Royal Disaster #6

by Ember Casey

  “Father,” Sophia pipes up, “You already know about Pax’s family.”

  “Not from his own lips,” the king replies, his eyes still on me.

  I quickly swallow the rest of my bite, and it slides heavily down my throat. “My family is great. My mom lives just outside Joshua Tree National Park in California. And I’ve got three younger sisters, all grown.”

  I think that satisfies the king, at least for now. He drops his eyes to his plate for the moment, taking another bite, and I’m relieved to get the chance to eat a little more. I glance at the rest of the table, and I’m surprised to find several of Sophia’s brother’s watching me. William and Leo are both grinning. Ol’ Andy looks just as stern as always. Only Nicholas is looking down at his plate, but I’m sure he has plenty of opinions, too.

  Let them judge me. I’ve got this.

  But little do I know the king’s challenge is only just beginning.

  Sophia

  It’s clear that the more flustered Pax becomes, the more of the etiquette lessons he forgets.

  Pax shoves another huge forkful of food into his mouth.

  I lean over, trying to be as nonchalant as I can. I whisper into his ear. “Small bites.”

  “Whispering is never allowed at the table, Sophia.”

  The way my father scolds me makes me feel like a child again, and I’m sure my cheeks flush a bright red.

  It isn’t even a second later that my father turns his attention back to my husband. “What sorts of things did you enjoy doing as a boy?”

  “Hm?” Pax is trying to force down the bite, chewing as quickly as possible. He takes a long drink from his goblet, gulping down both the wine and food in a single swallow. “As a boy?”

  “Yes, as a boy.” The expression on my father’s face is unreadable, as usual. “What activities did you participate in?”

  I’m not sure where this conversation is headed, but I’ve no doubt it’s a test of some sort.

  I open my mouth to speak—to at least get the attention off Pax for a moment—but he answers my father before I can respond.

  “Lots of things. I played baseball and football, same as most of the kids at my school.” He shrugs. “I was pretty good. My mom made me quit when I was in middle school. She thought I was going to get my head bashed in. She was probably right—”

  He’s interrupted with the clearing of William’s throat. “I’m sure you must have done things other than sports, didn’t you?”

  My father shoots William a glare that could melt ice.

  “Oh. Right. No sports talk at the table.” Pax forces a smile. “Well, I learned to play the guitar when I was about twelve. Taught myself, mostly.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I seem to always forget you’re a musician.” The way my father says the word makes it clear exactly how he feels about Pax’s profession. “Our Sophia was also quite a musician. She could have easily been a professional flutist.”

  “I sincerely doubt that, Father.” I take a small sip of my wine, almost afraid to put anything else in my mouth for fear of not being able to interrupt this interrogation if I need to.

  “Oh, you’re too modest, Daughter.” He turns to my mother. “Isn’t she, Penelope? She was one of the finest musicians I’ve had the pleasure of hearing in my life.”

  Something flickers in my mother’s eyes, but she also doesn’t challenge my father. “She was certainly talented.” She nods in my direction. “And she’s always been modest about her many talents.”

  “Haven’t we all?” Leo snickers from the other side of the table.

  Elle shoots him a look from beside him that quiets him immediately.

  “Sophia was gifted at many things. She was also quite gifted in the art of forensics. Something she should have pursued in college.” My father looks at me, though I still can’t read his expression or tell what it is he means to accomplish with this line of questioning. “You could still attend graduate school. Wouldn’t you agree, Sophia?”

  Pax grins over at me. “Forensics? I never would have taken you for the crime scene investigator type.”

  Leo must have been taking a sip from his glass because water shoots across the table as he snorts.

  The way he winces a second later makes me believe Elle has slammed her foot down on his under the table.

  “What my father means is that Sophia was very good at…debate. It’s common to mistake the words, especially depending on the usage.” He turns to our mother. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I certainly would.” My mother speaks through gritted teeth. “A very common mistake, Edmund.”

  “Hm.” My father’s brow barely flicks up. “I would think an educated man would—”

  “It’s hardly fair to insinuate my husband is uneducated, Father.” I take a long sip from my glass as I realize I’ve committed the ultimate sin—interrupting my father.

  My father stares at me for a long moment, but ultimately doesn’t acknowledge my transgression. “I suppose there might be many ways to interpret the word educated. Just as there seem to be several ways to interpret the word musician.”

  “Have you listened to any of it, Father?” I give the man my sweetest smile. “Any of Pax’s music?”

  “I can’t say that that particular…music is quite to my taste.” My father takes a bite of his dinner, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “Though, the music you played was quite appropriate for a member of our family.”

  “His songs make people cry. I don’t think anyone ever cried but me while I was playing the flute.”

  My comment draws another snort from Leo.

  “Did you have something to add, Leopold? I don’t seem to remember your piano lessons going very well.”

  “Leopold had his own gifts. Just as all our children have, Edmund.” My mother isn’t even eating. Her hands remain folded in her lap. “I don’t think it’s particularly fair—”

  “You say you were self-taught?” My father cocks his head in Pax’s direction. “And have you ever had professional training?”

  “I…no.” Pax’s cheeks have stained a deep shade of crimson. “I get by fine, though.”

  “There’s a difference between ‘getting by’ and having a real profession, though, wouldn’t you say?” My father takes another bite of his dinner, pausing while he finishes chewing. “An untrained man can hardly be called a professional at anything.”

  The table is silent for a long moment.

  “Is that true though, Father? In all cases? Surely there have been great artists who were not professionally trained.” William looks like he’s almost as embarrassed as Pax.

  “You have an example, William?”

  Nicholas is the one who answers. “Vincent van Gogh had hardly any training. Henri Rousseau. Paul Gaugin. To name a few.”

  Pax’s eyes widen, and he blinks a few times toward Nicholas.

  “Of course, there’s also Maurice Utrillo. And one should never forget Grandma Moses.”

  My father frowns, his gaze narrowing as he looks down at his plate, spearing another piece of meat on his fork.

  A slow smile spreads over Pax’s face. “Dinner is delicious, Queen Penelope. I never knew chicken could taste this good.”

  Another snort comes from Leo, and William closes his eyes for a moment.

  “I’m delighted you’re enjoying the game hen, Patrick.” She smiles. “Pax. That is your legal name now, isn’t it?”

  Pax stares at her for a moment, nodding slowly. “It is. I had it legally changed a few years ago. It was what everyone was calling me, anyway.”

  My mother smiles at him. “And your mother? How did she feel about the change?”

  He shrugs. “She still calls me Patrick. You can, too. It doesn’t bother me either way.”

  I reach under the table and squeeze his leg. He’s doing better than I ever could have imagined.

  My father looks back over at Pax. “I would think that the utmost disrespect to a parent, wouldn’t you, Penelope?” He til
ts his head toward her. “After all the time parents spend choosing the perfect names for their children?”

  My mother glances at me, giving me a weak smile before turning her gaze to Pax. “I’m sure our new son-in-law meant no disrespect to his mother when he changed his name. After all, it was for your job, wasn’t it dear?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” Pax manager to glance over at me, searching my eyes. “I’m all about respect.”

  “I always sort of hated my name.” Leopold pipes in from the end of the table. “I always thought I’d make a much better Andrew.”

  My eldest brother has been strangely silent throughout dinner, but this seems to draw his attention. “Really, Leopold? I always thought you’d have made a fine Tweedle-Dum. Or possibly Tweedle-Dumber.”

  “Boys.” The curt tone of my mother’s voice silences them both instantly.

  Pax grins, picking up another forkful of the game hen. He glances at me before setting it back on his plate and cutting it into a dime-sized piece and sliding it into his mouth.

  “I always fancied the name Rockford myself.” William smiles over at us. “Perhaps I can have my wife make it legal for me.”

  “Rockford?” My mother feigns shock. “What in heaven’s name for?”

  William shrugs. “I always thought the nickname ‘Rocky’ would make me sound like a champion.”

  “I suppose it’s a better nickname than ‘Willy.’” Nicholas mumbles from beside me.

  Everyone at the table laughs but my father.

  He holds his hand up a second later, silencing us all before he takes another bite of his dinner.

  After another moment, my father looks over at Pax again. “Have you thought about what you might do now that you’re in Montovia?”

  “Do?” The ruddiness returns to Pax’s cheeks. “I thought I’d be spending time with your daughter. Learning more about her. About Montovia.” He presses his lips into a line. “And, you know, whatever.”

  My father’s brow arches, and he gives my husband a steely glare. “Whatever? We all have our roles to play in this family, Mr. Donovan. And I expect you’ll come to me with an idea of yours within the next fortnight.”

  Pax

  Wait, now I need to come up with a role?

  Sophia didn’t warn me about that. Neither did Monsieur Bonnaire. Is this another Montovian custom I don’t understand?

  I clear my throat and shrug. “That sounds great.” When all else fails, you smile and nod.

  The king can tell I’m full of shit, I’m sure. But I’m not sure what else he fucking expects me to say. The bastard is putting me on the spot on purpose, trying to make me crack. Well, he has no idea who he’s up against. He doesn’t intimidate me.

  I keep smiling as I scoop up another bite of food. “I look forward to finding my place in this family.”

  The king frowns slightly, but then he quickly returns to his normal, stoic self again. He looks like he wants to go on but before he can, William cuts in again.

  “Father,” he says, “I never told you about Justine’s ideas for the Salt Festival this year. She had a few great suggestions for how our countries might collaborate—call it a celebration of friendship.”

  I’ll admit it—I zone out a little as William and the king begin discussing this “Salt Festival,” whatever that is. It all gets a little too political for my tastes, especially when I’m having to use half my brain just to remember the excessive number of etiquette rules this country has. I take the opportunity to scarf down as much of my food as I can, since I suspect the king isn’t finished with me yet.

  But luck is on my side. Or, I suspect, a few members of Sophia’s family have taken pity on me. William and the queen keep the conversation flowing, keeping the king’s attention off me, and even Andrew and Nicholas don’t seem particularly eager to go back to interrogating me. I’m relieved when the king finally sets his napkin on the table and rises.

  Everyone else stands, too, and I follow suit. I scraped my plate clean ten minutes ago, and I’d have licked it, too, in different company. A guy can get used to food like this.

  All in all, I’m pretty pleased with myself. In fact, I’m grinning as Sophia and I head back to our suite.

  “I thought that went well,” I say cheerfully.

  “Hmm,” she replies noncommittally.

  I glance down at her. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic. You think that went badly?”

  “Not exactly.” She chews on her bottom lip. “But I wouldn’t say it went well, either.”

  “I didn’t curse out your father. Or belch at the table. Or set anything on fire. I’d say that was a success.”

  A smile flickers across her lips and disappears again. “Maybe you didn’t set anything on fire, but I don’t think you impressed my father.” Her frown deepens. “He’s up to something. I wish I knew what.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He asked you to choose what your role will be. That’s a test.” She looks up at me.

  “How do most royal spouses respond to the challenge?”

  “That’s just it,” she says. “Most of them never have to answer that question. Most of them are told what’s expected of them.” A little groove appears between her brows.

  “Well, I’ve already been told that I’m not allowed to have a title or any responsibility. Can’t I just say that I’m fine with being your husband?”

  She shakes her head. “That’s exactly why he asked you this—he wants to know what sort of assumptions you’re making.”

  I shrug. “Okay, so tell me what he wants to hear and that’s what I’ll say. I don’t care about any of this royal stuff, Sophia. You know that. I just want to be with you. I’ll say whatever I need to say.”

  “That’s just it,” she replies. “I have no idea what he wants you to say. If you try to claim too much responsibility, he’ll think you’re overstepping yourself and resent you for it, especially after he’s refused to give you a title. But if you claim too little responsibility…he’ll think you’re lazy and irresponsible, or that you’re just using me for the perks of being a royal without any of the work.”

  Now I’m frowning, too. “So what do I do?”

  She shakes her head. “I have no idea. But we’re going to have to come up with something. And soon. He only gave you two weeks.”

  “I thought he said I had a fortnight.”

  Sophia raises an eyebrow at me. “That’s what a fortnight means—two weeks.”

  I shrug. “Don’t look at me like that. How am I supposed to understand all your fancy royal speak? I’m just a normal guy from California.”

  “Not that normal,” she says, the hint of a grin returning.

  “I’m glad you think so.” I pull her closer to my side as we walk. “It means I haven’t completely lost my touch. I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Don’t worry,” she says, her smile widening. “You’re still one of a kind, Pax.”

  I grab her and swing her around, and she squeals as I pull her up against the wall with me. Before she can say anything, I kiss her.

  I feel some of the tension leave her body as my tongue slips along her bottom lip. But before I can get too excited, she pushes me away.

  “Not here,” she says. “Remember what happened last time. I’m surprised my father didn’t bring it up at dinner. I can’t believe Stephan wouldn’t have told him.”

  “Then let’s hurry back to the room before that little weasel shows up again,” I say, grabbing her hand and tugging her down the hall.

  We hurry toward our suite. When we get there, though, I notice her frown has returned again.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms. “I’ll win your father over. It’ll just take some time.”

  Her gaze slides to the side. “You say that now…”

  “What lesson is on the schedule for tomorrow?” I ask her.

  “Well…” She still won’t look at me directly. “I was thinking we’d start with
horseback riding in the morning. Then maybe a dance class in the afternoon.”

  I must make a face, because she rushes on.

  “My father loves horseback riding. I wouldn’t be surprised if he invites you on a ride soon, just to make you uncomfortable. And the State Dinner is coming up soon, which means you’ll need to know how to dance—”

  “Wait, what’s the State Dinner?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you know everything before the big day.” She rubs her forehead, and I can hear the words she leaves unspoken: If we make it to the big day.

  I pull her closer to me, hoping to put a smile back on her face.

  “It’ll be fine,” I tell her. “I already know I’ve got a sense of rhythm, so the dancing should be a breeze. And I’m sure riding a horse will be easy.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “There’s no reason to talk about it now, anyway,” I say, lowering my face toward hers. “We’ll worry about that in the morning. Right now, I think it’s time to go to bed. What do you say?”

  She doesn’t look completely convinced, but she must realize there’s no reason to worry about this anymore tonight. I scoop her up in my arms and carry her into the bedroom, and she throws her arms around me and kisses my neck.

  Tonight is about each other, I think as I lower her into the bed. The rest of the world can wait until tomorrow. Either way, I’m not worried. I’ve got this completely under control.

  As I stare down the enormous horse the stable master picked out for me, I begin to question everything.

  I never knew horses could look murderous, but I’m pretty sure this one has it out for me. I couldn’t tell you how, but I sense it in the way he’s looking at me. This horse is hungry for my blood.

  “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?” Mr. Ingleton says. I’m pretty sure that as the stable master he’s required to like all of his horses, but I’m also starting to wonder whether he gave me the Murder Horse on purpose. Maybe the king ordered him to do it. Maybe they’re planning some mysterious “accident” in the woods for me. It would probably be the easiest way to get rid of me.