore. It was the hobby of a school boy and a careless student.” I held Daniel’s gaze, daring him or anyone to challenge me. Anyone, that is, but my mother.
“You sell yourself short, my love,” she murmured, touching the back of my hand with her fingers. “You are exceptionally talented. I never quite understood why you stopped playing.”
“Life demands practicality. Artists, musicians, writers…they all live in a world unsupported by the realities of life.” I held the American’s gaze, letting him feel my contempt. Yet, in his eyes was a spark of interest that would not be quenched.
The conversation turned back to Daniel’s desire to search for his relatives. I listened with half an ear, desperate to make my escape, sensing the restlessness in him, the need he also felt to evade the formality of the dinner table. But his reasoning no doubt centered in getting back to his creative pursuits, while mine was in stifling them.
The Prince’s Passion: A Fake Engagement Royalty Romance Page 2
