Page 30 of Royal Icing
“No. About thirty-five years ago—after my parents got married—the country voted to transition to a constitutional monarchy.”
“Oh. That must have been hard.”
Leo nodded. He continued in a low voice, “Ever since then, my mother has been obsessed with reminding everyone that we’re still here. Our duties are mostly ceremonial bullshit. Christening hospitals, holding fundraisers, that kind of thing. Technically, my dad is the commander of the armed forces, but our ‘armed forces’ is about two dozen people with day jobs and nightsticks.”
Hmm. Finally, some useful information. That gave her a lot to think about.
“Sounds like that wasn’t what your mom signed up for.”
He gave a curt nod. “Correct. So now she compensates by trying to control every aspect of our lives and thrust us out into the public eye as much as she can. Fortunately for me, she’s mostly focused on John and Ruby. They each have a security detail, but Ruby ditches hers all the time.”
Something in Emma softened. Classic middle child syndrome. Even though he said it flippantly, she could sense a source of pain there.
“Excuse me,” a woman said in front of them. “Your Highness?” She curtsied, and Leo stiffened for a moment before relaxing.
“Good evening,” he said with a deep nod. “Miss Kent, right? From the tailor shop? I hope business is booming this season.”
She nodded, and her cheeks flushed. Holy crap. Did he know the name of every citizen in the village?
“We’re very fortunate, Your Highness. Thank you for thinking of us. I was wondering if we might get a picture?”
“Of course,” Emma said on his behalf. The woman handed over her phone, and Emma stepped back to take the picture.
Leo looked pained, like he was suppressing a fart.
“Let’s get a couple more,” she said, shifting so that the Christmas tree was in view. “Say ‘deviled egg.’”
Ha. She had bamboozled Leo into a genuine smile.
“Perfect. Gorgeous. Christmas-card worthy, if I say so myself,” she said as she handed the phone back.
“Thank you, my lady,” the woman said with another curtsy.
Oh, no. She hadn’t signed up to be curtsied at.
Now that the ice had broken, more people were stepping up with sheepish smiles, bows, and curtsies.
After a dozen more pictures, the line parted in front of them. People ushered them to the front. Finally, a royal perk.
Leo graciously thanked everyone in line, and Emma could hardly take her eyes off him. Even though she was getting a strong sense that he wasn’t happy in this role—a reluctant royal—he treated everyone with kindness. The people were enamored with him. Instead of dismissing them, he asked one about his wife’s surgery, and another about their grandson’s football game.
It was amazing to watch him work. If she was a painter or a royal photographer, she would have captured him there, clasping hands with people who made up the backbone of the community. She had a feeling the scene wouldn’t translate as powerfully to cake.
Long minutes later, they had escaped the crowd and ducked behind a booth to sample the candied nuts. They were rock-hard but tasted of a tantalizing blend of cinnamon and brown sugar.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“I’ll bet you never go to the grocery store. A week would pass just trying to get to the chocolate milk.”
He smiled again. “You’re not wrong.”
“For someone who claims to be an empty figurehead, you sure know a lot about your subjects.” She twisted the neck of the bag and shoved it in her pocket, then set off toward the park.
He shrugged and followed her. “It’s the least I can do.”
“How many people live in the village, anyway?”
“A little over five thousand.”
