Next in Line

by Vanessa Acton

  After about twenty minutes, something caught Carly’s eye. A house—a palace?—some kind of massive building. As the plane circled closer, Carly could see ramparts on the roof, turrets sticking up at the corners, pretty much everything except a drawbridge.

  “Mortmain Castle,” said Seton, who sat across from her. “The family home of the Count of Linland.”

  “Isn’t it kind of overkill that he’s a lord and a count?” Carly asked. All the different names and titles still confused her. She still hadn’t figured out why her dad had ended up with his mother’s surname, Valmont, instead of his father’s, Mortmain.

  Seton remained expressionless. “Some might call it overkill to bother dividing such a small country into even smaller provinces. But here we are, at the mercy of our ancestors’ questionable decisions.”

  Carly wasn’t totally sure what he meant by that. But it sounded unpleasant.

  Mortmain Castle, on the other hand, looked gorgeous. Carly felt her excitement bubbling up again as she looked at it. Hello, province of Linland, she thought. Hello, kingdom of Evonia. I’m your future queen.

  4

  The plane landed on a little private airstrip within spitting distance of the castle. Nearby, a very tall, stick-thin, white-haired man waited next to a sleek black car. He was dressed in crisp khaki pants and a sweater that looked too warm for the weather. Carly suddenly felt very conscious of her rumpled jeans and T-shirt.

  “So, not kidnapped, I presume?” he called out as Carly and Seton walked over to him.

  “I guess not,” Carly said, smiling.

  Her grandfather glanced at Seton.

  “Seton, why is the girl carrying her own suitcase?”

  “She insisted, my lord,” said Seton. “And she claimed she brought no other luggage with her.”

  “Well!” said Carly’s grandfather, clearly impressed. “I’ve always admired people who know how to pack light. Arthur could learn a thing or two from her.”

  “Who’s Arthur?” Carly asked, standing awkwardly next to her grandfather. She’d been expecting some kind of welcoming hug or at least a kiss on the cheek, but the window for that sort of gesture seemed to have closed.

  Her grandfather sighed. “Arthur is your cousin. The son of your father’s brother. Here—let me introduce you.”

  He opened the passenger door of the car and leaned in. “Arthur, kindly step out of the car and greet Charlotte.”

  Carly peered over her grandfather’s shoulder. Inside the car, a guy around her age sat slumped against the plush seats. He was holding a phone and wearing headphones studded with what looked like actual diamonds. Carly knew headphones like that existed, but she’d never known anyone who could afford them. Other than that, this guy looked fairly ordinary. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. The shirt said Life is pain, get over it. A bit of a mismatch with the diamond-studded headphones, in Carly’s opinion.

  “Arthur,” her grandfather said more loudly. “If you could do us the courtesy of making eye contact for a moment . . .”

  Arthur glanced up from his phone. “Sorry, m’lord, did you say something?” he said with a faint sneer.

  Off to the side, Seton coughed into his sleeve. The cough sounded suspiciously like “Pointless.”

  Carly’s grandfather sighed. “Charlotte, this Arthur. Why don’t you climb in? You can sit next to him during the ride to the castle.”

  Carly shot a confused glance at the impressive stone structure a few hundred yards from them. “Isn’t the castle, like, right there? Within walking distance?”

  “Walking distance!” her grandfather laughed. “She’s delightful, isn’t she, Seton? Go on, my dear, get in the car.”

  So Carly got in. She sat in the middle, with Arthur slouched on one side of her and her grandfather sitting primly on her other side. Seton put her luggage in the trunk and then climbed into the front passenger seat. The driver—Carly hadn’t noticed him before—drove the car up a wide, tree-lined pathway and through an elaborate iron gate.

  Fifty-three seconds later, they got back out of the car.

  “Welcome to my humble cottage,” said Carly’s grandfather. “It’s nothing compared to the royal palace in Alaborn. But I find it quite comfortable.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Carly said, craning to look up at the towers.

  “We only live in one wing,” said Arthur in a bored voice. He still hadn’t removed the headphones or put away his phone. “The rest of the place is a nightmare. Completely falling apart. When I inherit it I’ll have to spend a fortune making it decent.”

  “So good to see you thinking ahead, Arthur,” said their grandfather dryly.

  By this time, Seton had retrieved Carly’s suitcase from the trunk of the car. Carly’s grandfather looked over at him. “Bring that up to the princess’s rooms, Seton. And then escort her to luncheon at noon.” He looked back at Carly. “We’ll give you a couple of hours to refresh yourself.”

  Just the thought of having some down time made Carly realize how tired she was. Her first flight had left the United States early Saturday evening, and she hadn’t slept since. If it was ten in the morning here, it was the middle of the night back home. Smothering a yawn, she said, “Thanks, Grandpa.”

  “Grandpa?” echoed Arthur mockingly. “You’re supposed to call him my lord. Isn’t she, m’lord?”

  Their grandfather pursed his lips. “Technically, yes—”

  “And shouldn’t the girl who’s second-in-line for the throne show proper respect for our ancient customs and titles?”

  “You’re hardly one to talk, Arthur,” said their grandfather.

  “I’m just saying, if she can’t handle something as simple as that—”

  “I think I’ve got it now, thanks,” Carly cut in, hoping her tone came across as firm but polite, instead of furious. She turned to her grandfather. “Sorry about the confusion, m’lord,” she said, running the words together the same way Arthur did.

  I’ll think of him as Lord G, she decided. Lord Gregory—Lord Grandfather. It’s at least half human.

  “Not to worry, my dear. We’ll see you at luncheon. Dress code is business casual.”

  Seriously? A dress code, for lunch? Carly wanted to ask if Arthur would be changing into old-man pants and a tasteful sweater. But Lord G was clearly done with the conversation. He started walking around the side of the house. Arthur frowned down at his phone, ignoring Carly again.

  Carly followed Seton—and her suitcase—through the imposing front doors.

  The front hall practically swallowed her up. Carly had never seen such a high ceiling except in a museum. Portraits in elaborate gold frames lined the walls on either side of a huge stone staircase. Carly stared at the imposing figures in the portraits as she hurried after Seton. Some of these paintings had to be hundreds of years old, judging by the clothes the people were wearing. Everyone looked stiff and grim, as if they’d just heard unpleasant news.

  Especially the woman in the portrait at the top of the stairs. She seemed to be eyeing Carly and thinking Who’s this random kid?

  Seton was already climbing the staircase. “Your rooms are on the second floor, your highness,” he said over his shoulder.

  Carly followed him up the steps, gripping the smooth marble banister. “So, uh, what’s my cousin Arthur’s deal? Does he live here with our grandfather?”

  “He does now. His father, your uncle Walter, died six years ago, as I’m sure you know.” She vaguely remembered this. Her mom had sent a condolence card to her grandfather. But it hadn’t really been on Carly’s radar. She felt a surge of sympathy for her cousin—along with a twinge of guilt that she’d never asked about this uncle.

  “A few years after that,” Seton went on, “Arthur came to stay here. His mother, Lady Corinne, found Arthur to be—to use her own words—too much work.”

  Carly winced. “Eesh. That’s a pretty cold thing to say about your own kid.” It was hard to imagine either of her parents wanting to pawn off any of their
children on someone else.

  “I do not comment on family matters,” Seton replied neutrally. “I merely work here.”

  At the top of the staircase, Seton headed down a long hallway. After passing several doors, he finally stopped in front of one and set Carly’s suitcase down. “Your sitting room, bedroom, and bathroom are in there, your highness. I’ll let you settle in for the next few hours. If you need anything, you can call the housekeeper from the phone in your bedroom. I’ll be out here in the meantime. I’ll knock on your door a few minutes before noon and take you down to luncheon.”

  Carly stood with one hand on her suitcase and one hand on the doorknob. This whole setup felt incredibly uncomfortable. “You really don’t have to lead me around the whole time I’m here, Seton. I mean, it’s nice of you to show me where everything is, but I’ll figure it out. You can—you know—leave me to my own devices.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t, your highness,” said Seton. “As your bodyguard, I have a duty to—”

  “Wait, did you say bodyguard?”

  “I did.”

  “Oh.” Why hadn’t she expected this? The US president’s family had a whole department of bodyguards. Everyone that important had security personnel. Carly just hadn’t realized she was that important. “Guess that’s why the kidnapping joke didn’t land very well?”

  “Right,” said Seton.

  And you have no sense of humor, Carly thought.

  “I’ll wait out here until it’s time for luncheon.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks . . .” Carly pushed open the door and dragged her suitcase into the next room. It was full of cute chairs and little side tables and landscape paintings. This must be the sitting room. She rolled the suitcase through the next door, into a spacious bedroom with a huge canopied bed and French windows that opened onto a balcony.

  Well, Carly thought, I’m here. I made it.

  It was the same thought she’d had when she’d seen Mortmain Castle from the plane a few minutes ago. Somehow it didn’t feel as triumphant now. It was an overwhelmed, exhausted little thought.

  She flopped down on the bed and pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket.

  Carly found herself praying that the messenger app would work. She really needed to hear her parents’ voices right now . . .

  “Honey, is that you?” Her mom’s voice was groggy. Carly realized that with the time difference, it was the middle of the night in Ohio.

  “Oh, Mom, sorry if I woke you!”

  “Don’t be silly! I was trying to wait up until I heard from you. Did you make it there okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m at Mortmain Castle now.”

  “It’s so good to hear from you! Let me put you on speaker. How was the flight?”

  “Long, but really comfortable. And I have a bodyguard.”

  Sal’s voice came over the line. “Nice! I wonder how much he costs. Maybe we can hire him for your prom.”

  “Ew, Sal! I’m gone for one day and you turn into Gross-Macho-Man Dad on me?”

  “Just kidding. So how’s the castle? You settling in?”

  “Um, yeah. I mean, I’m sure I will once I’ve been here more than five minutes.”

  Her mom’s voice chimed in again. “Just be careful, honey. You don’t have to do anything that you’re not comfortable with.”

  Carly thought of the way she’d been shuffled around in the past few hours. The way she’d been instructed to get in vehicles and follow people around and let other people carry her stuff. But that was all so small. Obviously her mom was talking about bigger things—the kinds of things she worried about whenever Carly went to a party or spent the night with friends.

  “Okay. I’d better go now. I’ll check in with you later. Love you!”

  After the call ended, Carly looked around at her enormous, glittering new bedroom.

  She was Charlotte Valmont, Princess Royal of the Kingdom of Evonia.

  She was second in line for the throne.

  And she had never felt so small.

  5

  Carly hadn’t planned to fall asleep. She knew her best chance of fending off jet lag was to stay awake all day, even though she felt completely fried.

  But an hour and a half after she called her parents, Seton’s knock on the door jolted her out of a doze.

  “Ten minutes to noon, your highness.” His clipped, slightly bored voice was already starting to become familiar.

  Carly sat up groggily. Her new bed was unreasonably soft. She’d blame the bed for making her fall asleep. “Be right out!”

  She scrambled to change into something “business casual.” She had packed all her best clothes for this trip, but they all looked shabby when she held them up to the ornate floor-length mirror.

  Finally she settled on a cute sundress, ran a brush through her hair, splashed some water on her face, and—

  “Your highness? Two minutes to noon.”

  “Coming!”

  They were five minutes late to lunch. That was how long it took to walk from Carly’s set of rooms to the dining room. Lord G and Arthur sat at a table that was big enough to fit ten people. Arthur was already digging in, though Lord G had made a point of waiting for her.

  “Look who decided to show up,” said Arthur, shooting her an unfriendly look.

  “Sorry—” Carly started, but Lord G cut her off.

  “Never mind, my dear. As long as your food isn’t cold yet, no harm done.” Lord G pointed to the chair across from Arthur. Carly sat down. She looked over her shoulder to thank Seton for taking her here, but he had already left the room.

  “Queen Emilia wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry she can’t be here to meet you today,” Lord G told her. “She’s had a cold all week and wasn’t feeling up to leaving the royal palace. But she hopes you can visit her there soon.”

  “Ooo, what a treat,” muttered Arthur. “The old bat never wants to see me.”

  “She sees you all the time, Arthur,” said Lord G. Carly thought he sounded slightly defensive. “Every major holiday, not to mention every wedding and funeral and christening in this family—”

  “Yes, of course, how could I forget those photo ops?” Arthur shot back. “So much quality time together, shuffling into place and waiting for the photographer to take eighty shots. Truly heartwarming. I’d guess the last time I had a private conversation with Queen Emilia was at my christening.”

  Carly couldn’t decide whether to dislike her cousin or feel sorry for him. Queen Emilia didn’t exactly sound like a warm-fuzzy type of grandparent figure. Not that Lord G was either. If Arthur’s dad was dead and his mom had given up on him, that didn’t leave him with many options for family bonding.

  Then again, if he treated everyone the way he’d treated her so far, she could understand why people kept their distance from him.

  Lord G turned back to her. “The fact is that you, Charlotte, are second in line for the throne. The queen is anxious to see you for herself and judge how ready you are for the responsibility.”

  This caught Carly off guard. “Um—how ready do I need to be at this point?”

  Lord G dabbed at his mouth with a finely embroidered napkin. “Queen Emilia is ninety-two years old. Her son, Crown Prince Humphrey, is seventy—and in rather poor health. To be blunt, my dear, I am afraid you can expect to become queen sooner rather than later.”

  “Oh.” This was more intense than she’d expected.

  For weeks, she’d been thinking I’m going to be a queen! But that thought had always ended in someday. Not literally any day now.

  “When you graduate from your American high school next year, the queen would like you to move to Evonia permanently.”

  Carly felt as if someone had punctured her lungs like balloons, letting all the air drain out of them. Next year was so soon—so sudden.

  Leaving her family and friends for two months was one thing. Moving thousands of miles away from them for the rest of her life was totally different. And what about college? She’
d been thrilled that she didn’t need to go, but she’d still expected to apply. Her mom and Sal always talked about the great experiences they’d had at college. The friends they’d made. The adventures they’d had. The ways their world had expanded. Carly felt her own world shrinking to the size of a tiny dot on the map of Europe.

  Of course it made sense. She’d figured she would eventually move to Evonia, but she’d thought it wouldn’t be until she actually became queen. And she’d been imagining herself taking on that role at some point in her thirties.

  Or maybe she hadn’t really imagined it happening at all. Not for real. The whole thing had been a vague fantasy in her head, a sparkly excuse to not worry about anything or plan for her future.

  Carly hoped she didn’t look as stricken as she felt. If she did, Lord G didn’t seem to notice. “In the meantime,” he went on, “Queen Emilia wants me to begin teaching you about your royal duties.”

  “If you’re up to it,” snickered Arthur.

  Carly froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. Slowly she set it down and looked over at her cousin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Arthur shrugged. “It’s a demanding job, being an heir to the throne. A delicate little thing like you might not be cut out for it.”

  Delicate little thing? Carly gripped her fork so hard that she half-expected it to snap. “I appreciate your concern,” she said coldly. “But since you don’t actually know me, I’m not sure you’re the best judge of what I’m cut out for.”

  She turned to Lord G, straightening up in her chair. “I look forward to learning more about my responsibilities as an heir to the throne.”

  Her grandfather smiled at her. “Excellent. We’ll start first thing tomorrow.”

  6

  “First thing tomorrow” turned out to be six in the morning. Carly stumbled out of bed, still half-asleep, to join Lord G for breakfast. She was relieved to find that Arthur wasn’t there.