A Princess for Christmas - Jenny Holiday Page 0,46

a country he had never heard of before this week.

“I’m not going to any balls, though.”

Chapter Eight

This had been a mistake.

The first hint was the palace itself.

It looked like the result you’d get if you did a Google image search for “castle in the Alps.”

It shouldn’t have been that jarring. Leo was doubly qualified to deal with the concept of a castle. He had half an architecture degree, and he was Gabby Ricci’s brother and therefore well acquainted with the concept of fairy-tale palaces.

Still: holy shit.

The thing was perched on top of a steep, treed hill. It appeared, from a distance, to be white, but he suspected it was actually constructed from yellow limestone or something similar. He counted three turrets, the asymmetry of which annoyed him. He checked himself. He had no business being offended by the placement, number, or mere existence of turrets on the royal palace of Eldovia.

They had been steadily gaining elevation since they got off the plane. He’d been cheered—falsely, it turned out—by the fact that they had flown commercial from New York to Zurich. But then a private plane had puddle-jumped them to a small airfield a short drive from “home,” to use the princess’s understated term for the monstrosity in the distance. And now they were being driven in a huge SUV, Marie and Mr. Benz in the second row and Leo and Gabby in the third. Torkel was riding shotgun.

The slope increased as they entered the palace compound through a gate. The guard, like the driver before him, and the pilot before him, had seemed genuinely happy to see Marie. They’d all offered a perfectly correct but warm, “Your Royal Highness,” and she had greeted them all equally warmly by name.

Marie glanced over her shoulder at him from time to time as if she was expecting him to say something, but he had been silent since they’d gotten off the second plane, the fact of which was less awkward than it would have been thanks to Gabby’s incessant chattering interspersed with amazed exclamations.

The car wound its way up the road from the gatehouse, climbing the hill on a series of switchbacks. He kept twisting around to see the castle as they approached. It was, objectively, ridiculous. But it was so . . . vehemently ridiculous that it was hard not to be impressed by it, even as it simultaneously inspired mild revulsion.

“Can you hike in these woods?” Gabby asked. “Oh! Can you ride horses in these woods? I’ve never ridden a horse. I think I might be afraid to, but I’ve also always kind of wanted to try.”

“Mr. Benz is an avid horseman. I’m sure he’d be delighted to take you riding,” Marie said. Mr. Benz looked anything but delighted at this suggestion, but he did not object.

The car moved slowly, laboring as the slope increased, and Leo felt a little like he was being driven to his own execution. When they finally reached the front door—was that the term? Did palaces have front doors?—there was a lineup of people outside.

Not people, or at least not regular people. Servants. Some of the women even wore black dresses with white aprons and caps—like “sexy maid” Halloween costumes minus the sexy part.

“Oh dear,” Marie murmured. She turned to Leo. “There is going to be a bit of silly pomp and ritual right now. Just smile and ignore it, and we’ll soon be done.”

“Smile and ignore it? Have you met me?” He couldn’t help the retort, but she grinned, so he doubled down. “I’m not bowing to your father. Or to anyone.” He was teasing, but not really.

“Of course not. You’re not his subject.”

He refrained from pointing out that he wasn’t anyone’s subject and never would be. That it wasn’t his citizenship that kept him from bowing; it was that he didn’t bow.

There were several opportunities in the ensuing minutes to feel once again like he had made a mistake. But he bucked up and endured the “pomp and ritual” as a butler—so apparently Mr. Benz truly wasn’t one—greeted Marie. Gabby provided distraction just by being her credulous self and was properly fussed over by the housekeeper, whose name was Frau Lehman.

Mr. Benz and the butler started conversing in German.

Marie, who had been chatting with Frau Lehman, suddenly whipped her head up. “Is Father in Riems?” There was some alarm in her tone.

He had noticed that Marie always spoke English when he and Gabby were around, even when she was speaking to her associates about