Thinking of his insistence that I invite my plant nerd buddies to enjoy the rose garden sends a flash of guilt cutting through my disgust. Of course, I can’t ask any of my botany enthusiast friends to the castle—most of them are online acquaintances, they’re scattered across the world, and they aren’t Lizzy’s friends—but it was a generous offer made without hesitation.
Andrew honestly seems to be a kind person who wants to make his future wife happy.
So…maybe something can be done about his table manners. Surely, he could be tactfully guided in a less-repulsive direction without any hurt feelings or lingering resentment.
I have to try something, or poor Lizzy is going to spend the rest of her life suppressing her gag reflex and get even skinnier than she already is. I have a much heartier appetite than my sister, and even I couldn’t imagine putting a bite of omelet in my mouth while Andrew was spraying chunks of egg all over the tablecloth.
Thankfully, a possible solution springs to mind.
“Greta, are Andrew and I still scheduled for d-dance lessons? For the w-wedding?” I pick up my pace until I’m walking beside the older woman instead of trailing.
She smiles and nods. “Yes, Princess. Every Wednesday afternoon. Unless you’d rather cancel. I’m sure Andrew would be happy to skip them if you’re already comfortable dancing in public, but I thought it better to be too prepared than not enough.”
“Oh, no, d-dancing lessons will be good, thank you.” I’m not worried about Lizzy struggling on the dance floor. Lizzy, Zan, and I all had lessons as children—my mother made sure of it. My sister can waltz and fox trot with the best of them, but the dance lessons make a good starting place for help in other, much more necessary, areas. “But I was w-wondering if we might be able to get a little m-more help.”
Greta’s brow furrows. “What did you have in mind, Princess?”
“I’m not as w-well-versed in Gallantian royal customs as I should be,” I say, deciding it would be best to pretend I’m the one with the problem. “If Andrew and I could w-work with an expert in dining and deportment at c-court, I’d feel so much better prepared for the wedding.”
And every meal that comes after…
“Of course, that’s a wonderful idea, Princess,” Greta says, her gray-blue eyes brightening. “I know just the person. Eduardo worked with the Queen Regent and all three of her boys when they were children. He’s been retired for years, but I’m sure he’d love the chance to return to work with you both. Andrew was Eduardo’s star pupil when he was a boy.”
The information gives me pause—major pause, considering Eduardo seems to have let table manners slip through the cracks the first time around—but I can’t think of a good excuse to ask for someone else. At the very least, a meeting with Eduardo will give me the opportunity to shine a light on the problem in a private setting and get Andrew on the path to eating like a human being.
It could be that no one has had the guts to confront him. My nannies all had zero issue with calling me out on my failings, but I’m not a real royal with wealth and power, or first in line to rule a kingdom.
Andrew could be stuck in an “Emperor Has No Clothes” situation.
If so, I don’t mind being the one to point out that he’s naked and covered in chunks of egg and oatmeal. I’ll do my best not to hurt his feelings, but someone has to step up and help the man help himself before he sprays chicken curry on a foreign dignitary and damages an important Gallantian alliance.
“That sounds w-wonderful, thank you,” I say, returning Greta’s smile. “If you could set that up, I’d be so grateful.”
“My pleasure, Princess,” she says with a slight incline of her head that makes me feel more royal than I have in my entire life.
I wonder how Lizzy will adjust to all the deference and title-using. Not to mention the fact that when she speaks around here, people are actually going to listen.
Lizzy’s grown accustomed to being ignored by almost everyone but me, and she likes it that way. Becoming a queen with a real voice is definitely going to be an adjustment.
“Is there anything else I can do to make your transition to court more comfortable?” Greta asks. “Andrew wasn’t forthcoming about your hobbies or dietary preferences, aside from the allergy concerns, but I’m happy to supply you with anything you need to make Gallantia feel more like home.”
I instinctively start to say no—because Lizzy would say no, and I don’t want to be a bother—but Greta’s words remind me of Andrew’s plan for the afternoon. I’m committed to pretending to be my sister, but there’s no way I’ll survive a hike in any of her shoes. “Actually, would it be possible to b-borrow some hiking clothes and a pair of sneakers or hiking b-boots? Andrew wants to give me a t-tour of the grounds, and I’m afraid I didn’t bring any suitable shoes.”