said “We,” even though he spoke of a burden Miklos alone must bear. “I should still go and see my brother.” He glanced back.
“But Your Highness…” The Chancellor paled. “You must receive her.”
He wasn’t in the mood for musts. “I must nothing. Am I not still a prince?”
“Which is exactly the reason.” The chancellor took a tone he’d employed often during the princes’ childhood, using it for the same argument once again—duties of royalty.
Which hadn’t chafed in a long time, but they did now, when his mother and brother needed him, and Miklos had to go on a side trip to receive some girl he hadn’t met in twenty some years, all because protocol demanded. He almost told the chancellor that protocol be damned. Then reminded himself that a Kerkay never shirked any duty of the crown.
In an hour’s time—two at the most—he would be rid of the girl, and he would be back at the palace. He glanced at his watch. “Where is the meeting?”
“The Map Room. Shall I come along, Your Highness?”
“I’ll only be a moment.” He glanced at his watch again. “You should probably start getting ready.”
The Map Room was called as such not only because the floor displayed the map of the world in various colored granite, but because the shelves housed all the royal maps that had survived the tumultuous centuries of Valtria, starting with an outline of the country’s hills and rivers, hand-painted on scraped sheepskin in the tenth century.
His five brothers looked up as Miklos entered.
“We weren’t expecting you,” Arpad, the crown prince, said with obvious pleasure in his voice, although Benedek and Lazlo—the twins—looked rather guilty.
“The chief of security and the rest of the advisors aren’t here yet.” Janos stated the obvious. He was a prominent economist and involved with politics, as well. His face showed the shadows of sleepless nights.
“And yet you’re all here,” Miklos remarked, glancing at the old leather-bound book Janos had shoved behind his back as Miklos had entered but now was pulling out again.
Not the book?
Miklos put a scowl on his face, regretting that none of his brothers was easily intimidated. “No,” he said with emphasis.
“The times are calling for—” Lazlo, a brilliant entrepreneur and born gambler, started to say.
Miklos cut him off. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
“Tonight.” Arpad leaned against the fifteenth century massive walnut desk. “We thought you were, er, otherwise engaged?” His right eyebrow slid up, an amused look on his face.
“Leaving momentarily,” Miklos said with utmost restraint. “You can put that book away. I’ll take care of this with the security chief. You’ll be safe, Arpad, I swear to that.”
Arpad was a colonel in the air force, but he was the crown prince and could not be part of the kind of foolishness that had been cooked up, no doubt, by the youngest princes. Arpad was to be protected.
Miklos was the only other one with military training among the six brothers. He was the one who was involved with state and palace security anyway. “The Brotherhood of the Crown is a legend,” he snapped at them.
“A legend that is about to be resurrected.” Lazlo was grinning from ear to ear. That one had way too much taste for adventure.
But all of them, Miklos noticed, looked rather pleased with themselves. They were looking at this as a chance to have some fun, a great change of pace from the sheer dullness of palace protocol and state duties. He hated to be a drill sergeant all the time, but their wild ideas did need someone to corral them.
Not that he didn’t feel just a twinge of excitement, looking at the beat-up book.
The story had been his favorite in his boyhood. He and his brothers had spent endless time acting out the glorious deeds of the Brotherhood on the back stairs of the palace, in the secret garden and in the catacombs. But what had been grand entertainment for young boys was surely not a worthwhile discussion for grown princes.
“The queen is not well,” he reminded them. And from the way their faces turned somber, he knew that they, too, had heard the latest news about their mother.
“That means the country needs the Brotherhood now more than ever,” Janos countered with a dark look.
Miklos drew himself straighter and deepened his frown, then stifled an impatient growl when none of his brothers looked like they took him seriously at all. “We have other duties. Real duties,” he pointed out. “You can trust the military with protecting our family and the country. If you want to escalate things, we can always bring in General Rossi,” he offered, aware that his words lost some of their conviction.
His brothers didn’t miss a thing. Now they were all grinning. Damn, but they knew they had him. They were circling him already, never mind that there were only six Kerkay brothers, unlike the eight original princes of the Brotherhood of the Crown who had banded together two hundred years ago, a secret society to protect the kingdom during civil unrest and outside manipulation. The story of their wild adventures had been spread far and wide. And was vastly exaggerated, no doubt. But they were the heroes of every Valtrian boy for the past two centuries.
Lazlo formed a fist and extended his hand into the middle, always first into mischief. Benedek went next—the twins were always on the same page. Then Istvan, a cultural anthropologist who really should have known better, put his fist in. Then Janos. Then Arpad. And Miklos felt himself swept along in the spirit of the moment. In any case, he had to be in. God knew what trouble they would get into without him.
“Duty and honor, our lives for the people and the crown.” They swore as one the oath of the Brotherhood, their voices deep and strong, amplified in the cavernous room.
Then Miklos broke up the circle, mindful of the time. The next second, the chief of security was coming through the door.
Janos shoved the book into his waistband at his back and greeted the man with a nonchalant expression. “There you are. Any news?”
Miklos stayed another minute to listen to the sordid details of the plot against his eldest brother and the kingdom. What had emerged kept him preoccupied all the way to the airport in the royal limousine.
And then, God help him, they were there.
For most of his life, his arranged marriage was a distant thought. So distant, in fact, that sometimes he completely forgot about it until he was reminded by the chancellor’s annual report about the girl his parents had handpicked for him at the moment of her birth.
He was a prince of Valtria, second in line to the throne. He knew all about responsibility, had always known this day would come, had always been careful to keep out of deep entanglements. But knowing that he must one day marry for the good of the crown, and stepping out of the royal ceremonial limousine at the national airport to receive his future bride, were not the same.
Arpad was the crown prince and the eldest. He’d been supposed to marry first. But that agreement had fallen apart two years ago, and Arpad had been dragging
