After making sure the family can manage without me, I slip over to my Aunt Sarah’s house. Surely, I have something remotely suitable for cocktails with the royal family at my aunt’s house.
The prince takes my privacy as seriously as I do, apparently. I was nervous when he told me he would send a car to pick me up, expecting a flashy, indiscreet car like the one out ofThePrincess Diaries, complete with flags. But the plain black town car waiting at the curb of my dormitory is as nondescript as they come, not even a hood ornament to distinguish it as the luxury model I’m sure I would know if I weren’t completely clueless about cars.
The palace chauffeur, who identifies himself as Walter, deftly maneuvers us through the busy Friday evening traffic of the capital. The night’s events aren’t set to begin for another couple of hours, but PrinceFriedrich suggested I arrive early, so I don’t get mixed in with the women who are actually here for his consideration.
The butterflies in my stomach multiply as I see the media already out in full force and police barricades lining the street near the palace to keep them in line. I smooth the front of my black velvet dress—a piece Aunt Sarah had picked out for me to wear to a Christmas gala last year to raise money for the young girls she sponsors for private school. I’m thankful for the long sleeves when I’m ushered from the car by a man in green military uniform at a side gate to Vertmure Palace grounds.
“Identification, please,” the Green Guard requests.
I dig my ID from the small clutch I had borrowed from my aunt for the occasion; I’m not typically a purse carrier, but this is not one of those awesome dresses with pockets. I hand over my identification and hope the guard doesn’t notice my trembling hand. These proceedings are doing nothing for the twisting in my stomach. I am allowed back into the warmth of the car after a search of my clutch and a couple passes of a handheld metal detector. The window acts as a poor substitute for a mirror as I rearrange my hair, blown about in the low wind that’s typical in Emarvia for this time of year.
The chauffeur turns down a cobbled side lane where a man in a grey suit stands at the top of the stairs under a small portico near the back of the palace. He waits until the car comes to a complete stop beforestarting down the stairs. I already have the door open when he reaches me.
“I should have gotten that for you, Miss Sumner,” he says as he holds out a hand to help me from the car. He can’t be much older than me. He wears his dark hair short and neat, and I catch the slightest whiff of a clean-smelling cologne. His entire persona is that of one who can easily fade into the background.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want me to get back in, and we can try it again?”
He chuckles affably as he shuts the car door and waves Walter on. “I am Tristan, the personal assistant to His Royal Highness.”
“Ah, the brains behind the operation.”
I can’t help but laugh at his startled expression.
“He’d like to think so,” a deep voice cuts in.
I whip around to face the man who has hounded my thoughts for the last week. We just saw each other yesterday, but already I’m growing to crave the easy company of Prince Friedrich. The butterflies in my stomach have turned to sparrows, and it is all I can do to keep my breathing under control as I drop into a curtsy.
Tristan bows. “Your Highness, I thought I was to bring Miss Sumner to the French parlor. Shouldn’t you be meeting with His Majesty and Miss Gutowski?”
Prince Friedrich waves him off. “Father and Betsy have everything under control, I’m sure. What else could they have to say after this morning? Besides,” he flashes me that smile that makes myheart leap. “I didn’t want to wait to see what our Nanny Sumner had in store for the evening.”
He gives me an appraising look, his eyes lingering on the bits of skin exposed by the asymmetrical hem and low square neckline of my dress. I thought it was a good pick for an event at the palace, modest in its coverage but fitted to show off just enough to garner appreciative glances. I’m not sure when I decided I wanted the prince to look, but the desire in his eyes sends a shock of electricity through me. Perhaps it’s time for that wardrobe update that Margaret and Aunt Sarah have been on me about.
“I’m rather impressed, mi’ lady,” he says as he takes my hand and places it in the crook of his elbow.
I can feel the curve of his bicep through his jacket. Seeing him in a t-shirt the other night allowed me a glimpse at the muscles underneath. Not huge and showy, but firm and toned, understated strength behind his typical uniform of tailored suits or long-sleeve button-downs.
We walk together up the stairs, and a footman opens the door for us. He leads me into a formal-looking sitting room with windows facing out across the rear gardens. Evergreen shrubs are strung with lights, and fountains glow in the middle of lighted paths. I wish I could see the gardens in full bloom; they must be lovely in spring.
“I don’t have long before I have to make myself scarce for the evening,” the prince says when Tristanhas gone and we are left alone. “But I wanted to see you before this thing kicks off.”
“Is that so?”
We have moved closer, face to face now, and I can almost feel the heat radiating from him.
He twirls one of my loose curls in his fingers. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our little arrangement.”
I close my eyes, trying to rein in my thrumming heart. When I open them again, Prince Friedrich’s own big blue eyes are on mine, so intently it makes me weak. “Me either, Your Highness,” I breathe. “I’m actually a little… Excited? Is that lame?”
“Not at all lame, Aurelia.”
His hand leaves my hair and moves to the back of my neck, bringing my face to his, so close we’re sharing the same breath. The scent of whiskey and tobacco and cedar is going to my head, making me feel airy and light.
“And I’d really prefer if you’d call me Fritz.”
He holds my body to his with his other hand on the small of my back. I am completely at his will in this moment, trapped in the strong embrace that sends heat to my core. I haven’t been pressed against a man like this in years, and it never felt like this. Like a mash-up of fire and need, but also ease and safety.
A nagging memory in the back of my mind forces itself to the forefront when I at last recognize the feeling I have around him.
