Chapter 2
Francis stayed for supper with Granny so they could finish their plotting.
He asked her if King Omar had extended an invitation to Francis personally, or if it had all been left in the hands of aides.
Granny informed him that Gustav had been in close personal contact with the king’s most senior private secretary, a fellow named Yusuf.
Apparently, Yusuf was approving the guests and making the matches himself.
“So the guests will be a surprise to King Omar?” Francis asked.
“No, dear,” Granny said. “The king has seen portraits of each invited guest. Same as you have seen his.”
“He’s seen my portrait? Which one?” Francis asked.
“I had copies made of the miniature I keep on my desk,” Granny informed him, making Francis groan softly.
“Granny, that portrait is so old,” he protested. “I was twenty when it was painted. I had a threadbare moustache and hardly any sideburns to speak of. I look like a baby.”
“Nonsense!” Granny scoffed, sticking her silver fork into a piece of venison. “You looked like a handsome young man, and it obviously did the trick, because you got approved for the guest list.”
“I look different now, Granny.”
“No, you don’t.” She glanced at him as she popped the meat in her mouth.
“Better facial hair. More jawline,” she said, chewing.
“Otherwise, still the same. Lucky you have all your hair! Need I remind you, your uncle Klaus was half bald by twenty-six! That’s another good reason not to wait. Those looks won’t last forever, dear.”
Francis inhaled deeply before replying dutifully, “Yes, Granny.”
There was no use arguing.
“Do you think the king’s portrait is recent?” he asked.
“Irrelevant!” Granny scoffed. “He is a king, and he has important resources. You will treat him as if he is the most attractive man in the known world, come what may. I don’t care if you get there and find out he’s grown a second head. You will charm him and outshine the others.”
Francis was a third son and a middle child. He had two younger sisters, and his eldest brother was king. Outshining others wasn’t in Francis’s wheelhouse.
“I’ll try my best, Granny.”
“And speaking of outshining,” Granny added, “don’t you dare invite Lady Holstein-Kiel on this trip. I know the two of you are thick as thieves, but that woman outshines you. Take someone quieter and with a sense of decorum. A wallflower.”
Francis fell quiet.
He could see Granny’s point, but he liked Gretchen Holstein-Kiel for exactly those reasons: she was boisterous and loud, and she made everyone laugh with her incredible wit. It made social engagements easier on Francis, who was a wallflower himself.
“I suppose I could ask Maddie,” he replied. “Lady Madeleine de Villiers. She’s French but she’s lived here for years with her husband and their children. She’s very demure.”
Granny nodded. “Good. And you can take Archie with you. He knows how to behave himself.”
Archie could be rather raucous at the right party, but Francis kept that fact to himself.
“Yes, Granny.”
“Gustav will meet you at the palace,” Granny went on. “You’ll have the whole voyage to study the protocol sheet he sent, and the list of commonly used phrases in Turkish. I expect you to memorise it all by the time you step off the boat.”
“Yes, Granny,” Francis repeated. “I imagine it will be warm there?”
“Gustav said the weather was quite pleasant,” Granny replied.
Francis’s smile felt strained. Maybe she had forgotten he burned easily in the sun.
It was early spring. With any luck, the weather wouldn’t be roasting hot by the time Francis got there.
* * * *
Things moved quickly.
Francis had one day to pack and get organised, then he and his party took a royal coach south, with armed guards on horseback riding alongside them. Their luggage would follow in a separate coach.
Stormburg was on good terms with its southern neighbours, so it was safer to use the southernmost port in Croatia for easy access to the Mediterranean Sea.
From there, they would take a ship.
The journey to Türkiye could’ve been made by land, but it would be risky, not to mention more expensive than by sea.
And Francis didn’t mind less time in a carriage. Two days was enough for him. The bumpy rattle of the wheels on the more rural roads made him feel quite unwell.
He welcomed boarding the grand galleon, their home for the next week.
The whole crew lined up along the quayside and the ship’s deck with their hats off and held in hand to greet them.
Francis made sure to offer a polite, royal greeting to each man. His life and the lives of his party would be in this crew’s hands for the next several days.
The ship’s first officer showed them to the royal quarters.
One benefit to taking the royal ship—Granny had insisted—was that it came with generous living quarters.
Among his small party, Francis had brought another friend and ally: an artist named Christian Danvers, a Black man in his late forties.
Originally from England, Christian had made a name for himself in Paris and more recently, Stormburg.
His specialty were detailed landscapes, and he was particularly good at pencil, charcoal, and ink drawings.
Francis had been one of Christian’s patrons for some years now, the two forming a close bond over shared interests, an appreciation for art, and mutual secrets: an appreciation for men.
Christian had been a reliable friend for Francis in the years after Philippe’s death. No stranger to heartache himself, though he was never without a male companion or two back home, usually artist’s models.
It was a pity that Christian didn’t draw people, otherwise he could’ve done a more recent sketch of Francis, who hadn’t sat for a portrait in ages. He hadn’t felt like having an updated portrait, and now sorely regretted that.
Christian was worn out from the two-day carriage ride and sunk into a padded chair inside the royal cabin with a weary sigh.
Madeleine, Francis’s other guest, was swift to follow him as she sank into a chair, her voluminous skirts puffing up gently with the motion.
“This is more like it,” Maddie said, and started to unpin her hat. “I’ll take waves over a bumpy coach any day.”
Francis smiled. “I’ll ask them to send in some tea,” he said, and glanced at Archie.
Archie nodded at him, and together they exited the cabin and walked up to the deck.
Francis wanted some fresh air before they set off. He removed his hat, enjoying the ruffle of the breeze in his hair. Archie stood beside him and they looked down at the dock.
The luggage had just arrived, and they watched the never-ending supply of royal chests and trunks being loaded up the gang plank and taken down into the ship’s hold.
“How many of those are yours?” Archie asked him.
Francis shook his head. “Haven’t a clue. I only recognise two trunks. The rest must be gifts.”
“Your grandmother picked the gifts?”
“Yes,” Francis answered, and noticed Archie smiling. “Why? I dare say she’s better at picking gifts than I am.”
Archie chuckled. “I dare say you’re right, old boy. Well, if you want my guess as to what’s inside? It’ll be a handpicked selection of the finest trade goods the House of Hannover can show off. Wines, textiles and garments, furniture, jewellery. Quality second to none. Fit for a king!”
“Yes, probably,” Francis said, hoping it would be enough to impress.
He was acutely aware he was supposed to be the crown jewel of this trade offering.
He hoped he too wouldn’t disappoint.