Page 6 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
“Indeed, it is. And that’s precisely what we’ve called a meeting to discuss, now that you’ve returned.” King Felix rose from his chair at the head of the conference table to give Nick’s hand a hearty shake. Even after a year, it was still strange to see his dad sitting in the chair his grandfather had always occupied. King Noël’s presence loomed large, from the painting on the wall to the memories ingrained in every part of the palace.
“Good to see you, son.” King Felix’s face cracked into an easy smile as he appraised Nick’s appearance over the top of his round, tortoiseshell glasses. His neatly clipped salt-and-pepper hair seemed to have started leaning more toward the salty side in Nick’s absence.
“You as well, Dad.” Nick smiled.
His father’s gaze narrowed. “Your beard isn’t quite as bad as it looks in the papers.”
“Shall I keep it then?”
“You look like a younger, stodgier Father Christmas,” Emilie said.
Ah, teenage princesses were such a joy. “I’ll take that as a no.”
The king and queen both laughed and made their way back to the conference table, where Jaron Lutz, the palace’s senior press advisor was busy setting up a laptop and projector. Tall and lean, with his trademark Viking-gold hair and a killer backhand, Jaron still resembled the tennis champ he’d been back when he and Nick had been in boarding school together. He glanced up from the equipment and gave Nick a slight bow when their eyes met.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” he said. In any other setting, he probably would’ve greeted Nick with a one-armed man hug.
Roommates since their first year at Le Rosey—the boarding school in Switzerland where every monarch to sit on San Glacera’s throne had been educated, dating back to its inception in 1880—Nick and Jaron had been friends for more years than Jaron had worked for the royal family. He was more of a brother than an employee. When Nick had a nasty fall and broke his arm on a ski trip to Gstaad when they’d been teenagers, Jaron had been the one to help him down the mountain so he could get help. He probably knew Nick better than his own family did, and not once had he ever spoken to the press about his royal friend. Never betrayed a confidence or sold him out for a fleeting moment of fame. Nick wished he could say that same about everyone he’d once trusted.
“Good morning, Jaron.” Nick pulled out a chair and sat down beside his father. It had been a while since someone had bowed to him. Royal protocol hadn’t applied up on the mountain. There, Nick had been just an ordinary guy.
As ordinary as a prince could ever be, he supposed.
“Shall we proceed?” Jaron asked, tapping a key on his laptop until a photograph of San Glacera’s Ice Village flashed on the white projector screen situated at the head of the table.
“Yes, let’s.” The queen folded her hands neatly in her lap.
Jaron nodded. “Certainly. While you were away, sir, we put our heads together to discuss ways to give San Glacera’s tourism industry a boost this December. As I’m sure you’re aware, Christmas visitors to the kingdom have become increasingly fewer and farther between in recent years.”
“Might that be an exaggeration?” Nick frowned, but then an image of an ominous-looking bar graph appeared on the screen.
“Vendors have reported a steady downward trend in sales over the past five years.” Jaron cleared his throat. “Last year, tourism was down thirty-five percent. Two shops in the village square closed while you were away, sir.”
Nick’s stare bore into the bar graph as a sinking feeling settled in his gut. Why was he just now hearing about this? As heir, he should be privy to this sort of information.
He took a deep breath and swiveled his gaze toward the king. “Father…”
His dad held up a hand. “I know, son. You expect to have been included in discussions about this months ago.”
You think?
Nick bit his tongue. His father knew good and well that he wanted to be more involved with the kingdom’s day-to-day operations. There was no need to repeat himself, especially now that he was front page news again.
The king smiled. “Not to worry, though. We’ve already come up with a brilliant solution.”
If only they hadn’t done so while Nick had been away…
You’re here now, though. And you’re part of the conversation. Things could be worse. Indeed. This meeting could have been about his less-than-jolly reputation. It could have been a repeat of the crisis talks that had taken place in this very room a year ago when the not-so-flattering details about his personal life had been splashed across every front page in Europe.
But another personal embarrassment would have been far preferable to shopkeepers being forced to shut down and people losing their livelihoods. Nick was already worried that the “abominable” headlines might have an impact on the charity where he served as patron. They were already struggling for donations.
Nick sat a little straighter in his chair. But then Jaron advanced his PowerPoint presentation to the next slide, and the words Royal Winter Wonderland Contest appeared, surrounded by whirling, twirling snowflakes. Nick was so distracted by the animated graphics that he almost missed the finer print near the bottom of the screen.
Spend this Christmas with San Glacera’s royal family!
A bark of laughter escaped him. What was he looking at? An ad for some inane reality television-style competition? “Is this a joke?”
Nick glanced around the table and, to his horror, no one else cracked a smile.
