A Royal Kiss and Tell

Sebastian offered his hand to his wife. Eliza took it with a smile of pure adoration. The affection between these two was beginning to nauseate Caroline. Could two people really be so in love? She couldn’t imagine it—she’d never once felt the flutterings Eliza had described when she realized she’d fallen in love with Prince Sebastian. She had never felt anything more than a passing fancy, one that generally flamed brightly and died quickly as soon as the next, more attentive gentleman appeared. There had been times Caroline had wondered if there was something a little bit wrong with her in that regard. A heart too small or something like it.

“Come for tea!” Eliza called over her shoulder as her prince led her away in the company of Queen Daria and Lady Eulalie, and all the guards bringing up the rear. Hollis and Caroline realized at the same moment they were suddenly very much alone in the huge garden. It struck Caroline that she and Hollis would be very much alone in a matter of two days when they left Eliza’s fairy tale and returned to England without her. “Oh dear,” she said, and grasped Hollis’s hand. “I’m going to miss her terribly.”

“Me too,” Hollis said weakly. “Oh my, me too.” She sighed and looped her arm through Caroline’s. “Shall we return to our suite, then? There are a few notes I should like to make before we begin to pack.”

The day was lovely, and really, it was the first bit of air they’d had since festivities leading up to the wedding had begun. “I think I’d like to walk a little longer,” Caroline said.

“All right.” Hollis let her go. “Is it me, or does it feel strange to walk without a guard trailing behind?”

“It’s you,” Caroline said, and laughed. “I hope to never see a guard again.”

She watched Hollis stride off in the direction of the palace. Caroline went in the opposite direction, pleased to be free and alone, enjoying the sun and the air. After one full circuit of a considerable expanse of garden, she recalled the palace guard informing Eliza of benches at the center. The walking paths had been cut through hedgerows trimmed into various shapes and sizes, and every so often one would pass a seating area cut out of the shrubbery. She began to weave her way through the gardens toward the center. It would be nice to sit and think a bit in peace and quiet. She was in no hurry, pausing to look at various plants, or—blast it—to affix a train that had come loose. But as she neared the point where Eliza had left them, she heard low male voices.

Caroline slowed her step and moved quietly, pausing just outside the seating area. She leaned forward, trying to see through the thick bushes who was speaking.

She couldn’t see much of anything and leaned forward a little more. Suddenly, a man moved into her line of sight, his back to her. She surged backward, startled. She looked around, noticed a thinner part of the shrubbery where she might be able to see and crept toward it.

The men were speaking in Alucian. And then one abruptly said in English, “You can’t come here with this news.”

She froze. That was Prince Leopold. She dipped down to see through the shrubbery and saw the back of the man again. Oh, that was Prince Leopold, all right. She’d know that strong, square back anywhere. Or the collar-length dark brown hair brushed back behind his ears. But who was he speaking to?

Prince Leopold spoke again, but in Alucian. His voice was low, the cadence swift, the tone sharp.

Another man responded in Alucian. Caroline craned her neck to see, and when she caught a glimpse of the other man, she was all the more curious. He looked decidedly less privileged than the prince. He was broad, and his clothes very plain. His yellow-blond hair was unkempt and stuck out in a number of directions.

Prince Leopold spoke again, and he sounded slightly frantic. The other man smiled sadly at whatever the prince had said, nodded solemnly and said, “Je.”

She knew that meant yes.

Prince Leopold scraped his fingers over the crown of his head, looked once more at the mountain of a man and then, quite abruptly—or so it seemed to Caroline—walked out of the clearing.

She moved deeper behind the hedgerow. She waited for the man to go, but he dipped down beside a fountain and cupped his hands, bringing water to his face. He scrubbed his skin, then smoothed his scraggly beard. He seemed content to sit and think. Caroline meant to creep away, but when she tried, she found that blasted train snagged on the shrubbery. If she freed herself now, he would hear the rustle of her skirts.

After a few moments, he stood and began to amble toward the entrance of the clearing. By then, however, another sound had caught her attention, and Caroline glanced back to the path. Palace guards were quietly advancing toward the seating area the big man was about to leave. Her breath caught in her throat. She desperately wondered if she ought to warn the man, but before she could speak, it was too late.