Page 18 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
“Of course,” Father said. “Please send her majesty our apologies for our late arrival. Some trouble on the road delayed us.”
The attendant’s stoic expression crinkled, like they desperately wanted to interrogate Father but didn’t have the authority to.
“Let us know how the discussion goes,” Dad said, squeezing my shoulder before following Father and the attendant.
The other attendant led Delilah and me past the main building, deeper into the grounds. “Prince Fitzroy is hosting the meeting at his private residence.”
As we approached the building, I noticed Delilah had fallen a few steps behind. We were walking briskly, and she was almost a foot shorter than me, but she should have easily kept up. I stopped abruptly, and so did she.
“Delilah.” I kept my gaze forward, refusing to look behind me to confirm my suspicions.
“Yes, Trey?”
“Take it off.”
“I don’t knowwhatyou could possibly be referring to.”
“If I turn around and you are wearing that stupid collar, I will rip it from your neck and toss it into the nearest pond.”
Clink, clink, shuffle, rustle, swish.
Delilah passed me, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re the most paranoid man I’ve ever met, Trey—and one of my parents is a former bodyguard.”
“Kit’s not a man, so I guess that lowers my competition,” I replied as I matched her pace.
“He is when it suits him, though I have no idea why they would everwantto be one.”
Before we could delve deeper into the complexities of gender and what we wanted versus what we got, the attendant stopped at the front door of a small outbuilding and pulled a bell rope.
The door flung open as the bell finished its first ring. From their eagerness, I expected recriminations for being late, but the man on the other side only beamed at us. “Welcome to House Fitz. You must be our cousins from Bane and Woe.” He had tawny hair artfully tousled to one side and round, dark-rimmed glasses framing deep brown eyes. He wore no jacket, only a simple green waistcoat and white shirt, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows like he’d already started on the day’s work.
Scholar,I determined immediately, though his lithe frame hinted at hidden strength. His studies might extend beyond theoretical knowledge.
“Sorry we’re late,” I said as we followed him into the house.
“Technically, you still have thirty seconds before you’re officially late.”
“Unless that took thirty seconds to say,” Delilah quipped.
“Then apology accepted,” he replied promptly. He opened the door and called out, “The Officially Late Arrivals are here!”
I’d expected a stuffy, formal meeting room, not a cozy sitting room with plump furniture, books scattered haphazardly in a ‘I tried to clean and partially succeeded’ fashion, and a full tea service. Or, it had been full at one point. The others had selected the best morsels before we arrived.
“Finally,” a woman groaned from the couch. “We’ve been waiting forhours.” Her tone implied a strong sense of self-importance that matched her carefully crafted appearance. Thick, golden ringlets cascaded over her shoulders and the full skirts of her dress spread over the couch, preventing anyone from sitting near her.
Once the old man saw her, he’d be crowing in triumph over the addition of a potential damsel-in-distress to our story.
“You’re the one who insisted on rising at dawn to socialize,” our host said, frowning at her.
Another man waited in the shadows, his face turned away. Towering over the rest of us, with broad shoulders and closely cropped dark hair, he oozed menace. Between the two of us, he looked more like an evil mage’s son than I did. He said nothing while the other two bickered about social niceties and the definitions of ‘late.’
“Enough,” our host said, holding up his hands in surrender. “We’ll scare the others away before we’ve even introduced ourselves.” He bowed deeply to Delilah and me. “I’m Prince Fitzroy Unfortunate, not to bemistaken for FitzroytheUnfortunate, who had his title long before we ever changed our surname, so you think my mother would have chosen a different name for me. You can call me Fitz.”
Delilah curtsied. Without skirts, that mostly involved her bobbing up and down quickly. “Princess Delilah Katherine Marcella Cornelia Woeful.”
The other woman stood and performed anactualcurtsey, picking up the edges of her periwinkle skirts and gracefully lowering herself almost to the ground before smoothly straightening. “Princess Angelica Calamitous.”
The man in the corner stepped forward. Once out of the shadows, the light warmed his olive skin and hazel eyes. What I’d mistaken for menace softened into shyness as he bowed and spoke toward the floor, “Prince Maximus Gloom.”
