Prince of my Panties (Royal Package 2)

The man frowns, but nods and keeps nodding for a long time, as if he’s working something out in his head.

Finally, he lifts a hand, holding up a finger. “Give me a minute. I need to talk to my great uncle. He’s in charge, but as long as it’s all right with him, I have an idea. Something that might help Mami remember.” He starts to go, only to turn back with a laugh and an extended hand. “I’m Manfri, by the way.”

“Elizabeth.” I shake his warm, dry palm. “And this is J-Jeffrey.”

“Good to meet you both,” Manfri says, pumping Jeffrey’s hand before clapping his together. “Let’s see what we can do.”

“Thank you, we appreciate it,” Jeffrey says. He holds out the bottle of wine. “We brought this for you.”

Manfri takes it, glancing at the label with raised brows before giving a little grunt. “Wow. That’s…” He lifts wary eyes. “This used to be her favorite. Mami’s. She doesn’t drink anymore, obviously. It’s not safe in her condition, but…” He shivers lightly. “Makes you think.”

It does, but I’m not surprised.

Ever since we started looking for answers about the curse, it’s felt as if we’ve aligned with some larger force, an invisible current carrying us along to the place we want to go.

I just hope it will stay with us a little longer—long enough to find out if there’s a way I can rewrite the ending to my story before it’s too late.

27

Jeffrey

Manfri jogs around the fire pit, approaching an older man standing by a baby pool, where several of the youngest children are splashing and tossing brightly colored toys into the air, showing no sign of heading to bed even though it’s getting late. The sun doesn’t set until after nine this time of year, but it’s already slipped behind the trees and the sky is beginning to grow dark.

The two men confer briefly, while I divide my attention between them, Elizabeth, and the woman in the chair. Every time I glance the old woman’s way, I can feel the saggy balloon holding what’s left of my hope leak air.

She just looks so…vacant. Even when Manfri’s uncle motions across the camp to another older woman, who approaches Kaula, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning down to whisper into her ear, nothing shifts in her expression.

It isn’t until the other woman takes her hand and bends low, her face hovering directly in front of Kaula’s, that she blinks and life returns to her eyes.

She smiles up at her friend, nodding and murmuring something I can’t hear from this far away.

A moment later, she rises from her chair, the blanket in her lap falling to the ground as the other woman guides her away from the fire, toward the wagon. Neither woman seems to notice Elizabeth and I standing by the fire, but I have a strong feeling their move has to do with us, especially after the other woman turns to shoot a worried glance our way before helping Kaula up the steps and through the opening in the thick tarp covering the wagon.

Elizabeth releases a held breath, making it clear the interaction hasn’t escaped her attention. “This doesn’t look good, does it?”

I put an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to my side, but I don’t speak. Manfri is already on his way back from the consult with his uncle, and I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure what I’m thinking.

I only know that I hate seeing people look at Lizzy with that shade of pity in their eyes.

It reminds me of the way people looked at my mother after my father left her for a much younger woman. Maybe not a shocking development in the real world, but nothing like that had ever happened in our royal family. It was the scandal of the decade. Every time my mother stepped into a room, backs would turn, hands would lift, and the whispered gossip would start.

It was like she’d contracted a particularly virulent illness. People felt sorry for her, yes, but they also didn’t want her too close. It seemed that misfortune of that magnitude cast the character of the sufferer in doubt—surely she must have done something to deserve such public shaming.

But my mother hadn’t done a thing to deserve my father’s betrayal, and Lizzy certainly did nothing to deserve a curse.

Or the rumor of a curse.

Who knows what’s real anymore?

Maybe no one. Maybe Alzheimer’s Disease has stolen the truth away forever.

“Come, we’ll try.” Manfri motions for us to follow him as he starts toward the wagon. “My aunt was traveling with my grandmother during the time you mentioned. She might have heard her say something about you. We can ask. And if not, she’s always good at helping Mami remember.”

He stops in front of the steps leading up into the dimly lit interior and turns back to us with a hand raised in caution, “But if Mami isn’t having a good night, we leave right away, all right? I need that promise before we go inside. Sometimes she takes the forgetting in stride, but sometimes the confusion upsets her, which isn’t good for her health.”