“The theory is Farcus hired someone to fly in his place, then he went in a different direction in a search for anonymity. But my uncle and I don’t believe that.”
“Because you think he really did want to rule Montovia.”
“I think he did.” Anton looked down at his coffee. “My worry is that he is dead.”
“From foul play?”
He shrugged. “Possibly. It wouldn’t be the first time an heir to a throne was, uh, disposed of.” He paused to look at her. “And I suppose if that was what happened to your uncle, well, I wouldn’t feel very good about encouraging you to step into a position of leadership.”
“But what about Montovia?” She suddenly felt a sense of responsibility for her father’s homeland.
He shrugged again. “I guess we’d have to make the best of things with Georg.”
“And Johanna.” She felt a twinge of guilt. Would that mean saying goodbye to Gruber’s school and the fire station and who knew what else? It really did not seem fair.
CHAPTER
Twelve
On Monday, Adelaide’s afternoon visit with the king was cut short by his physician, who had come at the queen’s request. “We will make up for it tomorrow afternoon,” her father called to her as the nurse ushered her out.
Seeing the gloomy weather outside, Adelaide returned to her room with the two books her father had just given her. But as she closed her door, she felt torn. The more time she spent with the king, the more she felt pulled into his world. The love of his country was so strong within him that it seemed to seep over onto her. Was it possible she could learn to love this foreign country like he did? Maybe it wasn’t as “foreign” as she’d assumed. But for her to rule Montovia—would anyone take her seriously?
She set the books on the table by her chair with a long sigh. Even if she were doing this only to please her father, she knew she had to give it her best effort. She opened the volume on recent Montovian history. Of course, it was written in German. Although she was becoming more fluent, it was still a challenge. So, with her language translation app handy, she proceeded to read up on Montovia’s post–World War II history. It was actuallyfairly mundane, which was probably good. And there was not one word mentioned about King Max’s brief affair with the beautiful American woman in the 1990s.
After a while, she picked up the book on Montovian traditions, celebrations, and holidays, going to the section her father had suggested she read after she’d inquired about Krampus Day, which was tomorrow.
Krampus, it seemed, was a bad-natured character. He was described as a half-goat, half-demon monster that terrorized children at Christmastime.Lovely, she thought. She’d already witnessed the devilish costumed figure in action the other night, but she still couldn’t comprehend how parents allowed their children to be terrorized by such a fiendish creature. As the story went, Krampus was part of the pagan winter solstice rituals. He was the son of Hel and the underworld. When Christians transformed solstice celebrations into Christmas traditions, Saint Nicholas became the grandfatherly figure who rewarded good children with treats and presents on the sixth of December, but Krampus remained on hand as a threat to punish naughty children by leaving them sticks instead of treats.
Some people held Krampus parties on the eve of Saint Nicholas Day. From the king’s description, they sounded more like Halloween parties than Christmas ones. “I’ve never been overly fond of them,” he’d told her before she’d been shooed away. “Too much alcohol and ghastly devilish costumes. More for adults than children.”
She wanted to ask why she had heard the palace was hosting a Krampus party tomorrow night if he didn’t approve, but she’d never gotten the chance. Perhaps she’d get to ask tomorrow. By the time she finished reading, it was dark outside, and although it was the dinner hour, she had no intention of dining with Georg and the queen. Thanks to Anton, she’d acquired a small fridge and was in the habit of stocking it with food items to supplement her “skipped” meals. Naturally, she always senta politely written excuse. She felt certain the queen appreciated her absences almost as much as Adelaide did.
After a restless night’s sleep troubled by dreams about Krampus monsters chasing her around the palace, Adelaide got up early. Her meeting with the king wasn’t scheduled until that afternoon, but hungry for a real breakfast and wanting some fresh air, she sent a text to Anton, asking for a recommendation of a breakfast place in the village. Or maybe she was sending him a hint. As a result, he offered to meet her at the palace and introduce her to a little restaurant named Otto’s.
As they walked, she asked about the palace’s Krampus party. “Am I expected to attend?”
“Expected?” He thought about this for a second before answering. “Well, as a member of the royal family, you probably are expected. But that doesn’t mean you have to go.”
“My father isn’t going.”
“No, I would think not.”
“Whodoesattend this kind of party?”
“Some dignitaries, people of influence. The queen makes the guest list.”
Adelaide nodded. “Right. And they wear costumes?”
“Of a sort. Some wear furry headdresses with horns. Some go all out with devil costumes, forks and tails, you know. Most just don extravagant or provocative evening wear.”
“Do you go?”
“I’ve gone in the past. But it’s not really my cup of tea.”
“Do you think I should go?” she asked.
He rubbed his chin as they waited at the intersection for a bus to pass by. “Well, that depends. If you plan to stay on here, I guess it could be, uh, educational. Otherwise, I’d suggest you steer clear of it.”
