Page 13 of Princess Bride Swap

A legacy you are now a part of.

Lyon had said that. Not for an audience, but as if he’d actually meant it. “Will I be expected to speak?”

“My aides have prepared a few remarks for you, yes. After dinner, we will spend some time preparing before we film. It’s not live, so you will have ample tries to get it right.”

Beau tried not to let that worry her. If someone else had prepared the remarks, she could no doubt deliver them. In fact, that seemed preferable to a dinner meeting people. Having to come up with conversation in a crowd. That seemed far more the kind of recipe for panic.

But she knew the castle now, and she just assured herself if she started to feel the telltale signs—numb feelings in her limbs, tunnel vision, shortness of breath—she would excuse herself and go to the bathroom. Then she would hide.

Worst-case scenario, she’d claim food poisoning.

“You will be introduced to quite a few people this evening, so don’t feel bad if you can’t keep them all straight. We’ll work on making certain you spend time with the people you should know.”

“I have an excellent memory for names and faces. It usually only takes one meeting for me to remember people.” Her memory had always been excellent. She learned things quite easily, and then they stuck with her whether she wanted them to or not. Her father hadn’t cared for her ability to recall things that he’d rather she forgot. Or maybe he hadn’t cared for her insistence and inability to let something wrong go.

She was going to have to work on that.

“Quite an asset,” Lyon said, patting her arm.

When she glanced up at him, he was smiling. Like he meant it. She felt a strange sweep of...pride move through her. Like earning a compliment from him was exciting.

This was all so...strange. She’d known it would be, but so far it hadn’t been strange in the ways she’d beenexpecting.

But Lyon led her downstairs and through a back hallway that would take them to the entrance to the ballroom where they’d be announced. Lyon’s mother and a few staff members waited there.

One of them hurried over and said something in low tones to Lyon. Who nodded, but let Beau’s arm go.

“I’ll be right back.” He left her standing there with the countess. Whose expression was...cool, at best.

Her gaze swept over Beau’s dress. “You clean up quite nicely, Your Highness.”

It didn’t really feel like a compliment, considering she’d been “cleaned up” in her wedding dress last night. But Beau smiled all the same. “Thank you. Lyon’s staff is superb. I’d certainly be lost if they weren’t doing the work to...ah...clean me up.”

“I suppose, but could I make one little suggestion?” She leaned forward as if it was some great secret, whatever she wanted to impart.

Beau fought the impulse to lean away. She forced her smile to stay in place. “Of course.”

“Perhaps next time you could wear a color more fitting of the royal family,” the countess said in little more than a whisper.

Beau looked down at the navy blue. More fitting? She opened her mouth to ask what the countess meant, but Lyon had returned and took her arm and began leading her to the entrance to the ballroom.

Beau looked back at the countess, with the stray thought that perhaps she’d just misunderstood what the countess had said. What she meant.

But the look on the woman’s face was clear. It reminded Beau of the evil stepmother inCinderella. Which was so overdramatic she shook her head at herself. There was nothing evil about the countess. Perhaps she’d be a difficult mother-in-law, a judgmental one, but Beau could weather it.

It couldn’t be worse than her father.

As long as she doesn’t find out.

Beau forced that thought away and focused on the room in front of her. People milled about, then stilled as the announcement came over the sound system.

“May we present Crown Prince Lyon Traverso, and your new crown princess, Beaugonia Traverso?”

Lyon led her forward, when she would have stayed stuck in place. Because while the crowd wasn’thuge, all eyes had turned toward them. And the countess’s comment about her dress color was rattling around in her brain even though it made no sense.

She felt a little tickle at the back of her throat. Anxiety, but not panic. She could handle the anxiety. She’d researched all sorts of ways to deal with the overwhelm of social situations. The panic attacks came out of nowhere. There was little to no warning and often no direct cause.

Lyon took her around the room and introduced her to people. She made certain she looked each person in the eye, smiled and remembered every name and face. Because she could handle that. She wasgoodat that.

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