“Speaking of being someone else, will you change the writ so he can swear his oath of allegiance to Lauchtenland and the monarchy without being married?”
“I really must run. I don’t want to be late.” She kissed his cheeks and used every ounce of energy to escape the room.
“Kate, darling…”
* * *
She’d underestimated her weakness as she climbed the steep incline to reach the First Gate. Her low heel pumps slid against her stockinged feet and after stumbling twice, she removed them, straining to make her destination.
At last, she was above the city with the North Sea well below, its churning waters crashing against the craggy rocks.
There was little to no beach on this side of the shore, and in the days of ship warfare, Lauchtens gained a huge advantage from this position.
In recent decades, windsurfers found the height and churning atmosphere ideal for their sport. And climbers saw the sheer cliff face as a challenge.
But she wasn’t here to muse about land, sea, or history. A little farther and she’d arrive at the bench. Drawing on the last of her strength, Catherine pushed up the steep pathway.
Arriving at the pinnacle, she saw him. Emmanuel. Sitting tall on a bench, broad shoulders covered with a heavy anorak, his hat squarely on his head and his chestnut hair tucked into his collar.
When he turned her way, his eyes were like the stars, and stole the last of her strength. He was beautiful, regal, and silent.
Without a word, she sat on the opposite side of the gate’s bench, the wind whipping her hair about until she thought she might lift off the ground. But it felt so freeing to be out of doors and sitting above the earth.
She glanced at him. Should she speak first? Or wait? He’d called this meeting, such as it was, and as the senior royal, he would conduct the meeting.
“How are you?” he said after a moment.
“Not very well. But I assume you know.”
“Isn’t it beautiful here?” He raised his hand to the wind, and Catherine half expected it to change elements and materialize in his hand.
“Very beautiful. One of my favorite places in all of Lauchtenland.”
“Are you worried, Catherine?”
“No more than usual. Is that why you’ve come? To tell me I worry too much? I’m a mother as well as a queen.”
“One day, you will feel silly for all the times you’ve fretted and worried for nothing.”
She tried to hold her laugh, but a small sound escaped. “Well said.”
A thousand questions flared at once and while she sat next to him, trying to discern her own feelings, trying to figure out what she wanted, he said nothing.
Are you here about John? Will he be all right? Will he converse with you one day? Has he already? What shall I do about Hamish Fickle? Am I going to be all right? What is going on with me? I’m so weak.
But when she opened her mouth, no words came. It was enough to sit in his presence and rest. To be completely, utterly at peace.
Chapter Fourteen
Gemma
“Imani, I’m going.” Gemma grabbed her bag with one last look in her bedroom mirror. She’d made a bit of an effort with her appearance even though she was only going to the drive-in.
Even at 9:30, the air was warm and muggy. Her hair would be flat by 9:45. Prince John was going to be there—not that she was trying to snag his attention or anything—but he admired her last effort when she dined with him at the O’Shays’.
Then there was the look he gave her at the wedding dress shoot. What girl didn’t like a smoldering look from a good-looking dude now and then? She didn’t have to be in the market for love and romance to appreciate being appreciated.
She paused by Imani’s door. “Hey, did you hear me? Child o-mine, I’m leaving.” Gemma cocked her head to one side when she heard a bump followed by a slamming closet door. “Imani?”
