Tangled Games (Dating Games #5) - T.K. Leigh Page 0,45
obviously former military, clean cut and authoritative, yet still obedient to the Crown. “Lieutenant Thomas, would you be kind enough to send word to have tea prepared for us in the rose garden?”
“Ms. Tremblay hasn’t been instructed on proper tea etiquette,” Lieutenant Thomas interjects, his posture stiff. “Perhaps it’s best if—”
“Then I shall take this opportunity to do just that. Tea. Rose garden.”
He bows his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
She fixes her steely gaze back on me. “Come with me.” She doesn’t wait as she spins on her heel and strides away.
Acting the part of the trained dog I am, I rush to catch up, my steps quick.
“Once you begin your etiquette classes, you’ll learn that when Prince Gabriel becomes king, you’ll need to remain two steps behind him at all times.”
“Does the reason for this go back to the whole divine and ordained by God thing?”
“Yes. And because no one should ever be seen to be on equal footing as the king.” She pins me with a glare. “Even his wife. The sooner you dispense with any feminist notions of maintaining equality in your relationship, the better.”
I falter for a minute, her statement hitting me hard. Harder than I thought it would. I knew once Anderson took on the role as king, I’d have to show a certain level of deference to him. But to never be able to walk beside him in public? Never be able to hold hands as we stroll the streets? It’s borderline sadistic to take that away from a couple.
What other rules will I have to follow? What other rules will dictate our relationship?
I try to not allow my mind to wander. Instead, I remain the silent, obedient future crown princess Queen Veronica wants me to be as we walk through the hallways.
Palace attendants are stationed every few yards, their black and red uniforms blending into the wall. It reminds me of that scene in Annie when Daddy Warbucks takes Little Orphan Annie to the movies for the first time. How theater attendants lined the pathway from the doors all the way down the aisle as a show of opulence and overindulgence.
This feels the same.
As we approach a pair of double doors, an attendant magically appears. After bowing toward Queen Veronica, he opens a door, and we step onto the palace grounds.
If it were any other time, I’d take a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Grass so green I question whether it’s real. Fragrant flowers of a dozen different varieties. There are even a few butterflies flitting about from flower to flower, as if the famous Lamberside Palace gardens aren’t picturesque enough already.
A man in black tails and white gloves escorts us past a large, marble fountain and toward a more secluded area, overhanging trees creating the feeling of a private alcove. A single table with two chairs sits in the center, and the man ushers us in its direction.
“Your Majesty…” He pulls out a chair for her.
“No, Michael. Ms. Tremblay first. I’d like to see how she sits.”
I stare at her smug expression, as if she’s expecting me to collapse into a heap on the chair, completely uncivilized. I didn’t realize there was a proper way to sit.
Apparently there is.
Trying not to let my nerves show, I walk to the opposite chair and lower myself, sitting with my legs at a ninety-degree angle.
“Slant them.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you keep your legs positioned as such, it’s possible for someone to glimpse what’s underneath your skirt. Always sit with your legs slanted down, preferably crossed at the ankles.”
I fight the urge to tell her this wouldn’t be a problem if I were allowed to wear pants. I do as she asks and slant my legs slightly to my right, crossing them at the ankles. It’s not exactly the most comfortable position, but I act as if it’s normal.
“Lovely. Now you look a little more polished, although we still have our work cut out for us.”
She lowers herself into the chair across from mine, her movements graceful and refined, head raised and back straight. Once she’s situated, she nods at the man, who pours tea into her cup before mine. I don’t make any move to bring my tea to my mouth just yet, waiting for her.
When she does, I watch her movements, attempting to mimic them.
“Keep your pinky in,” she chastises. “Pinch your index and thumb through the handle, using your middle finger to support it. At no time should you ever extend your pinky.”