If she even thinks it at all.
“You know this is all going to blow up in our face,” I tell him. “There’s no way around it.”
“Calm down, Son,” he says, his eyes wistfully going to a glass of champagne that my mother is plucking from one of the trays the waiter is carrying. “I’m not saying that we won’t tell her the truth. We will. She has to know what she’s getting into. But I couldn’t very well tell her father that on the phone.”
“So when do we tell her the truth?” Mari asks, taking a champagne for herself.
My father looks at me.
Fuck it. I need another glass of something. I finish the one in my hand and plunk it down on the waiter’s tray before grabbing another one. I meet the waiter’s eyes for a second, and even though they’ve got this blankness that so many of our servants seem to have, the look that tells you they aren’t listening, that they aren’t even here, I can see that this guy thinks the whole thing is crazy. I bet when he took this job he had no idea what our royal family was really like.
“You know what I think? I don’t even think she knows why she’s here at all, not the whole truth anyway,” I tell them, my eyes darting to the washroom doors, far enough away that I know they can’t hear us. “And I really think one of us ought to spell it out for her, and soon.”
All six eyes land on me. Because of course I’ll have to be the one to make sure she knows.
I’m just not sure how to tell her.
And if she’ll even want to hear it.
Five
Ella
“There’s something fishy going on here,” Jane says from inside the toilet stall.
“Jane, please, I think you’ve been oversharing too much lately,” I tell her wryly. I continue to wash my hands, frantically pumping out the lavender scented soap from the dispenser. Who knew that excessive hand-washing was a thing I did when I was nervous because I feel like I’m going to scrub my skin raw.
She sighs, exasperated, and I hear the toilet flush. “I don’t mean with me,” she cries out in annoyance as she barges out of the stall. “I mean here. In this place.” She flings her hands around.
“Try not to do that until after you’ve washed your hands,” I comment, lifting a small soft hand towel from the ornate holder on the granite countertop. With four stalls and three sinks, this bathroom seems more like the type you’d see in a fancy restaurant but I guess they have enough visitors and guests to warrant it. Growing up in our palace, it felt like barely anyone was over when I was younger, though it could be because my mother had been the one to love entertaining.
“Honestly,” she says, shaking her head as she comes over to the sink and washes up. “I mean, why are you here? They haven’t even said. They’re just all talking and talking like you always come over here for dinner.”
I shrug as I toss the towel in the wicker basket under the sink. Actually, it’s more Jane that’s been doing the talking and talking. “I don’t know. For a moment there I thought maybe it was something to do with the environment, but I’m not sure if they took what I was saying seriously or not.”
“Everyone takes you seriously when you talk about what matters to you. It’s impossible not to.”
I wince. “I guess I was a little blunt, wasn’t I?” I hadn’t meant to start blabbering on like that but I couldn’t help myself.
“You’re just being Ella, that’s all,” she says.
“Which reminds me, please try not to call me Ella. Your Highness or Madam will have to do.”
Jane stares at me for a moment and then sighs. “Yes, of course, Your Highness. You can’t blame me for getting confused since you would absolutely murder me on campus if I dared to call you that.”
“I know. I just think that they’re expecting someone royal and proper and refined. Everything I’m not.”
“You are all those things and more,” Jane says, reaching out to grab my chin and tilt my head so that I’m looking at myself in the mirror. “Look at you. You look like the princess you are.”
All I see are the same two eyes that look back at me every single day. The fancy blue dress I bought and the elegant updo doesn’t change any of that. My title escapes me, even on days like today.
“You know,” I tell her, “I don’t even think I like this royal life. Living in a palace, all these formalities.”
She takes her hand away and rolls her eyes. “Bloody hell, is there anything you do like these days? Loosen up, Princess. Whatever reason you’re here, it can’t be anything sinister, so just relax and enjoy it. Maybe it really does have to do with better relations between your countries and your father thought that you were the most amiable representative. You’ve certainly got more brains and wit than any of your brothers.”
“Are you kidding me? My brothers are younger versions of my father.”
“As I was saying,” she says sternly, “you have warmth and personality and sometimes that’s far more important in these kind of situations than all the class and manners in the world. Your brothers are like royal robots, always saying the right things but never meaning them. And you, Ella, Your Highness, Madam, you are not a robot.”
I’m not sure that not being a robot should be considered one of my selling points but it will have to do for now. Because that’s what all of this comes down to, isn’t it? Someone here is selling something and I just have to figure out what it is.
“Now come on, we’ve been in here long enough.” She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the door, trying not to step on my dress. “Let’s go drink and be merry.” She pauses. “But not too merry. You don’t want to be known as Princess Lush, either.”
I bite my lip. I’m not a heavy drinker and three glasses of wine can make me crawl to bed, but Jane is the one I should really be watching out for. I swear she must have trained for the drinking Olympics at one point in her life, or maybe that’s just every English person.
We step out into the hall and I try to steady my breath and calm my nerves as we walk toward the parlor room where the Norwegian royal family is speaking to each other rather passionately about something.
I have to admit, I like them. I like that they’re nowhere near as stuffy as I thought they’d be, I like that when I started talking about the environment, the King didn’t take offense to the fact that I was basically putting down his country’s policies, I like that there seems to be a lot of love between the four of them. They feel like an actual family unit and not just a monarchy.
Except for the odd one out. Magnus. He doesn’t quite fit in and it’s not just the way he’s dressed with that ugly orange tie and his dark longish hair constantly falling in his face, or the scruff on his masculine jaw and strong chin—the opposite of the clean-shaven, tidy, and elegant royals you usually see. It’s like he’s observing everyone all the time, locked in his head until he blurts something out that most would consider to be inappropriate.
I hate to admit it, but he intrigues me. I don’t want him to because it’s such a cliché to find the bad boy, the rich boy, the royal boy, interesting because the world is crammed full of those types of girls. But there is something about him that steals my attention, something that appeals to some very deep, basic level inside me. Like he speaks to my body, not my brain. I have to constantly remind myself that he’s not my type, that I’m not his type, that he’s just here and has nothing to do with the reason that I’m here.
And yet, during the meal, every time I looked over at him, he was looking at me. His eyes are dark and intense, and they have this way of holding your attention until it’s almost uncomfortable. I felt like he was trying to creep into every nook and cranny inside me. I often had to look away.
“He’s just a tall drink of water, isn’t he?” Jane murmurs to me just before we enter the room, her eyes drifting all over Magnus. I’m tempted to jab her in the side again, but I know it doesn’t do me any good.
Besides, she’s right. I won’t admit to her that she’s right because then she’ll probably try some match-making scheme and I’d hate to see how that would go (knowing her, it would probably be along the lines of her telling him I want to shag him or something equally as embarrassing), but he’s a damn handsome man in his own rugged, overly confident way. He’s tall, with shoulders like mountains, and I know that underneath that fitted suit he’s covered in tattoos and loads of muscle, no thanks to all the paparazzi pics of him sunbathing on the royal yacht in the summer.
But even though I can appreciate how blessed he is in the looks department (and I’m not surprised, the King is handsome, and the Queen and his sister are gorgeous), that doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into a bumbling fool, even if there is something about his gaze that leaves me rather unnerved and tongue-tied.
And so, right now, as we approach the party, I can feel his eyes burning on me. I don’t even have to look up at him. Instead, I keep my attention on Mari, his sister, who seems only a few years younger than me and because of that is a lot more approachable.
“Champagne?” the Queen asks me as a waiter brings over a tray.
“Yes, thank you,” I tell her as I take a glass off the tray and Jane does the same. I notice that the King isn’t drinking anything at all and that he hadn’t at dinner either. I know that the Norwegian royal family is known for partaking in good food and drink, but it would be rude of me to bring it up. Perhaps he’s quitting for health reasons. I remember reading somewhere recently that he had pneumonia at the start of the summer.
“So,” the King says, “how are you liking your school? I know we touched on it briefly earlier but obviously you picked St. Andrews for a reason.”
My first instinct is to shrug, but I know I have to sound as concise as possible. “I had a year off between finishing up my boarding school and before starting university. I decided to travel around the UK, and I absolutely fell in love with Scotland. I’m afraid I’m there more for the country than the school, though of course it’s a very well-regarded university.”