The Controversial Princess (Smoke & Mirrors Duet #1)(3)

“They love you,” Eddie says softly, like a reminder that at least someone in this world admires me, because my family—present company excluded—certainly doesn’t.

“They love you equally,” I reply, smiling across the car at him. But while the youngest of my brothers has the public’s affection like me, he has our family’s fondness, too. Unlike me. He has a purpose in the military, is making use of himself. “Stop the car, Damon.”

“Ma’am?” His eyes jump to the mirror, unsure.

“Stop the car,” I repeat. “I’d like to have a walkabout.”

“But it’s not scheduled, ma’am.”

I just about refrain from rolling my eyes. “It’s my birthday. All these people are here hoping to catch a glimpse, and I don’t want to disappoint them.”

Eddie remains quiet, knowing I’m going to do what I’m going to do, and Damon, albeit reluctantly, slows the car to a stop just before the closed gates. I wait for him to exit and open the door for me, his hand at his earpiece, telling the cars behind of the revised plan. “Are you coming?” I ask Eddie.

“We’ll be late. The King won’t be happy.”

“By our lateness, or because I’ve stopped to say hello to some well-wishers?”

“Both.”

I feign fright, widening my eyes. “Will I be hung, drawn, and quartered?”

“Very funny.”

I smile and step out, straightening my dress as Kim dashes toward me from the car behind. “Ma’am, this wasn’t part of—”

“I know.” I dismiss her and plaster a smile on my face, turning toward the crowds. Their excitement notches up a few decibels as I wander to the nearest railing. Flowers are thrust at me, people bowing their heads in respect. I come to a stop by a young girl, who has climbed up the waist-height barriers so she can see over them. She has a bunch of daisies in her grasp, a huge, excited smile on her face. I step forward, forcing her to crane her neck back to keep me in her sights. “Are those for me?” I ask gently, pointing to the flowers. She nods enthusiastically, thrusting them forward for me to take. I smile as I accept them, bringing them to my nose. “They are beautiful.”

“Happy birthday, Princess,” she sings, and a few people close by chuckle.

“Why, thank you.”

“It’s my birthday, too.”

“It is?” I mirror her excitement as her mother pulls her down from the metal railings, placing her on her feet. I crouch in front of the barrier to get back to her eye level. “Then happy birthday to you, too. What is your name?”

“It’s Clara.”

“And how old are you today, Clara?”

Her little chubby hands come up to the metal rods, clasping them, her face pushed as close to them as she can get. “I’m six, and I’m going to be a princess when I grow up, just like you.”

I let my mouth drop open in feigned shock. “Wow. You will make a beautiful princess. Will you live in a castle or a palace?”

“A palace,” she declares. “And I’ll be pretty like you, too. But I have white hair, and you have brown. And my eyes are blue, and yours are brown. And I’ll wait for my Prince Charming to come find me.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” I smile at her little na?ve face. “Me too.”

“Where is your Prince Charming?” she asks.

My mind sees Haydon Sampson, the man I’m promised to. But he is most definitely not my Prince Charming. “Heading this way on his noble steed,” I assure her, and maybe me, too. Looking at my wrist, I ponder something for a moment. But only for a moment. Pulling off the solid silver bracelet, I hand it to her through the bars. “Happy birthday, Clara.”

Her little blue gaze stares at the bracelet, her tiny mouth agape. Then she quickly snatches the silver from my hand, like I might retract my offer. “Clara,” her mother says, admonishing her.

“It’s okay,” I assure her, watching as Clara zooms off, hustling herself through the crowds, calling for her daddy in excitement. I watch her go, wild and free. And then I focus on the bars before me, bars that could be mistaken for a cell, a reminder that I am anything but free. Slowly rising to my feet, I feel my mouth automatically stretch into a smile as I turn and make my way back to the car.



WE’RE DIRECTED TO THE GRAND Claret Lounge at Claringdon by the master of the household, Sid, where the family is gathered and awaiting our arrival before we make an over-the-top, elaborate entrance into the gardens like the united, strong royal family we are. Or conceived to be. Father’s face is aggravated when we enter, Major Davenport looking equally displeased with our lateness. And in the corner sipping water, the King’s private doctor. Short, round, with ill-fitted suits and his black leather doctor’s bag to hand, Dr. Goodridge is never far from the King.

I ignore my father’s displeasure and home straight in on Matilda, my cousin and daughter of my father’s sister Victoria. “You’re in trouble,” she whispers in my ear as she hugs me.

“Same story, different day,” I reply, moving on to Matilda’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, neither of who wish me a happy birthday. “So wonderful to see you, Victoria,” I gush, embracing my aunt enthusiastically before moving to my uncle. “And you, Phillip.”