Earlier, he circled the improvised dance floor, eyeing it with predatory focus. And now, he’s in full action mode, moving with exaggerated squats and lunges, a bizarre fusion of dance and workout routine.
“It’s a new dance, Ladies and Gents,” he cries between squats. “I call it fitness funk!”
People around him step back to give him more space. He grabs Odile and Audrey who have the misfortune of being near him and drags them into his impromptu dance routine.
Odile flees at once, laughing. But Audrey gives it her best effort, as she does with everything she undertakes. Thecrowd forms a circle, clapping and cheering them on. Audrey’s energetic movements are hilariously out of sync with Yann’s.
But, frankly, who cares?
When the band takes a break, Henri’s dad raises his glass. “To Eugénie and Henri, may your future be as bright and promising as this beautiful night!”
Everybody toasts. Henri’s mom shoots us a blissful look. It’s evident that both Agathe and Thibault are pleased beyond measure with Henri marrying me.Can’t say I’m surprised.Not only they’re going to be in-laws with the royal family that they revere, but their son risked his life to assist “the Crown.” In just a week from now, our sovereign will award him the county’s highest distinction, which will allow the count and countess to bask in its reflected glory.
The glances they’ve been shooting Henri all evening leave no doubt that, for the first time in a long time—probably since his conspiracy days—they are proud of him. It’s a first step toward reconciliation. The next one, if they want to win him over, will be to acknowledge their shabby treatment of him and ask for his forgiveness.
“Psst, over here,” someone calls from behind.
Henri and I turn around.
It’s Antoine, beckoning us to join him away from the crowd.
“I need to talk to you,” he blurts as we reach his side. “I thought I’d wait until tomorrow morning, but it’s impossible. I’m losing my mind!”
This is the most emotional and disconcerted I’ve ever seen Henri’s stuck-up older brother.
“What’s going on?” Henri asks.
“I was summoned to the palace this morning.”
“What for?” I inquire.
“A confidential meeting with the head of MESS and Princess Felicia.”
Henri and I exchange puzzled looks.
“I’m the next key seeker,” Antoine says.
Unbelievable!
“Congratulations!” I exclaim.
Henri appears too flabbergasted to form a word.
“The oracle had a vision last night,” Antoine recounts. “I’m stoked that I’m going to follow in the footsteps of Princes Theodor, Maximilian, Arnaud and you, Your Highness! It’s a great honor.”
He pauses, making a face of someone who’s going to say “but.”
“But—” he begins.
Henri cuts in, shaking his stupor, “Who’s your Key to the Key?”
“That’s the thing.” Antoine’s mouth twitches with disgust. “Some harebrained Parisian bimbo…. The kind that signs up to be in a reality show on TV. A perfectly contemptible, exhibitionistic creature without a vestige of self-worth.”
“I’m sure she isn’t as bad as all that,” I say.
“Oh, but she is.” He gives me a dismayed look. “I read her file on the way here.”
I touch his forearm in comfort. “You’ll have to team up and work with her, Antoine. That’s it. There’s no rule that you’ll end up married to her.”
