Royally Screwed (Royally 1)

She laughs and bites her lip. “Did you install it? Your parents?”

“Oh no, it’s been here long before us. Most likely so visiting dignitaries or princes could have their wicked way with a mistress without giving the staff something to gossip about.”

“So cool.” Olivia sighs, glancing at the passage again.

“There’s one more thing I want to show you.” I lead her by the hand to the curtained balcony doors. “Besides the obvious benefits of the passage, I wanted you in this room—” I open the doors and Olivia gasps “—because it has the best fucking view ever.”

Her mouth goes slack as she stares out over the rear of the property, which resembles the utopian landscape of a fairy wonderland. The stone paths lit every few feet by thousands of hanging lanterns. The fountains, the mazes of greenery, the abundance of flowers of every shape and size—cherry blossoms and roses and tulips so large they hang over like colorful bells. In the distance is the pond, shining in the moonlight like a bath of liquid silver.

I stare at her stunned expression. “Not too shabby, huh?”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

I don’t take my eyes off Olivia’s face. “Me too.”

She turns toward me, reaches up slowly, and we kiss. The touch of Olivia’s mouth is soft and supple and tastes like homecoming. I lean down to deepen the kiss, until…

“Christ, you two are like piranhas constantly eating each other’s faces. Can you detach for a moment?”

My brother walks in and helps himself to a full glass of brandy on the tray by the fireplace.

I give Olivia an apologetic smile. “What do you need, Henry?”

“My rooms are being renovated, so Grandmother said I’m to stay in one of your guest rooms.”

Five hundred eight-seven rooms, and she puts him in Guthrie House. With us. Subtlety was never the Queen’s style.

“And I’m bored,” he whines. “Let’s give Olive a tour. That’ll be something to do, at least. And we can go see Cook—ask her to make the biscuits I like so much. I’ve missed them.”

He means cookies, for you Americans out there.

It’s not a bad idea. If Olivia’s going to be here for the summer, I want her to feel comfortable, introduce her to the staff.

“Are you too tired for a walkabout?” I ask Olivia.

“No, not even a little. But I should unpack.”

I wave my hand. “The maids will take care of that.”

She taps the side of her head playfully. “That’s right, the maids—how could I forget.” She picks up my hand. “Then let’s go. Show me your palace.”

We start in the kitchen and work our way up. Cook, a large, sweet, boisterous woman who’s worked at Guthrie House since my father was a lad, tackles my brother on sight. She admonishes him for being gone too long—and then gives him a whole tray of his favorite biscuits.

Then Cook greets Olivia with another engulfing hug. Her name’s not really Cook, but Henry and I don’t know her by anything else. She has the thickest brogue I’ve ever heard, and Olivia smiles politely and nods while Cook jabbers on—though I can tell she has no idea what she’s saying.

Olivia’s already met Fergus, but on the way to show her the ballrooms, we pass Mrs. Everston, the upstairs maid, and make introductions. We also run into Winston, the head Dark Suit—who’s in charge, in control and in-the-know of every nook and cranny of the royal family inside and outside the palace. Henry once heard that he was an assassin in his early years, and based on his calculating, cold attitude, I believe it. We see Jane Stiltonhouse, the Palace travel secretary—a woman who reminds me of a human butter knife. She’s thin, sharp, and has a shrill voice like the sound made when two pieces of silverware are rubbed together.

Olivia’s eyes glow and her mouth is perpetually open in awe as we go from one gilded historic room to another. Our last stop is the portrait hall, a long corridor with framed oil paintings of past monarchs, their families and ancestors. Olivia gazes timidly down the shadowy hall, so long and dark, the end can’t be seen—it just trails off into total blackness.

“You grew up here, in the palace?” she asks.

“I was sent to boarding school at seven—lived most of the year there. But vacations and summers were spent here.”

She shivers. “Weren’t you ever afraid that it was haunted?”

“The portraits are on the creepy side. But it’s not scary once you get used to it—Henry and I used to scooter down this hallway all the time.”

“How cute,” Olivia says quietly. “Just like the kid from The Shining.”

I laugh. “Minus the elevator filled with blood, but yeah, just like that.”

Her eyes slide over my face, gleaming with naughty intentions. She whispers, so Henry can’t hear, “When you laugh like that, those dimples show up—it makes me want to climb up your body and lick them.”

I immediately grow thick and hard at the idea. “Feel free to lick anything you want, anytime.”

Later that evening, Cook makes us a giant bowl of salted-caramel popcorn. I take particular joy in watching Olivia suck on her sticky fingers between bites.

I remind myself to kiss Cook tomorrow.

The popcorn is for the movie Olivia wanted to watch. Although we have a media room, Olivia preferred my sitting room, in our pajamas, in an oasis of pillows and blankets on the floor. Henry joins us.