The Trouble With Princesses

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “An hour or two could make the difference between seeing your father one last time and never seeing him again.”

  His forehead creased, hesitating.

  “I lost my family,” she said softly. “I know what it is not to have a chance to say good-bye. Go, Rupert. If you leave now, you may be able to make the coast and set sail by nightfall. I shall accompany Emma and Nick and the boys as soon as may be. We will all see you soon in Rosewald. Your nation and your father need you.”

  He gave her a hard look and for a moment she thought he was going to argue. Then he nodded. “Yes, you are right. I should not delay.” Pushing back his chair, he stood and went to ring the bell.

  Symms, who had discreetly retreated from the room while they discussed the letter, slipped quietly back in.

  Rupert turned to him. “Send word to have my coach readied and inform my valet to have a change of clothes packed. I will leave as soon as possible.”

  “Of course, Your Royal Highness. Everything shall be made ready.”

  “We will be leaving too, Symms,” Nick told the man. “Her Highness’s father is gravely ill and we shall be closing up the house and traveling to Rosewald. Please advise the staff.”

  “I’ll go to the nursery and begin making preparations for the boys.” Emma wiped the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, I just remembered. We are promised at the Hoopers’ and the Monmouths’ later this week. I shall have to write and make our excuses.”

  “I’ll do that,” Ariadne offered helpfully. “Once I’m done with the notes, I’ll see to the packing.”

  “Thank you, Arie. You’re a dear.” Emma sent her a tremulous smile.

  “And I’ll take care of our travel arrangements and see to anything else that needs doing.” Nick went to his wife and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, then looked back at his brother-in-law. “Rupert, good journey. We shall see you again soon.”

  “Yes, soon.”

  With his arm still around her shoulders, Nick and Emma walked from the room.

  Ariadne gazed at Rupert. “You had better go.”

  “I should, yes.”

  “We’ll be no more than a day or two behind.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m so sorry about your father, Rupert.”

  He nodded. “I know that too.”

  Striding forward, he pulled her into his arms and fit his mouth over hers for a hard, swift kiss that made her heart pound like a wild thing.

  As abruptly as it had begun, it ended, and he let her go. An ache of longing spread through her body, pain at his departure even though she knew she would see him again soon.

  Foolish. Just like my love.

  “Godspeed,” she told him.

  “Farewell.”

  Then he was gone.

  • • •

  They left Lyndhurst House the following morning, a train of three coaches loaded with Nick, Emma, Ariadne, and the children, along with nursemaids, maids, Nick’s valet, footmen, and a virtual mountain of baggage.

  Deciding that a largely overland journey would be too arduous for Emma and the boys, Nick had arranged for them to complete as much of the trip as possible by sea. He owned a well-appointed two-masted schooner that he had docked in Southampton. As a former naval captain, he knew all the routes and how to make the best time. He also had a crew who had been more than willing to make the trip on such short notice, including Goldfinch, a lively fellow who had once served as his bosun’s mate.

  Nick charted a course that would take them around the coast of Spain, through the Strait of Gibraltar, and across to Italy. From there, they would switch to coaches again and go overland through the mountains, then on north to Rosewald. He figured with the warm summer weather in their favor, and a good chance of steady winds, that the trip shouldn’t take them much longer than proceeding the entire way by land.

  Nick was in his element the instant they stepped aboard ship, a wide smile creasing his face as he gave orders that got them swiftly under way.

  Once Ariadne and Emma got their “sea legs” under them, as Nick called it, they spent much of their time on deck, protected from the sun by large parasols, the moist, salt-scented wind tugging playfully at their hair.

  Baby Peter and young Friedrich settled in immediately, taking to life aboard ship with an ease that caused Nick to remark that his sons were born sailors. “After all,” he said, “they have the sea in their blood, on their father’s side, at least.”

  The crew doted on the boys, and Ariadne and Emma had to smile indulgently when Nick took Friedrich up to the command deck and let the boy “steer” the ship—to both father’s and son’s immense delight.

  But the specter of Emma’s father and his failing health cast a bleak shadow over what would otherwise have been a grand journey. She and Nick did their best to cheer Emma, but signs of worry and sadness lay heavy in her friend’s eyes. Unspoken was the question of whether he still lived and whether they would make it to Rosewald in time for Emma to say her good-byes.

  And always in the back of Ariadne’s thoughts was Rupert. Where was he? How was his own journey proceeding? Had he reached his home yet?

  She didn’t sleep well at night, telling herself it was due to the sway of the ship and the unfamiliar bed. But often she woke, stretching out a hand in search of Rupert before she realized she was alone.

  Odd how quickly she had gotten used to having him next to her at night.

  Unsettling how keenly she missed him, as if he had taken part of her heart with him when he’d gone away.

  The voyage went as planned, and then it was back to the road, all of them bundled again inside several sturdy yet comfortable coaches.

  Finally, after more than two weeks’ travel, they arrived.

  For years Ariadne had heard tales of Rosewald, but even those descriptions had not prepared her for the beauty of the place.

  Heavily forested mountains lay nestled beside lush green valleys and large fields of land planted with thriving crops. There were winding streams and deep, cold rivers, small, prosperous towns and bucolic villages. The villagers and townsfolk waved and smiled as their entourage drove past, children running alongside trying to catch a better glimpse of Archduchess Emmaline and her family. They welcomed Ariadne too, calling out happy greetings despite the fact that she was unknown to them.

  Ariadne had grown up in a royal palace, but even she caught her breath at her first sight of Neuewaldstein Castle, the principal seat of the Whyte family for more than four hundred years.

  The grand edifice was carved from a gleaming white stone that put her in mind of something from a faerie story. Corner towers with pointed turrets soared upward as if to touch the pristine blue sky above, while the massive structure itself stretched outward, majestic and imposing where it nestled inside its mountain stronghold. Capturing such a fortress would be next to impossible, but holding it for centuries as the Whytes had done served as a visible testament to their power and resilience.

  She could see why Rupert spoke of his home with such pleasure and pride, understood his devotion to duty and how he would do anything to preserve and protect his heritage—not only for himself but for the generations yet to come.

  The interior was even more opulent, she discovered, as their party arrived and alighted from the coaches to step over the threshold into the palace.

  The floors were made of polished black-and-white marble, the walls paneled in beautiful watered silks, the moldings ornately carved and leafed in gold. The majestic ceilings were a masterpiece in and of themselves, each exquisitely wrought work depicting scenes of ancient myths or angels from on high. And everywhere there were glorious objets d’art—paintings, sculptures, urns, and armaments. There were even several suits of armor, no doubt worn into battle by Emma and Rupert’s royal ancestors.

  But there was no time to afford any of these splendors more than a cursory glance before they were led down one wide corridor after another to the family wing of the palace.r />
  They didn’t even stop to change out of their traveling clothes but went directly to see the ailing king. Knowing that the bedside of a dying man was no place for young children, Emma allowed the boys’ nurse to take them off to the nursery, where they would be able to nap and have a meal.

  Rupert came out to greet them. He did not smile, though the color of his midnight blue eyes did seem to intensify when he met her gaze.

  Then he glanced away.

  To most observers, she was sure, he looked as he always did—powerfully handsome, confident, and in command, as if he could take the weight of the world on his shoulders and not strain to carry it. But to her he looked tired and somber, already in a state of grief. She wanted to run to him and wrap him in her arms, kiss him and murmur words of comfort.

  But she held her place and kept silent instead.

  “Rupert, how is Papa?” Emma hurried forward, giving her brother a quick, fierce hug before letting go. “He’s not—”

  “No, but it won’t be long. I am glad you are here. Sigrid and Otto are here. They are in with him now.”

  Sigrid was Emma and Rupert’s older sister, and King Otto was her husband, a man who had at one time been promised to wed Emma. Thank heavens that had not come to pass and that Rupert had relented and given Emma permission to marry Nick, the man she loved.

  Luckily neither Sigrid nor Otto harbored any hard feelings on the matter. In fact, from what she had last heard, Sigrid was quite content in her marriage, although, knowing Sigrid, she was even more content being a queen.

  “He has been asking for you,” Rupert said. “I’ll warn you, though, that he is in and out of consciousness. I’m not sure what state he’ll be in. He may not even know you are here.”

  Emma took a deep, bracing breath, then nodded, Nick at her side with an arm around her waist. Together they moved forward through a set of massive painted doors and into the room beyond.

  Rupert did not follow, but turned and crossed to Ariadne instead. “How has she been?”

  “Fine. Worried naturally, but bearing up well.”

  “And you?” He reached for her hand. “How was your journey?”

  “Long, exhausting, but I am quite well.”

  He studied her more carefully, as if something further was on his mind. “You’re certain? You are not . . .”

  “Not what?” She considered for another moment before she suddenly realized what he must mean. “No! No, I am not”—she lowered her voice—“with child. I had my monthly last week.”

  An expression of immense relief came over his face, one that surprised, and oddly enough, displeased her. Not that she had wanted there to be a child, not now, with everything so uncertain and unsettled between them, but still, he didn’t have to seem so happy about it.

  Although perhaps she was being unfair. He had a great deal to contend with at the moment, not the least of which was the dreadful prospect of his father’s approaching death. And when that occurred, he would become king, with all the attendant duties and responsibilities of that office. He was regent now, of course, but still, it was not the same. The weight of the nation would be his to bear alone.

  “Ariadne, I—”

  But he got no further, as a well-dressed man—one of his ministers perhaps—stepped forward to interrupt them.

  “Pardon, Your Royal Highness, but a matter of some urgency has arisen. If I might perhaps have a word.”

  Rupert scowled and dropped her hand. “Yes, of course. Just a moment, if you would.”

  The man bowed. “Certainly.” He stepped discreetly away.

  “I am sorry,” Rupert told her. “It seems there is always something to do since my return. I suppose I was away too long and must now suffer the consequences. I shall be back shortly. If you wish, you may join Emma and Nick.”

  “No, such times are for family. I would be out of place.”

  “Believe me, you would not. You are more family than many who attend my father. The room is crowded with physicians and clergy and friends come to pay their last respects. No one would complain of your presence.”

  She hated sickrooms, though she would never say so. “If you wish me there I shall go. Otherwise, perhaps I might be shown to my room. It has been a long journey.”

  “No, of course, you are tired. You must be allowed to change and rest.” He strode across and pulled the bell. “Someone shall be here shortly to attend you. If you will excuse me.”

  She watched as he left, regretting as he disappeared down the long corridor that she had not found a moment to kiss him first.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “The king is dead. Long live the king.”

  The solemn phrase that Ariadne had heard that fateful morning four days ago repeated itself now in her head. Friedrich IV, King of Rosewald, was dead and his son, Rupert II, had ascended to the throne in his place.

  Yet to her Rupert was still just Rupert, even if he did rule a kingdom now.

  Still, as she gazed at him from where she sat next to Emma in the palace’s formal drawing room, there was no sign of the relaxed, playful man she had known as her lover. He was reserved and austere, his demeanor as stark as the black clothing he wore.

  They were all attired in black, of course, now that the palace was officially in mourning. An elaborate state funeral had been held earlier that day, followed by a private graveside service attended by family only, which had included aunts, uncles, and myriad cousins, some whose connection was quite distant. She had been the sole outsider to be included, Emma insisting that she join them.

  “Of course you must be there,” Emma had told her before the service. “You and Rupert are engaged. That makes you family.”

  But other than the four of them, no one knew about the engagement. Rupert had made no mention of it since her arrival, and to her knowledge he had not discussed it with anyone else. For all intents and purposes, it appeared to be a secret.

  Still, no one complained of her presence at the graveside. Nor had anyone complained when she held vigil with the family in the king’s chambers while he breathed his last. Despite her aversion to such doleful matters, she’d sat on a sofa beside Emma and held her hand through the sorrowful ordeal. Nick had sat on his wife’s other side and done the same.

  Emma had wept on both their shoulders once her father finally passed away.

  At least, Ariadne had whispered to her, she had gotten to see him again and he had gotten to see her and his grandsons. They had all been able to say their good-byes.

  Rupert had stood across the curtain-darkened room, arms stiffly at his sides, clearly wishing for no sympathy. She’d tried afterward to offer him comfort, but he’d turned her gently away.

  “Thank you for your concern,” he’d said, “but I am entirely well. My father had been ill a very long time and this day was not unexpected. He is at peace now and what more can any of us wish for in the end?”

  He had not shed so much as a single tear, though she knew he grieved. He had also not visited her bedchamber, an absence that made her all the sadder.

  She sighed quietly to herself now and raised her teacup to her lips. Emma sat, her own cup full and untouched, forgotten. Gently, she took it from her friend and set it aside.

  “Mayhap you ought to go upstairs and rest,” Ariadne suggested. “You are expecting again, after all. I am sure no one would notice if you slipped away.”

  Emma sent her a wry smile, coming back from wherever it was she had been. “Then you do not know my family. Decorum is a must, and we are all expected to remain until the last of those wishing to pay their respects have gone on their way. Truly I am fine and thankfully Sigrid will make sure no one greatly outstays their welcome.”

  Yes, Ariadne decided, looking at the refined blond beauty accepting condolences across the room, that was a fact she could readily believe.

  Mourners approached singly or in small groups to express their sorrow and share a remembrance or two about King Friedrich. Emma was gracious to each
and every one, no matter how sad and weary she might be inside. Nick was there as well to buoy her up. Ariadne knew Emma relied on him, leaning into his strength when she needed an extra measure of support. And there were her children—currently safe in the nursery—who brought her joy and never failed to bring a smile to her face.

  It was near the end of the reception when she left Emma and Nick and went in search of the refreshment table. She’d scarcely eaten more than a few bites of breakfast, and nothing since then, having refused a plate offered by one of the servants earlier in the day. But now she was ravenous and had no wish to wait until dinner to eat.

  Picking up a beautifully patterned china plate, she began inspecting the selections on the buffet. As she did, she heard a pair of women conversing not far away.

  “So which one do you think he will choose?” said the first woman. “They’ve all come here, you know, like merchants displaying their best silks, waving their prettiest wares under his nose.”

  “Estella, what a thing to say, and at a funeral no less. The old king is barely in his grave. I don’t think the new one is thinking about a bride.”

  “He may not be thinking about it, but you can be sure his ministers are busy making plans, not to mention certain members of his family.”

  “Queen Sigrid, do you mean?”

  “Certainly not the other one, married to that Englishman for love, no less, even if the fellow has been elevated into royal circles.”

  The second woman made noises of agreement; then the other continued.

  “As for the parties in question and their lovely young daughters, they’ve all been playing up their expressions of sympathies, but have you noticed how careful they are to make sure the king gets a good look at the merchandise? He’ll be in mourning for a few months, as required, but then it will be time to take a wife and start his nursery. After all, what king does not wish for sons to carry on his line?”

  “True. Quite true. He’ll pick a royal, of course.”

  “Undoubtedly. Princess Sophia of Lorraine must certainly be in the running. Now that the French monarchy has been reestablished, a connection there would only strengthen Rosewald’s position, and I understand she has a dowry of twenty million francs. She has a lovely face, which cannot hurt either.”