“But I cannot possibly do that. I have many responsibilities. My grandfather has never believed in a monarch who dies one day and leaves the country to an untrained person. I am always in the public eye. It is the price I pay for the privilege of being a princess.”
“So far I can’t see that it’s much of a privilege.”
“And I have a duty to my fiancé,” she said, draining her glass. “Julian is right: a royal wedding would help our country.”
“Luncheon is served, Your Royal Highness,” Brownie said at the doorway.
J.T. drank the rest of his whiskey. “Great. Send me an invitation. I’ll do everything I can to help just as soon as I’m convinced he’s not involved in this. Let’s eat.”
Chapter Eighteen
TWENTY minutes later Count Julian arrived with what indeed looked to be an army. They were planning to use the hunting lodge for their headquarters while searching for the princess and her attacker, but Julian strode into the dining room to see Her Royal Highness sitting at a table with a commoner and sharing a disgustingly coarse meal.
“Good to see you, Count,” the American called. “Thought we’d seen the last of your back.”
“Seize him!” Count Julian ordered one of the four guardsmen behind him.
Aria stood. “No,” she said to the guard. “He saved my life and he is not to be harmed. Leave us.”
With a court bow, the guard and his men left the room.
“Julian,” Aria said firmly. “The guard and you will escort me home. I have engagements this afternoon.”
J.T. stood and walked back toward them. “You can’t go into the public.”
“What am I to do? Lock myself in a tower? Should I find a food taster to check for poison? Am I to incarcerate myself?” She turned to Julian. “To explain the appointments I missed this morning, we will say that I fell from my horse and had to walk down the mountain. It will be better to be laughed at than to frighten people.” She walked ahead of him out the door.
J.T. stopped Julian. “We can’t let her do this. It’s too dangerous for her.”
Julian somehow managed to look down his nose at the taller J.T. “You cannot possibly understand. She is a crown princess; she will be queen.”
“I understand that you’re supposed to love her,” J.T. said.
“What has that to do with it?”
“Her life is in danger, you little—” J.T. stopped. “Or would you like to see her out of the way?”
“If this were another era and you were a gentleman, I’d call you out for that.” He stepped around J.T. and left the room.
“I’m ready when you are,” J.T. called after him.
* * *
For J.T. the rest of the day was a nightmare. He stayed as near as possible to Aria but too many people pushed them apart. They were eager people with their hands outstretched, people with tears in their eyes who wanted to see their princess. She had been away for so long and they desperately wanted to see that she was well and not as ill as had been rumored.
As an American, it was difficult for J.T. to understand what she meant to these people. An ancient man in a wheelchair burst into tears when Aria held his hands in hers. “I have not lived in vain,” he croaked out. “My life has some meaning now.”
J.T. tried to envision the Americans’ reaction to seeing the president. Probably half of them would use the opportunity to tell him what he was doing wrong. Also, there was always the feeling of impermanence. Four years and he was out.
But Aria was a princess for life—however long that would be, J.T. thought with a jolt.
These people lined the street as she walked wherever she could. At the Scientific Academy he stood against the wall and listened to an incredibly boring speech about bugs. He let out a loud yawn that made that lipless Lady Werta turn and glare at him.
At 6:45 Aria was ushered into an ancient, highly polished Rolls to be driven back to the palace. J.T. pushed his way through the crowd, opened the opposite door, and climbed in with Lady Werta and Aria.
“Get out!” Lady Werta shouted. “Stop the car,” she screeched to the driver.
“It’s all right,” Aria said.