His Majesty's Mistake

“Not far now,” Emmeline said quietly, the laughter gone from her voice.

The car was speeding from the freeway to a quiet city street, and she was focused on the old buildings passing by, but her expression was serene, her blue eyes clear and untroubled.

If one didn’t know better you’d think she was heading to a fashion show and luncheon instead of an excruciating encounter with her parents.

If one didn’t know, he silently repeated, realizing he’d never known her. Realizing he’d always looked at the externals—the impossibly beautiful young woman, her effortless style, her placid expression—and had imagined that she sailed through life unmarked, untouched, unconcerned with the human fray.

He’d been wrong.

Emmeline suddenly turned her head and looked at him. For a moment she just looked into his eyes, cool and composed, and then her lips slowly curved up. “Is there something on my face?” she asked, arching a winged eyebrow, looking every inch a princess. “Or perhaps something green in my teeth?”

He nearly smiled at the something green in her teeth. She was funny. All these years he’d thought he’d known her, but he hadn’t. He’d known of her, and then he’d projected onto her, but he’d gotten her wrong.

She wasn’t stiff and dramatic and petulant. She was emotional, but she was also smart, warm, with a mischievous streak running through her.

“I have a feeling you were a handful as a little girl,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose. “I must have been. Until I was thirteen I thought my name was Emmeline-get-in-here-you’re-in-trouble-d’Arcy.”

Makin laughed softly, even as his chest suddenly ached. She was funny. And sweet. And really lovely. Heartbreakingly lovely and he didn’t know why he’d never seen it before.

Was it because she was so pretty? Was it because she looked like a princess that he had assumed the worst?

“I’m glad I had the chance to spend the past few days with you,” he said. “When you get past the body guards and ladies-in-waiting and multitude of assistants, you’re quite likable.”

She choked on a laugh. “Careful. Don’t be too nice. I might think we were friends.”

It crossed his mind that she could probably use a friend. He was beginning to understand there wasn’t anyone in her life to protect her. It was wrong. “So tell me, how will it go once we reach your home?”

The warmth faded from her eyes. “It won’t be pleasant. There will be hard things said, particularly from my mother.”

“She has a temper?”

“She does. She can be … hurtful.”

“Just remember, sticks and stones might break your bones…”

“… but words will never hurt me.” She finished the children’s rhyme, and her voice trailed off. She smiled a little less steadily. “It’ll be fine.”

That smile nearly pushed him over the edge.

He understood then that it wasn’t going to be fine. It wouldn’t be fine at all.

He looked away again, out the window at the elegant gray eighteenth-century buildings lining the square. It was raining, just a light drizzle, but the gray clouds made the afternoon feel dark and gloomy. The only color on the streets were the rows of trees leading to the adjacent park, lushly green with new spring growth.

“It seems bad now,” he said, aware that he was in danger of becoming too involved, caring too much. He needed to step back. Put some distance between him and Emmeline. He was merely bringing her home, returning her safely to her family. “But this will pass. In fact this time tomorrow you could have a whole new set of problems.”

“Oh, I hope not,” she answered with a cool, hollow laugh as the palace gates loomed before them. “I think I have enough on my plate. Don’t you?”

Entering the palace salon where her parents waited was like walking into a minefield, Emmeline thought several minutes later. She hadn’t even walked all the way through the salon doors before her mother exploded in anger.

“What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?” Queen Claire d’Arcy was on her feet in an instant, her voice a sharp ricochet of sound. “Or was your intention to humiliate us?”

“Absolutely not,” Emmeline answered firmly, forcing herself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, closing the gap between them. In a dim part of her brain she knew that Makin was behind her but he was the least of her worries now. “I would never want to humiliate you—”

“But you did! Zale Patek didn’t give us a specific reason why he felt it necessary to break off the engagement, only that he was concerned about a lack of compatibility. Compatibility,” the queen repeated bitterly. “What does that even mean?”