The Prince's Bride (Part 2) Page 10

  I clenched my jaw. “And what would you have had me say, Mother? ‘Yes, I see your point, Prime Minister. Let us fix this mistake?’ He wishes for the monarchy to conform to his political ideology. That is not our role. As you just said, we are above it.”

  “Do not use my words against me,” she snapped, but apparently, she could use mine against me.

  “Fine, I will use Father’s. He has always said prime ministers come and go. Ideologies rise and fall. We are constant. That does not change based on what we look like.”

  She frowned, her whole face falling. “Gale, tread carefully. It is never wise to be at odds with our government, and it even less wise to poke a wounded dog. Hermenegild, like all illegitimate nobility in this country, is torn between his desire to belong and his desire to burn the nobility to the ground.”

  And I was the immature one? Because his father did not love him enough to legitimize him, the rest of the country had to?

  “How I detest that look,” she said, her eyes roaming my face.

  “What look?”

  “The Monterey stubborn-mule look. All of you seem to have it—your grandfather, your father, your brother. The look that says, ‘I will not be moved, and I fight till my very last breath on this.’”

  I couldn’t help but smirk a bit. “Now that you have said that, I know for sure I am right.” I lifted my head proudly.

  “Mules,” she grumbled, shaking her head, leaving me to walk to the door.

  “Love you, Mother.”

  “And I, you,” she replied, knocking on the door, and it opened for her.

  When she left, I sank back into the chair, rubbing the bridge of my eyes. What a very long day, and we were only halfway through.

  “Adelaar?”

  No!

  When I looked up, there stood Balduin, already waiting with the afternoon and evening reports. From the looks of it, I’d be here until dinner, at the very least. I missed my brother because he was my brother, but I also missed having someone else be responsible for this. Part of me wanted to ignore it all and find Odette, go to a corner of the palace and just stay there in bed, drinking and forgetting the rest of the world existed.

  “Shall we begin, sir?” he questioned as if I had another choice.

  At least now there was something to look forward to after this.

  I could not be with her now, but after I finished, I could go to her and pretend even for a few short hours that we were alone.

  “Yes.” I nodded, rising from the couch and moving over to the desk, grabbing the fountain pen. “Has the prime minister left?”

  “Mr. Ambrose is showing him out before returning to Ms. Odette.”

  “I hope he did not slam the door too hard on his face,” I muttered mostly to myself.

  “I do not believe he would do such a thing, sir.”

  I glanced at him, not understanding the tone in his voice. But he just gave me a sharp nod before placing today’s briefs down on the table.

  “Next this afternoon is the chicken dispute between the farmers of Zotteven and the farmers of Youglin,” he added.

  “Yes, of course, the great chicken war. I can only hope Odette’s time right now is as intriguing as mine.”

  “I doubt it, sir. After this, we have the Nationalism Reform Act to review. I’ve arranged for you to hear a word from two experts, and from what I have heard so far, they are riveting in their discourse.”

  I wished to high heaven he was being sarcastic, but he was not. I did not know who was worse—Iskandar or Balduin. Actually, I did. It was him. Iskandar at least understood my sarcasm and chose to ignore it. Balduin, on the other hand, always thought everyone was just as interested and excited as he was to listen to lectures, records, and do paperwork, and thus, he took my sarcasm as excitement, which made him give me more to read over.

  I did not wish to do this today. “We might have to postpone that riveting conversation for another day, Balduin, as tonight will be Odette’s first dinner here. There will be things we must discuss.”

  “Oh, right, of course, I apologize. I was eager and forgot. What a shame, but then again, sir, maybe she would like to hear it as well. To understand some current events? I can have them wait until after dinner?”

  Someone, please save me.

  Chapter 9

  “And so, it is settled,” Mr. Ambrose proclaimed as he looked over my personal staff. “Your first assistant is Ms. Gelula Mikkelsen.”

  She was thirty-four, of average height and build, with a soft, round, plain face. I chose her because she had done a three-year study abroad in America. It wasn’t the best reason, but seeing as I barely knew anything of these people, I took any connection I could find. Plus, her winged eyeliner was perfect.

  “Your second assistant will come when Ms. Mikkelsen has the day off. Your guard is Ms. Thelma DeBree.” Also known as Thelma, the bear, Thelma the giant, and Thelma, the fearless. With all of those names, how could I not choose her? Apparently, she was the seventh woman in Ersovian history to enter personal guards. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but I was proud for her. She had short light-brown hair, and at six feet seven inches, she was a full head taller than all the men who came in with her. Like Iskandar, she wore all black with an embroidered emblem on the breast and the number 10 under her last name.

  “Your secretary is Sir Wolfgang von Wolfgang XII.”

  Wolfgang grinned and lifted his boyish, freckled face high.

  “Sir? Why sir and not mister?” Not to mention that I had no idea his full name was Wolfgang von Wolfgang, and he was the twelfth one in his family to have that name.

  “Because my family, the von Wolfgang, belongs to the Order of the Fallen Knights,” Wolfgang answered like I knew what that meant.

  “The Order of the Fallen Knights?” I repeated, and it didn’t sound any less weird coming from my mouth than it did his.

  “Yes, it is—”

  “Um,” Mr. Ambrose interrupted, giving him a stern look, and Wolfgang took a step back in line with the two other women waiting. Mr. Ambrose’s gaze shifted back to Odette, but the stern look in his eyes did not let up. “Miss Wyntor, the tutors you have chosen, should be the ones to teach you history—for now, at least, as we do not have time to explain everything.”

  “Didn’t we finish everything on the schedule?”

  “The schedule is never finished,” he said, passing me the tablet.

  2:30 – 3:00 p.m. Selection of personal staff.

  3:05 – 5:05 p.m. Tour of the residency rooms and suites.

  5:10 – 6:25 p.m. Preparation for dinner.

  6:30 – 8:00 p.m. Dinner

  8:05 – 9:00 p.m. Pašrévaka

  9:00 p.m. – 7:30 a.m. Rest

  Jesus, was every moment scheduled here? Actually, he had answered that. The schedule was never finished.

  “P-Pas-Pašrévaka?” I sounded it out carefully before looking back at them to see if I had gotten it. Wolfgang nodded, Gelula cringed a bit but also nodded, while Thelma shook her head outright. Good to see they had a full range of opinions. “Okay, so I butchered it, but I think it means food after dinner?”

  “It is the conversation held after dinner in the family room. The queen insists on it. I do not believe there is an equivalent term in English, so I left it as is,” Mr. Ambrose stated and stepped aside for me. “Now, let us begin our tour.”

  My feet were killing me.

  My head hurt.

  And on top of that, I still had one urgent call to make. And out of everything else, that call was more important.

  “Mr. Ambrose, thank you for this list, and I will do it, but I need time to speak with my mother. I am sure she has at least found out through the news, which is horrible already. If I do not call her soon, she might fly here and storm the palace gates.” I was joking, but the absolute revulsion at the mere thought of it was all over his face.

  He looked at me in horror. “Very well, the tour may start at your rooms. There, you may speak to your m
other.” He looked back at the three staff. “Ms. DeBree, she will need a private phone and secure line into the palace. I have already requested one. However, it was unable to be prepared this morning.”

  “I will go see if it has been prepared now,” Thelma stated, then she looked at me and said, “Excuse me, miss. I will return shortly,” before turning and walking out the door.

  “Ms. Mikkelsen will escort you to your rooms while Wolfgang and I wait here for your return. Please do make haste,” he stated, and when he did, Gelula stepped forward.

  “This way, miss.” She stepped to the side, allowing me to walk slightly in front of her.

  I nodded, not wanting to ask any questions out of fear that Mr. Ambrose would only grow even more annoyed with me.

  When I moved to open the door, she whispered quickly, “Miss, you do not open doors.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at her as if she were crazy. “What do you mean, I do not open doors? How do they open? Do I clap or something?”

  I thought it was amusing, but my joke went over her head. She stepped forward and knocked on the double doors, and then they opened.

  “Knocking makes more sense,” I muttered, not wanting to look over my shoulder because I could feel the two sets of eyes that were on me.

  I thought I could relax when I was no longer under Mr. Ambrose’s watchful hawk eyes, but there were people in the hallway, maids cleaning, butlers walking up and down the stairs as well as door attendants. When they saw me, they all stopped what they were doing and looked at me as if they were waiting for some direction.

  “Am I supposed to say something?” I whispered to Gelula.

  “No,” she answered like nothing was odd.

  “Then why did they all stop and look at me.”

  “Miss,” she said gently with a kind smile, “you are a pending member of the royal family. They cannot bow to you yet. However, they must acknowledge your presence.”

  “And what do I in return?”

  “Whatever you wish,” she replied, and that did not help me. She seemed to get that, so she added. “The queen often just nods once to the whole room. Some mornings she says hello. That is it. We must keep walking, miss. Mr. Ambrose likes to keep to the schedule.”

  “So that isn’t everyone? It is just him who holds to a schedule like that?” I asked, nodding and smiling at the people I made eye contact with on our way up the stairs.

  “Everyone keeps to a schedule, miss. It is important here. If not, Mr. Ambrose will give them an earful,” she said.

  “Does Mr. Ambrose run everything here?” From what I could tell, there was a lot of faith and trust in him.

  “Yes and no.” She tilted her head, thinking. “It is hard to explain, but the Head Secretary of Palace Affairs does not really run the palace. Each department has a head followed by the overall head of the subsection. And Mr. Ambrose meets with them.”

  I was lost. “There is a head and then another head, I am sorry—”

  “Miss, never say ‘I am sorry.’ Royals do not say it unless the matter is very grave. If you mean you are lost, you say, ‘You must forgive me,’ or ‘I beg your pardon,’” she said as we went down a red-carpeted hallway.

  And I stopped. “What do you mean? What is the difference between I am sorry, and you must forgive me?”

  She paused to think. “Well, simply put, it is not a request. ‘I am sorry’ means the person may not forgive you. You give them the authority to say whether or not what you did was forgivable. That means they are free to judge. Forgive me is closer to what you meant, so not understanding and wishing them to repeat. ‘You must forgive me’ is more formal and can be used as either sarcasm or when the monarch believes they have done something and wishes to apologize. But it is not so major it warrants any serious action. Am I clear? Your tutors may be able to explain better than me.”

  “No, you are clear.” So clear, it made everything more confusing. Gale had said I am sorry to me numerous times last night and before that. “Do all royals follow this? I mean, make sure not to apologize?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes bugged out as we walked again. “Most children are taught to say ‘I am sorry.’ While royals are taught never to do or say anything to be sorry for.”

  So, when Gale apologized and said, “I am sorry. Truly, I am sorry,” he did something he should not have done. Not that it was something he considered grave enough to use those words.

  “As for what you were also asking,” she went on, not sensing the moment I was having. “There are three units within the palace. There is the help, which are the palace maids, kitchen maids, scullery maids, cooks, butlers, footmen, doormen, the smiths, decorators, florists, and gardeners. Each of them has a head director like the head of the palace maids and the head cook. Then someone who is the director for all the help. The second group is the staff. These are the secretaries, assistants, and tutors. Again, they all have their heads and then a head for the staff. The last group is the guard—they are the personal guards, the palace guard, and then palace security.”

  “And the difference between a guard and the security? Aren’t they for the same purpose?” How many people were in this palace?

  “Yes, but to become a personal or palace guard, you must pass the King Ulrik Guard Academy. Everyone either calls it KUGA or the Academy. Only ninety-nine people pass in a year. The top ten can become personal guards to the royals if needed, and the rest can become palace guards or political guards. Palace security didn’t go to the Academy but may have a background in security. They assist the guard with smaller issues such as cameras, watching areas, and notification of threats. I am sure there is much more that I do not know. But I can find out. Nevertheless, Mr. Ambrose meets with all the head directors to overlook everything and then reports to the Adelaar, and the Adelaar reports to the king.”

  She paused at a large, white double door that stood at the end of the hall next to a large hall window overlooking two dual water fountains and a flower maze in the corner.

  “This will be your room, miss.” She moved to open it but stopped, and I turned to see what she was looking at.

  Thelma came forward, and I now understood, thanks to Gelula’s explanation, what it meant to be the seventh woman in Ersovian history to enter personal guards. Also, what it meant to have that number.

  “Miss, these will be your new devices,” she said and handed an all-black touch screen phone to me, as well as a tablet and a thin gold bracelet with a single pendant.

  “A bracelet? How is that a device?”

  “It is a GPS-SOS bracelet should you ever find yourself trapped or in need of help—serious help. You hold it for five seconds to get the attention of the guard, and we will know exactly where you are,” she said, and even though it sounded like something important and useful, part of me could not help but think of it as one of those ankle monitors they gave people on house arrest. A.k.a. you are free but not really.

  “Please enter, miss, and see if there is anything else you need or if you wish to change,” Gelula said, opening the door into elegant, gold-embroidered, crystal chandelier splendor. The walls here were light yellow, which was different. There were also green chairs. The floor was hardwood, but a large carpet lay over it. In the corner was a fireplace, and above that, a faded spot on the wall from where, I could only assume, a portrait once was. The room smelled of vanilla too.

  Stepping farther inside, I finally noticed the maids who were already unpacking my stuff. And I couldn’t find it in me to tell them to stop because I was tired. Especially mentally.

  “Is it possible that I could be by myself for a few minutes?” I asked them both.

  Gelula simply turned. “Miss Wyntor will have the room.”

  The maids nodded, putting everything down and walking back out the doors.

  “Should you need us, we shall be waiting outside the doors,” Thelma told me.

  I waited for the doors to close before I immediately kicked off my heels. “Oh, thank God.”
I groaned, stretching out my toes, which were happy to be on the flat ground again. Walking over to the bed, I put all the things down on the bedside table, and then I threw myself on top of the mattress. If I could have taken off my bra, it would have been heaven. Either way, it felt nice just to lay down and not have eyes on me.

  I wanted to savor every last minute of it. However, I also knew I had to call my mother before I was dragged off for something else. Rolling over, I grabbed the phone, snickering at the screen saver—a photo of Gale in his full regalia. He really was something to look at.

  Dialing her number, I prayed she answered. It rang only once.

  “I have concluded that you don’t love me.”

  “Mom! I’m sorry.” I groaned into the phone, rolling on to my back, and remembering what Gelula said about saying I was sorry. Either way, it was my mom, and I was sorry. “How did you know it was me?”

  “Mom? You have a mom?” Her anger snapped like a whip. “Are you sure? Are you positive? That cannot be right because if you had a mother, you would not lie to her! You would not tell her you are going to break up with a man, only to end up agreeing to be his future queen! You would not then allow your mother to find out from a thousand other people as they blew up her phone at three in the damn morning, Odette! Also, of course, who is calling my personal phone from a blocked number now.”

  “Mom, I am sorry,” I said again because I really was.

  “Sorry? Odette, you are sorry? I have press outside of my home! Augusta has press outside of her home. We have all been trapped inside as we try to figure out what is going on because once again, you dove headfirst into something. I am a planner. Your father was a planner. What is with you, child?”

  “They are your genes, Mom. I do not know.”

  “When I get to you, I will smack you so hard there will be no head for a crown! Have you seen the news? Twitter? Facebook? Any social media?”

  “No, I am actively avoiding all of them for my mental health.” I really didn’t want to know what was happening outside. Too much was happening on the inside as it was.