Princess Ever After

SEVENTEEN





Tanner let himself into his flat shortly after eight o’clock, tossed his keys to the table by the door, reached for the remote, and powered up the telly.

In the kitchen, he flicked on a light and sorted through his mail. Rubbish, all of it. Why did the cable company keep soliciting his business when he already subscribed? He held up the shiny, fancy advertisement. Bet this cost a pretty tuppence. If they’d stop sending these things out, they could reduce their monthly cable fee. What was it now? A hundred quid? And all he watched was sports.

The rubbish bin needed to be carried out, but he didn’t feel like it. What an exhausting wild day.

The media. Seamus’s stunt. The media again. The wild car drive.

Regina’s tears. Tanner brushed his hand over his chest where her tears had soaked through his shirt. Soaked through his pores and seeped all the way to his dry, thirsty heart.

Facing the stark, barren kitchen, he ran his hands through his hair, corralling his feelings for Regina, mildly considering cutting his long locks. He secretly kept his hair long as a way to annoy the archbishop. But that didn’t sound very mature for a thirty-two-year-old Minister of Culture, now, did it?

But his restless thoughts wandered back toward Regina and the feel of her body leaning against him, his arms wrapped about her.

Must. Think. Of. Something. Else. Tanner marched into the living room, snatched up the remote, and raised the telly’s volume.

He’d compartmentalize. Keep his feelings a secret with the best of the world’s wounded, pitiful blokes.

On the telly, the presenters ran down last week’s rugby scores and predicted the winners of the upcoming matches. Tanner collapsed in the reclining chair, the only furniture in the room besides a table and the television.

Here he had a lovely downtown Strauberg flat with windows overlooking the city and part of the south bay, but all he could manage was a lazy chair, a telly, and a table he rescued from a church rummage sale.

What was it Regina said about existing and not living?

Tanner shifted forward in his chair, uncomfortable, trying to migrate away from the fragmented images, thoughts, and emotions of the day.

—Regina in those jeans with her hair sweeping over her eyes. A young, redheaded Marilyn Monroe.

—Her nervous humility while meeting the king, Henry, and Dad. What was the idea behind Dad’s cloaked answer when Regina asked if he and Tanner shared a last name for a reason?

“Some believe there are no coincidences.”

—Seamus barging in with his arrogant plan to oust Regina.

Tanner had studied the entail law at university and explored the consequences of reverting back to 1914 law. The scholars believed the old law to be sound and able to hold the nation steady, if need be, in time of transition. But no one really knew how the people would respond to even one day with no legal government. Would the old laws tarry? Would anarchy ensue?

If Regina wasn’t the princess, and the court mysteriously decided Hessenberg could ignore the law of the entail, it would be open season for every political faction.

But the real truth? No one thought an heir would be found. All believed the Grand Duchy would become a province of Brighton.

Then there was the press firestorm. And Regina driving off with him face-first in the seat.

Tanner laughed aloud. What a sight he must have been. No doubt he’d be in the papers tomorrow, bottoms up.

Poor Dickenson, left behind in the city to spend the evening swapping stories with his mates at the Fence & Anchor until Tanner returned with the Mercedes.

And oh, he must organize security straightaway. Tanner wasn’t sure if it was his duty or not, but now that the press had caught wind, Regina would not find a moment’s peace unless she hid inside Meadowbluff.

Patting his pockets for his phone, Tanner composed a mental e-mail to Louis about security, ignoring that back-of-the-mind tug to explore his earlier thought.

Existing but not living.

Pulling his phone from his right front pocket, he found he’d missed a call.

Trude Cadwallader.

Tanner stared at her name. Why was she calling him? He listened to her voice message, walking to the window and peering out over the twinkling nighttime city.

“Surprise, love, it’s me. Did you get the invitation? Please say you’ll come. It would be grand. The girls . . . well . . . they’re . . . Oh listen, we’ll talk Sunday, when I see you. I will see you, right? Grand. Ta-ta.”

He regarded the screen before deleting the message. A week ago he was a happy, single, solitary chap trying his wings at a new minister position, forging a new career path. Then suddenly the king appears, sending him on a journey designed to change one person’s life, yet oddly enough, it was Tanner who found his life, his heart, changing.

Returning to his chair, he typed his message to Louis, then sat back, closing his eyes. Could it be he wanted to go to the party? He wanted what he’d given up, what he’d been resisting for so long? At every level? Love.

He moaned and sat up. Time for bed, chap.

Maybe someday he could muster the courage for romance. With someone. Not Regina. She was beyond his league in more ways than one.

But driving up to Estes Estate on a Sunday afternoon? No. That part of his life was over. Opening up that locked and guarded door of his heart would require more courage than he could gather in a lifetime.



October 19, 1914

Meadowbluff Palace

While Hessenberg has not joined the war, the war has come to us. Several missiles have been launched at our shores. Uncle is sure it’s the Kaiser and Chancellor Bismarck behind the attacks, but all of his inquiries met a dead end.

Wettin Manor was struck just before dawn the day before, and Uncle’s quarters were burned. He swears it was done on purpose, not a random firing, and it makes him so despondent, which makes us all despondent.

Uncle has ordered a blackout on the palace, so we sit in darkness after the sun goes down, which is quite early these fall days.

There’s no music. No laughter. I almost feel anything would be better than this.

Uncle says we must hold together. But he’s near his own breaking, I fear.

I’ve seen none of my friends. Many more of the lads have joined the war by fighting for Brighton and Britain. This makes Uncle even more despondent. He says he’s failed the youth of Hessenberg. For the sake of his past, he’s ruined their future.

Mercy, I wish I could write about more pleasant things. Oh, I stored the two halves of the pendant and picture in my box. Mamá would be so disappointed to know I let Rein cut my cipher pendant in two. I, however, am all too glad to have it back in my possession! What might he have done with my cipher had he thought to keep it and use it for his own gain!

Mamá still prays faithfully by the small fire allowed in the parlor, rocking, her Bible open in her hands, her lips moving in prayer. It is the one constant that brings me peace and hope.

God alone can save our spirits. But only he knows how or when.

Alice



She woke early, before dawn drifted past her window, with a sense of resolve. As Sadie would say, “It is what it is. No use fussing over it.”

Maybe she needed to stop bemoaning how her life got bulldozed and start digging around in the rubble to find the gems. Pending arrest or not, she was here, the princess, and she might as well discover the truths and realities lurking beneath the surface.

Digging in and facing the truth was how Daddy got her through Mama’s death. How she got through college and how she rose up the ranks at Backlund & Backlund, on her way to becoming their youngest partner. How she found the courage to face Backlund, Daddy, and her friends when she decided to go into business with Al.

And how, have mercy, she got on the plane with Tanner Monday night and flew to Hessenberg.

Reaching to switch on the bedside lamp, Reggie crawled out from under the covers and stood in the middle of the bed and greeted young Gram, Princess Alice.

“Hey, Gram, I’m still here, in your watercolor fairy tale. Any words of advice for me today?”

But Gram’s innocent, hopeful expression remained unchanged.

Was that a message in and of itself? Closing her eyes, Reggie inhaled the essence of the image and exhaled her trepidation.

Wasn’t that faith? Believing what the heart knew to be true even if the head raged with doubts?

Opening her eyes, she whispered a prayer for guidance and wisdom, tried to invoke the hope of the portrait, and jumped off the bed.

A princess is defined not by her title alone but by how she lives her life.

The words came with a whisper and swirled around her heart, settling deeper and deeper, and Reggie decided those words were a good place to start her day.



Showered and dressed in jeans, she smoothed up her bed covers, organized her suitcase, then unzipped her backpack to retrieve Gram’s fairy tale. Maybe by studying this book—Gram’s message to her, as Tanner declared—along with a bit more talking to God, she might understand this journey she was on.

Jogging down the wide front staircase with gilded banisters and a royal red carpet, Reggie cut through the foyer, passed by the big formal dining room, and headed for the kitchen. As she came around the corner, Jarvis met her in the back hall in his uniform of a dark suit and dark tie.

“Your Majesty, good morning.” He bowed slightly. He was not much taller than Reggie but he carried himself with confidence and stature. “Serena was just about to see if you cared for breakfast.”

“I’m starved. But I’d rather eat in the kitchen. With everyone else.”

“In the kitchen? With everyone else?” He locked his hands behind his back and rocked up on his heels. “If you wish, miss. But it might make the staff feel a bit uncomfortable.”

“Really?” She leaned to see around him. The chef and a maid were chatting over a plate of what looked like scones. “I’m just like them. A regular gal.”

“Perhaps in some ways, yes. But in many ways, you are not. If I may be so bold, you must remember your station, Your Majesty. And while cordial terms with the staff are welcomed and encouraged, the moment you become ‘one of us,’ you compromise your authority. And your station. You are the heir to the Hessenberg throne. We are not. I’m sure similar standards are employed by American households with service staff.”

“Right. Okay. I see your point. I’ve been to the Governor’s Mansion and the gov doesn’t eat in the kitchen with the help.”

“Precisely. You’ll get used to the routine. Now, how about breakfast in the parlor? You can see the sunrise over the forest.”

“Sounds perfect.” Reggie followed Jarvis down the back corridor, through the back-of-house foyer—yes, there was one, and it was quite elegant—to a cozy room with a fireplace and bank of windows overlooking the grounds and the forest.

“Will this do?”

“Very much.” She tipped her head to him. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

“Miss, I hope you realize what an honor it is for me and the staff to be in your service. Don’t be shy about asking for our assistance.”

“O–okay . . . and, Jarvis, thank you for sharing with me . . . about . . . you know. The rules of engagement.”

“Not at all, miss.” He started for the door. “What shall you have for breakfast?”

“Diet Coke and a couple of those scones. Heated. With butter.”

He smiled. “I’ve no Diet Coke, but I’ll arrange for some to be delivered. Will tea do this morning?”

“As long as it’s cold and sweet.”

“Very well.” He started for the door. “Will there be anything else?”

“As a matter of fact . . . What do you know about the old constitution? And the authority canon?”


“Nothing specific. Just that they were the laws of the land before the entail hitched our wagon to Brighton’s. Why do you ask?”

“I’d like to read them. Catch up with the history. Do you know how I could get my hands on some old law books or the actual documents themselves?” Seamus had access to them, so she hoped the constitution and authority canon were accessible to her as well.

“I’m quite sure Mr. Burkhardt would be happy to provide you with the information.”

“I’d like to do this on my own. Surely there’s a university library laden with dusty old law books.”

“Quite right.” He laughed with a skip in his step and turned for the exit. “Let me see what I can arrange. Shall I keep this between us?”

“Ah, I can see we’re going to get along great. Thank you, Jarvis.”

“My pleasure.”

“Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “I need a coat. Is it possible to do some shopping?”

“Miss, this you must discuss with Mr. Burkhardt. The media is keen about you now and how you dress, and Mr. Burkhardt can advise you.”

“Right.” She’d not fully considered the ramifications of yesterday’s frenzy. “Am I in the morning paper?”

“You are.”

“Can I see it?”

“There are three papers, miss. The Informant, the Liberty Press, and the Sun Tattler.”

“Three, huh? I’m in all of them?”

“I’m afraid so.” He made a slight face.

“That bad?” Was this venture to make her a princess really going to work? For any of them? “What’d they say?”

“I didn’t read the articles, but one referred to you as ‘Our Redneck Royal.’ ”

“Redneck royal?” She made a face and anchored her hands on her hips. “It could’ve been worse.”

Jarvis popped a wide smile. “Well done, miss. The attitude of a princess.”

When he finally clicked the door closed behind him, Reggie collapsed into the nearest chair and turned it toward the window. Redneck royal . . .

Clutching Gram’s fairy tale to her chest, she watched the last trails of the sunrise over the trees.

A princess is defined not by her title alone but by how she lives her life.