As I spent close to fourteen hours a day in his presence, doing everything from running his schedule to bringing him tea to juggling his dates—not to mention listening to him ramble and endlessly ask for my opinion on the smallest of things—I came to know the prince who would be king.
His spoiled nature became tempered by his enjoyment of small things—like the lyrics to an old song or his boyish excitement over an extra biscuit with his tea. And the ego I detested so much often found balance in his open admiration for others—his father, King Gregory, his astoundingly more grounded brother, Prince Leo, and his wise and unfailingly kind sister, Princess Clara. Even the stern and ever forbidding figure of Queen Elsie, his mother, occupied an elevated spot in his regard, despite his constant complaining that she didn’t understand him. He revered leaders, artists, and everyday people alike, even as he pretended to hold himself above them all.
Over time, I also began to understand that his eschewing of royal responsibility had not as much to do with his disinterest in engaging in worthwhile pursuits as it did with normal human trepidation about one day assuming the throne. And it would come as no surprise if he feared failing to live up to the lofty expectations placed upon him as the eldest child of a royal family.
And then the perceived laziness. It became quite clear early on that once Prince Malcolm put his mind to something, he pursued it with a degree of determination usually only seen in one of the queen’s Siamese cats when a mouse happened to trespass on palace grounds. This was, fortunately—or unfortunately, depending upon how one chose to view it—evidenced in his dedicated maintenance of that exceedingly fit body through various athletic pursuits and an unforgiving exercise routine. One I witnessed more than enough times to find it… distracting.
No, Malcolm wasn’t at all what he seemed at first glance.
He had his faults, to be sure. So many faults, in fact, it would be impossible to list them all without my brain detonating like a barrel of dynamite. But he defied categorization, something which history has proven tends to divide men into one of two categories: the exceptional and the abominable. Time had yet to tell which would come to describe Malcolm Baxter.
But despite his complexities and his knack for surprising me, Malcolm was and forever would be two things: a royal and a lothario. Which meant that when my disdain turned to tolerance, then to curiosity, then reluctant admiration, and finally to warmth, it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. We could only ever be employer and employee to one another. Ruler and subject. Royal and commoner. Playboy and prude. We weren’t friends. We certainly weren’t lovers. In fact, I suspected Malcolm viewed me as an asexual being whose sole purpose in life was to be at his beck and call. Anything apart from the business of looking after the future king’s administrative needs and personal protection was to remain only in my imagination. No matter how much it hurt.
And hurt it did. So much that, in the end, it had made it impossible to be effective at my job. Which was why I was now in Greensboro, North Carolina, working for the American branch of a Feldish eyewear manufacturer while Malcolm remained across the Atlantic preparing for his coronation with the help of someone much better suited to the task than I.
But his incessant ringing and texting made it impossible to put him out of my mind, as did the periodic visits from his identical twin brother, Prince Leo. Ruby and Leo had met and fallen in love in a matter of days during the episode that ended in my resignation four months ago. And now the couple was splitting time between the States and the Feldlands until they worked out a long-term plan. Thankfully, everyone involved had sworn to keep my whereabouts a secret from Malcolm, lest he form one of his mad notions and hop on a jet to ask my opinion on which socks he should wear. Sadly, this example was not an exaggeration. But Ruby was the only one involved who knew of my true feelings for Malcolm; everyone else assumed I’d just become tired of his antics and wanted to be rid of him.
However, every time my brain instructed me to get a new phone number, my heart made an excuse not to. What if Carl needs you and doesn’t remember your new number? What if a contact from your years of service with the royal family rings you with some fabulous offer of employment in New Zealand? What if the worst happens to King Gregory and no one is able to notify you?
So my number stayed the same, and I did my best to ignore all the flashes of No Never Don’t on my phone’s display. No matter how much I wanted to answer and let my heart do the talking.
“Alice.”
My head snapped up at Ruby’s voice to find her grinning down at me.
“Carl’s asking for you, and he said to tell you to stop worrying.” She rolled her eyes and I felt myself grin.
Tucking my phone back in my purse, I stood and made my way down the hall to determine for myself if I could release my concerns and breathe easy once more. I’d do well to keep my focus on those who made my life easy; not those with the power to tear it apart.
The stack of papers hit the desk with a rather loud thump as the ache in my biceps suggested an exercise routine of my own wouldn’t be the worst idea. “Here’s the quarterly report, Ms. Vorhees.” My boss’s eyes remained on her mobile phone as I continued, “I took the liberty of making copies for the executive staff meeting. Double-sided and collated. I’ve personalized them with sticky tabs denoting each attendee’s department.” I separated them into different piles on the wood surface. “And I highlighted the areas on which to focus to keep the meeting flowing and give you plenty of time to make it to Wilmington for your dinner with Banelo and his agent.” I pulled a pen from behind my ear and adjusted my glasses. “Oh! And I did a little snooping last night and discovered they’re both pescatarian, so I switched the reservation to Pinpoint Restaurant. Yelp reviewers insist you mustn’t miss the oysters, so be sure to place an order for the table.” I readied my pen and notepad for anything I might have missed. It didn’t happen often, but the morning distraction of Carl increased the possibility that I’d forgotten something.
My boss’s eyes finally lifted, but their usual sparkle was absent, and it was clear she was distracted. “Ms. Vorhees makes me sound like a frigid headmistress. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Grier?”
“One more, it seems.” My returning smile was professional, yet warm. I quite liked Ms. Vorhees as both a boss and a person. She’d only recently taken over as head of the American office of Triumph Eyewear after some apparent drama or other at the Feldland’s headquarters. No one envied her the situation she’d inherited, given the vast amounts of red marking the sales reports. But Grier was bright and energetic, if not a tad unfocused at times. I had the impression she’d been assigned to this sinking ship more to go down with it than to save it, but she was creative and certainly never felt the need to cross into the killer female executive archetype to motivate the staff. In the short time I’d been working here, I’d grown to admire her and enjoy working with her. I was a bit of yang to her yin, and she never tested my patience nor asked me questions about cartoons—two of many things differentiating her from my former boss.
“Well, let’s hope we get a chance to reach that ‘one more.’” Grier sighed and dropped her phone to her desk before leaning back in her office chair and considering me.