Royals
Page 34
“All I know is that this is the top story on every news site in Scotland right now, maybe in the whole UK.” And then her eyes meet mine. “And the queen got here this morning.”
Well, now I’m not laughing. “The queen?” I nearly squeak.
Ellie nods and then, in a gesture I haven’t seen from her in years, nervously twists the bangle around her wrist. “She wants to see you.”
Chapter 24
“Don’t you think that’s a bit overkill?” Dad murmurs as we walk down the hall to the parlor where we’ll meet the queen.
Mom is on my other side, and she glances across me toward Dad. “Oh, Liam, stop,” she says, also nearly whispering. “She looks lovely.”
“She looks like something they’d sell in the gift shop,” Dad replies, and I frown as I look down at my tartan skirt. It was the most Scottish-y thing I had in my new, Glynnis-approved wardrobe, a plaid skirt in shades of bright red, black, purple, and green. I’d paired it with a sensible black blouse, black tights, and a pair of red ballet flats.
But yes, maybe the matching tartan vest was too much.
Or was it the hat?
Reaching up, I snatch the plaid tam-o’-shanter from my head and hand it to Mom, who shoves it in her handbag.
“I panicked, all right?” I hiss. “I avoided the dungeon over the thing at the race, but this? This could be dungeon material.”
“Daisy,” Mom chides in the same tone she usually uses for Dad, but Dad just pats my shoulder.
“We’ll come visit, love, I promise.”
Elbowing him in the ribs, I try to fight off an attack of the nervous giggles as Mom tuts and fiddles with one of her earrings.
The hallway we’re heading down is dim, little lamps with apricot-colored silk shades casting pools of light on the ancient carpet, and it’s in a part of the palace I haven’t visited yet. These are the queen’s personal quarters, and they’re softer, more feminine than the rest of the palace. She’s been queen since she was eighteen, and suddenly I wonder if she redecorated the whole place when she came to power. That’s what I would’ve done. Of course I wouldn’t have gone with all this peach and blue. I would’ve gone . . . purple, maybe. Neon green. To keep people on their toes.
Or maybe I’m focusing on interior design to keep from freaking the freak out.
The one thing I was determined to do this summer was keep my head down and stay out of Ellie’s . . . everything. And now I am just all up in a royal mess, and I didn’t even do anything fun, which is deeply unfair. If I’d been the one fighting with Seb at his club? Fine, I’d take my lumps—I did the thing. But I was just being a good and loyal friend, and now I’m about to be—
“Oh god,” I mutter as we come to a stop in front of a pair of double doors. They’re heavy and covered in fancy scrollwork with thistles, unicorns, and giant Bs everywhere.
And behind them is an actual queen who thinks I am an evil seductress out to snare her youngest son.
I am going to die.
The three of us just stand there for a second, staring at the doors. I don’t know if we’re waiting for them to open on their own, or for fancy guys in uniforms to come out and open them for us, but in any case, we’re not moving, and neither are the doors.
“I met a queen once,” Dad muses. “She tried to put her hand down my trousers.” Dad looks over at me and raises his eyebrows. “Surely this can’t go any worse than that.”
Which means I’m both groaning and laughing as the doors in front of us open and Queen Clara of Scotland rises to her feet from an apricot-colored velvet sofa.
The laugh dies in my throat, my cheeks flaming hot as Ellie rises from a striped chair. Alex is standing behind her with Glynnis to her left, and by the window—
Miles?
Sure enough, there’s Mr. “I Think Your Tacky Parents Called the Paps” standing by the window in a nice suit, one hand in his pocket as he turns to watch me and my parents walk into the room. What on earth is he doing here?
“Mr. and Mrs. Winters,” Queen Clara says, coming to a stop in front of us.
Mom drops into a curtsy and Dad bows. I’m half a second behind, so flustered by Miles being here that I nearly forget I’m standing in front of a queen.
Luckily, I manage to pull it off without too much shaking, and I’m really relieved when I raise my eyes to see that the queen doesn’t look particularly “off with their heads.” She’s still smiling, and she has the same bright blue eyes as Alex and Seb. Her hair was once the same auburn as Seb’s, but it’s a little lighter now, strands of silver framing her face. Her suit is deep green and simple but gorgeous and tailored within an inch of its life, fitting so well I wonder if it was sewn onto her.
It’s not just the distinguished hair and gorgeous outfit that make it obvious she’s royalty, though. She’s holding her whole body like there’s a string attached to the top of her head, and every move she makes is elegant and smooth, like she’s spent her whole life practicing.
Ellie is beautiful and graceful, but she doesn’t have this. I don’t know if anyone who wasn’t born to wear a crown could have it, to be honest, and when I glance over at my sister, I feel a little bit of sympathy for her. I don’t think I realized that this is what she’d be expected to live up to. How could anyone do that?
“Please, sit,” the queen says, gesturing to another sofa in the room. This one is covered in peachy silk, but it’s striped in deep teal, and I am very aware of how badly I must clash as I sit down on it.
The queen waves a hand again, and a maid in a dark suit carries a tea tray to the table in front of us.
Queen Clara doesn’t ask how any of us take our tea. The maid just pours several cups, then hands them to us, the china so delicate I can practically see through it.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Mom enthuses, holding the cup up for a closer look. “I just bought my first set of china last year so I’d have something to serve tea in when Alex and Ellie visit, but it’s not nearly as nice as this. Where did you get it?”
Mom looks up, her eyes big behind her glasses, and I remember that while a good 80% of my personality came from my dad, that nervous talking thing I do?
That’s all Mom.
I think I can actually feel Ellie dying from our other side, but the queen just smiles. “I believe this set belonged to my great-grandmother, Queen Ghislaine.”
The cup rattles in the saucer, tea sloshing over the rim as Mom lowers it, blinking rapidly, her cheeks turning pink.
“Oh, of course,” she says, then gives a forced laugh. “Silly of me. It isn’t as though you buy your things from the outlet mall, is it? They don’t even have outlet malls here, do they? They’re really—”
I reach over, squeezing Mom’s hand briefly, and my eyes meet Ellie’s. She’s still a little pale, and she nods her head a little, probably to thank me. When Mom gets going, it’s like a babble bomb exploded everywhere.
“I’ve seen nicer,” Dad says, studying his own cup with a shrug, so awesome, Mom surrendered to Nervous Talking, and Dad is going Surly Rock Star. That only took thirty seconds.
For the first time, I get why maybe Ellie spent so much time keeping the two halves of her life separate. Still, my loyalty is always going to be to Mom and Dad over these people who are only important due to an accident of birth, and I make myself sit up straighter, smiling at Queen Clara.
Well, now I’m not laughing. “The queen?” I nearly squeak.
Ellie nods and then, in a gesture I haven’t seen from her in years, nervously twists the bangle around her wrist. “She wants to see you.”
Chapter 24
“Don’t you think that’s a bit overkill?” Dad murmurs as we walk down the hall to the parlor where we’ll meet the queen.
Mom is on my other side, and she glances across me toward Dad. “Oh, Liam, stop,” she says, also nearly whispering. “She looks lovely.”
“She looks like something they’d sell in the gift shop,” Dad replies, and I frown as I look down at my tartan skirt. It was the most Scottish-y thing I had in my new, Glynnis-approved wardrobe, a plaid skirt in shades of bright red, black, purple, and green. I’d paired it with a sensible black blouse, black tights, and a pair of red ballet flats.
But yes, maybe the matching tartan vest was too much.
Or was it the hat?
Reaching up, I snatch the plaid tam-o’-shanter from my head and hand it to Mom, who shoves it in her handbag.
“I panicked, all right?” I hiss. “I avoided the dungeon over the thing at the race, but this? This could be dungeon material.”
“Daisy,” Mom chides in the same tone she usually uses for Dad, but Dad just pats my shoulder.
“We’ll come visit, love, I promise.”
Elbowing him in the ribs, I try to fight off an attack of the nervous giggles as Mom tuts and fiddles with one of her earrings.
The hallway we’re heading down is dim, little lamps with apricot-colored silk shades casting pools of light on the ancient carpet, and it’s in a part of the palace I haven’t visited yet. These are the queen’s personal quarters, and they’re softer, more feminine than the rest of the palace. She’s been queen since she was eighteen, and suddenly I wonder if she redecorated the whole place when she came to power. That’s what I would’ve done. Of course I wouldn’t have gone with all this peach and blue. I would’ve gone . . . purple, maybe. Neon green. To keep people on their toes.
Or maybe I’m focusing on interior design to keep from freaking the freak out.
The one thing I was determined to do this summer was keep my head down and stay out of Ellie’s . . . everything. And now I am just all up in a royal mess, and I didn’t even do anything fun, which is deeply unfair. If I’d been the one fighting with Seb at his club? Fine, I’d take my lumps—I did the thing. But I was just being a good and loyal friend, and now I’m about to be—
“Oh god,” I mutter as we come to a stop in front of a pair of double doors. They’re heavy and covered in fancy scrollwork with thistles, unicorns, and giant Bs everywhere.
And behind them is an actual queen who thinks I am an evil seductress out to snare her youngest son.
I am going to die.
The three of us just stand there for a second, staring at the doors. I don’t know if we’re waiting for them to open on their own, or for fancy guys in uniforms to come out and open them for us, but in any case, we’re not moving, and neither are the doors.
“I met a queen once,” Dad muses. “She tried to put her hand down my trousers.” Dad looks over at me and raises his eyebrows. “Surely this can’t go any worse than that.”
Which means I’m both groaning and laughing as the doors in front of us open and Queen Clara of Scotland rises to her feet from an apricot-colored velvet sofa.
The laugh dies in my throat, my cheeks flaming hot as Ellie rises from a striped chair. Alex is standing behind her with Glynnis to her left, and by the window—
Miles?
Sure enough, there’s Mr. “I Think Your Tacky Parents Called the Paps” standing by the window in a nice suit, one hand in his pocket as he turns to watch me and my parents walk into the room. What on earth is he doing here?
“Mr. and Mrs. Winters,” Queen Clara says, coming to a stop in front of us.
Mom drops into a curtsy and Dad bows. I’m half a second behind, so flustered by Miles being here that I nearly forget I’m standing in front of a queen.
Luckily, I manage to pull it off without too much shaking, and I’m really relieved when I raise my eyes to see that the queen doesn’t look particularly “off with their heads.” She’s still smiling, and she has the same bright blue eyes as Alex and Seb. Her hair was once the same auburn as Seb’s, but it’s a little lighter now, strands of silver framing her face. Her suit is deep green and simple but gorgeous and tailored within an inch of its life, fitting so well I wonder if it was sewn onto her.
It’s not just the distinguished hair and gorgeous outfit that make it obvious she’s royalty, though. She’s holding her whole body like there’s a string attached to the top of her head, and every move she makes is elegant and smooth, like she’s spent her whole life practicing.
Ellie is beautiful and graceful, but she doesn’t have this. I don’t know if anyone who wasn’t born to wear a crown could have it, to be honest, and when I glance over at my sister, I feel a little bit of sympathy for her. I don’t think I realized that this is what she’d be expected to live up to. How could anyone do that?
“Please, sit,” the queen says, gesturing to another sofa in the room. This one is covered in peachy silk, but it’s striped in deep teal, and I am very aware of how badly I must clash as I sit down on it.
The queen waves a hand again, and a maid in a dark suit carries a tea tray to the table in front of us.
Queen Clara doesn’t ask how any of us take our tea. The maid just pours several cups, then hands them to us, the china so delicate I can practically see through it.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Mom enthuses, holding the cup up for a closer look. “I just bought my first set of china last year so I’d have something to serve tea in when Alex and Ellie visit, but it’s not nearly as nice as this. Where did you get it?”
Mom looks up, her eyes big behind her glasses, and I remember that while a good 80% of my personality came from my dad, that nervous talking thing I do?
That’s all Mom.
I think I can actually feel Ellie dying from our other side, but the queen just smiles. “I believe this set belonged to my great-grandmother, Queen Ghislaine.”
The cup rattles in the saucer, tea sloshing over the rim as Mom lowers it, blinking rapidly, her cheeks turning pink.
“Oh, of course,” she says, then gives a forced laugh. “Silly of me. It isn’t as though you buy your things from the outlet mall, is it? They don’t even have outlet malls here, do they? They’re really—”
I reach over, squeezing Mom’s hand briefly, and my eyes meet Ellie’s. She’s still a little pale, and she nods her head a little, probably to thank me. When Mom gets going, it’s like a babble bomb exploded everywhere.
“I’ve seen nicer,” Dad says, studying his own cup with a shrug, so awesome, Mom surrendered to Nervous Talking, and Dad is going Surly Rock Star. That only took thirty seconds.
For the first time, I get why maybe Ellie spent so much time keeping the two halves of her life separate. Still, my loyalty is always going to be to Mom and Dad over these people who are only important due to an accident of birth, and I make myself sit up straighter, smiling at Queen Clara.
