When the piece ended, the string quartet began a lively, fun jig. Juliette pulled away, obviously flustered, and ran a hand through her hair while she caught her breath. Guillermo cheerfully held out his arm; she took it; and he led her into the garden.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Guillermo spoke. “And I think that you may be right.”
Juliette looked up at him. “Really? So you’re going to stay on as king after the year is over?”
Guillermo grimaced, “Well, I can’t say that I’ve made up my mind completely yet-”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Juliette hopped up and down with joy, tugging on his arm.
“Yes, well, there are still some details to work out-”
“Oh, this is just fantastic news,” Juliette beamed. “Have you told Sofia yet? You should really tell her. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear.”
“Not yet-”
“Well, we’ll tell her later. You’re going to be a great king. You’ll see.”
“Why, thank you-”
“Oh, I’m so happy. Let’s dance!” Juliette grabbed Guillermo’s hand and they danced right there in the middle of the garden, laughing and kicking their heels.
After two dances, Juliette waved, “no more.” She put hands on her knees, out of breath, hair hanging down over her face, laughing. Guillermo stood panting, sweat glistening on his forehead, smiling with joy. “You really are something,” he said.
The string quartet began a peaceful, serene piece at a much slower tempo. After they caught their breath, Guillermo once again offered his hand, she accepted and he pulled her to him. They danced in a half-embrace, barely moving, Juliette’s cheek pressed against his chest. Finally, Guillermo dropped his other hand to the small of her back; now both of his hands were pulling her close to him. He stopped any pretense of dancing and whispered her name.
Juliette refused to look up at him, resting her forehead on his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
“You can’t what?” he replied in a deep husky voice.
“Being around you is dangerous. I forget where I am, who I am. It’s like a dream. I can’t think when you hold me like this.”
Guillermo gently lifted her chin with his right hand, tilting her head up. Their eyes met.
“Thinking is overrated,” he said, leaning down.
She could feel his warm breath on her face; she closed her eyes-
“Prince Guillermo! Prince Guillermo! Sir!”
Juliette opened her eyes and looked to her left. Armand was running down the garden path. “Sir! I do apologize.”
“What is it, Armand?” Guillermo snapped. “We are a little busy-”
“Sir,” Armand interrupted gravely. “We have a situation.”
“In here, sir. Miss.”
Armand motioned them into the servants’ lounge on the west side of the building. It was a small room, painted yellow, with two couches pushed against the walls at a 90 degree angle. Situated between the two was a coffee table with a half dozen soda cans and an empty candy bar wrapper. In the corner opposite the couches was a television.
Three maids were seated on each couch — six maids total — and two of the male kitchen staff were leaning against one of the walls.
“What is that man up to?” one of the maids said.
“I never trusted him,” said another, shaking her head. “Never, never.”
“Pardon the intrusion,” Guillermo announced from the doorway. “Please — don’t get up.”
Guillermo, Juliette, and Armand all pushed their way inside so they could see the TV.
“Alicia,” Armand ordered. “Hit rewind. We need to see this from the beginning.”
“Yes, sir,” Alicia replied from the couch, pressing a button on the remote for a moment, then pressing pressing Play.
“-allegations of misconduct from the Senior Senator for the Parliament tonight-”
Juliette realized it was a newscast.
“-take you now to the steps of the Parliament building.”
An older man with gray hair and a gray mustache stood in front of a bank of microphones.
“Baron Amsel,” Guillermo muttered.
“My fellow citizens of San Morrando. I come to you tonight, heavy of heart, furrowed of brow, and stridently humble because I am bearing a great weight; a weight as large as the very country itself.”
“Oh, for God’s sake-” Guillermo rolled his eyes.
The baron continued, “My associates and I have been meeting with Prince Guillermo every day since his late arrival in the capital — an arrival delayed until after the previous king had been laid to rest in his immortal tomb because the prince was too busy with his constituents in North Africa to bother keeping up with events in his own country, our beloved San Morrando — and we have emerged from those meetings with the prince most concerned. Most concerned, indeed.”
“Do you believe this?” Guillermo said.
“Sir. Please,” Armand shushed him.
“My biggest concern — no, I should say, our biggest concern — is the cavalier attitude that the prince brings to Palais d’Or. His priorities clearly lay elsewhere; his focus is overseas, whether it be gallivanting around North Africa or maintaining his playboy lifestyle.”
“Playboy lifestyle!?” Guillermo blurted out.
“Where is the respect for tradition?” Baron Amsel droned on. “Where is the gravitas that the prince — the man who would be our king — needs to display to maintain the respect of foreign leaders? Some would argue that youth is a good thing to have in a monarch. I would counter that the last thing San Morrando needs is a king who is out-of-control, who is privileged, who doesn’t realize what an honor it is to serve, who thumbs his nose at tradition, and who is more in touch with the average citizen of North Africa than he is with his own citizens right here in San Morrando.
“And so, working with several of my esteemed fellow senators, we have crafted a common sense bill — a bill which, if passed, will cement into law a respect for the monarchy so that the citizens may have a king that they are proud of; the king they deserve. As I’m sure you’ll see, these are nothing more than common sense proposals — a list of long-standing traditions that we are merely codifying into law.”
The baron unfurled a scroll and began reading. “Article 1: the monarch may spend no more than 21 days outside of the principality within a calendar year. This is to insure-”
“That bastard,” Guillermo growled. “He knows it will take at least 2 months to get the North Africa charities stabilized.”
“Article 2: The monarch shall have one job and one job only: being king. This will insure that the king will spend his time being king and not playing doctor-”
“Playing doctor?!” Guillermo was outraged. “Armand! What is the meaning of this?!”
“I believe I might have an answer.” Juliette turned to see the Solicitor General, Señor Ordaz, standing in the doorway behind her.
“Señor?” Guillermo asked.
Armand made a motion to Alicia; she nodded and muted the TV.
The Solicitor General continued. “The baron’s office was kind enough to fax me a copy of the proposed law.” He held up five pages of paper.
“And?” Guillermo prompted.
“And it’s quite restrictive, as you’ve no doubt heard. If you or Princess Sofia fail to meet any of conditions of the law, your family will forfeit the crown.”
“To whom?” Juliette asked.
“It doesn’t say anything in this law, but you’ll no doubt remember from your high school civics class on the Constitution that should the monarch fail to perform his duties or otherwise be found unfit and no suitable heir can be found, the monarchy reverts to the Senior Senator of the Parliament.”
“Baron Amsel,” Guillermo frowned.
“Exactly,” the lawyer nodded.
“How long do we have before he presents this to Parliament?” Guillermo asked.
“The Constit
ution mandates at least 24 hours of debate on any newly proposed law. If he presents it first thing tomorrow morning, the full Parliament could hold a vote as soon as the next day. At any rate, we can meet in my office later to go over the specifics if you would like.”
“Yes, please, Señor,” Guillermo said. “And thank you.” Guillermo turned to Alicia and said, “Alicia, rewind it a bit. I want to hear the rest of it.”
Alicia did so, then pressed Play. The baron’s voice intoned out of the TV speakers.
Señor Ordaz leaned down and whispered directly into Juliette’s ear. “Miss, if I might see you for a moment in private?”
Juliette looked up and nodded, then followed the lawyer out into the hallway. “I wanted to show you this.” He pointed out a paragraph of text on the fax he had received from Baron Amsel’s office. Juliette took the paper from him and began reading.
Article 8: Any male monarch must be married before assuming the throne.
Juliette gasped. “Señor!” she whispered, “Does this mean what I think it means?”
The Solicitor General nodded. “I’m afraid so. If this law goes through, I would not be able to fight it. The prince would be required to marry before his coronation.”
Juliette felt the blood drain from her face.
“I might eventually be able to overturn it,” the lawyer continued, “but it could take several months, perhaps even a year — long after the prince would need to be crowned king in order to keep the throne in his family.”
“No,” Juliette whispered, “this can’t be happening. We were this close!”
“I’m sorry, miss, but I thought you should know right away.”
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the break room; Juliette could hear panicked voices and furniture being dragged across the floor. She rushed in to see Guillermo bending over one of her personal maids, Emilia, lying unconscious on the couch. “She’s just fainted,” Guillermo said calmly. “Can someone bring me a cold damp towel?”
“Right away, sir,” one of male kitchen staff roughly pushed his way past Juliette and ran out the door.
“She’s going to be fine,” Guillermo assured everyone. “Here, Alicia, help me lean her forward.”
As Alicia and Guillermo gently tilted Emilia’s head down, Juliette glanced at the TV; it was paused on a picture of Lady Olivia Amsel, standing on the steps behind her father, looking smug and cheap and supremely proud of herself.
Chapter 15
Juliette shuffled into the dining room carrying a plate of eggs and bacon in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The only other person in the room was Sofia; she was seated at the end of the table wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, no makeup, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Juliette thought she looked cute that way — but very young. Sofia stirred her coffee absently, staring off into space.
At the other end of the table, the waitstaff had set a silver tray with coffee, sugar, cream, and white porcelain cups.
“How did you sleep?” Sofia asked as Juliette set her plate down on the table.
“Sleep? What’s that?” Juliette replied with a smirk. “How about you?”
Sofia shook her head and took a sip of coffee. “You don’t want to know.”
“That bad, eh?” Juliette looked around the room. “Where’s Guillermo?”
“In the King’s Study.”
“How is he?”
Sofia sighed heavily. “About how you’d expect. Barking orders. Ready to explode.” Her eyes fixed on something over Juliette’s left shoulder. “Speak of the devil,” she murmured and nodded towards the door. Juliette turned in her chair.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Guillermo noticed, emotionless, as if commenting on the weather. He stood at the other end of the table and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“I never actually fell asleep, if you want to know the truth,” Juliette responded.
“What did the Solicitor General say?” Sofia asked.
Guillermo set the carafe down and took a sip from his cup. “Not much. He left for Parliament about 10 minutes ago to try and drum up support for our side. He said it could go either way; Baron Amsel didn’t leave us much time.”
“Just exactly how bad is the law?” Sofia wondered.
“Bad.” Guillermo took another drink of coffee, then continued, “If this bill becomes law, you and I are pretty much screwed. They’re going to hold us to all sorts of ridiculous restrictions that were placed on the monarchy 600 years ago — junk that makes no sense today.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded up stack of paper. “Did you see Article 5?” He read aloud, “’Article 5: The king must wear his crown whenever he is outdoors or performing a public duty of any kind.’ So basically, I’d be required to wear my crown to walk the dog.”
“You’re joking,” Sofia said.
Guillermo held up his index finger. “Wait — it gets better: ‘The queen must cover her head with a hat when not wearing her tiara.’”
Sofia groaned. “I hate hats. This is ridiculous.”
“Speaking of ridiculous, did you see Article 8?” Juliette asked.
“Article 8?” Guillermo flipped the page. “The marriage requirement? What about it?”
Sofia and Guillermo both looked at her with innocent, blank expressions.
Oh, if you only knew!
“Nothing. Never mind.”
Sofia interjected, “I thought Article 9 was the most absurd one: ‘The wife shall produce a male heir within the first 3 years of marriage’ or something like that. How are you supposed to obey that? Someone needs to send him a ninth grade biology textbook.”
Guillermo shrugged. “It’s a shotgun blast. He’s tossing everything he can into the bill — even things he knows don’t have a chance to survive a debate in Parliament — in order to mask the things that he truly wants. He’s playing a game. He knows Parliament will strip out a lot of the articles. But even if he just gets half of what he wrote into the bill, we’re still chained down.”
“But what does he truly want, Memo?” Sofia asked. “Why even write this law?”
Guillermo’s expression turned serious. “He says that he wants to preserve the San Morrando traditions for future generations. However, what he really wants is to make the position of king so onerous that I’ll forfeit the throne.” He set down his coffee cup. “I’ve been keeping some things from you — from both of you, actually. The baron has been nipping at my heels for days now, trying to get me to give him the throne.”
“That’s absurd!” Sofia said. “Baron Amsel, the king?”
Guillermo shrugged, “I don’t understand it any better than you do. He’s been trying to get me to renounce the crown voluntarily ever since I returned from North Africa. He’s made empty threats, insults, guilt trips, you name it. I guess he realized I was never going to give it up so he launched this attack.”
“But why does he want it so badly?” Sofia pressed.
“Why does anyone want it?” Guillermo countered. “Power, I suppose. Prestige. Validation. Legacy. Take your pick.”
Sofia frowned. “As if being leader of Parliament wasn’t enough for him. What an ass.”
Guillermo nodded. “What galls me is that he is willing to sacrifice who knows how many children in order to get what he wants. If his law passes, not only can I not practice medicine in Africa, I can’t even practice in San Morrando!”
“Isn’t there something we can do?” Juliette asked.
Guillermo shook his head. “Not really. It’s in the Solicitor General’s hands. He’s up at Parliament right now lobbying to get the worst parts of the law removed. I gave him a list of articles that would prevent me from doing my job. With any luck, he can get those stripped out before it passes. I suppose I can wear a damned crown to walk the dog-”
A wave of emotion swept over Juliette; a feeling of guilt so strong, so intense, so overwhelming that she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She held her head in her hands and asked with a timid voice,
“Is Article 8 on that list?”
“Article 8? I don’t think so. Why?” Guillermo asked.
“I think she means Article 9, Memo. You know, the baby one?” Sofia touched Juliette’s elbow. “Is that what you’re worried about?”
Juliette took a deep breath, close to bursting into tears, then said, “Guillermo… Sofia… there’s something I have to tell you-”
“Lady Olivia Adana Amsel,” Emilia announced suddenly from the doorway.
“Emilia?!” Guillermo snapped. “This is most irregular! We’re in no condition to receive guests.”
Juliette quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and sat up straight.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Emilia apologized. “I told her-”
Lady Olivia breezed into the room and waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, Emilia, thank you, that will be all.”
Emilia, face red with frustration, bowed and quickly left.
Olivia was wearing a hip-hugging red dress, far too much makeup, and a ridiculously ornate necklace with a huge stone nestled between her breasts. The outfit, which would look sumptuous on another woman, only made Olivia look cheap and plastic.
“Olivia,” Guillermo growled. “What are you doing here?”
Olivia ignored him. She scanned the room quickly, then called out over her shoulder, “Roslynne, dear, are you there?”
“Coming,” Roslynne, sounding annoyed, entered the room. “Oh. So the gang’s all here, then.”
“What do you think of turning this room into a spa?” Olivia asked Roslynne.
“A spa?” Sofia interrupted.
“We could put the treadmills there,” Olivia pointed, “and have a sauna built right there. Of course, these dreadful knickknacks would all have to come down.”
“Dreadful?” Sofia’s voice rose. “My mother decor-”
Juliette kicked Sofia in the shin, then smiled sweetly. “Careful, princess,” Juliette whispered. “Your coffee might spill.”
Princess Thief: Stealing Your Heart Page 14
