The King and the Kindergarten Teacher

by Shanae Johnson

  Jan slid a slice of pie toward Esme. The crust was darkened with black streaks, and green filling spilled out of the sides. “Speaking of near-death experiences, here’s your poisoned apple pie.”

  Esme rubbed her hands together, preparing to dig into her favorite meal.

  “Poison?” Leo asked, his face contorted in horror. But even with the grimace, he was still devilishly handsome.

  “Oh, it’s a joke,” Esme clarified. “I’m named after a princess.”

  Something shifted in his features. Esme couldn’t quite tell if it was surprise or dismay.

  “Princess Esmeralda, most notably in Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

  “I know the story,” he said. “But she didn’t eat an apple. And she wasn’t a princess. She was a commoner.”

  Esme shrugged. “Poetic license.”

  Again, his look went inscrutable.

  “I suppose this is for you?” Jan took the boxed up pie out of its container and placed it on a plate.

  Spices from a foreign land tickled Esme’s nose. The heat of the spices warmed her cheeks. The sweetness of the scent tickled her tongue, enticing her to ask for a bite.

  “This is why I pulled over,” said Leo. “I couldn’t resist your ploy of authentic Cordovian fare. This looks and smells just like a bisteeva.”

  He dug in and took a bite. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, which was a common occurrence here in Jan’s bakery.

  “It tastes just like the palace cook’s bisteeva,” Leo said, taking another bite. “No, better. Please, don’t tell him I said that.”

  Jan grinned ear to ear facing another convert to her culinary ways.

  “Leo, this is my best friend and the maker of the best pies in the world, Jan.”

  “Hello, Jane.”

  “No, it’s Jan,” Jan corrected. “No E. I’m too plain to be even a Jane. Just Jan.”

  Leo dropped his fork and held out his hand to Jan. Jan held out her oven-mitted hand to him for a shake. Leo grinned and turned her oven-mitted hand palm side up and planted a kiss on the daisy covered fabric.

  “Wow,” said Jan. “That’s new.”

  Wow indeed. Esme hadn’t gotten a hand kiss. She’d never had a guy do that for her. She dreamed about it enough. She supposed Leo might’ve done that to her, had she been right side up when they’d met.

  “Have you visited Cordoba?” Leo asked.

  “I haven’t visited anywhere,” said Jan. “I’ve just always had a knack for spices. Those little cloves, corns, and flowers can transport your taste buds around the world and back for a fraction of the price.”

  Leo nodded. “The almonds are as sweet as if you plucked them straight from a tree in Majorca. The cumin is warming my mouth as though I’m laying out in the Mediterranean. And you used actual squab instead of chicken.”

  “I’m surprised you can tell the difference.”

  “You have a gift.”

  Leo took another bite of his pie. He closed his eyes and groaned in delight. There was no music playing in the pie shop. All that could ever be heard was a chorus of happy groans from the customers. It was the music to Jan’s ears.

  Jan glanced at Leo, then at Esme. Her staunchly single friend gave Esme an approving smile before moving aside to serve another customer. Esme turned her attention to her own slice. She took a bite as she thought of a topic of conversation to hold the interest of the man who sat beside her.

  “So, Leo, what’s the king of Cordoba like? Is he old, and prone to madness like King Lear? Is he a bumbling idiot like Jasmine’s father in Aladdin? Or is he off with his head like the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland?”

  “You have quite the imagination.”

  “It’s my curse.”

  “I like it.” He downed the last of his pie, closing his eyes as he slowly pulled the prongs of the fork from his mouth.

  Esme was mesmerized. Oh, to be one of those four prongs.

  “You’re completely wrong about modern monastic rule though,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “About the modern monarchy. Running a kingdom is very much like running a Fortune 500 company, only harder.”

  “How so?”

  “Back in ancient and medieval times, kings were considered God’s representative on earth. They owned land and often the people on that land. Over time, their power became limited by feudal nobles because they couldn’t manage the vast amounts of land and resources on their own. Later, they came to rely on the church for assistance. Though most often than not, they were strong-armed by the papacy. Kings took an oath to keep the peace, administer justice, uphold the laws, and protect the poor who resided on their land. Democracy grew as people became autonomous, but the influence of the king remained strong in many lands.”

  That was a delightful history lesson. But she failed to see the point. “So what does the king actually do?”

  “In this age, the kings and queens of nations delegate their power so that the police keep the peace, the courts dispense with justice, and the governments deal with lawmaking. And in some monarchies, they’re simply figureheads.”

  “In Cordoba?”

  “In Cordoba, I’d like to believe that the king leads. But he doesn’t do it on his own. There is a parliament.”

  “Like in England? So the king does more than just takes photos and comes out on holidays?”

  “Yes, but he also brokers business deals for the country’s industries. He makes deals with their resources. He’s very much in charge of the economy, even with the law makers at the helm. Cordoba has a long history with the king playing an active role. That continues today.”

  “He sounds like a great man,” said Esme. “Not quite the stuff of fairytales.”

  “The nobility of reality has never mirrored what is in the storybooks. Those of royal blood typically marry others of royal blood. You only ever hear about the exceptions like the Windsors, and they’re often in the tabloids, not the storybooks.”

  “So you don’t believe in romance or fairytales?”

  “Those are two different things. Fairytales are fabricated stories.”

  “And romance?”

  Leo looked off in the distance. “Romance is real. But not everyone gets to have it.”

  “I can’t imagine marrying for anything but love. What’s the point?”

  “Financial security. Protection. Duty. That’s why the nobility married in the past, as well as in the present. A lot of commoners still marry for convenience. Romantic love is only a few hundred years old.”

  “It’s been written about for thousands of years.”

  “So have fairytales.”

  “Well then, it’s lucky for us that we’re both common folk, and we can choose to marry for love and not duty.”

  “Yes. Lucky us.”

  A throat cleared behind them. Esme looked up to see the disapproving Giles glaring once more at her.

  “My apologies, Esme, but duty calls.” There was true regret in Leo’s voice. “I have to get back to work. It was lovely meeting you.”

  He reached out for her hand. She gave it to him. There were pie crumbs on her fingertips. She jerked to bring her hand back in an effort to wipe the pie off, but Leo stayed her hand. He turned her palm over, and he kissed it.

  Butterflies went off in Esme’s belly. She wanted to say something, but her tongue was tied. And the moment she had her wits about her, he was gone.

  Chapter Five

  Leo licked his fingers, catching the last crumbs of morsels from the sweet treat that reminded him of home. The golden crust had transported him to the sandy beaches of the island just east of Barcelona. The sweet and fruity notes had called to the French wine country to Cordoba’s north. And the spice mixture gave a kick to his Moorish ancestors from the south. The pie maker had captured all of Cordovian history and culture in one perfect bite.

  “Can you order a few of these for tonight’s dinner?” Leo said to Giles.

 
Giles pulled out his cell phone and placed the order while Leo licked the last bit from his fingertips. It was bad manners to suckle one’s fingers, to be sure, but there was no one watching him. Giles was preoccupied with the pie maker. The driver had his eyes on the road. And Leo’s mind was … elsewhere.

  Just up ahead, he saw the dry cleaning truck with the green dragon logo parked at a storefront. Had it been in motion, Leo might have the notion of charging forward into the fray once more. But his damsel was safely ensconced on a stool back in the pie shop.

  Leo wondered if he put his ear to Giles’s phone if he might hear her tinkling laughter. Catch the slight hitch of her breath as she leaned in and listened to him recite the boring details of his job, a job he’d pretended wasn’t his. Yet, she’d been fascinated all the same.

  Esme had called him a knight, a hero. As a real king, he was none of those. He was just a nobleman in a suit. A businessman really. And the title placed him as a figurehead with a lot of responsibility. One of those responsibilities was finding a new wife.

  He thought of Esme’s smile. Their easy banter. Her wild imagination. Her American accent and girl-next-door good looks. She was likely as red-blooded as an American could get. No hint of royal blue was likely to run in her veins.

  She was all wrong for him, of course. Definitely not a candidate to sit beside him on the throne. But a delightful lunch companion to sit beside him on a stool.

  He’d enjoyed their conversation. He’d enjoyed the escape she’d offered him, even if only for a moment. Over a slice of pie, he’d been a regular Joe chatting up a girl casually. He’d never done anything casual in his life. His every move, thought, and decisions were a matter of state.

  His time with Esme had been his escape into an imaginary storybook. Now it was back to business as the car pulled up to the United Nations headquarters.

  The tall glass and concrete structure looked like any other office building in the city. One of its distinguishing characteristics was the array of flags flying from posts. There were dozens. One hundred and ninety-three to be exact. Leo easily spotted the Cordovian flag with its staunch orange, red, and blue colors.

  “You have your notes?” asked Giles.

  Of course, he did. He was always prepared. But Giles had to ask the question, it was his job.

  Leo knew that others in Giles’s position had a time with their noblemen. Alex couldn’t keep a valet or an assistant. The men, and one woman, gave up in a matter of weeks trying to wrangle the man. Most of the times, they couldn’t find Alex as he’d often hopped on a jet or yacht and was off in some obscure corner of the globe stuffing his face full of exotic dishes. Leo was the perfect employer and royal. Giles really shouldn’t complain.

  “What have you done to your suit?” Giles looked down at him in horror. A few smudges from his time in the street with Esme remained at the bottom of his jacket.

  “Oh, I rescued a damsel in distress. Esme, the woman from the pie shop.“ With her name on his tongue, Leo got one last blast of sweetness just behind his two front teeth that he’d somehow missed. He swallowed the final tidbit and felt its presence move to the back of his throat and down his chest.

  Giles was not amused. “Here, switch with me.”

  Leo did. Luckily, he and Giles were the same size, and Giles’s coat was nearly as fine as Leo’s. With that disaster averted, and the last traces of his adventure gone, they headed into the building.

  The UN’s role was to maintain international peace and security. Cordoba was under no threat. The small country hadn’t been for centuries. Once upon a time, Leo’s ancestors had a stronghold in the lands of what would become present day Spain and France. But with a violent history, the people were torn apart, boundaries were shifted over until finally, the present day Cordovians found themselves on a lush island in the Mediterranean.

  The people couldn’t complain. The island was surrounded by pristine beaches. Inwards were lush valleys and tall mountains. The soil was fertile, and the fish were plenty.

  Another part of the UN charter was to protect human rights. Cordoba had no charges of inhumane violations. Even in a country populated by former enemies who’d ransacked each other’s ancestors, there was now a harmony amongst the mix of French, Spanish, and African fellows.

  When it came to humanitarian aid, thanks to its fishing industry and the oil found surrounding the island, Cordoba was rich enough to help its neighbors. But there was more opportunity to be had. Leo was here to place his hand out for another of the UN’s chartered goals; that of sustainable development.

  “We are a small island state,” he said from his place at the lectern. “We have had great success and prosperity that we’d like to share with you, our international countrymen. Our ancestors braved wars, moved borders, segregated, integrated, and, through it all, we survived and came out the other end stronger. We may be small, but we are mighty.”

  In his speech, he didn’t mention that poverty was on the rise last year, or that teen pregnancy was on an uptick. The older citizens were financially stable and content in established industries. But the young people of Cordoba had few job prospects and too much free time. Those who were bright and ambitious were leaving the country in droves. Those who saw little or no opportunity were procrastinating and procreating.

  The government had to create a new industry to keep its youth occupied and remaining in the country. But all Cordovian resources were tapped. He needed fresh blood, fresh blue blood.

  At the end of his speech, Leo was greeted with polite applause. He knew he’d succeeded when two individuals approached him. All along, the speech had been for an audience of two.

  The Duke of Almodovar was a stout man with a round belly and a curling, gray mustache. The man had used his title to build an empire on seas, much like his pirate ancestors. His was the favor Leo courted. But more importantly, it was the woman who walked beside him whose attention Leo hoped to capture.

  “King Leonidas, may I present my daughter, Lady Teresa Nadal, the future duchess of Almodovar.”

  Lady Teresa curtsied and then extended her hand. Leo took the offered hand, planting a light kiss to Lady Teresa’s knuckles. He’d expected a strong whiff of expensive perfumes. He was pleasantly surprised by the smell of sweet cinnamon.

  “I was very impressed by your speech,” said Lady Teresa. “I wondered if you might find the time on your schedule to talk shop?”

  “Please excuse my daughter,” said the duke. “The family business is never far from her pretty mind.”

  What was on the mind of most daughters of nobility was the family business of maintaining the royal line. He’d heard that Lady Teresa had more industrial interests, which suited Leo’s needs perfectly.

  “I don’t mind at all,” Leo said. “In fact, I’m having a dinner party tonight. Just a small gathering of the state senator, the mayor, and a few other dignitaries. I would love it if you and your daughter could attend.”

  “My father has another engagement,” said Lady Teresa. “But I would be delighted.”

  The Almodovars were one of the most successful maritime construction builders in all of Europe. Cordoba had maximized its use of its land. Now Leo aimed to conquer the waters. He needed a partnership with the family to do so. What better way to build a bridge than the old fashioned way; marriage between nobility.

  Chapter Six

  The staff of Global Learning Preparatory Academy was in a tizzy when Esme returned thirty minutes later. Outside the building, she’d seen another car with orange, red, and blue flags parked at the front of the school in the school bus zone. Apparently, diplomatic immunity extended to the Kiss and Ride lane.

  Esme wondered if Leo was here. But he’d said he and the pinched-face Giles were joining the king at the United Nations Headquarters. This had to be the ride of the princess and the king’s younger brother, the prince.

  Esme made her way down to her room as the mostly female teachers and staff whispered in each other’s ears and gi
ggled behind their hands like middle schoolers. Esme didn’t catch sight of the prince. Her mind was elsewhere.

  Just this morning, Esme had been excited about the prospect of breathing the same air as a real live prince. But since meeting the royal bodyguard, her temperature and attention had been redirected. Sure, Esme read plenty of fairytales as a kid. But as a grown woman, many of the romance novels on her shelf featured valiant, bare-chested knights who rushed into battle for the unattainable lady promised to the evil prince or aging king.

  Leo could definitely fit that bill and then some. But she doubted she’d run into him again. Unless he had another hankering for spicy meat pie. Esme would just have to make sure and make herself available at Jan’s until closing today and as much time as she could tomorrow in hopes of another chance encounter with her hunky knight.

  She paid no heed to the crowd gathered at the conference room where she was sure the prince and princess were. Unfortunately, the royal pair wouldn’t be touring or stopping in her room. Principal Clarke had hand selected Mrs. Truesdale’s Stepford children for the class observation. He wouldn’t likely let such dignitaries near Esme’s unpredictable classroom.

  She still wasn’t broken into the GLPA way. Esme never intended to be. She was all for striving for academic excellence, but these kids deserved the time and the chance to be, well, kids.

  “We’ve been sleeping,” Esme said as the last of her class roused from their nap, “So, you know what that means; time to get our bodies moving. Who’s ready for math?”

  “Ms. Pickett,” said Aubrey after a yawn, “when I learned math last year in pre-kindergarten summer enrichment we did it with pencil and paper.”

  “I bet you did.” Esme put the last of the sleeping mats back into the cubby. “But was it fun?”

  The little girl scrunched up her nose as though she didn’t understand the meaning of the three letter word.

  “Physical education stimulates the brain,” Esme said. “We’re going to practice our numbers while moving our bodies to get our whole person involved in the lesson.”