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“Absolutely. The Belgians are ridiculous. I blame their British connections for them being snoozefests.”
The woman scoffed. “And what would you say if I was one of them?”
I groaned. “I thought… you have an American accent.”
“Raised off and on in the States. Apologies, but don’t shit on my cousins.”
“Your cousins are also mostly raised outside?—”
“Well, fuck off if that bothers you!”
“It’s a fucking compliment, okay?”
I knew who she was now, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t care who I was. I didn’t care who she was. She was gorgeous with legs up to her neck. I wanted to fuck her with abandon. And, if she’d have me, I would.
“You’re Rick the Prick, right?”
Ouch. Well, I could tell word had spread about that—even to those who didn’t speak our language. I’d gotten a reputation among anyone who spoke English. I’d gone by Rick in college. It was a lot easier than explaining to Americans how to pronounce my given name. A college nickname was now an annoying artefact.
“Most people around here call me Prince Rikard, but sure. You can call me whatever you want when you’re screaming my name.”
She bit her lip. The blonde of the evening was thinking about it.
“You want to disappear?” I asked. “I’m bored. We could get up to trouble.”
She stood and held out her hand. “Why don’t we? You know this place at all?”
I shrugged. “You’ve seen one palace, you’ve seen ‘em all. C’mon.”
Three
Alexandra
The morning after the event at the palace, I woke for breakfast. To my surprise, Queen Margaux invited me for an informal breakfast in her sitting room. I found myself on a couch eating tiny tea cakes. I was important. Who was I to enjoy an audience alone with Her Majesty? I still felt out of place among my peers. Until the regency was gone, I was unworthy.
“Do you know why I brought you here, Alexandra?” Margaux asked.
“To have breakfast?” I wondered, unsure.
“Well, state the obvious, Alexandra. Yes. But I wanted to check in with you. You came alive last night—as alive as I’ve seen you, darling.”
“I very much enjoyed myself.” I smoothed my skirt nervously. “Thank you for having me.”
“Alexandra, youcanbe honest with me. I am on your side. I grew up the oldest of six girls. I was kept out of public scrutiny. I became Queen in my twenties and understand. I want to hear from you—the real you deep down. We are friends. Or, at least, I would like us to be.”
“We cannot be friends.”
“Why not?”
“You’re a proper grown-up!” I shook my head.
“And you’re a clever little thing but you’re holding back. We’re peers, Alexandra. And I’ve taken a liking to you. I want you to be honest and happy. I am only now seeing the light in your eyes as you tuck those cakes away.”
I snickered. “Well, but they’re delicious. I cannot?—”
I stopped myself. I worried about what she might tell Celeste.
“Can I trust you to keep this in confidence?” I asked.
