“Eliza, that is enough. They both have things they must do,” her mother said as she walked up to me, her hands clasped together. She looked me up and down. “You are very pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“I was not trying to compliment you. I was stating a fact,” the queen replied, her voice unnerving. “More facts, your jewelry and clothing choice was appropriate enough, though very flashy and the color a little bright for a first introduction. Nevertheless, it will do. It has to. You did well under the circumstances. However, today is the easiest day you shall have for quite some time. Being pretty is not enough. Many people are pretty. You need to be smart and decisive. I do know the circumstances which caused today, but they cannot happen again. We have order and protocol here. And now that you have crossed those gates and entered this threshold, you are beholden to them as we all are. Am I understood?”
“Yes...” I nodded. “Your Highness?”
“Majesty,” she corrected. “You will be given tutors. You must learn quickly. Now you must both go see the king and take more photos with the press with your ring.” Her eyes shot down to my hand. “Where is the ring?”
“Here, Mother,” Gale stated, opening the box for her to see.
“Ambrose, explain everything to her while I change from this ridiculous outfit,” she said, turning away from me and going up the stairs with Eliza. The welcoming party that had come to see me all went with her or disappeared through some door or down a hallway.
In her place, a hefty but tall man with white hair and a mustache so thick it looked like fur on his lips stood in front of me.
“Odette,” Gale said when he returned to my side. “This is Thomas Ambrose, whom we call Ambrose or Mr. Ambrose, whichever you prefer. He is the Head Secretary of Palace Affairs. He chooses every personal secretary for the royal family and acts as the secretary to the king.”
“Miss Wyntor.” He nodded at me. “I have a list of personal secretaries for you to choose from. Until that moment, however, I shall be guiding you through this afternoon’s itinerary.”
He gave me a tablet to look at, and there was everything, time stamped.
12:00 p.m. Miss Wyntor arrives.
12:01 – 12:10 p.m. Miss Wyntor in the company of Her Majesty, the queen.
12:11 – 12:16 p.m. Audience with the king.
12:20 – 12:30 p.m. Audience with the press.
12:35 – 1:55 p.m. Official palace engagement photos
2:00 p.m. Tea and lunch with the queen.
I glanced over at Gale, and he just nodded as if he knew what I wanted to say.
“We must get going to be on time,” Ambrose said, making space for Gale and me to walk forward. “The crown handpicks the reporters who will be present. Normally, there is more time, and you would have received questions ahead of time. But they are simple. How do you feel? Are you happy? Is the wedding date set yet? The answer to that question is no. Then Prince Galahad will say, ‘When we set a date, we will inform the public.’ You are advised to smile widely like this is all a fairy tale. When it is over, you will go to the gardens for photos. Gowns were brought in and are waiting for you. After that, you shall rejoin the queen for further instructions on your day.”
He checked his watch, and Gale squeezed my hand and leaned in, whispering, “Just in case you are worried that the dresses will not fit, do not worry, they will. He was the one who created the profile on you.”
It was him?
“His Majesty is not having the best of days,” the nurse said to me as she came out of the room.
“Even if the sovereign were on his deathbed, so long as they are the sovereign, a new member of the family must meet them. It is tradition,” Ambrose said, and there were days I wondered if he cared about us or if he cared about tradition more.
The nurse looked at me, and I nodded for her to open the door. When she did, I felt my heart ache. There was my father, pacing back and forth in his robe, his hair a mess, and his eyes almost crazed.
“Father?” I called out to him. This time, he heard me, and his head whipped to me as he came over directly.
“Gale! There you are. Where is your brother? I keep asking for him, and this woman”—he pointed to the nurse—”tells me I cannot see him now. Go get Arthur. We have work to do.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I let go of Odette’s hand and moved to him. “Arthur is busy, Father.”
“Busier than me? I am the king, and I am searching for him. Bring him now!” he hollered. But he paused and looked behind me. “And who is this? How can she just enter my room? Guards!”
“Father—Father, she is my fiancée.”
He looked at me as if I were mad and as if he had not all but threatened to banish me had I not agreed to marry her months ago. “Fiancée? Are you insane? Your brother is not yet even married, and you have a fiancée?”