Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ARCHER
Can Miss Fenway and her colleagues hear my heart throbbing under my suit? Or worse yet, can my mother?
I sit straight as a tree, as still as a historical painting, while our newly-upgraded PR team reviews the events of opening night with me and my mother.
This kind of debriefing is a regular part of royal life.
Because we can’t just live in our royal little bubble, especially not since the advent of modern technology.
Good intentions might be all it took to make a good monarch back in the day.
But in modern terms, it’s all about optics.
And we need to make sure everything looks as good as we want it to.
The problem isn’t the meeting, but rather where the footage on the large screen is frozen right now: at the exact moment I was returning to my seat after my speech, with Ella looking up towards me with the most encouraging and empowering look a man could hope for.
I guess this is why the knights of old fought for their fair ladies. There is no confidence booster equal to a beautiful woman rooting for you.
I almost kissed her then, in front of every camera in Europe.
For someone who’s managed to steer clear of every scandal all my life, it was probably the most impulsive thing I’ve ever been tempted to do.
And it makes my heart race just thinking about it. My mind taunts me, asking me what it would have been like if I had gone through with a proper kiss, rather than the polite peck on the forehead I’d settled for.
Sure, the crowds still screamed. Because unlike Eds or Greg’s older brother, I’ve never been the PDA prince.
But the newsworthy thing here is that I wanted to kiss her, in front of thousands of people, no less.
Even with my two ill-fated relationships that never lasted past the two-month mark, I never liked the clingy, lovey-dovey stuff.
Any kisses exchanged during those times had been respectful, pleasant, and decidedly private.
This urge to sweep Ella off her feet is incredibly, disconcertingly odd.
“I take it the press approves of Archer’s newly affianced state?” Mother asks, because of course she cares more about the press than her son. “No whispers of Miss Langford not being the originally intended bride?”
“We have gone on the offense regarding this relationship, ma’am,” Valerie Fenway answers.
The woman is tall, professional, with an updo of flaming red hair and a stance that conveys just how much more competent she is than her brothers.
Given that it was Fenway and Sons who botched the whole press conference and let Princess Kya disappear under their watch, ‘more competent than her brothers’ is probably a pretty low bar to clear.
But at least we don’t have to start from scratch with a new PR firm right before the Games.
“We have been proactively leaking news to a few prestigious sources about Prince Archer and Miss Langford’s romance.
And the public’s eagerness for a real-life fairytale has made the campaign quite successful. ”
“Can you define this success?”
“There have been no questions whatsoever that Miss Langford is the bride whose identity the palace has been keeping secret for months, perhaps years. If the public had its way, there would be a wedding tomorrow.”
“They want Archer to marry an American?”
“A long-lost Northandrian, Your Majesty—a noblewoman in her own right.”
“Right.”
“The fact that she was sporting the Langford Brooch last night has made the narrative even more successful.”
I tense. The Langford Brooch was supposed to be a gesture of friendship, something kind I could do for the woman who is willingly saving my skin. Having Miss Fenway discuss it as a PR success almost sullies it.
“We are not marrying tomorrow.” I speak for the first time since the start of the meeting. I clear my throat. “Will this enthusiasm be a problem when Miss Langford and I inevitably go our own way?”
Miss Fenway taps her marker against her opposite, open palm, visibly thinking. “If the timing is handled wisely, I can see it being a disappointment, but not a scandal.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Archer, you cannot be expecting to be rid of Miss Langford already?” Mother asks.
No, I am not. I’m just worried that I might be growing a bit attached.
“I don’t want to saddle her with a poor reputation, after all she’s doing for us,” I explain. “She deserves to walk out of this better off than she walked in.”
Mother shrugs. Her lack of concern grates on me.
“If you think—”
“As Miss Fenway says,” Mother talks over me, “Miss Langford is a success.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If anything, we should be capitalizing on the positive attention this brings to the jubilee.”
I sigh. I love Northandria. But being the walking embodiment of the country can dehumanize a person, sometimes.
“The goal is to have a successful Carvarell Games free of scandal,” I remind everyone. “Miss Langford’s cooperation has allowed the Games to open successfully. We should not be troubling her further.”
“Her Majesty is not wrong about this being a rare opportunity,” says Valerie Fenway.
I glare at the woman. She doesn’t so much as flinch.
“The popularity of the royal engagement can be a great opportunity for positive press, and any goodwill towards the Pendersons is always goodwill for Northandria.”
Sometimes I hate it when people make sense.
“But Miss Langford—”
“We can always ask her,” counters Miss Fenway. “If Miss Langford is amenable to participating in more high-profile events, would Your Highness be willing to allow her to?”
Mother looks pleased. I don’t know whether to be happy or not about that.
I sigh. “Very well. If she agrees.”