Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
ELLA
“Oomph!” I fall back against the thick mattress of the bed I’ve managed to call my own for the last three nights.
It took a bit of getting used to at first—all the luxuries and the ‘ma’ams’ and ‘yes, ma’ams.’ I’m from the American South, to a certain extent, but there’s a difference between courtesy from strangers and deference from professional courtiers, if that’s what they’re called.
After the queen sent out some sort of confirmation via announcement (no live appearances this time!) and supposedly made some changes to the PR firm they’ve been working with, I was immediately thrust with a stoic, commanding, Eurasian secretary who looks and acts like everybody’s student council class president, along with a personal protection officer who is more mountain than man.
And it’s been lessons upon lessons ever since.
Given my heritage and foreign studies background, I did enjoy the history parts. Getting to look at the various ways centuries-old traditions are gradually being modernized yet preserved was fascinating. Maybe even fun.
But the etiquette lessons were distinctly less so.
Who knew there could be that many ways to hold a teacup? Or to cross your legs? Or to stand beside a man I’m supposed to be engaged to but whom I haven’t seen a single time since Wednesday?
Yes, I know it’s all a showmance. But shouldn’t engaged people at least be papped together once or twice? Would the people of Northandria even believe their prince is engaged if he is alone all the time?
I huff a puff of air against my bangs. I don’t know Prince Archer, not beyond one airport conversation that I barely remember from four years ago.
And I can’t even claim to be able to remotely guess what he’s trying to do.
The man could be avoiding me, ignoring me, or outright forgetting me, and it wouldn’t matter.
It’s all a sham, for the sake of Northandria. And once the Carvarell Games are done, I’ll probably be gifted a gift cheque or two and told to go my merry American way.
Pretending to be a princess might include a posh suite and a mini makeover and a whole slew of etiquette lessons crammed into two days, but no one ever said the gig comes with a prince.
A sharp knock hits the door, and I shoot up to a seat.
I don’t hate heels, but I certainly hope that’s not my secretary telling me there will be even more lessons tonight in cat walking.
I know I’ll be on display at tomorrow’s Carvarell Games opening ceremony and all, but I don’t exactly need to be runway ready all the time.
There’s still a real queen and a real princess ahead of me here.
“Come in,” I call out, trying my best not to sound as tired as I feel, before I scoot over towards the floor. It’s a little hard given the expanse of the bed. Not that I’m complaining. A king size mattress is one of the sweeter perks of this place.
“Hey, you’re here!” A golden-red head pops in.
I let out my first real smile all day. “Princess Alya.”
She skips in, swings the door shut behind her, and hops into the main bedroom. “Just Alya. You’re going to be my sister!”
My smile turns awkward. She can’t actually believe this engagement to be real, can she? I get that little sisters can be delusional. I think I had a college roommate once whose sister set up her dating profile. But Princess Alya is eighteen, not twelve.
“How are you surviving?” She drops onto the edge of the bed as if we’re high school friends, not tenuously connected public figures. I was told by my handler-slash-secretary that Googling myself post-engagement was very much not recommended. I’ve been cooperating.
“It’s a lot,” I admit. I poke at the embroidered, decorative pillow on my lap. It looks a little tilted when my head is angled to the side, but it’s still very blue and very pretty. “I don’t have to address all your uncles and aunts by their full proper titles tomorrow, do I?”
Alya laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever memorized all of them myself.”
“Well, they’ll forgive you—you’re family.”
“So are you.” She smiles at me. “At least you will be.”
I sigh, long and low. “It’s an assignment, and I’m trying my best to be good at it.”
“You are single-handedly saving the reputation of the Penderson Dynasty. And you’ve managed to make my cold fish of a brother not look like a minor princess’s rejected goods. I say you’re doing a pretty darn good job.”
That had me chuckling. “You have very low standards.”
“You know my brother would never have allowed this if he didn’t like you.”
I shrug. “I don’t think he even knows me.”
“Of course, not in that way. But my mother—she’s a traditionalist. It’s always Northandria first. And I think she would have married Archer off the day he turned eighteen if he’d been willing.”
I listen, fascinated.
“But my brother? No,” Alya goes on. “He understands his role and plays the perfect heir and all. But no one can make him do anything he doesn’t want to.”
“Including pretending to be engaged.”
“Exactly.” Alya smiles. There’s something supercharged about her. It’s almost as if the infinite hallways and turrets of Langford Castle still don’t provide enough space for all her energy.
“Well, I just hope he doesn’t blame me.”
“For what?”
“For the whole fake engagement fiasco.”
“You do understand you are the one saving him, don’t you? Of course he won’t blame you.”
I shrug. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Alya laughs as she hops off the bed. “Please do. Now, do you want to enjoy another moment of anonymity before the big day tomorrow?”
It’s an enticing offer, even if anything that comes out of Alya’s mouth can only be half-trusted. The last time I followed her, I walked into a press conference for my own betrothal.
“What do you suggest? And please—no more tea parties.”
Alya laughs. She hops over to the double doors that open out to a balcony. She unlatches them and points outside. “From what I’ve gathered, Princess Kya found you walking the public-facing gardens. If you thought those were pretty, the private royal grounds are a hundred times better.”
I walk over, curious. I haven’t exactly spent a lot of time alone in my ‘chambers’ since Wednesday. And even if I’ve twirled around once or twice when I first explored my suite, it had been too dark to see anything that first night.
Alya smiles when I peer over her shoulder to see the landscaped gardens swathed in the sunset’s afterglow.
She’s right— it’s gorgeous.
“I’ll show you the shortcut,” Alya says.
And again, I find myself agreeing.