“What are your plans for Eleanor?” the Queen asks.
“Eleanor who?” Prince Nicholas asks absently.
“Olivia’s sister, of course.”
There’s a pause, and I picture him looking up from the board—with curious eyes.
“Her name’s not Eleanor.”
“No?” Her Majesty wonders. “Eloise? Elizabeth?”
“No. And no. Ellie is her full name. Just Ellie.”
As far as I’m concerned it’s perfect for her. A sweet, happy-sounding word. Made for whispering and worshiping.
The Queen does not agree.
“Hmm. How unfortunate.”
There’s a click of marble against wood, as one of them moves a piece on the board.
“In any case,” Queen Lenora says, “what are your plans for Ellie?”
Nicholas sighs. “I don’t have any. She’s taking a gap year; she’ll help Olivia when the babies arrive.”
“Two nurses have already been employed and the Palace is interviewing nannies as we speak. How much help does Olivia think she’ll need?”
It sounds like Nicholas takes a sip of something—the glass makes a chiming sound when it’s set back on the table.
“Olivia doesn’t want to hire any nannies.”
There’s a brief pause, and then one word comes from the Queen that says it all.
“Nicholas.”
“I know.”
“The nanny is a child’s first educator. The first level of instruction on who they are, their responsibilities, how they must conduct themselves.”
“I’m keenly aware of that fact.”
“Your children will be expected to attend public events at a young age. Running around like little heathens may be acceptable in America, but it certainly won’t do here.”
Nicholas laughs. “Let’s get them born first—and we can worry about their heathenism later.”
But the Queen is not amused. “You must speak with her, Nicholas.”
“Olivia and I will work it out,” the Prince replies firmly. “In our own time. You should focus more on the game in front of you. Check.”
There’s a weighted pause, accompanied by a quick sniff. “Back to . . . Ellie. There is a new mayor of Averdeen.”
Averdeen is in the south, the second-largest city in Wessco.
“George Fulton. He’s young, handsome, a mesmerizing speaker from what I’m told. He has a very bright future ahead of him. It would be helpful to have his support, to have him on our side in the years ahead. I was thinking of inviting him to the palace, for tea. And introducing him to Ellie.”
There’s a burning clench in my gut—tight and uncomfortable.
“It’s not the sixteenth century, Grandmother,” Nicholas replies dryly. “We don’t form political alliances through marriage anymore. Check.”
“Yes, thank you, Nicholas—I am aware of what year it is. You and your brother haven’t robbed me of all my wits. Yet.
“However, he’s a fine young man from what I understand,” the Queen continues. “Good family. Respectful. Successful. It wouldn’t hurt to introduce them.”
The mayor’s mansion in Averdeen is practically a palace—beautiful and regal. The kind of place Ellie belongs, with servants to wait on her, a veritable army to protect her and a well-spoken man who would adore her. How could any man not?
Nicholas sighs. “Fine.”
“Excellent.”
There’s the sound of more shuffling chess pieces, and several quick moves later the Queen declares triumphantly, “Checkmate.”
There’s a silent, shocked pause, and then Nicholas stutters, “How . . . did you do that?”
“You become too aggressive when victory is at hand—you lose sight of anything else. It makes you vulnerable.” There’s a rustling of fabric as the Queen rises to her feet. “Work on your long game, my boy.”
One month later
THERE’S A LOT THAT’S AWESOME about living in a palace. The rooms—one huge, historical, beautifully glamorous room after another, are better than any museum exhibit. The flowers—miles of blooming gardens in colors I didn’t even know existed, and giant vases filled with fresh-cut blossoms of every kind, set in hallways and on table centerpieces. The servants—a tray of tea is waiting in my sitting room every morning when I wake up, my bed is made for me, my laundry cleaned and folded without my asking and my room is straightened twice a day.
This is definitely the life.
But, there’s a downside too—not to living in the palace, but to being among the elite who do live in a palace:
“A stalker? What do you mean I have a stalker?” Livvy asks.
We’re in Winston’s office. He’s the head of palace security, and from what I can gather, he’s like Cher, he only has the one name.
We were called here—me, Olivia, Nicholas, Henry and Sarah, for a security briefing. Logan is here too, standing close to the wall, behind Winston’s desk. And my heart does a flaily, off-beat pitter-pat. Because I haven’t seen much of Logan lately. If I were the paranoid type, I’d think he was avoiding me.
“Stalker isn’t exactly the term I’d use,” Logan says. “More like . . . an obsessive, who doesn’t like you very much.”
Nicholas sits in the chair next to Olivia, holding her hand.
“But why me?” she asks.
“Royal pregnancies tend to get the mad ones all worked up,” Winston, a gray-haired but solid looking man, replies.
“How many notes have been sent?” Nicholas asks.
“This is the third,” Winston tells him.
“What post are they coming from?” my brother-in-law asks.
“Different every time—West Rothshire, Averdeen, Bailey Glen. No fingerprints, no DNA. Each note is threatening and focuses on Lady Olivia and the children.”
“What do the notes say exactly?” I ask, feeling sick.
Logan answers before Winston can.
“The specifics don’t matter. We’re monitoring the situation. We notified you so you’ll all be aware, but . . . don’t worry. Nothing is going to come of this.”
“Don’t worry?” I parrot. “This is like some Game of Thrones bullshit right here—how the hell are we supposed to not worry?”
Henry explains.
“It’s not as if we don’t ever get hate mail. Or online threats—it happens all the time. I had five stalkers by the time I was sixteen.”
Henry shrugs at my sister. “You’re not really a royal until you have a stalker—welcome to the club, Olive.”
Nope. That doesn’t make me feel even a little bit better.
Despite the news about the psycho stalking Olivia and Nicholas, apparently, the show goes on. This is what it means to be a public figure, a royal. With Henry and Sarah’s Big Fat Royal Wedding just a few months away, there have been a ton of brunches and lunches and other events all geared toward celebrating the upcoming event. Which is why, the next night, I’m in a limo feeling like a movie star wearing a gorgeous, shiny, silver cocktail dress, with Nicholas and Olivia looking every inch the fairytale royal couple. We’re on our way to Starlight Hall, where Henry and Sarah’s friends are throwing a party in their honor.