Once Upon a Prince

TWENTY-ONE



A bright light fell over Nathaniel. He stirred, cold and stiff but cozy, still wanting to sleep. A warm body pressed in against him. He reached round behind him, resting his hand on the high curve of a feminine hip.

Susanna. He bolted upright. “Suz.”

They’d talked long into the night—about life and love, about being royal and being Southern. The two factions weren’t so far apart. “Suz.” He gently shook her shoulder.

She bolted upright, bonking her head on the altar. “Ouch … for crying out loud.” She punished the time-darkened wood with a slap of her hand, then scrambled to untangle her feet from the blanket. “Let go, you stupid thing.” Her words created crystal billows in the frigid air.

“I take it you’re not a morning person.” He sat up and smoothed his every-which-way hair into place.

“No, but I’m also not so fond of hitting my head.” She glanced at the morning light shining palely through the window. “What time is it? Did we fall asleep? We did. We fell asleep. We’ve got to go. Your mama is going to hate me.”

“Susanna, I’m a grown man. I can do as I please.” He smoothed his hair into place and picked up the blanket. “She’s not going to hate you.”

All but one of the candles had burned out, and wax stalactites hung from the wooden holders. Nathaniel leaned forward and doused the last remaining flame with a thin, cold puff.

“Do as you please? Are you kidding me?” A fierce blue intensified her eyes. “You can’t just run off and not tell people where you are, Nate. How did we fall asleep all night? We’ve got to go … you’ve got to go.” She charged up the aisle, her hair snapping behind her as if to say, “Yeah, what she said.”

“I’ll just call Jon.” Nathaniel tucked the blanket under his arm and raced after her. Oh, his keys. He ran back and snatched them from the altar railing. “‘Tis fine. Everything is fine. Don’t worry, love.”

She stopped in the foyer doorway. “How can you be so calm? They’ll be looking for you. ‘King disappears on his coronation night.’ It looks like we … you know …” Her expression paled as she motioned to their altar bed. “Slept together.”

“Slept. Yes. Nothing more. You fret so, Suz.” He’d laugh if she weren’t so darn serious. And cute. “If I was needed, or they were concerned, they would’ve called. No one called. I’ll prove it to you.” He patted his pockets for his phone. “Bugger, where’s my phone?”

“Well?” She waited, arms folded, tapping her toe.

“I must have left it in the car.” He shoved past her and out the door, his concern mounting. “I thought no one rang up because they wanted to leave me be.”

“We’re dead.”

Nathaniel paused just outside the door. “We are not dead. I didn’t take you to be such a pessimist.” His eyes searched hers. “But if we were to die, would it be so bad? We had a lovely evening.”

She shoved him on out the door. “Go, get your phone.”

“I’m glad we came up here,” he said, trying to shake off his frustration—first by leaving his phone in the car, second by the sense Susanna was restricting his access to her heart. “This is my favorite place in all of Brighton.”

“I’m glad we came too. It’s a beautiful chapel.”

A swirl of white confronted Nathaniel when he started for his motorcar. “It’s snowing again.”

Susanna slipped on the bottom step and stumbled down to the gravel path.

Nathaniel reached back, catching her in his arms, steadied himself, and held her close.

“Susanna?”

“Nate, we’re not alone.” She pointed behind him, and he whirled ’round just as an army, yea a battalion, of photographers emerged from a motorcade of black SUVs and motor scooters. Their cameras fired a rat-a-tat-tat as Nathaniel stood in freeze-frame with Susanna still in his arms.

“How did they find us?” She shoved away from him.

“Get in my car.” Nathaniel grabbed her hand, shielding her from the digital firing squad. How could he have forgotten? His much ballyhooed antique MG was given to him by his grandfather when he was sixteen. He used to present it at antique motor shows.

“Your Majesty, is this the American girl? The one who didn’t kneel in the abbey?”

“Are you two in love?”

“What about the marriage law?”

“Does Lady Genevieve know you’ve taken a mistress already?”

“Mistress?” Susanna stepped toward the photographers. “Hey, I’m not any man’s mistress.”

“Susanna, please.” He took hold of her arm. “Don’t feed the jackals.”

“I’m not going to let them believe a lie.” She faced them again. “I’m only a friend.”

“A friend?” They cackled. Every man of them. “A friend for a one-nighter? Last hurrah before heading home so you can tell your friends you shagged the Brighton king?”

“No!” Against the pale morning, her cheeks beamed a brilliant red.

“Get in the car, Suz. Don’t encourage them.” But the small sports motor was buried in snow. Nathaniel started scraping and shoveling away the mounds of snow.

“But they’re making stuff up.”

“Susanna. Please.” She must listen to him. “Defending yourself only fans their flames.”

“I’m a friend, just a friend. Which is more than I can say for any of you.”

“Susanna … shovel, please.” Nathaniel was grateful the snow was soft and powderlike. He’d have put the top up last night if he’d known he was going to fall asleep and spend the night.

“We spent the night in prayer and worship.”

“Prayer and worship?” Laughter burst from among the congregation of photographers. “You’re serious? You expect us to believe he prayed with you?”

Susanna began clearing the snow from the car with vigor. “Bunch of meanies.”

“I told you not to engage them.” Nathaniel shoveled faster, the motion warming away the cold but awakening his anxieties.

He’d not been very public with his renewed faith yet. These men would find it hard to believe Nathaniel spent the night with anyone in prayer and worship, let alone a beautiful woman.

“Your Majesty, do you have a word on the explosions this morning?”

He stopped shoveling. “This morning?”

“You’ve not heard?” A red-cheeked man peered from around his camera.

“No, not yet.” Again? Nate jerked open the driver-side door, plopped into his seat, and fired up the engine. “Get in.”

Susanna’s seat was still mostly covered in snow but she jumped in, slamming her door as Nathaniel shot in reverse toward the road, scattering the photographers like wild chickens.

With the road clear, Nathaniel sped toward Parrsons, the wind biting as it dipped down over the windshield.

He glanced at his phone. “Thirty missed calls.”

“I’m sorry, Nate.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It will be to them. This is why they don’t want Brighton kings marrying foreign women. They steal their affections.”

He peered at her. She was right. She’d stolen his affections. “Those chaps don’t care a whit about my affections.” When he covered the major curves in the road and hit a straight stretch, Nathaniel dialed Jonathan.

“I’m on my way to Parrsons.”

“No, don’t. Parrsons is swarming with press. Where’ve you been? The Royal Guard is on alert.”

“What? Mum knew I was with Susanna.”

“But where? You never returned.”

“Blast it man, the photographers found me. You mean my own security detail couldn’t? I was at St. Stephen’s.”

“The LibP came out with an entire front page photo, half you, half Susanna. Looks as if you were making hot-eyes at each other during the coronation prayers. What was she doing standing?”

“What’s this about another explosion?” He glanced over at Susanna. She sat stiff and pale. He needed to get her to warmth and safety.

“A small bomb. Blew out an empty building. We got a message a few minutes after from a free Hessenberg group, demanding the end to the entail. There’s all kinds of wild speculation in the press this morning. Everything from you purposefully ignoring Lady Genevieve to deny Hessenberg’s independence. Others calling for a revolt. Some saying you’re going to abdicate.”

“Meet me at my office in an hour. And tell the guards to stand down.” He ended the call just as the first small village popped up on the horizon.

“I’m going to drop you off here, Susanna. The press is all over Parrsons.”

Her eyes glistened. “O–okay.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Nathaniel took the first right at cruising speed, then the first left, arriving in a service alley. He idled the MG behind the loading dock of the Horch Bakery, secure from the probing eyes of the press. “This is just the media being the media. Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Were people hurt?” She got out, shivering, shaking the snow from her coat.

“Jon will brief me, but I don’t think so. Henry said not last night. Suzanna, this has nothing to do with me disappearing for a night. Dissenters are just looking for ways to break the entail. To free themselves from the monarchy.”

“It’ll be worse when the pictures of us go live.” The color of cold and emotion shaded her cheeks.

“Let them do their worst. We did nothing wrong.”

“But we gave the appearance of wrong. The people depend on you to do what’s right. To put aside your own desires and will. That’s just for everyday situations. But you have a political entanglement that requires you do what’s right for millions of people. If you’ve lost their trust, you’ve lost them. You’ve lost your ability to influence. So yeah, we did do something wrong.”

He exhaled at her frank truth. “I should have you on my privy council.”

“You should get going.” She walked around the back of the car. “Am I going in here?” She pointed to the bakery’s back door.

“You’ll be safe here. Horch makes the best puffs in Brighton.” Nathaniel reached for the door. “I’ll alert Rollins to send a car when things die down.”

“You think Avery’s all right?”

“If she’s with Aunt Louisa, yes. I’ll have Rollins check in on her.” He stepped inside the warm, fragrant bakery. The place was empty except for the puffy-faced proprietor behind the counter.

“Two coffees and whatever fresh puffs you have,” Nate said. “My friend will be staying for a while.” He passed the man several sterling notes. “Please see to it that she’s taken care of properly. If she owes more, I’ll settle when the car arrives to collect her.”

The proprietor waved off Nathaniel’s money. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty. I’m glad to know you’re all right. I heard on the news you were missing.” The baker cut a glance toward Susanna. “I’ll see to your friend.”

“Discretion is a virtue, Mr. Horch.”

“Yes, sir.” He bent beneath the counter and came up with a folded Liberty Press.

Susanna angled around Nathaniel. The front page was split into two pictures. In the top left, Nathaniel peeking out from under his crown with a wee hint of a smile on his lips. Then a diagonal line and Susanna’s image on the bottom right of the page, standing, gazing intent and blue toward the altar, her golden hair falling about her shoulders from her bare head, the congregation kneeling around her.

She looked enraptured. Captured.

“‘Tis you, miss?”

“Yes,” Susanna said, weak, resigned.

The bold block headline all but incited the readers:

The House of Stratton Falling to Foreign Loves

The sidebar story asked,

Could This Woman Topple the Dynasty?

“Oh my gosh … Nate, that’s ridiculous.” Susanna spun away, hand to her forehead. “I’ve never so much as toppled an anthill, let alone a royal dynasty.”

Nathaniel snapped the paper shut and handed it over the counter. “There’s a Civil Honor Medal in it for you if you keep the photographers out.”

Mr. Horch bristled as he passed the coffee and bag of puffs to Nathaniel, flattening his round chin into his neck. “Medal or not, Your Highness, she’s safe with me.”

“I meant no insult, Mr. Horch.” Nathaniel passed one of the coffees to Susanna. “I’ve got to go.” He scurried around for the back door, then paused. “I hate leaving you here like this.”

“I’m fine.” She waved him on. “Go.”

He hesitated, itching to take her in his arms and kiss her. Blast it, if he was being accused of an indiscretion he might as well taste of its fruits, no?

Instead he nodded to Horch. “Good day.”

Outside, he scraped the last of the snow from his seat and settled in, revving the engine and blasting the heat. He crept to the end of the alley, anxious to be on his way. Braking at the end of the low row of shops, he took a sip of his coffee and shifted into gear.

The road was clear. Nathaniel shot onto the road, aiming for Cathedral City, leaving a chunk of his heart behind in the rich fragrance of the Horch Bakery.

Campbell discarded the Liberty Press to the pile of newspapers by her chair. A fine first day in the press for her son, the king. His somber, dignified crowning moment ruined by the bareheaded American who did not kneel when called upon, but stood, gaping at Nathaniel like a schoolgirl at a youth dance.

The queen studied the image one last time. It hadn’t helped that the morning light had fallen through the abbey windows, illuminating the American as if she were some kind of earth angel.

The LibP all but accused the Crown of conspiring to break the law. The Informant’s headline merely speculated.

The King’s Angel. Who Is This Woman?

With a steady hand, Campbell tipped the royal-blue, gilt-edged porcelain teapot and filled the matching cup. It had been many years, but Nathaniel was no stranger to scandal or tabloid headlines.

Adding a small lump of sugar and dollop of cream, Campbell rose and moved to the window, cup and saucer in hand. How many cups of tea had aided her life’s musings? Thousands? She glanced down at the royal china set that served centuries of House of Stratton queens.

What wisdom have you, teacup?

“Leo, are you watching from above?” Campbell longed for a glimpse of sunlight to break through the cold, slate sky. “He’s in love, Leo. But he can’t have her. If you could ask the good Lord to give him wisdom …” Her slight laugh steamed the cold pane.

So bold and in control, she often teased her husband about his arrival in heaven.

Leo, are you going to ask the good Lord to get up from his throne when you finally arrive at your judgment, thanking him kindly for keeping it warm for you all these centuries?

I just might, Campbell, I just might.

If she’d known then what she knew now about love, marriage, and sharing a life with a crown prince, a king, she’d …

Do it all over again. Even the first years of turmoil and heartache, when she literally had to patch together her heart piece by piece, discovering how to love a man by choice and not by feelings.

“Nathaniel is not you, Leo. Nor is he me.” Campbell circled around the couch to the fireplace. “He’s his own man, living in a very different age than you and I. It’s as if Brighton leapt a hundred years forward since your father approached mine and asked for my hand for his son.”

A soft knock sounded at her door, and Rollins appeared. “Lady Genevieve to see you, ma’am.”

“This is a pleasant surprise.” Campbell faced the door, nodding to Lady Genevieve’s curtsy. “Tea?”

“Please.” Ginny tugged off her gloves and shrugged out of her coat, as well as any pretense at decorum.

Campbell watched her as she poured her tea. A tiger lady, that one. Knew how to play the game, get her way.

“You saw the paper?” Ginny motioned to the one on top of the pile. “She’s insulting the monarchy, Campbell. Showing up to the coronation improperly dressed, standing when all else are kneeling.” She snatched up the paper. “Flirting with the king during prayers. It’s scandalous. Could they make her look any more like a fairy from Grimm?”

“You seem a bit ruffled by it all.” Campbell passed Ginny her tea then took to her chair. “Surely you’re not jealous.”

“Jealous? Whatever for?” she scoffed, dropping the LibP back to the pile and taking the adjacent seat. “She’s no threat to me.”

“Then why haven’t you convinced him?”

“Convinced him of what? To marry me? Have you ever known Nathaniel to do anything that the rest of the world wanted him to? No worry, I’ve got everything under control. We chatted the other night … after the ball.”

“Chatted?” Campbell had also chatted with him after the ball. “About what?”

“Let’s just say we came to an understanding.”

Well then. Campbell sat back, smiling. “How long before I have grandchildren?”

“Two years, tops.”

Campbell arched her brow. “Two years?” If he proposed today, it’d take six months to plan the wedding, another one or two to conceive a child, if Ginny were as good at getting pregnant as she was at everything else. “Don’t you dare get pregnant outside of wedlock.”

“I’d never. It’s my name, my crown, my reputation, as much as his and the House of Stratton’s.” Ginny sipped her tea. “Have you seen the news shows this morning?”

“Only the papers.” Did she want this woman for her son? As a daughter-in-law? She seemed so self-aware. So self-absorbed.

“A group of photographers spotted Nathaniel’s car this morning up at St. Stephen’s. They waited for him to emerge. Which he did. With her. She’s already being labeled his American mistress.”

“Mercy.” Campbell lost her breath. Her hand trembled when she set her teacup on the table beside her. “What in the world?”

“Not to worry, I’ve got it covered.” Ginny’s smile garnered no confidence from the queen. “Morris and the lot turned to me when the pictures started coming in. I assured them Susanna was only his friend, a girl of no import, and no threat to Brighton or Hessenberg. The king and I are on a fine, steady footing.”

“But you’re not on a fine, steady footing. And who authorized you to speak for the king? The King’s Office is to deal with the media.”

“Campbell, the media came to me. Who better to cover for Nathaniel’s romantic foolishness than me?” When Ginny stood, Campbell did also. “The entail depends on me becoming queen. Everyone knows it.”

“The entail depends on a descendant of the grand duke’s royal line.”

“I am the closest thing.” She offered a high, twittery laugh. “The others renounced the throne and scattered across Europe. Marrying me is the perfect solution. You know it’s true, Campbell.”

“It’s a solution though I daresay not perfect. And it’s Your Majesty or ma’am to you, my good woman. Don’t come into my home impertinent and arrogant. I have lived to serve Brighton my whole life, and I am keen on every aspect of her laws, her alliances, and her responsibilities.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Then just what did you mean to imply? Next time the newspapers contact you instead of the King’s Office, kindly decline to comment.”

“They know me, Camp—ma’am. I’ve spent years building a relationship with Morris and the like.”

“When you were crawling around in your stinky nappies, I was taking tea with Morris Alderman.” Campbell’s suspicions rose. She’d not noticed this side of the lady before. “What have you done, Ginny? What have you said to the media?”

“What have I done? Ensured your monarchy, that’s what. Your foolish son tramped off with an American commoner. She’ll ruin us all. So I ran interference with the press. I did it for you, for Nathaniel.”

“You mean for you.”

“Yes, for me as well. So what? I’m right for queen. After all, you married to be queen one day, did you not?” Ginny had mastered sly and slithery.

Ire sparked Campbell to her senses. Such an ugly side to the beautiful Lady Genevieve. “Don’t count my marriage to Leo as part of your manipulation strategy. You know nothing of what you’re talking about.”

“This I do know, ma’am.” Ginny set down her tea. “We do not live in a time when royalty is as revered. The respect of the people must be earned. The palace must be a PR firm every bit as much as a monarchy. With Nathaniel’s charm and leadership and my popularity and PR experience we can make the House of Stratton one of the strongest monarchies in Europe. We can rule Brighton and Hessenberg. So what if I did a bit of meddling? You’d do the same. It was for the good of all. Tell me, what will you do when this foreigner comes ’round saying she’s pregnant with Nathaniel’s child and scandalizes the whole country?”

Campbell gasped. Ginny’s brazenness broached permanent offense.

“Don’t be naïve, Your Majesty. Brace yourself, because such a claim will be the first death peal of the Crown.”

“But last I knew one had to have sex to be pregnant.” A voice crossed the room from the doorway. “So claiming his love child will be impossible.”

Campbell aimed her focus on the door as Ginny whirled around. “Excuse me, but this is a private conversation.”

Rollins stood in the doorway with Susanna. “Ma’am, she asked to speak with you. I took the liberty of escorting her to your quarters.”

“Thank you, Rollins. Susanna, do come in.” Campbell stepped around the chairs to greet her new guest. Step aside, Lady Ginny.

“Thank you, but I don’t mean to interrupt. I was …” She looked down. “I’m sorry about all the mess.”

Her humble posture moved Campbell. She looked in need of a shower and fresh clothes. “Please, come sit for tea. You look absolutely chilled.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but no. I need to get … cleaned up. Have you seen my sister, Avery?”

“No, I’ve not.”

“I’ll see if Rollins can call Colin.” Susanna motioned behind her, toward the door. “Ma’am, I want to thank you for inviting us. It’s been a true honor. We’ll never forget it.”

“I imagine you won’t,” Ginny said. “Look at all the trouble you’ve—”

“Lady Genevieve,” Campbell said. “Be quiet.” The woman took too much liberty. Dared to insult a guest of Parrsons House and the queen.

“I never meant any disrespect or harm. Nate and I … I never meant to cause any trouble for the family.” Susanna curtsied and backed toward the door. “I just … just wanted to …”

“Oh my stars.” Ginny thundered toward her. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Infernal Ginny. She could take a few lessons from this girl on humility.

Susanna looked up. “Are you?” she asked, strong and steady, despite her quivering chin.

“I hardly see it as your business.” Ginny mocked her with a conciliatory glance at Campbell as if they were on the same team.

And suddenly, they were not. Campbell abandoned her passion to see Lady Genevieve as her future queen. The woman had no concern for her son, for the House of Stratton, nor for her country. She cared only for herself.

“Then neither are my feelings your business,” Susanna said.

Campbell chortled. Ginny’s glare iced.

“When shall we hear you are expecting his child?”

“Ginny!” Campbell burned with embarrassment. For herself, for her countrywoman.

“Hey.” Susanna forced herself into Ginny’s space. “If you knew Nate at all, you’d know better than to make such an assumption.” Good show, Susanna, tell her. “You claim to know him, but you don’t. You claim you want to marry him, but—”

“What do you know of my claims?” Ginny flared and fired.

“You blab it all over the press.”

Campbell laughed outright as she took her seat. She’d never seen Lady Genevieve speechless and red faced. This was better than an evening at the royal theater. Go on, Susanna, take this lady to school.

“If you spent half as much energy proving to Nathaniel that you care about him, he just might not have to hold his nose if he decided to propose.” Susanna stepped back, pinching her lips under a sheepish expression.

“What do you know, silly girl?” Ginny crossed to stand in front of Susanna and nearly grabbed a fistful of her coat collar.

But the American didn’t back down. Campbell all but shouted, “Touché.”

Susanna inched toward Ginny. “I know he’s a man of honor, and he’ll do what’s right. But what about you?”

Ginny eased, smiling, crossing her arms. “I won’t be drawn into this debate.”

Campbell angled forward in her chair, teacup gripped in her fingers, waiting for Susanna’s parlay.

But she said no more, merely turned to Campbell and curtsied. “Ma’am, I won’t apologize for saying yes to the invitation, but I am sorry for the trouble my presence has caused. I didn’t mean to stand when everyone else was kneeling. And that hat thing?”

“Dear Susanna,” Campbell said, “you were refreshing.”

“Refreshing?” Ginny screeched.

“I’m not here to trap Nathaniel or to embarrass the royal family.”

“No, no, of course not.” Campbell rose to her feet, setting her tea aside.

“Yet you trolley off with him last evening, stealing him from his peers,” Ginny said. “From his people.”

Susanna glanced at Ginny over her shoulder. “Excuse me, but I’m talking to Her Majesty the queen.”

Campbell tapped her fingertips to her lips, suppressing her smile. So this is why Nathaniel loved her.

“Like I said, it was just an honor to be invited.” Susanna looked Campbell straight on. “You should be proud of him, ma’am.”

“Yes, I believe I am.”

As Susanna exited, closing the door softly behind her, a flicker of recognition pinged through Campbell’s mind. She reminded her of a woman she knew long ago. More than thirty years ago. A woman lost to her until now.

Herself.

“You may go, Ginny.”

“You can’t seriously side with that woman.”

“You may go.” Campbell picked up her tea and wandered to the window. She might just have to do some gardening today. Not among the frozen palace walls, but among the old, ivy-covered walls of her very own heart.