Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ELLA
“So we keep going until everyone else has failed?” I lean sideways to ask Princess Alya. My eyes stay on the large, grassy field in the middle of Agmund Stadium. If I remember correctly, the arena was named for some ancient monarch of Northandria.
The ongoing, archaic event that looks like some kind of combination of equestrian skills and pole vaulting, mixed with a hint of javelin throwing, is probably just as ancient.
It’s the kind of niche, or very niche, event you only see in regional games.
I wouldn’t be surprised if jousting appears on the schedule later.
“Yes, and it can take forever,” Alya replies, much less concerned with hiding her boredom than I am.
“The Queen pretends that these ridiculous folk games are super important for tradition and should be attended by at least one royal each year. But we’ve all noticed that she’s never the one spectating or awarding. ”
I try to chuckle demurely. Because who knows what the tabloids might say if the (fake) fiancée of the Crown Prince of Northandria is seen laughing her head off at the athletes in medieval dress?
I don’t feel oppressed, but I can’t help being a little self-conscious.
Because the last few days have been frankly pretty eye-opening.
We all like to say that royals are just regular people, even though we all know they’re not.
If they were, then it wouldn’t be so special to get a gold medal from them or a picture with them.
But spending time with Alya over the last few days, and the occasional moment with her brother and his friends, has brought into sharper focus for me the ways they actually are or are not normal.
Complaining about her parents while still loving them is definitely where Alya is 100% a regular 18-year-old girl. But having brand new outfits meticulously planned every day and an approval process for people who want to approach you for a handshake can make life a little complicated.
“Are you rooting for anyone special?” I ask instead.
Alya winces. “Not in this one. They’re all old and stuffy. The sprinters later though—some of those young men make fine specimens, I tell you.”
A familiar face drops into the seat on Alya’s other side. “Don’t let your brother hear about you ogling athletes. He might have a heart attack.”
Alya rolls her eyes. “He’s more likely to faint knowing that I’m spending any time with you.”
“I live to serve.”
Their sibling-like banter sends me into another chuckle.
“Your Highness,” I greet Prince Eduardo.
“Just Eds, remember?” He flashes his megawatt smile. “You’re engaged to one of my closest friends. That should earn you first-name basis rights.”
“As if you ever care about doing things the proper way,” says Alya.
“Maybe not.” The Sanbelli prince shrugs. “But I could follow the rules if I wanted to.”
We all watch the next athlete clear his vault-throw-thing attempt. It really might be hours before we crown a champion. Do the horses get tired? I wonder.
“Where’s Greg?” Alya asks Eduardo about their other friend. I try to remember what I can about Prince Gregory beyond a shy smile and kind demeanor. If ever there was a royal who didn’t remotely seem like one, it would be him.
“At some photoshoot for a Carvarell promo. They like to get him to do that kind of stuff.”
“But he’s not even an heir.”
“We all are, technically.”
“Yes, but not a direct heir.”
“It doesn’t matter. At least he’s a friendly one.”
“Better than my scowling brother, I suppose.”
“Definitely more camera ready.”
I listen, a casual participant in their conversation.
I heartily disagree that Prince Archer is not camera ready, of course.
His jawline and those piercing blue eyes were probably camera ready since birth.
But I keep the thoughts to myself. It’s not like I need to prove that I’m attracted to him.
There’s a sparkling heirloom ring on my finger right now proclaiming that to the world.
No one needs to know that the pretending is getting easier, and more confusing, by the day.
“They’re still not done?” Archer himself appears beside me. We all stand up. It’s protocol, of course. But it’s also a very effective way to help me cover the fact that my heart did a little skip at hearing his voice beside my ear.
“Probably another two hours.” Alya groans.
Archer huffs, probably better trained at hiding his internal disappointment. “And to think Sven worried I’d be late.”
“Royals can be late,” Eduardo says. “It’s part of our divine right.”
“Not in Northandria, it's not.” Archer unbuttons his jacket and gestures for the rest of us to sit down before sitting down himself. His arm brushes mine as we settle in. I try not to squeal like a schoolgirl.
Somehow, ever since the Opening Ceremonies, my heart has decided to go on full-infatuation mode when it comes to Prince Archer Penderson.
It’s a crush, something that’s way too juvenile for a woman with a university degree.
Butterflies in the stomach. Secret sighs.
A halo of attractiveness surrounding his very presence.
I know it’s probably just a byproduct of the showmance and of breathing in the same air as ancestral castles, but that doesn’t mean it’s not making me a little light-headed for the meantime.
“Are you here to award the medals?” I ask with a smile, my best attempt at acting normal.
“Yes, in Mother’s stead.”
Alya scoffs loudly. Archer glares at her over my head as only a brother can. At least, that’s what I’ve seen from my friends who have siblings.
“I do hope it doesn’t take too long. We have a dinner with the Andovan delegates tonight,” he adds.
“Is this the one at the West Hall?” I ask.
“Yes. Are you attending?”
“I believe I am scheduled to.”
“That’s great, I—” He looks like he’s about to nod, before his face twists into a frown instead.
I squelch the urge to put a hand on his arm, in assurance or something. My hand, thankfully, obeys me. “Is something wrong?”
“I—I just hope that we are not taxing you too much.”
“Taxing me?”
“Overworking you, as if you were a full-time royal.”
As if attending fancy events and rubbing shoulders with historical figures isn’t a dream-come-true, the type of experience people would wager a fortune for. This is basically an upgraded version of bespoke Airbnb experiences, just upgraded beyond the highest possible tier.
“Not remotely.” I smile. “I promise I am enjoying myself.”
His shoulders seem to relax just a tiny bit. Then he nods. “I am glad to hear it. The days can be quite long, at times.”
“Especially when watching anachronistic athletes stubbornly refusing to fail,” Alya laments behind me. “Why don’t they just give up? It’s obvious who’s getting the gold medal.”
“You are the very model of sportsmanly behavior, aren’t you?” Eduardo teases.
“I’m not taking character lessons from you.”
Archer shoots his sister an approving look for once. Just in the last few days, I’ve already seen Eduardo charming the pants off female fans more than once. Not exactly the type of company a big brother would recommend, understandably, even if Alya is technically an adult.
“Eds, do you know where Greg went?” Archer asks over me and Alya, our private moment gone.
“He has a promotional photoshoot.”
“During the Games?”
“Apparently.”
“But he’s on awarding duty after me.”
“He should be back by then.”
“And if not,” says Alya, while flashing a mischievous grin, “Ella can do it.”
“Me?” My voice jumps an entire octave higher.
Eduardo laughs. “She’s prettier than Greg, I’ll give you that.”
“Eduardo,” Archer says sternly. His friend promptly ignores the comment and grins even wider.
“Do I have to do awarding?” I ask, my nerves tightening.
My jobs so far have been mostly dressing up and smiling.
The cameras act curious, but they still maintain a respectful distance.
It’s a whole different thing to be standing with the winners and having my congratulatory face plastered on news sites.
“No, I can do it,” Archer assures me. “If Greg doesn’t make it back, I’ll do his ceremony after mine. I’ll just have to dress faster for the dinner party.”
“Alright. Great.” My heart slows down a bit. But mixed in the nerves is an odd feeling that closely resembles disappointment. Did I actually want to do the awarding? Me, Ella Langford, who’s been happily invisible for most of my life, actually wants to do something public?
My eyes shift to Archer, who is now refocused on the ongoing game. It’s probably the crush haze talking, but I almost feel as if I can be anyone, and try anything, if I get to do it beside him. And if Northandria needs me to step up and be a proper princess, then that’s exactly what I’ll be.