Royal Disaster #6

by Ember Casey

  I look sheepishly back at Sophia. “I hope I didn’t just fuck things up with her. I’d hate to turn your mother against me right when I’m about to get your father on my side.”

  “I think she’s fine,” Sophia says. “But what are you talking about? Where have you been?”

  “Planning,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “Figuring out exactly how I’m going to court your father.”

  She looks a little worried. I don’t blame her.

  “Come and see,” I say, grabbing her hands and pulling her out of her chair. “Your father should be meeting us soon. I hope.”

  “Wait, what have you done?”

  I laugh. “You’ll see.”

  I lead her through the palace and out back to the stables. I’ve spent all morning getting everything ready, and I think I might actually pull this off. Assuming His Majesty shows up, of course. I asked Monsieur Bonnaire to help me draft up a nice-looking formal invitation. He told me this whole thing was a little unorthodox, but otherwise there’s nothing wrong with it, etiquette-wise. So I just have to hope that the king finds my creativity refreshing.

  Mr. Ingleton has finished saddling up Cinnamon by the time we arrive. He was hesitant about saddling the king’s horse without a direct order from His Majesty himself, but when I explained the situation, he seemed to take pity on me. Though I’m pretty sure I’ll get thrown under the bus if the king decides to get pissed about any of this.

  Sophia eyes Cinnamon, then looks back at me. “You still haven’t explained what’s going on. And I’m a little afraid of what it is if it includes both my father and a horse.” Humor flashes in her eyes. “Do you think if you let him watch you fall off a couple of times he’ll be so entertained he’ll take pity on you?”

  “If only it were that easy.” I grin, and then pat Cinnamon on the neck. I’m still nervous around this guy, but we’re becoming friends. I think. It’s possible he’s just waited until today—until the one day it really matters—to try and kill me. “And I haven’t fallen off in a week. Give me some credit.”

  She smiles and strokes Cinnamon on the nose. “I’m trying.”

  “I thought I’d take your father for a ride and have a chat with him. Man-to-man. Let us get to know each other a little better.”

  Instantly, she looks worried again. “What kind of chat are we talking about?”

  “Trust me, Sophia, I’m going to charm him.” I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, and I turn.

  Thank God. The king has just entered the stables, and though he looks annoyed to be here, he showed up. That’s a victory.

  His frown deepens when he sees us, and he strides over. “What is the meaning of this?” He raises his hand, holding the letter I had delivered to him.

  Sophia takes the letter from him, and her eyes scan the words. She looks up at me in surprise.

  But I’ve already prepared for this. I bow deeply—just as Monsieur Bonnaire showed me.

  “Your Majesty,” I say, “I would be honored if you’d join me on a horseback ride. I have some important matters I’d like to discuss with you, and I thought it would be more pleasant for both of us to get some exercise around your beautiful grounds as we talked.”

  When I straighten, I find both Sophia and the king looking at me in shock.

  “I understand that you’re a busy man, Your Majesty,” I go on, “but since we already had a meeting scheduled for this afternoon, I hoped you could make the time for this.”

  For a moment, I think the king is going to refuse. Just to spite me. But then his eyes flick past me—to where I hear Mr. Ingleton leading his horse out of his stall—and I see something flicker in the king’s eyes.

  “Very well,” he says stiffly. “You can have half an hour.”

  “You honor me, Your Majesty.”

  The king strides over to his horse, and I turn back to Sophia, who still looks stunned.

  “Who the heck are you and what have you done to Pax?” she demands in a whisper.

  I grin at her. “That’s Prince Pax, to you.” I wink. “Wish me luck.”

  It only takes me one try to get up on Cinnamon, which is something of a miracle. I still feel like I’m only a strong breeze away from falling right off his back, but I try not to think about that. I turn Cinnamon and lead him out of the stable after the king.

  His Majesty still doesn’t trust me, obviously, but his spirits already seem a little brighter now that he’s on the back of his horse—a big, beautiful stallion I heard Mr. Ingleton call Ulysses.

  I don’t push it. We ride in silence for a little while, out through the palace grounds. I try to focus on the beautiful scenery all around me and not the lurching in my stomach every time Cinnamon takes a step. I’m gripping the reins so tight my knuckles are white.

  Finally, the king speaks. He sounds more content than I’ve ever heard him. “It’s been too long since they let me ride.”

  I’m not sure if he’s waiting for a response from me. In fact, I’m not sure if he even remembers I’m here. He’s tipped his head back slightly, and his eyes are closed.

  But I’m not going to get through this by being a pussy.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Your Majesty,” I say. “You’re a fine rider.”

  The king opens his eyes and glances at me sidelong. “You’re laying it on a little thick, aren’t you? Monsieur Bonnaire could teach you a thing or two about the proper execution of flattery.”

  “It’s not flattery if it’s true,” I point out. “But maybe you just look like a good rider to me because I’m so bad at it myself.”

  He’s still watching me out of the corner of his eye, but he says nothing.

  We ride further, toward the orchards. I try to guide him toward where I want us to go and he lets me take the lead. His lack of argument makes me suspicious, though. I wonder if he’s setting me up for something. Waiting to see me fail. Or worse.

  We ride through rows of fruit trees, some still flowering and some already dropping fruit. I don’t know fuck all about fruit trees, but they definitely look pretty, if you’re into that sort of thing.

  Finally, the king speaks again.

  “Is there a reason you went through all this trouble?” he says. “Or do you really mean for us to ride around in silence for the next twenty minutes? Have you decided on your role or haven’t you?”

  “Actually, You Majesty, I was waiting until we reached a certain spot. Just over here.” I lead Cinnamon just a little ahead, trying not to jerk in the saddle when he speeds up. I emerge from the orchards onto the far side of the trees, where a grassy hill overlooks the valley below.

  I had everything set up—a big, cushioned lawn chair for His Majesty, a small, slightly less cushy one for me. A bottle of brandy and some fruit and cheese sit on a small table between them. I have no idea what kind of food the king likes, but how can you go wrong with alcohol and cheese?

  But his eyes go right past the food and to the guitar case propped against my chair. His eyebrows rise.

  “Are you going to be giving me a private concert?” he asks. By the tone of his voice, he’s not very excited by the prospect.

  “I had a little something prepared,” I say. “But first, how about a drink?”

  I swing down from my saddle—awkwardly, but at least I land on my feet. The king dismounts easily, tosses his reins to me, and strides over to his chair.

  At least he’s going along with it, I tell myself. He might not be acting especially enthusiastic, but it could be worse. He’s here, and he’s listening.

  I tie the horses’ reins around a nearby tree branch, the way Mr. Ingleton showed me. I double-knot it, just in case—the last thing I want is for them to get loose and run off, stranding us here. Then I walk over to my chair and grab the bottle of brandy. I pour us each a glass and hand one to him.

  “To your wonderful daughter, Sophia,” I say, raising my glass.

  The king still looks suspicious, but he lifts his glass. “To Sophia.”


  We each take a sip. The king watches me over the rim of his glass.

  “I’m still waiting,” he says. “I don’t have all day to sit around here with you.”

  I clear my throat. “I just wanted to spend some time with you. Man-to-man,” I tell him. “And to assure you that I only want the best for your daughter.” I spread my arms, indicating the view below us. “And what better place to do that than here? You deserve a break, Your Majesty. And I, for one, am always happy for the chance to take in more of your beautiful country.”

  “Get to the point, Mr. Donovan.”

  “The point is…” I take another quick sip of my drink. “I want to be the man you believe your daughter deserves. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to do it.” I set my glass back down on the table. “I know you don’t respect my career, Your Majesty. And I can understand why. But I thought, perhaps, I might show you another side to my music.” I grab the guitar case and pull it open. Inside is one of my favorite instruments—an acoustic guitar with the purest sound I’ve ever heard. I’ve had it for years, and though I’ve owned dozens of guitars in that time—some much more expensive than this one—nothing has ever matched it for pure beauty.

  “I understand that I’m a little untraditional,” I tell him. “But I think that’s why Sophia and I work so well together. We balance each other. Your daughter teaches me new things every day.” I risk a glance in his direction, but his expression is perfectly blank.

  Whelp, I might as well keep going.

  “I wrote a song for her,” I say, pulling the guitar into my lap. “About her and Montovia. And I want you to be the first to hear it. Would you do me that honor?”

  I shoot another look at him, and this time his mouth has twisted slightly. He’s not going for this at all. Fuck.

  But there’s no stopping now. I might as well play the song and hope it wins him over. I softly strum the first couple of chords, and the king makes a choking sound.

  Fuck. He hates it already.

  My fingers are still on the strings, and I look up. But instead of seeing disgust on the king’s face, I see distress. Fear.

  His hand goes to his chest. “Get…my…horse…”

  With a jolt, I realize what’s happening. His heart is giving out again.

  I leap up and run over to the horses, grabbing the reins. But I tied the knot too tightly. I can’t get it undone.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck…

  I glance back at the king, who’s staggered to his feet. “My…horse!” His voice is raw.

  I can’t get the reins undone, and I didn’t think to bring a knife out here. But if I don’t get him back to the palace soon, I don’t want to think about what will happen.

  Which only leaves me one choice.

  I run over to him and bend over in front of him.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” I say, and then I grab him and lift him over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

  And then I turn and run, as fast as I can.

  Sophia

  Summer is my favorite time of year, and there is no place I’d rather spend it than in Montovia. My mother has spent years cultivating and planning the gardens here—not just those surrounding the palace, but also many of the parks in the city.

  This is why I need to be here, I think as I make my way to the small stream at the edge of the manicured grounds. This is what I want to share with Pax and our children.

  I smile to myself at the thought of having a child. My father might want me to wait ten years to bring a child into our marriage, but I don’t think I want to wait that long. I’ve never seen my brother Leopold so happy as when his son Matthew was born. And even though William is nervous about the coming birth of his twins, I’ve never seen him happier. Andrew, of course, hasn’t changed much, but I suspect that once the day of his child’s birth draws a bit closer, even he will be ecstatic.

  Surely, my father can’t keep that happiness from Pax and me.

  I pick up one of the smooth stones lying at the edge of the stream. I have so many memories here from when I was a girl—skipping rocks, catching frogs. All things I want my child to do, perhaps with his or her cousins.

  I’m about to toss the stone into the water when I hear something in the orchards across the way. My eyes widen as that something comes into view—it’s Pax, carrying my father over his shoulder.

  They collapse at the edge of the trees, and I hear a scream. It takes me a moment to realize it came from me.

  I don’t really remember the journey to the hospital. We’re in a small room now, probably one of those reserved for bereaved families. Nicholas sits beside me, holding my hand. Leopold and Elle are sitting across from us, and William is over on the side of the room, flipping through a magazine. Andrew sits stoically opposite him, his hands folded together in his lap.

  My mother is with my father, presumably. Whatever is going on, they still haven’t allowed me to go to see my husband.

  The strange silence in the room is making everything worse. Even in the worst of situations, my brothers are usually making jokes or at least picking at each other to lighten the mood. But now, everyone—even William—seems to think better of it.

  Nicholas squeezes my hand, almost as though he can read my thoughts.

  I look up at him, and he raises his eyebrows, almost a silent question about how I’m doing.

  I shrug, looking away. Not well, I silently telegraph to him. Not well at all.

  I still have no idea what it was my husband was up to when he was out with my father. No one has told us anything, and I’m sure we’re all sitting here thinking the worst. It isn’t as though medicine in Montovia is any different than it is in America, but here, they do seem to feel less of a need to keep families informed than they do in Pax’s country.

  After another long, awkward, silent few hours, the door to the small room finally opens. Everyone in the room stands at the sound.

  The head physician from the palace is here, and she looks at me, giving me a nod. “Your Highness. You may see your husband now.”

  “How is our father?” Andrew takes a step toward the woman. “Is there any news?”

  Something flashes across her expression, but she covers it immediately. “We’re still awaiting a few test results.”

  “May we see him?” William looks as worried as I’ve ever seen him.

  “I’ll leave that up to your mother.” The physician gives a shallow curtsy as she backs out of the room.

  I turn to Nicholas, who is still holding my hand. “Come with me.”

  He gives me a single nod and walks with me out of the room.

  We’re led into the intensive care unit of the small hospital. I can only guess that the room with the people rushing in and out belongs to my father—the walls of each room are made of glass, but curtains have been drawn around that particular area, rendering the contents completely private.

  Pax is in the room next to it. The wall is also glass, and I can see him lying in his bed with his eyes closed as we near.

  He’s pale, perhaps not quite as much as after he was shot, but my stomach clenches at the sight.

  The doctor follows us into the room, sliding the door closed behind her. “He’s going to be fine. He’s exhausted. From what I can tell, he carried your father on his back for a dozen or so kilometers, and he hasn’t yet regained his strength from his previous ordeal.”

  I say nothing, but I drop Nicholas’s hand and go to my husband’s bedside. My chest tightens as I sit in the chair beside him. It hasn’t been that long at all that it was exactly like this—me sitting next to his lifeless body, praying that he would wake up.

  “We had to sedate him. He was insistent that he didn’t need help. But he’s severely dehydrated, and we’d like to monitor his heart overnight.”

  I nod as I take his hand in mine. To my surprise, he squeezes my fingers, and his lips tick into the slightest of smiles.

  The doctor walks to the opposite side of the bed. “Mr.
Donovan, try to rest.”

  “Mm.” His smile widens a bit as his eyes flutter open. “I’m just glad she’s here,” he mumbles.

  The physician shakes her head as she tries to fight her own smile. “As I said, he’s been fighting us the entire day.”

  The door of Pax’s room slides open, and a young man steps into the room. “Doctor.” He glances between us, his gaze finally coming to rest on the physician. “We have the results. It’s…it’s what we suspected.”

  The physician frowns. She nods at the man, dismissing him, before she looks back over at Nicholas and me. “I’ll need to speak to your mother.”

  I sit at Pax’s bedside, watching him sleep until I’m summoned to the room next door. My family is gathered there, my mother at my father’s bedside, much as I had just been with Pax.

  I look over at Elle. She looks back at me, and her eyebrows draw together slightly. As a physician herself, she probably already knows what’s going on.

  My mother’s eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, and she clutches my father’s hand as she looks down at him, though he seems to be completely unconscious.

  The doctor finally enters the room, sliding the door closed behind her. She walks to the side of the bed opposite my mother, turning back to look at the rest of us.

  “There have been some complications.” She looks down at the clipboard she carries in her arm. “Your father has suffered another heart attack—”

  “The idiot took him horseback riding,” Andrew grumbles. “He should have known better.”

  “Regardless of what happened today, your father’s heart was already very weak.” The doctor looks over at Andrew. “It’s entirely likely this event would have occurred no matter what activity he was performing today.”

  Andrew glares over at me, and then looks back at the doctor. “But if that man so much as—”

  “Mr. Donovan was not the cause of your father’s heart failure, Your Highness.”

  “Heart…failure?” William’s voice cracks. “What exactly is going on?”