laughed unwillingly.
“Maybe it would help you to consider what your parents might have wanted for you.” A yellow stripe joined the blue one, followed by a shaky red one. The painting looked like a fucked-up rainbow. “If they were still around, what would they say about it?”
“Well…” Christina leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Which, in addition to cherubs, gods, and goddesses, had a large rainbow on it…so that’s what she was painting. “I never knew my dad. And my mom worked pretty hard most of her life…she usually had at least two jobs. We had to move around a lot…I never really got to make any friends. It was just the two of us. And then—and then it was just me. So, there’s really no contest. She would have told me to go for the brass ring, and kick the crud out of anybody who got in my way.”
Alexandria pursed her (perfect, pink) lips and nodded. “Well, then.”
“Except…what makes me different from the rest of the throng, if I take your brother for the dough?”
“The very fact that you’re asking that question makes you different. Also, we all enjoy it enormously when you yell at the king, so you simply must linger.”
“What am I, the court jester?” she grumbled.
“No. But you might be a princess.”
“Great.”
Still. Alexandria was certainly giving her a lot to think about. She was beautiful, and sly…asking the what would your mama say? question clinched it. Her mom would have been overjoyed, thrilled, ecstatic. It would have been worth putting up with the pomp of a royal wedding just to see her mom’s face light up.
So was it stupid to do something to please her mother lying in her grave these ten years? Or was it the beginning of compassion?
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”
David accidentally ran the cart into the wall. Silver platters flew everywhere with a clang.
“For crying out loud,” Christina said, watching scrambled eggs soar through the air, “maybe I should have broken it to you more gently.”
She’d met him just outside the gallery—in fact, he’d nearly run over her foot with the damned cart.
“I’m just—surprised, that’s all. Happily surprised,” he added hastily. He moved to her to take her hand, slipped on a piece of bacon, and she ended up steadying him. “You won’t regret it, Christina,” he gasped, leaning on her for support. “You’ve made me a very happy man.”
“We’ll see, Penguin Boy,” she said. “And listen—if it gets too weird—not that that could ever happen—I’m outta here, and the engagement’s off, got it?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. And, of course, that applies to me, too.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“Well, no. That was a bluff. I could never break our engagement.”
“Okay.” Weird. “I guess…should we kiss? Sort of to seal the—mmph!”
The guy was a mind reader! Or he’d slipped again and fallen on her mouth. Either way, they were sealing the deal. And it wasn’t bad at all. He either hadn’t spent enough time in the penguin room to reek, or she’d gotten used to it. All she could smell was bacon, and his own clean scent. His mouth was firm on hers, his hand on the back of her neck was wonderfully strong—normally she didn’t care for that, but with David it was like she was protected rather than smothered.
“—my father right away.”
“Mmmm—huh?” Nuts. All done kissing. She stared at his mouth. Really, truly all done? Yes, dammit. Worse, he was still talking.
“—said, let’s go tell my father right away.”
“Oh. Okay. Uh…but maybe not the rest of the world? Right away?”
“As you wish.” He grinned at her, his blue eyes twinkling, grabbed her hand, and they ran through the spilled food.
Chapter 9
From The Queen of the Edge of the World, by Edmund Dante III, © 2089, Harper Zebra and Schuster Publications.
As one can imagine (and if one has been paying close attention to this tome), the king was as overjoyed at the news of the crown prince’s engagement as Edmund Dante was appalled.
Princess lessons were to begin at once, designers and planners were commissioned, and a date was set for five months hence…April the second. Normally that would be a shockingly short time for a royal engagement, but the general consensus seemed to be to “get it done” before the bride-to-be could change her mind and flee the country.
But first, Edmund Dante was to try one last time to talk the feisty commoner out of her wedding. It is difficult to tell if he did it for his own sake, the country’s, or the future queen’s.
And Queen Christina’s reaction to this attempt gives historians another tantalizing glimpse into what drove this foreigner of uncommon strength to take a crown.
“Miss Krabbe…”
“Call me Christina. Or Chris. Anything but Tina…yech. My mom hates her name her whole life, and what does she do? Slaps it on the end of my name. Nice!”
“Miss Christina, are you sure you have considered this very carefully?”
“And by that he means, congratulations,” the king said, glaring at Edmund from his seat.
Edmund forced a smile, which disappeared as quickly as it formed. “You haven’t been in the country a week, you barely know His Highness, and frankly…ah…frankly…”
“I’m not the princess type?” She tucked her legs beneath her and grinned at him. “Tell someone who doesn’t know.”
“Edmund…”
They were in one of the sitting rooms, and the king had called for beer to celebrate the announcement of their engagement. He’d downed two in rapid succession and apparent relief. Christina had taken a sip, masterfully concealed a shudder, and handed her glass to David.
“Your Majesty, please. It must be said. And it appears to have fallen to me.”
“Who says?” the king whined. “You’re gonna queer the deal, and then I’ll be forced to break both your legs.”
“A lively ending,” the prince commented, “to an unparalleled career.”
“It isn’t fair,” Edmund said quietly. “Look to the House of Windsor if you don’t believe me. She must be warned.”
“Fine, fine, but get it out of the way. And don’t bug her, for Christ’s sake.”
“Too late,”
