“I like Cluckington,” says Anna, a girl with long strawberry-blonde plaits and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
“King Theodora Cluckington!” Eric calls out, prompting fresh giggles and cheers from his classmates.
Laughter bubbles up in my throat. Of course, it should beQueenTheodora, but it is rather adorable. “All right then. I name thee King Theodora Cluckington,” I pronounce to the chicken, and the children squeal with excitement.
“Which one can we name next?” asks Ingrid, a girl with the sweetest smile imaginable.
I place King Theodora Cluckington back on the floor of the coop and I’m about to choose another chicken when I hear the sharp click of serious shoes on the pavers,notthe farm-appropriate Wellington boots that the children and I are all wearing inside the coop.
Hmmm. I know that sound means the fun is over, and I’m needed in my official capacity.
Pity. I was rather enjoying this little impromptu naming ceremony.
I look up to see the Prime Minister of Elkevik, Mr. Johanne Henson, bustling toward me, his face as grim as his gray suit. His comb-over is sticking straight up in the stiff Elkevikian breeze, making him look a lot like a cartoon character.
He’s accompanied by two other nondescript men in identical gray suits, all looking equally devoid of joy.
I let out a sigh. Yup, the fun is most definitely over.
“Your Royal Highness,” the Prime Minister says, bowing along with the other men. I catch an eyeful of Mr. Henson’s shiny bald head. The rebellious comb-over is failing to hide, and I have to resist the urge to reach out to smooth the hair down. That might be a little humiliating. Although now that I get a proper look at him through the chicken wire, he looks rather a lot like one of the roosters.
Prime Minister Cluckington.
I press my lips together to stifle a smile.
“Prime Minister. Gentlemen. How lovely to see you,” I say brightly. “Have you come to help us name our chickens?”
The Prime Minister’s eyes flick briefly at our feathered friends. “As enjoyable as that might be, I’m afraid I’ve come to take you away for some rather serious business we need to discuss, ma’am.”
“We’re doing important work here, Prime Minister. Can it keep?” I ask.
Mr. Henson grips the wire of the coop between us, and I already know the answer before the words have left my mouth. But I’m reluctant to move. I much prefer being in the palace gardens with a group of children than engaging in any sort of official royal business.
I’m not very good at being aprincess.
“We need to have a conversation in private, ma’am. If you would care to join me?” He poses it as a question, but I know it’s not. I may be a member of the royal family, but our small island nation is a constitutional monarchy. The Prime Minister is the one who’s really in charge. He knows it just as much as I do.
“I see. In that case, I’m very sorry, children, but we’re done naming chickens for the day,” I say.
“But we haven’t named all of them yet!” Eric complains to a general agreement among the children.
“I’m afraid it’s of the utmost importance that the princess accompanies me immediately,” Mr. Henson says.
A prickle of fear settles in my chest. “Is everything okay?” I ask under my breath, not wanting to alarm the children. “My parents?”
“Yes, yes, everybody’s fine. Something’s come up, ma’am. It’s of national importance,” he replies.
I turn to the children. “Let’s do this again next week, shall we?”
Several complain, but it can’t be helped, so I bustle them out of the coop, closing the door over behind me.
“Just ask your teacher whether you can have another hour here at the palace with me sometime soon. Maybe we could do it at lunchtime?” I crouch down beside them. “Thank you so much for giving up your class time to come here today. Next time, I’ll take you to meet my favorite goats: Lord Bleatsalot, Little Pickle, and Buttercup. They’re so much fun.”
The children burst with excitement, and Eric gives me a spontaneous hug.
“I love you, Princess Astrid,” he says, and my heart squeezes.
This is the best thing about being a member of the royalfamily. Being around the genuine, open nature of children, getting to share things with them, enjoying their company. I wouldn’t change it for the world, even if I don’t always love being a princess.
