Royal Service (Royals of Danovar 1)

She pursed her lips. “Of course,” she said, but something in her tone sounded off.

He didn’t have time to explore her misgivings, though. They’d have barely enough time to get ready and grab lunch on the go before his speech to Parliament this afternoon. So all he said was, “I love you.”

She shot him a small, tight smile. “I love you too.”

It would have to be enough for now.

15

Ella stood stock-still, arms held straight out as the tailor made final adjustments to her wedding dress. This was her last fitting, thank all that was holy—because if Phillip wandered in one more time with another suggestion for how she could make sure her new people saw her in the best possible light on her wedding day, she was going to throttle him.

At least her tutoring sessions were going well. It was fascinating, learning about the history and politics of the country she’d been born in. The thought of being able to help so many people on such a global scale never failed to inspire and excite her.

Lately, though, her relationship with Phillip had been…less inspiring and exciting.

She needed to send a message. A loving but firm message—one that said although she would serve his people to the best of her ability, she couldn’t be expected to kowtow to every single ancient tradition and duty he insisted upon. And she’d found the perfect way to send that message.

The tailor stood back to admire his handiwork. “I need to go grab a few more pins,” he mused, “but this looks nearly ready. Were the clogs arriving today? I want to make sure the hem is just right with them on.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the door opened. “I’ve got something for Ella!” Drake called through the gap. “Is it safe to come in? Everyone dressed and all that?”

“I’m good, come in,” she said. He entered carrying a shoebox from his wife’s store, and she steeled herself, waiting until the tailor left to turn to Drake.

“I’m not wearing the clogs,” she said, chin lifted and shoulders squared as she delivered her message.

He paused. “You’re not? But my wife said you needed them in a hurry. That’s why I’m apparently playing the role of delivery boy today.” He lifted the box.

“No one is going to see my feet anyway. The silver shoes look better with my dress, and they’re special to me. I want them to be a part of my wedding. And I’ve already made plenty of concessions to tradition.”

Drake set the box down on a nearby couch, considering her words. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” he said. “Don’t tell my wife but I think the silver heels look better than the clogs too. But is today really the best day to rock the boat?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “With the exposé going public. Beyond the letters, it also has that in-depth profile on you, and a lot of Danovians might not like that you spent most of your life in America. Choosing to wear the traditional shoes might help reinforce your commitment to Danovar in their eyes.”

Her whole body went cold, and then hot. She waited a moment to be sure her voice would be steady before she spoke. “Excuse me?”

Exposé, he’d said. Letters.

Oh, no. Please, no. She had to have misunderstood him.

Oblivious, Drake nodded. “It wasn’t set to go live until after the wedding, I understand, but apparently the reporter was about to be fired and jumped the gun to save his job. He did send us a preview copy, at least.”

She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She cleared her throat, hoping this was some kind of mistake, a sick joke, a nightmare she’d wake up at from any second. “May I see it, please?” Her voice sounded distant and dreamlike in her own ears.

He nodded again and vanished, returning a second later with a glossy magazine. Heedless of the tailor’s hard work, she tore off her wedding dress so she could sit down. Pins popped out, scraping across her skin and tearing the delicate silk. Drake looked the other way as she sat, in nothing but her slip and underthings, and opened the magazine.

Special Edition, the headline screamed. Her and Phillip’s letters took up half of it, from the front page to the centerfold. Excerpts were scattered throughout in bold letters, with analysis and commentary beneath. The only pictures of the two of them displayed were official ones, but they might as well have caught her naked for all the emotional and sexual details the letters laid bare.

She felt outside herself, like she was in some distant, emotionless bubble, looking on from above. Distantly, she realized she felt like she was about to throw up. She’d given these letters to Phillip weeks ago. So how, exactly, had the reporter gotten them?

She was still dazed, but feared the emotions that would crash over her when the initial shock was through. She could see it now; how her whole world would fold in on her like an origami trick, flattening and squeezing and reshaping until it was unrecognizable.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” Drake was saying from where he stood at the other end of the couch. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me, that you allowed these to be published to protect me.”

“Oh?” she managed faintly.

“I don’t know if Phillip told you the whole story,” he said hesitantly, “but back when I was first employed at the castle, I actually stole a crown jewel. My father was deathly ill, he needed special medication that I couldn’t afford, and I felt like I had no other choice. The king—the crown prince, then—caught me. And instead of turning me in, he procured the medicine for us and worked to change the insurance regulations. He kept me on his security detail, even promoted me after a while once I’d proved myself loyal. He also kept the jewel’s theft as quiet as he could, but I guess this reporter found it out. I’m so sorry that bastard made you two choose between exposing me as the thief and exposing the letters. If you’ll excuse the language.”