Once Upon a Prince

EIGHTEEN



Brilliant-colored festoons swung from every point of the ballroom ceiling. Long ones, short ones, braided and woven ones, with every conceivable color.

The Parrsons House ballroom seemed to fly with the lauded and exported Brighton traditional festoons invented when Nathaniel’s ancestor, King Mark IV, longed for something to battle his dark moods.

The musicians, affectionately called the Parrots for their fine feathers—detailed, colorful costumes—paraded around the grand, ornate hall in vivid array.

The Lord Chamberlain, Earl Browne, announced the guests at the Colors Coronation Ball as they arrived. Royals and dignitaries from seventy-five nations, decked in dashing black tie and beautiful, brilliant gowns, approached the dais where Nathaniel stood in royal array with Mum and Stephen.

Nathaniel welcomed each guest. Over six hundred for the coronation ball. This was his life from now on—standing and greeting, receptions and dinners. Diplomacy.

He was grateful to welcome old friends like Prince William and Kate, Prince Harry, and Prince Carl Phillip, where he dismissed formality and gave them exuberant hugs.

He was the first of his peers to become king. Tomorrow morning, seven thousand guests would file into Watchman Abbey for his coronation.

The Lord Chamberlain and the King’s Office arranged for a live broadcast beyond Brighton Kingdom to the UK, the Americas, Africa, Asia, Australia, and the Middle East.

It would be King Nathaniel’s first introduction to much of the world. Albert, in the King’s Office, reported a viewership well into the billions.

But Nathaniel only wondered about one. Susanna Truitt. Would she wake up before dawn and turn on her telly?

The floor in front of the dais cleared as he finished greeting the guests. Lord Browne permitted the guests to enter twenty at a time, giving Nathaniel a breather before each cluster.

“Everyone okay?” Nathaniel peered at Mum, an old hand at receiving lines.

“Doing fine.” Mum exchanged a glance with Stephen.

Nathaniel regarded each of them for a moment. Neither would look him square in the eye. They’d been acting strangely all day. “What’s going on, you two?”

“Nothing.”

“Nate, pay attention. Lord Browne is sending in the next group.”

Lady Genevieve waited at the door in a rich, clinging red gown, which accented all her physical charms. Skilled and practiced at presenting herself, she posed in the soft light that floated down between the festoons. When the Lord Chamberlain announced her—“Lady Genevieve Hawthorne”—she commanded every eye in the room.

She moved with such poise she appeared to float. A small “oooh” ballooned across the ballroom.

Could she be his wife? The groundswell for him to marry her mounted with each passing day. Along with more news of Brighton and Hessenberg’s struggling economies.

New odds were being set for him to propose by week’s end. Never mind he’d not been seen with her in months. Not since the October state dinner. It had only fueled the press’s romantic fires.

At the dais, she paused and offered her hand. A scholar, businesswoman, beauty queen, and skilled athlete, he could do worse. Much worse.

“Lady Genevieve.” He bowed, knowing she expected him to step off the dais to greet her as was the tradition for the woman in the king’s life.

But if he received her in such a manner, cameras would flash, speculation would rise, and the rumors would go viral. Odds would escalate. If he stepped off the dais for her, it meant she had the first and last dances of the evening. Tradition dictated it for unmarried princes and kings.

But Nathaniel didn’t feel much like tradition tonight. So he shook Genevieve’s hand after his bow, remained on the dais, and said, “Welcome to the Colors Coronation Ball.”

Ginny barely refreshed her wilting smile before a photographer snapped her picture. As she passed the dais, she cast Nathaniel a hard, quizzical glance.

Why didn’t you receive me?

“You’re not dancing with Ginny first?” Mum asked.

Nathaniel glanced at her. “I thought I’d dance with you.”

“Nonsense. There are too many beautiful women here for you to waste a tradition on me.” Mum cast a coy side-glance to where Ginny waited in the shadow of the dais. “What was wrong with choosing Ginny?”

“Nothing.” In theory. Nathaniel returned to greeting his guests.

Ginny captured his masculine eye—she was a vision no doubt—but she failed to capture his heart. Even if pieces of Susanna Truitt did not reside there, he cared not to make room for Ginny. Seeing Ginny in the entryway, dressed in red, nearly gave him a cold sweat. There was something amiss about her. Something … disturbing. Could he marry her for Brighton, Hessenberg, and the entail’s sake? He might convince himself. But the twist in his gut, the brake on his heart, warned him to wait.

The pipers played a rousing tune, passing by the dais. Nathaniel joined the clapping and tapping.

The Lord Chamberlain announced the prime minister, “His Lordship, Henry Montgomery, Prime Minister of Brighton Kingdom.” He paraded past the dais alone.

“‘Tis a grand night, Your Royal Highness.”

“I believe so, Henry. Music, dancing, fair maidens, and gallant men.”

“Or fair queens,” the prime minister said with a glance at Mum.

Ah, what have we here? But Mum paid the prime minister no special attention.

When Henry passed on, Lady Genevieve intercepted him. A dark dread iced Nathaniel. She was up to something besides marrying him. He just couldn’t figure out what.

The court parade continued until eight o’clock. Then the lights flickered and the orchestra finished their final tuning.

Nathaniel was ready to move, to dance, to sit, anything but stand. Stephen hopped off the dais to troll for his first dance. A cluster of eligible women eagerly gathered ‘round. Even if he’d not been born a prince, his charm would make him a favorite of the ladies.

The lights flickered again, and Nathaniel glanced toward the Lord Chamberlain to see if he’d shut the expansive double doors to indicate the beginning of the evening. He had not closed them yet, so Nathaniel scanned the guests, considering his options for the first dance.

He caught the eye of Lady Hana, but she appeared to be clinging to a strapping footballer. Truth was, few of the women wanted to dance with him. And fewer wanted to tether their lives to a husband who lived and died to serve the people. His life was not his own. His life did not belong to the one he loved. It was a daunting task to be wife of the king. So what made strong, independent Lady Genevieve so eager? Especially when she didn’t love him? He watched her talk with members of Parliament.

What are you up to, Ginny?

He could ask her to dance, pry into her thoughts, see if she’d slip up and hint at her intentions. But no, he couldn’t rouse himself to do it.

Mum? He turned to offer his hand, but she was knit together with Henry in what appeared to be a somber dialog.

The orchestra finished tuning, and the breath of the room held, waiting for the king to choose his dance partner.

Nathaniel checked with Lord Browne, his heart somewhat panicked at not having found a suitable partner. How fitting …

Lord Browne held the doors as he talked with late arrivals.

Let them in, man.

Nathaniel craned to see who tried to gain entrance. A woman in a pure white gown with long golden tresses and a second in a dark gown with burnished hair.

A whiff of familiarity pushed through his heart and lured him off the dais. Who was beyond the doors?

“Nathaniel? Where are you going?” Mum called, low and controlled.

“Pardon me,” he muttered, squeezing through the guests gathered along the wall.

The crowd parted. “Your Majesty …”

As he arrived at the door, the Lord Chamberlain turned around. “Oh, Your Majesty. Begging your pardon. We’ve two more to announce. Then we shall begin.”

Susanna.

Everything stopped. The voices, the orchestra hum … his heart. Beautiful, gracious Susanna. Along with lovely Avery.

“Susanna …” He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and whirl her around. Instead he curled his fingers into a fist and recognized her with a nod. What was she doing here?

She bounced down in her adorable, awkward curtsy, teetering to one side, and he smiled, remembering that day on the porch. “Your Majesty.”

Avery gave a deep, practiced curtsy, and Nathaniel nearly burst with joy. Now he wanted to dance. To celebrate. But first …

“Do your duty, Lord Chamberlain.” Nathaniel winked at Susanna before turning for the dais, cutting through the swath of black tuxedos and colorful ball gowns.

What a grand night this had turned out to be. How did she come to be here?

When he arrived at his post and faced the door, the Lord Chamberlain announced the last but most special guests.

“The Misses Susanna Truitt and Avery Truitt from St. Simons Island, Georgia, the United States of America.”

Come on, Suz. Enter with your head high.

Susanna glided into the room, wearing a beautiful gown that fitted her in all the right places. Avery struck an elegant pose in her shimmery, beaded black gown, strutting proudly beside her sister.

Walking to the edge of the ballroom floor, Susanna stopped, not moving past the edge of the crowd.

The Lord Chamberlain whispered in her ear and ushered her forward. A glowing blush spread across her face and turned her blue eyes into summer pools as she moved toward the dais.

Come on, show them who you are. Bold.

“Who is that?” Mum stood beside Nathaniel.

“Susanna, my friend from America. I don’t know how she came to be here, but I’m most glad.”

“Ah, I see.”

Every warm body froze with all eyes on the Truitt sisters. The orchestra hovered on the same single note, ready to explode into the opening waltz once Nathaniel greeted his final guests and chose a dance partner.

He cared not to hide his smile one minute more. He let it spring to life as he greeted his Susanna and Avery.

The ballroom doors closed, and Nathaniel stepped off the dais, took Susanna’s hand, and peered into her eyes.

“May I have this dance?” He rose up to a hush of wonderment as he led her to the open, waiting floor. “The strings on those violins will pop if we don’t let them play a song soon.”

“I’d be honored.” She gave him her hand. The music released the moment he swept her into his arms and swept her about the floor, feeling lighter than air and freer than a bird on the wing.

She wore the only white gown in a sea of color. She tried not to notice she’d missed the dress code as she turned about the floor—on gold Louboutin tip toe—in Nathaniel’s arms. And everyone watched. Gawked.

Then there was Avery, dressed in a black sheath, watching and smiling with her nose in the air. A small cluster of young men had noticed her and started their approach.

Susanna’s plan was to sneak into the ball well after the svelte Lady Genevieve had been introduced. After she’d captured every man’s eye and sparked every woman’s envy. After the first waltz had been danced.

But the movie-usher-looking dude at the door, the gentleman with the formal voice, saw them, and when she told him their names, he beckoned them inside, killing her plan to sneak inside.

“I can’t believe you are here.” Nathaniel finally spoke, guiding her through the dance.

“Am I not supposed to be wearing white?” She stayed on the toes of her Louboutins and waltzed with the king to the melody of the music. “Because it feels like I should be wearing a vivid, colorful gown?”

“Susanna, how did you get here?”

“I received an invitation.” His expression confirmed her suspicion. He didn’t know. “You didn’t send it, did you?”

“No, but I’ll reward the person who did.” His smile rivaled the stardust floating about the ballroom. “I wanted to call—”

“You don’t owe me anything, Nate.”

“I’m sorry for the way I left you on the beach.”

“Your father had died, Nate, please, no apology. If you hadn’t run off, I’d be worried about your soul.”

He spun her with the music. “I apologize for the way I spoke about the marriage act.” He drew her close, bending his cheek to her hair. “As if it were your problem, not mine.”

“I’m glad you told me. Better than waiting twelve years …” She laughed, and he snatched her tighter, his own laugh rising as he spun her around.

The couples nearest them “oohed” and gave a wide berth.

“I look ridiculous, don’t I? Spoiling the whole décor of the ball. How did I not think a colors ball required a colorful gown? Did I miss the asterisk in the blue book?”

“I don’t know about any asterisk, but you look amazing.” He’d not stopped making her feel treasured since they first said hello. “Color is not a requirement, just tradition. The Colors Coronation Ball started in the 1850s when everyone wore bright colors to King Mark IV’s ball. I’m sure white is fine, though.” He fixed his gaze on her. “It looks good in this room.”

“Then I’m not sorry.” Susanna couldn’t resist him a moment longer. She closed her eyes and leaned against him. Just be in the moment. No expected outcomes.

The waltz ended and Nate gripped her hand, curling it to his chest. “Follow me.”

He covered the dance floor in long strides, the marble pattern that of the Brighton flag. He ducked in and around the guests, leading her toward a dim exit.

They curved around a wall and into a lean crevice, which ended abruptly at a paneled wall.

Rapping on the top right corner, a wooden lever released. When Nate engaged the handle, a panel opened.

“A secret door? Ooh, a mystery.”

“Watch your head.” Nate patted the low doorway as he ducked inside.

“This isn’t the tower, is it? Off with my head for wearing a white gown to the Colors Ball. Avery’s going to be so jealous.”

“It’s not the tower.” Nate pulled her into him. “I’ve missed you.”

In the secret room, he held her in a way that made her feel a part of him.

“Me too.”

“Susanna.” He touched her chin to raise her face to his, but she broke out of his arms.

A kiss? He’d steal her heart for sure, and she feared she’d never get it back.

“So, what is this room?” They were in some kind of turret with arched windowpanes, bookshelves, and an eclectic arrangement of couches and chairs, floor lamps and tables. The amber lights from the grounds outside bounced against the glass and gave the round, dark room a romantic aura.

“Library. The architect designed it as a playroom for the king’s children, but over time it became a library.” Nathaniel hit a switch, and a fire ignited in the stone fireplace. A second switch engaged the fixtures moored in the ceiling recesses and spilled light down the walls.

“Oh, Nate.” Susanna moved through the leather club chairs to the center of the room, her gold crystal Louboutins sinking into the plush carpet. “It’s incredible.”

Hanging on the wall between the bookcases was a portrait of a young man dressed in ornate robes, his hand on his sash, his right foot jutted forward. Waves of his dark hair drifted into his high, ruffled collar. Amusement adorned his expression.

“Who is this?”

“King Stephen I. At about twenty-five.”

Susanna pressed her hand to her heart. His eyes seemed real, awake, as if they watched the room. Watched her. “Your ancestor,” she whispered, stretching to brush her fingers over the tip of the sovereign’s shoe. “You look like him.”

“You think?” Nathaniel rattled the balcony doors. “Blooming thing sticks in winter. One would expect it to be easier to open when it’s cold, but no, not in this old manse.” A click sounded, and Nathaniel cheered himself as the doors swung open. “You can’t beat me, you ol’ door.”

A fresh cold ushered the stale air from the room. The flames in the fireplace bent, fighting to stand.

Nathaniel stood behind her now, along with the lovely gust of cold, crystal air. She was happy. At peace. No matter how this trip ended, she already knew she was glad she came.

“So I look like him? I’d rather be like him,” Nathaniel said. “The people of Brighton had just made him king after he freed them from British rule. Stephen I snuck into Brighton’s north port with his merry band of twenty-five and captured three anchored ships. He sent a letter to Henry VIII demanding Brighton’s freedom or he’d never see his men or ships again. Being as one of the captured admirals was in his court, Henry agreed. Brighton became a free nation. No more serfdom. A few years later, he assisted Hessenberg in gaining her freedom from Prussia.”

“His blood runs in your veins.”

“I fear it’s been diluted through the ages.” He laughed low, then encircled her in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

Just be, Susanna.

“Where are you staying?” he whispered in her ear, melting her.

“The Parrsons House.” She arched back to see his face. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

“Not a clue. They must have hid your name from me. I never saw you on the guest list.” He released her, walking around her to face King Stephen I, hands in his pockets. “Tomorrow I’ll be crowned because of this man’s courage. Because he thought the Brightonians deserved freedom. To keep their own crops, their own wages.”

“Are you nervous?” She was destined to love men who were duty bound, wasn’t she?

“A bit. We’ve rehearsed plenty enough. If royals do anything well, it’s rehearse ceremony.” But when he turned to her, his thoughts about becoming king were not what she saw in his eyes. “Susanna—”

She moved away from him, her heart fluttering, and toward the portrait. “Your country values freedom, independence. All the way back to this man. He risked his own life to free people who were all but enslaved to King Henry VIII’s feudal system.”

“Yes, he did. Serving the people for their prosperity is part of the royal signature and pledge.”

His voice, his presence whispered around her, wooing her. If she released her stiff posture, she’d fall into him.

“Susanna.” His fingers grazed her neck, setting her on fire, as he brushed aside her hair.

“I’d better find Avery.” She whirled around for the escape hatch, because if she didn’t get out of here, no telling what crazy confession she’d make. I love you. Marry me. I’ll bear your children. “What if she’s looking for me? Poor Aves, all alone out there.”

“Trust me, she’s being tended to by any number of blokes.”

“Still, I’d better go check.”

Just before she reached for the door, he said, “I’m in love with you,” and followed his words across the room.

“W–what?” She’d seen it in his eyes, but now she’d heard it. She reached for the nearest chair.

“I love you.”

“Couldn’t you leave well enough alone? Just dance with me, flirt with me, then send me on my way? No, you have to tell me you love me. To what end?” Vim and vigor took hold of her trembling limbs. “What am I supposed to do with that? Cart it home, tell it to my grandkids someday? ‘Your grammy had the love of a prince?’”

“I’m sorry, Susanna, but it’s true. I can’t fight it anymore. What I feel for you is more real than his blood”—he pointed to King Stephen I—“flowing in my veins. I’m tired of holding it all together. You’re on my mind constantly. Since the day I met you at the lover’s tree.”

“Lover’s Oak.” She dug her fingers into the upholstery.

“When you walked in tonight, I felt as if we’d never been apart. It almost seemed as if some part of me expected you to come.”

“What about Lady Genevieve?”

“Lady Genev—ah, you’ve been reading the LibP online.”

“They say you have to marry her … your economy depends on it.” She walked over to the first king’s portrait. “He slipped into a bay and captured ships to free Brighton. Surely you have that same kind of courage.”

Why was she arguing against her own heart? The romantic glow of the room faded, and though the fire flickered, darkness edged the corners and a bit of Susanna’s heart.

“You want me to marry her? I don’t love her. I love you. Besides, Lady Genevieve barely qualifies as a relative of Prince Francis. I daresay you have more of King Stephen’s blood in you than Ginny has of Prince Francis.”

“But if you marry her, she becomes a royal and meets the requirement of the entail.”

“I can’t believe you want me to marry her when I just told you I love you.” He sighed and sat on the arm of the courtier chair.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I wanted you to marry Ginny.” Susanna sat in the chair and rested her head against his back, feeling a bit of his burden. “I don’t know what I’m talking about, Nate. I’m sorry.”

He took her hand and drew her around to face him. The wind rattled the windows, peeking in to see if anyone was home. His gaze, his warmth, his touch …

She trembled right down to the tips of her Louboutins.

“It’s cold.” Susanna rubbed her arms. The heat of the fireplace stayed on the far side of the turret.

“Take my jacket.” He shrugged out of his tuxedo then walked over to close the balcony doors. He remained there, gazing out. “I miss Dad. I’ll be going about my day and remember something I meant to ask him but never got ’round to it.”

“My granny used to say, ‘You can’t live life looking through the rearview mirror, shug.’”

His laugh bounced off the cold, amber-washed pane. “Wise woman.”

“Do you feel you should marry her?”

“Your granny?” He glanced back when she laughed.

“Ginny.”

“I lie awake at night wondering if I want it to be in the history books that on my watch I had it in my power to give a small duchy her freedom and my own country financial liberty but I refused because the solution involved marrying a woman I didn’t love.” He glanced down as he stamped the floor. “I can hear my ancestors rolling around in their graves.”

“They would marry for political expediency?”

“Absolutely.”

“But isn’t that what the marriage act was all about? To stop the politics of royal marriages? Wouldn’t marrying Ginny align Brighton with another country?”

He stared at her for a moment. “Yes, but remember the two adrift sisters? Hessens are not seen as foreigners.”

Susanna motioned to King Stephen I. “Would he marry for freedom’s sake?”

“I think King Stephen I would’ve preferred battle than marrying against his will,” Nathaniel said, turning to the windowed doors again.

Susanna stood beside him, tugging on his sleeve. “Do what you have to do, Nate. Be courageous.”

He gazed down at her, slipping his hand into hers. “When I look at you, I feel courageous. When I look at you, I see St. Simons Island in the summer.” He reached up with his free hand and stroked her hair. “I see a beautiful woman that I was trying to forget until she showed up for my coronation.”

“Should I have stayed home?” She stepped aside, freeing her hand from his.

“No, no …” His peering, blue eyes glistened. “I just wish it were July and I was driving by Lover’s Oak.”

“Would you stop again?” She smoothed her hand over her skirt, finding comfort in the silky sheen. “Knowing what you know now?”

“Certainly, only I’d not wait three days to see you again.”

“We have two oceans and five hundred years of history separating us, Nate. My guess is if God meant me to be with you, I would’ve been born here. Even if Ginny and this Hessenberg mess weren’t part of the problem, you legally couldn’t marry me, right? Has that changed?” He shook his head. She steadied her voice. “And probably never will. I’d better go find Avery.”

He didn’t stop her this time as she ducked through the panel opening and moved down the narrow hall. The gold glitter of her shoes lit her through the deep shadows. Her jaw and neck hurt from holding back her tears.

When she heard the allegro tempo of the violins and rounded the secret passage into the grand ballroom, she fashioned a smile.

The sight was breathtaking. The trimmings, the music, the elegance of colorful dancers. She glanced down the hall one last time. No Nate.

It was for the best. She could not come between a man and his country. If it were even possible. Then she spotted Avery, laughing and dancing with an astute, regal-looking young man.

That image alone was worth the trip. Avery lost in a fairy tale.

Susanna paused on the edge of the dance floor, suddenly aware of sharp, scornful glances. She scanned the shadows along the back wall, looking for a place to hide and figure out her heart.

She loved Nate. Of that she was certain. Yet his confession about Brighton, Hessenberg, and Lady Genevieve gave her a glimpse into his world. And it didn’t revolve around her.

A familiar hand took hold of hers. Nate stepped in front of her. “Maybe we can’t have everything we want in this relationship, Susanna.” He bent his lips to her ears and whispered, “But we have this ball and tonight, you are my queen.”

The firebrand of chills burned up any possible refusal. She let him lead her to the dance floor and take her into his arms, swirling again through the stardust to the music of their own hearts.