“So you keep saying.” I lifted the glass to my lips and let the smokey liquid coat my tongue.
“Just leave poor Wes alone—and Ruby as well. She’ll be back in a week or so. Her uncle Carl is having a stent put in and she wanted to be there.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Tell me you didn’t make her fly commercial?” I pointed a finger at him around my glass. His lips pinched together, providing my answer. “Unbelievable! The entire point of being a prince is to fly women around the world in your private jet and impress them with your money and privilege.”
He shot me a withering glance and shoved his stupid hands in his pockets. “Interesting take. First, using the jet unnecessarily releases staggering amounts of greenhouse gasses into the atmosphere—something Ruby understands and respects. And second, I was under the impression that a prince’s purpose was to prepare to assume leadership of a nation while always putting its people’s wellbeing first. How silly of me.”
“Prig!” I concealed the insult under a fake cough. “Well, obviously. But the impressing women part comes directly after that.” I took another sip of the whiskey, trying my best not to let my brother’s lack of adventurous spirit depress me.
“If you say so,” he dismissed my comment with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, I thought I should interfere before Mother gets wind of the crisp-torpedoed speech and starts asking questions.”
My hand froze inches from my mouth.
I was man enough to admit Leo’s mention of the queen turned my blood a touch cool. Well, let’s be honest; if my blood were a swimming pool, dicks would have shrunk to gherkins. “Let’s avoid that, yes?”
All Leo could do was shrug, but the fingers of dread began clawing inside my chest again. Mother’s interference was the last thing I needed. “I’ll do my best to help, but you can’t let it happen again, Mal. Your coronation is only three weeks away, and there’s no room for error.”
The whiskey turned sour in my belly and I abandoned the glass on the table. Leo was right, as usual. I always did my best not to acknowledge it, but he was unfailingly steadfast and kind, not to mention the sharpest man I knew, apart from our father. And Father—King Gregory—was the best of men. Strong, patient, wise, and beloved by the Feldish people as well as his family. But his multiple sclerosis had made it impossible for him to continue in his role as king, so it was up to me—as the oldest child, if only by two minutes—to take the helm and attempt in some small way to live up to his legacy. It was, in a word, terrifying.
So it’s no wonder that, with impeccable timing, my brain chose to abruptly develop a crippling fear of public speaking three weeks before I was meant to take the throne.
Fan-bloody-tastic.
“I’m just going to see Andrew at the guards’ office. No need to accompany me.” I tried waving off Victoria, but it was no use. Her heels clicked a rapid steel drum beat on the marble floors of the north wing’s main hall in her attempt to keep pace.
“But, sir.”
I raised a silencing hand. “No buts. I’m perfectly capable of crossing a courtyard on my own, Victoria. Why don’t you work on the coronation details? Lord knows there must be something you can do there.” If the minor pieces of planning I’d been privy to thus far were anything to go by, this event would be an absolute circus—minus the fun bits like tigers eating people. Hmm, I wonder…
No! I mustn’t let my mind wander. There were security personnel to annoy, sports cars to be driven, waves to be surfed, and kingly duties to postpone thinking about. All my mind needed was an afternoon at the beach, and I was sure it would sort itself out and be done with this fear nonsense. Now the only thing coming between me and my afternoon plans was my annoyingly competent and clingy assistant.
“Sir, as you are aware, I’ve been instructed not to let you out of my sight until the coronation.” Her cheerful tone belied what was surely some degree of impatience.
“And, as you are aware, I am your boss and I instruct you to do the exact opposite.” I didn’t enjoy losing my temper with Victoria. It wasn’t her fault I disliked her. She was just so… so… enthusiastic. No, eager. No, charming. Yes, that was the problem. Everyone in the sodding place sang her praises like she was the next coming of Hugh Jackman (yes, even I can’t deny the pull of that man’s devilishly handsome smile and smoldering countenance). Even Mother approved of Victoria; and she detested almost everyone.
To be fair, Victoria ticked every box for the perfect assistant. She was agreeable, punctual, bright, well-mannered, engaging with colleagues and superiors alike, and rarely overstepped—except when it came to anything my mother instructed her to do that I would surely dislike. And she didn’t shy away from doling out compliments, something one would think I’d enjoy.
Not to mention, Victoria was unarguably attractive, with a tall frame, flawless bone structure, and an almost concerning amount of lustrous blond hair. Her beauty had little to do with being fit for the job, but it was difficult not to take notice—especially when she occasionally stood a touch too close or brushed an accidental hand over my arm. And the smiling. I’d never seen such extraneous smiling.
I knew I was being ridiculous. But, like I said, it wasn’t Victoria’s fault I didn’t like her. It was Alice’s—the same Alice who hadn’t answered a single call or text in over four months. I’d never been so callously ignored, even if her abandoning me was… possibly… partially my fault.
“And you know I wouldn’t normally insist, but the queen did direct me to do as she sees best, so you can understand my predicament.”
“Is that so?” My feet came to a halt, causing Victoria to totter on her ridiculously high heels for a moment before steadying herself and assuming her usual flawless smile. “Well, the queen won’t be in charge in three weeks’ time, so perhaps you might want to rethink your career strategy.”
Lord, I was a dick.
Still, I resumed my strides over the gleaming marble, telling myself I needed to walk away before I said something else this woman didn’t deserve. Something like, “Why can’t you be more like Alice? Why can’t you frown at me and get that ridiculous crinkle above your glasses when I make a request you don’t approve of? Why can’t you wear flats instead of those impractical stilettos? And why can’t you anticipate my every need? It’s really not that hard. Give me biscuits when I’m cranky, and let me watch telly while you take notes on the boring conference calls and then sum it up for me later. Easy! And, while we’re at it, why can’t you just help me find Alice and bring her back?”
Bloody hell.
I pushed through the doors to the courtyard, not even caring anymore if Victoria was following.
Change of plans. Instead of dragging Andrew and the security crew to the beach, I was paying an emergency visit to the Bernards.
The Bernards were a pod of well-bred, well-connected assistants led by a chap called Bernard—thus the moniker—who occupied a large office in the security building. As far as I could tell, the pod spent most of their time watching surveillance videos, taking Buzzfeed quizzes, and applying for roles on reality TV programs. Well, that and refusing to reveal the location of my former assistant. But this time, I wasn’t taking no for an answer. If someone didn’t tell me where in the hell Alice was, there would be hell to pay.