know your sight was so poor. Or are you trying to make fun of my height?” Balduin said and shocked us all.
“Of course not.” Hermenegild nodded at him.
“Would anyone like refreshments?” Mrs. Hermenegild asked quickly to save the man from apologizing. “They are in the dining room. Please, Your Highness.”
I glanced down at Balduin, and he held his head high.
I grinned, walking forward. At least this wasn’t completely humorless. Watching someone take the prime minister to task, even for a second, almost made up for being here at all.
“Everyone, His Royal Highness, Prince Galahad.”
Turning the corner, I prepared to shake the hands of other men and women of parliament only to find that it was not only not a member of parliament, but there, dressed in a rather suggestive black gown, was the one and only Sabina Franziska. Every panic button and alarm went off in my mind. Of all the places, how had she managed to get in here? My gaze shifted to the prime minister, wondering if he had plotted from the very beginning? And what end was he was trying to accomplish?
“Your Highness?” Mrs. Hermenegild questioned as the server was still waiting for me to take a glass of wine.
“Thank you.” I nodded, taking it from him and turning my back on Sabina, looking at the rest of the guests in attendance.
I would not allow anyone to manipulate or entrap me. I made it all around the room until finally reaching Sabina again.
“Your Highness.” She curtsied much longer than she needed to.
I did not give her my hand. Instead, I smiled. “You are capable of getting into anywhere, Ms. Franziska.”
“I was lucky enough to be invited by Sir Wolverhover.” She nodded at the lanky young man beside her.
“Sir Wolverhover, thank goodness you are here. If you weren’t, I’m sure the press would have a field day, making up new false rumors of tonight’s dinner,” I replied.
“Thank you, sir?” he replied, though clearly uncomfortable. Good, if I had to be, the rest of them should have been as well.
“We have all been the prey of media, Your Highness,” Hermenegild said, coming beside me. “Please, follow me. I have been informed dinner is served.”
I looked at Balduin, hoping he had an excuse to allow me to leave. However, he only frowned, shaking his head.
“Brilliant,” I managed to get out as I followed them. I prayed to make it through this unscathed, but knowing if I had such luck, I wouldn’t have been placed in this situation to begin with.
As we sat down—me at one end of the table and Ivan at the other—some bloody fool thought to say, “Isn’t this pleasant? If only we could all come together like this more often.”
Pleasant?
I smiled. “Yes, though I hope I have more forewarning next time as I had an important date tonight.”
“With Miss Wyntor?” the man asked beside.
“Yes, my fiancée.”
“Oh, is Miss Wyntor adapting to royal life?” Hermenegild asked as they brought the first course to me. “Actually, not just royal life but Ersovia.”
“She must be completely out of it.” His wife giggled, and when I looked at her, she immediately sat up straighter. “I mean, as an American, it is a lot to get used to. New language, new customs, new government.”
“Yes, it is challenging, I imagine,” I replied, nodding thanks to the server as he brought my plate. “However, she would not be first to do so. Throughout history, princes and kings have married foreign princesses. Like Princess Ingrid II of Denmark, who married my ancestor, King Kristoffer III, in 1802. And their son ended up being Armand the Great. Despite how hard it may be, not only is Odette willing to learn, she is learning quickly. In fact, she is to give a speech at Royal University. So clearly, neither she nor I am any different from anyone else that came before us.”
“What a pity it is that America does not have a princess, though,” Hermenegild replied—clearly stating that Odette was not like Princess Ingrid II.
“True. But to Americans, an heiress is just a princess without a title, correct?” another man stated, laughingly, though they were all silent.
And so, I lifted my spoon and ate.
“Very correct,” Sir Wolverhover said, responding late for some odd reason. “But would it not have been easier to marry someone Ersovian?”
“I do not believe love cares about what is easier. In all honesty, from the great writers and poets, it seems to me love prefers the harder.” I chuckled.