Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
ELLA
“Was boarding school a requirement for everyone in your family?” I ask, genuinely curious, when our conversation turns to schooling.
Despite my parents’ accident, I’ve led a relatively predictable path when it comes to elementary, high school, and college.
It took working hard and generous gifts from my church community back home to get me through university almost debt-free, but it was still mostly straightforward.
I got to study my preferred major, but the options for where I got to do that were pretty limited.
It’s hard to imagine a life where educational choices are guided by tradition rather than by economic concerns.
“There’s no law about it, if that’s what you mean.
” The prince walks us down one of the longer circles.
His hair looks a few shades darker in this light.
“But it’s mostly expected of the men, which I was happy to comply with.
It was probably the chapter of my life when I felt the most like a regular person. ”
“I doubt you could ever be a regular person in the public’s eyes.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He sighs, but not at me. Then his face turns wistful. “But it’s where I met Greg and Eds, so that’s a plus.”
It’s not the first time he’s mentioned his friends. “Are they also from Northandria?”
“Greg is from Argenterre. Eds is from Sanbellini.”
“Fellow heirs to the Carvarell thrones?” I tease.
“Something like that.”
Apparently, that’s not a joke to him. Casually discussing people inheriting the powers of ancient monarchies—just how is this my life right now? I remind myself not to be weird. This is just Arch, from the airport, trying proper American French fries for the first time in his life.
Judging from how he talked about boarding school, being a regular person must be a rare occurrence in his over-privileged life. My heart aches a little for him.
“Are your friends coming for the Carvarell Games?” I finish my question just as we reach a pretty little stone bench. Archer helps me to a seat before sitting down beside me. His bodyguard continues to hover a few yards away. They must have the best shoes in the world to be standing so much.
“They always come, and they always liven things up.” For once, Prince Archer smiles, although it disappears right after. “Although I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Is their idea of fun not royalty-approved?”
“Not Greg. The guy is always the reliable one, even if he can be invisible. Eds is the one who’s always stirring up trouble.”
“Unlike you.”
He looks sideways at me, as if he’s deciding whether I meant that as an insult or a compliment, before looking away. “Unlike me,” he repeats hollowly.
“That’s not a bad thing, you know.” I touch his arm.
He turns his face more fully towards me.
My stomach stirs. There’s something both comforting and electrifying about being so close to him—being right next to someone who bears so much history in his very blood.
“Some would argue that being steady is the best sort of quality for a future king. I know my professors would agree.”
He takes his time answering. “It’s the worst sort of job description, sometimes.”
I frown. “You don’t like it?”
“I neither like it nor dislike it.” He looks a little surprised at his own confession.
“It is just the way life is. I’ve never known it any other way.
And if I ever slip in thinking that maybe I want to have a more ordinary life, I see my mother and how she carries on—through heartaches, through widowhood.
It’s extraordinary. And it’s something to aspire to. ”
“Northandria is lucky to have you.”
“I hope so.” He sparks a wry smile for a split second. “It would be a waste of a castle if they don’t think so.”
I smile, and it’s nice to see him smiling back. I secure my hands on my lap before I try to touch him again. I might think the gesture empathetic, but I don’t want to risk his bodyguard writing me up. “It is a really nice castle.”
“Beautiful.” He looks behind him. I look with him. “Not everyone gets to grow up like this.”
“No, it’s usually mortgages and student loans for us lowly people.”
“How do mortgages work, really?”
I stare at him for a second, wondering if he’s joking.
But he looks genuinely curious. So I oblige him with the best description of my ordinary Americana life from small-town USA, and he actually listens better than I thought he would.
I try to keep my stories crisp, and I manage to get through most of it in a matter-of-fact way, until I get to my parents’ accident.
There are things that always manage to hurt, no matter how long it’s been.
Grief is like a shadow that always finds fresh angles to squeeze your heart.
My mom used to chat with me when I was a tween, dreaming up future husbands for her only child.
And here I am, with a ring on my finger, engaged to a prince, of all things, but for nothing more than a propaganda showmance.
“It’s alright.” A warm hand squeezes my shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
I look up to kind, blue eyes—not at all icy. I resist lunging at him for a hug, barely succeeding. I may not have grown up around royalty, but I do know how to be polite.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“We were exchanging stories. It’s not as if you forced me to share.”
“I just find your life so very—fascinating.”
A real-life prince finds my humble existence interesting. That got me laughing.
He looks at me, surprised. I shake my head before he starts worrying if he’s fake-engaged to a lunatic. Who talks about her dead parents one second and then laughs the next? “That is a very pretty way of saying ‘unremarkable.’”
“But you’re not, not at all unremarkable,” he says, perfectly serious. “And I think every life is remarkable. Every person matters. Just because there’s no paparazzi following your every move since birth doesn’t mean your life is any less interesting than mine.”
It’s a very simplistic view, or a very profound one. It’s a little hard to decide.
I smile. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He frowns.
For what? I’m not even sure.
I inhale. “For listening, and for sharing. It’s nice to just sit down and talk, for once.”
He doesn’t smile, but he comes close to it. “There’s a lot more talking to do tomorrow if you like doing that. You are remarkably good at it.”
I try to remember the schedule. “The Opening Ceremonies?”
“Before that, at the soirée. It’s basically hours of—” He seems to notice my blank stare for the first time. “You are attending the soirée?”
Do people even do soirées in the 21st century?
“I don’t recall it on my schedule,” I say hesitantly.
“Then we must add it,” he says confidently. He looks at the bodyguard. Or maybe that’s his personal assistant. “Sven, can you make sure we have Ella attending tomorrow’s pre-games soirée?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You don’t have to invite me.”
“Nonsense.” Archer looks back at me, eyes kind. “I’ll be happy to see you there.”
And because having him so close and so nice is very disconcerting, I just say, “I guess I’ll ask Alya for a dress.”