“Exactly!”
“Instead you merely chased her beloved dog to exhaustion, causing it to succumb to dehydration.”
“Hell, it didn’t die or anything. Just needed to see the vet. For a few days. Okay, a week.”
“Um-hmm.” Edmund passed a hand over his immaculate hairstyle. “Thus, we can forget about a marital alliance with the House of Windsor.”
“Pretty much.”
“So we’ve resorted to picking American commoners off the street?”
The king jabbed a finger the size of a sausage in Edmund’s direction. “Never mind that snob bullshit. My great-grandma was a nobody and she turned out to be the greatest queen this country’s ever seen. Bloodlines don’t mean shit up here. It’s what you do that counts.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Christina’s got the goods. David doesn’t care. And I want them hitched. So that’s that.”
From The Queen of the Edge of the World.
And that, as they say, was that.
Chapter 5
“Maps,” the blonde said, hurrying into the dining hall. She saw the steps too late and instead of skidding to a halt, simply sailed over them and landed lightly on her feet. She was wearing khaki shorts, a short-sleeved, powder blue sweater, and loafers without socks. “Maps in the rooms.”
“What?” the king said. “What’s the big deal, kid? Lunch at one, third floor. Easy.”
“There are three dining rooms on this floor,” she snapped, eliciting gasps from the servants and grins from the royal siblings. “Say it with me—maps.”
“Well, excuse the hell out of me. Next time I’ll have Edmund escort you.”
“Swell,” she muttered, sitting down at the empty seat beside David. “That won’t scare me to death.”
King Alexander cleared his throat. As were his children, he was dressed in denim and khaki. The watch on his left wrist was worth eighteen thousand pounds, English Sterling (a gift from Queen Elizabeth before relations deteriorated), and he had a rubber band on his right wrist, which was worth about eight cents, Alaskan. “Everyone, this is Christina Krabbe.”
“It’s pronounced Crab, not Crabby. The ‘e’,” she said, turning to David, “is silent.”
“Anyway,” the king continued loudly, “she’s sort of stranded in our country for a while, so let’s make her feel at home.”
“America didn’t want you, huh?” the youngest boy said, and laughed.
“Shaddup, Nicholas,” the king retorted, drawing on his formidable store of child psychology. “Christina, this is my oldest son, David, my oldest daughter, Alexandria, my other son, Alexander the Third, my daughter Kathryn, and my youngest, Nicholas.”
“I know,” she said. “I mean, it was nice of you to introduce me, but I read a newspaper occasionally. Also, you were all prominently featured in People magazine’s Wild Royals issue.”
David snorted before he could lock it back.
“The press,” Alexandria announced, “plagues us. Plus, could they have published less flattering pictures? Blurgh.”
“Oh, quit it,” Nicholas said. “You know you’re gorgeous, so no more whining about all the bad pictures, ’kay?”
“Pipe down, twerp,” the princess retorted, but she looked pleased.
“I’m so glad you shaved,” the commoner explained to the king. “That whole ‘dead animal on the face’ thing was just…yech. Also, as a disguise, it was pretty lame.”
Now the Alexes were elbowing each other and snickering into their napkins while the king scowled.
“Look, let’s just have a nice lunch, okay, brats? Okay?” The king, David could see, was trying not to plead. His brothers and sisters, like wolverines, could smell fear.
The first course, fresh oysters on the half shell, was brought out. David sucked the first one down while keeping half an eye on the woman beside him. She was really something—adorably cute, with bouncy blond hair and freckles sprayed across her nose and cheeks. Beautiful green eyes, the color of forest moss. She smelled terrific, like soap and wildflowers. And the mouth on her! If she was intimidated to find herself lunching with the royal family, she sure didn’t show it. Most people sat stiff as a board and barely touched their meal.
“So, there’s not a lot of bowing and scraping around here, I noticed,” Christina said, eyeing the oysters with a neutral expression.
“Bowing and scraping
Is discouraged by Papa
Plus it takes too long.”
“What was that?” Christina, completely befuddled, asked Prince Alexander.
Prince David leaned close and murmured, “My brother’s in this phase right now. He only speaks in haiku.”
“Why?”
“He lost a bet,” Princess Alex said. “Anyway, back to the bowing and scraping. Our father discourages it.” She drained her water glass and, the second she set it down, a footman glided over and filled it again. “We weren’t really raised to bow when the sovereign enters, bow when called, bow when he leaves, bow—”
“Big damned waste of time,” the king said with his mouth full.
“And this is Alaska. We usually have more pressing matters on our mind than royal protocol.”
“Unlike some royal families,” David said, looking down his long nose.
“Don’t blame the Windsors
Locked into their traditions
They are prisoners, too.”
“That is amazing,” Christina announced. “You can just—come up with those on the fly? You open your mouth, and poetry pops out? I couldn’t write a poem to save my life.”
Prince Alex smiled at her. Women were not usually impressed with his haiku. Or his fanatic interest in the period films of George Lucas.
“Kid’s right—don’t be slamming the Windsors,” the king said, salting his lox. David thought it was a miracle his father didn’t have a cholesterol level of eight hundred. “They can’t help it. They’ve been doing the same shit for fifteen hundred years. Like Alex said, they’re prisoners as much as any poor slob in jail.”
“That’s nice. Umm…where’s the cocktail sauce?” Christina whispered to Edmund, who had taken up his post by the window, four feet behind her.
Edmund leaned forward. “I
