After they cleaned up the mess, Prince Gus started for the kitchen, then hesitated. “I’ve avoided the Lauchtenland media for over a year. Do people wonder where I am?”
“At first, you were all they talked about. But once your brother became engaged, the news focused on him.”
“As it should. Is Lady Holland being embraced?” He set the bin on a counter just inside the kitchen entry.
“I believe so. She’s very charming and classy. Well suited for the job of future queen.”
“What do you think of her?”
“Me?” She shrugged. “She seems very real and sweet. Beautiful and poised. Prince John seems to adore her.”
“But how is she in person? She seems a grand choice but I only remember her from school days. And at a distance.”
“I’ve never met her. Why and where would I?”
Gus’s attention lingered on her. “With the Royal Trust, of course. At the portraiture. You attended my, my, you know…” He studied his worn black trainers. “Mum adores her and she and John have been friends for years. I guess Cupid finally fired his arrow and hit my brother.”
So, it still bothered him. His story. How the American heiress ran off. Daffy had represented the Royal Trust during their wedding portrait, taking notes, describing the scene, documenting the marriage that would become part of Lauchtenland and House of Blue history for the generations to come. However, two months later, she removed the portrait from the frame and, along with her notes, stored the lot in the trust office’s attic.
“You’ll be at the wedding, of course.” Her words were an attempt to fill the void.
“Naturally. In fact, I must get home to arrange John’s wedding ball. The planners have done most of the work without me. But I should be there to tie all the ribbons and bows, make sure the affair is about John and Holland.”
“Good, good. He’ll be glad, I’m sure.”
“And you? What are you up to, besides preserving royal artifacts and helping me clean up dirty dishes?” He turned her face to see where the Frisbee hit. “And getting hit with runaway Frisbees.”
“I’m well. Fantastic. Just bought a flat in the Clemency district.”
“In one of those new lofts? I’d live there myself if I weren’t required to live at the palace.” He cupped his hand beside his mouth. “Free rent, you know.”
She laughed. “I have a lovely view of the city. Even part of the bay.”
A shout came from the kitchen, then someone called, “Pete!”
“I’d better go.” He turned back into an American, though it did little to cover his princely stature. Did he know? The light of his identity, his essence, his famous smile never burnt out. “Good to see you, Daffy. We’ve not clapped eyes on one another in eons and now here we are, twice in one day. In another country to boot.”
“Pete, dude, need you at the bar.” A narrow woman with sunbaked skin and flyaway blonde hair approached with a frustrated and drawn expression.
“On my way.” Gus paused. “Helene, this is Daffy Caron. An old friend.” He smiled, and the sights and sounds of the pub simply faded. She saw and heard nothing but Prince Gus.
In an instant, she was young again, running through the palace gardens, playing hide-n-seek with Prince Gus, Prince John, and their cousin, Princess Rachel.
“Take my hand. Quick, in here.” He led her to one of the gardener’s sheds. “John says it smells like manure. He’ll never look here.”
But when he opened the door, Prince John burst through and charged at them with a growl like a hungry winter bear.
Daffy screamed, and with a laugh, Gus snatched her hand and led her away.
“I found you.” Prince John’s protest hounded them. “I found you. Rachel, ollie, ollie oxen free.”
“Daffy?” Gus said. “Are you all right? You zoned out and your face is flushed.”
“Too much sun.” Helene nodded. “Drink a lot of water. Pete, let’s go.”
“If I don’t see you again, Daffy, good luck on your holiday. Have fun.”
“Your High—Pete.” She rose up to meet his gaze, the memory of his ten-year-old hand still on hers. “You want to know if Lauchtenland thinks of you? Yes. We miss you. We feel your absence every day.”
