Royally Not Ready(13)
Fuck, this is not going well at all.
Harrogate has totally squashed her personality into smatterings of nothing.
Convince her to stay here and train? Yeah, good luck to me.
When she heads toward the stairs, I say, “I know this isn’t what you expected, and I’m sorry we had to switch things up on you, but tomorrow, Lilly. You’ll get answers tomorrow.”
With a curt nod, she takes off toward her bedroom, leaving the room silent. A deafening silence, and I’m pretty sure we’re all thinking the same thing.
She’s bolting the first chance she gets.
Brimar brings out some bowls of soup. Lara helps him with drinks, and I grab the bread. Once we’re all seated, Brimar whispers, “Think she’s regretting her decision?”
“Yes,” I answer while I break a piece of bread. “I doubt Harrogate is what she envisioned when she said yes to coming. An old, broken-down castle doesn’t really scream thriving sovereign.”
“I wish they made it slightly more inviting in here,” Lara says with a shiver. “Even I’m slightly weirded out by the drab interior and lack of warm textiles.”
“Well, we weren’t supposed to be here and there wasn’t enough time to fix the place up before we arrived. It’s all spur-of-the-moment, thinking on our feet because there’s a damn leak.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Fuck, who could it be?”
Lara dips her spoon in her soup—potato and cheese—and says, “We’re trying to figure that out as we speak. Ottar is attempting to weed out people by questioning them. He believes it might have been someone close to Theo’s doctor.”
“He better find out soon, because the last thing we need is the press snooping about. I sent a message to Henrik to see what media control is happening and he’s put out an official statement. I haven’t been able to read it because of the goddamn reception here.”
“I know for a fact the Internet works here, it’s just the wind for now,” Brimar says. “Patience.”
“I don’t have any patience,” I say as I rub my head, a headache forming from the tense day.
“I noticed. You seem to have forgotten the term ever since you met Lilly.”
Speaking quietly, I lean in and ask, “Can you blame me? This whole attempt to convince a woman who has never heard of our country to be a royal is a goddamn joke. You’ve seen her.” I point toward the stairs, keeping my voice low enough that it won’t be picked up by the bustling wind. “She’s not even close to princess material. She swears, she has zero decorum, and she’s a full-fledged American with her offhand colloquialisms. Do you really think our country, our quaint, small country with its heavy traditions, is going to welcome an outsider?”
“She’s not an outsider,” Lara says. “She’s been hidden to our people. She is one of us, she just doesn’t know it yet.”
Still whispering, I ask, “Do you know what I have to train her in? Not just etiquette, which will be a feat on its own. For fuck’s sake, she asked me where her nipples were in the car because she thought they’d fallen off.”
A loud laugh escapes Lara’s lips. “Oh, I might like this girl.”
“That’s just one of the things she needs to learn. But I have to teach her the history and culture of our country. Meaning . . . she needs to learn to embroider, whittle, and become an inspired kulner. She needs to learn to bake, to paint, to speak to the people of Torskethorpe with care and interest. We’re talking about a woman who I found soaking random strangers in wet T-shirts when I arrived in Miami. Do you really think she’s going to be able to sit down and cross-stitch until her fingers bleed?”
“You never know,” Brimar says. “She had precise accuracy with the hose.”
I hate to admit it, but she did.
“It was an embarrassment. Not to mention, what kind of dirt could be dug up on her if she does fall in line with the crown? We’re talking about a former bikini-selling American turned queen. Tell me how that’s going to go over well. Hell, we exiled our very own prince for rolling around in moss.”
Brimar holds up his finger. “One-thousand-year-old sacred moss. He deserved what was coming to him.”
“She doesn’t even know how to pronounce the country’s name without stumbling.” I drag my hand over my face. “This is not going to go well. I’m going to spend all this goddamn time training her, and when it comes down to it, she’s not going to be good enough. Or worse, she’s going to realize she’s way out of depth and that Torskethorpe is not for her.”
“You don’t know that,” Lara defends. “You’re assuming she’ll fail without giving her a chance. You never know, she just might surprise you.” Lara leans forward and presses her hand to mine. “I know your first instinct is to think negatively, but that’ll do us no good in this situation. As much as you don’t want to admit it, she is our last chance at continuing the legacy that Theo has made for all of us. If you’re doing this for anyone, you’re doing this for him.”
I lean back in my chair, feeling defeated.
If anyone else understands the meaning of “doing it for Theo,” Lara and Brimar do. We all grew up together. Our parents all worked in the palace. My dad was a pastry chef, my mom was in charge of preserving the art collection, and both Brimar and Lara had parents who were servants within the palace walls. We would spend our summers running up and down the servant halls together. I can remember the day we first met Theo, face to face. We were playing tag, being far too loud, and he came barreling into the hallway through a secret door that led to the throne room.