MAX
The shortest road from here to the capital takes us through the picturesque Wine County. Mind you, there isn’t a county or corner of Mount Evor that isn’t picturesque. Even the castle’s dungeons are in a barbarously medieval sort of way.
I wanted to read the latest trade briefing while we drive, which is why I’m not at the wheel, but I can’t focus. So, I look out the window instead. Wine County is the principality’s flattest area with its tall historic mansions and sprawling modern villas nestled amid vineyards, private parks, golf courses, and tennis courts. Seeing how small it is and how good the roads are, we hit the mountains a mere quarter of an hour later. Slowing down, we begin the corkscrew ascent up the narrow passage with overhanging branches and overflowing wildflowers.
I roll open the window to breathe in the fresh air smelling of new buds.
To the uninitiated, finding the city of Pombrio is a near-impossible task. There are no road signs pointing it out, no dots on any map, nothing on Google Earth. Then again, itwould’ve been odd to have directions for Pombrio when the entire Principality of Mount Evor is as uncharted as the surface of the planet Mars. Come to think of it, these days Mars might be better charted than Evor.
Maps are forbidden in my country.
The knights strategically banned them almost one thousand years ago, and no ruler has ever lifted it. The Evorians, all proficient in the art of finding one’s way around, don’t need them. Foreign dignitaries have no use for them since we don’t allow them to go anywhere on their own. We’re a bit like North Korea that way—paranoid.
As for tourists, it’s simple. There are none.
Another turn and Château des Neiges peeks out from behind gray rocks. The romantic name is a misnomer because my home is a legitimate medieval fortress. On a spooky-to-cute scale of Castle-Black-to-Disneyland, Château des Neiges is closer to the austere Braemar in Scotland or the atmospheric Alpine Hohenwerfen than to the lavish French Versailles.
The castle sits on a rocky promontory between a crystalline mountain lake on one side and a walled city on the other. In the soft April sunlight, it stands as stark and imposing as it did eight hundred years ago when it was built.
Ten minutes later, Anders parks the car and I sprint up the main staircase, past uniformed guards and liveried servants, through the hallway, and up to the first floor.
As I run, familiar smells envelop me. Old wood, organic furniture polish and daily floor wax, mixed with the scent of fresh flowers atop tabletops and consoles.
Just before I turn right toward the Grand Hall, I notice a presence watching me from the top of the staircase leading to the second floor. I know who it is without looking. Whether it’s her favorite perfume or somethingelse, more genetic or metaphysical, there is no doubt in my mind that it’s my mother.
Slowly, I turn around and glance up.
Tall and slim, with thick brown hair and bright blue eyes, Mother is a sight to behold. Her beauty is a legend in Mount Evor. I guess my siblings and I should consider ourselves lucky to take after her rather than our portly, round-faced father whom half the principality called Benny behind his back. Not so much a diminutive of his full name, Benjamin, but in reference to Benny Hill.
That being said, half the principality now calls Theo “the Beast” behind his back. I’m not sure if it’s because a fire disfigured his face shortly after Father died or because of his unfriendly nature.
Today, Mother is wearing a ceremonial tiara and a long gown of royal blue with a train decorated with gold embroidery. Personally, I prefer her in jeans and sweaters. Barring those, her two-piece suits are fine, too. Regular clothes—regardless of how well cut and expensive—make her appear less formidable, less regal. More mom-like.
But, clearly, that’s not the look she’s going for this time.
“I was told to head straight to the Grand Hall,” I say.
She shifts. “I wanted to have a word before we join the others.”
As she descends the stairs, I realize that my siblings, cousins, and I have been waiting and preparing for this day since we were children. But I doubt any of us are ready emotionally.
“Why the kid gloves?” I ask her. “Is it because you think I’m less inclined than Theo to keep a stiff upper lip?”
“Don’t be silly! Of course not.”
“Did you personally accompany him to the Grand Hall?”
“No, I did not,” she says, climbing down the last few steps.
“Did Grandmother do that? Uncle Richard? Marie-Louise?”
“No.”
I give her a told-ya look.
“Max, my darling, it isn’t because I think he’s tougher than you.”
“Then why?” I raise an eyebrow. “What is this about?”
