Prince of my Panties (Royal Package 2)

“There’s another part of the story that’s strange to me,” Jeffrey says, motioning toward the book between us. “Greta allegedly had this baby at twenty-six, after her betrothal to a Swiss duke was dissolved a year before for reasons that remain undisclosed.”

“Maybe he heard she had a secret Romani lover,” I say. “I’m sure people gossiped as much then as they do now. Probably more since they didn’t have television or podcasts.”

“But even at twenty-two or twenty-three, whenever the engagement became official, she would have already been considered an old maid. Women were married as teenagers in those times. Gertrude was seventeen when she married. Why wait so long to marry off her younger sister? Especially when Greta was allegedly such a beauty?”

I shrug. “Maybe Greta didn’t want to be married, and Gertrude respected that. Maybe they didn’t want to be separated. The book said they were close before the illegitimate baby thing drove them apart. Sabrina and I are older than they were at the time, and the past year has been hard for us, knowing we’ll never share a house again. Sabrina used to say we’d move back in together when we were old and raise pot-bellied pigs and hummingbirds, but…”

“Why pigs and hummingbirds?”

“Because it made us laugh,” I say softly, a sudden wave of longing for my sister tightening my throat. “Just one of our silly sister jokes.” I take a sip of my coffee, but it tastes more bitter than it did before. “I should call and check on her. That story in the Gallantia Post about the twin switch was pretty rough. And that picture of her was brutal.”

“She’ll be fine,” Jeffrey says. “Sabrina’s made of tough stuff.”

“She is,” I admit. “Not as tough as Zan, but they’ve both always been so much stronger than I am.”

“I think you’re strong. You proved it today. You faced your fear and powered through with very little help from me.”

“Thank you for that.” I set my mug down. “It was nice to fight my own battle for a change. My sisters and parents usually rush in to speak for me. They mean well, but sometimes I can’t tell if they’re doing it to spare me the embarrassment of stuttering. Or to spare themselves, you know?”

“I’m sure their hearts are in the right place. The people who love us usually mean well, even if their methods are inscrutable at times.” He crosses his arms over his chest, making his muscles bulge in that delicious, distracting way. If he hadn’t bulged so often in the past hour, I would have found that birth record at least fifteen minutes sooner. “Which makes the Gertrude and Greta situation feel even stranger. If they were close, why did things get so dark so quickly? Gertrude finds out Greta’s illegitimate child is half Romani and instantly issues a decree forbidding the birth of any new Romani children and a big fat round of kidnapping for the ones who’ve already been born? That child was Gertrude’s niece and half Rochat, and she murdered the baby in cold blood.”

“Allegedly murdered, but yes, we can assume all the babies were killed.” I shake my head. “Having a baby out of wedlock back then was a scandal, a huge stain on the family honor. And for it to be a half Romani baby…” I sigh. “I mean, even now, Romani babies aren’t adopted as quickly as babies of other ethnic backgrounds. There is still so much anti-gypsy sentiment around here. I can only imagine how intense that was three centuries ago.”

“But to turn on her own family like that,” Jeffrey says. “And then Greta repays the favor times infinity, or as long as the Rochat royal family endures. A death in every generation.”

“The royal family…” I murmur, tapping my boot on the concrete as my thoughts race. “So maybe babies that aren’t royal are spared? Maybe illegitimate babies, like my aunt, are immune to the curse?”

Jeffrey’s quite for a long time. I glance his way, studying him as he scowls at an empty sugar packet resting on the table beside his mug.

“I hate sugar, too,” I say.

He glances up, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“You were staring at that sugar packet like you were trying to make it catch fire.”

“Sorry. I’m a little fried.” He rubs his eyes. “Trying to make sense of this when half of me doesn’t believe in it is more taxing than I expected.” My lips part to remind him of the string of dead twenty-six-year-olds when he adds, “I agree that there is evidence to support this version of reality, I’m just…struggling.”

“And regretting taking this path?” I chew the inside of my lip. “Because if you are, I can see this through alone.”

“No. I started this, and I mean to finish it.” He drops his hand from his face and studies me with weary eyes. “As long as you still want me here.”