Greg stood near the tall windows of the palace parlor, watching the reporter gather his things. The interview had gone better than he expected. Much better, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried.
He had spent most of the interview carefully watching Aziza rather than the cameras. She had handled herself remarkably well, especially considering that only days ago she had been an ordinary college student who had never imagined sitting in a royal palace, much less discussing her accidental marriage to a prince in front of an international reporter.
Then, of course, there had been that final question.
When did you realize you were in love with him?
Greg still wasn't sure what had been going through her mind when she'd hesitated. Part of him desperately wanted to know. Another part was grateful she hadn't been forced to answer. He had stepped in because he could see the panic beginning to rise in her eyes. It would have been disastrous if she had started speaking hysterically again. He wasn't going to let a reporter corner her into saying something she wasn't ready to say.
As the reporter approached him, Greg straightened.
“Prince Alexander?”
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to thank you again for your cooperation.”
Greg nodded politely. “Of course.”
He tucked his tablet beneath his arm. “I wanted to confirm something before I leave. Your communications team will send us the approved statement and the interview schedule?”
“Yes. Victoria will coordinate everything.”
“And the interview itself?”
“We'd like it released after the statement.”
The reporter nodded. “That makes sense.”
Greg hesitated. There was one thing he wanted to make absolutely certain of. “The final cut will not include the question about whether my wife is in love with me.”
The reporter's expression softened, “No. As I said, we can remove that portion.”
“Thank you.” He glanced toward the doorway, where Aziza had disappeared a few moments earlier.
“She handled herself beautifully,” the reporter said, looking toward the doorway.
Greg smiled before he could stop himself. “She did.”
“I think the public will respond well to her.”
“I hope so.”
The reporter gave him one last nod before leaving. Greg watched the doors close behind him, and for several seconds, he remained still.
Then he turned. Reginald and Victoria were waiting.
Victoria had a tablet in one hand and several pages of notes in the other. Reginald looked as though he'd already spent the morning putting out fires.
Greg couldn't help smiling, “I'm guessing that expression means something else has gone wrong.”
“Not wrong,” Reginald said. “Complicated.”
“That's worse,” Greg pinched the brim of his nose. Hopefully the complication won’t be as bad as it sounded.
Victoria gave a small laugh, then quickly went back to her professional demeanor. “We're working on the final wording for the statement. Your decision to acknowledge that you and Princess Aziza knew each other before Vegas was helpful.”
Greg nodded, “That was her idea.”
“And it was very good,” Victoria looked impressed. “She has good instincts.”
“She does,” Greg couldn't keep the pride from creeping into his voice.
He was beginning to realize how often he found himself saying things like that. Aziza had good instincts. She was brave and thoughtful. She cared about people. And, perhaps most importantly, she wasn't trying to become someone she wasn't simply because she'd married him.
Victoria tapped her tablet, “We'll release the statement first. Then the interview shortly afterward. That way, people receive the official version before they have time to build too many theories around the photograph.”
“And the photograph?” Greg asked.
“Still circulating.”
Greg's jaw tightened and it must have showed.
Victoria quietly gasped before saying , “We'll address it without drawing more attention to it.”
“Good.”
Reginald cleared his throat, “There is another matter.”
Greg looked at him. Did the man ever have anything good to tell him?
“Your schedule.”
“My schedule?”
“Yes.”
Greg sighed. He should have known that was coming. “I thought I was getting one day.”
“You were.”
“Was?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Reginald gave him an apologetic look. “Princess Aziza has been assigned her first formal princess lesson this morning.”
His expression immediately brightened, “She has?”
“Yes. Mrs. Evelyn Hart will be conducting the lesson.”
He knew Mrs. Hart. She had trained members of the royal family for decades. She was strict, precise, and almost impossible to impress. Aziza was going to survive about five minutes. Or, knowing Aziza, she would somehow impress the woman within ten.
“And afterward?” he asked.
Reginald checked his tablet. “You and Princess Aziza have a dance lesson scheduled.”
Greg stared at him, “A dance lesson?”
“You'll be expected to dance together at public events.”
“I know how to dance.”
Reginald looked unimpressed. “You know how to dance badly while pretending you don't care.”
“That was only when I was younger. I’ve improved significantly since then.”
“Yes, I’ve seen what you call improvement. You still need to improve.”
Victoria covered a smile.
Greg pointed at Reginald, “I don't like you very much.”
“You've told me that before.”
Greg shook his head, a slight smile forming on his face.
A dance lesson. It wasn't exactly how he'd imagined spending the day with Aziza, but at least it meant he'd have time with her.
He glanced toward the doorway, “Well in any case, I guess it is necessary since Aziza needs to learn how to dance formally.”
“Prince Alexander.”
Greg turned to find Michael standing in the doorway. One look at his best friend's face told him this wasn't a social visit.
“The King has summoned you.”
His good mood vanished, “Now?”
Michael nodded.
Greg exhaled slowly. Of course. His father never summoned him without a reason. Usually, it was a reason Greg didn't like. “Where?”
“The King's study.”
Nodding, he looked toward the hallway again. Aziza was somewhere nearby. He needed to tell her.
He found her just outside the parlor, speaking with one of the palace attendants.
She turned when she heard him, “Greg.”
He smiled. “Hey.”
The attendant excused herself and quickly walked down the hall.
Stepping closer to Aziza, he said, “I have to go.”
Aziza's smile faded slightly, “Oh.”
“My father summoned me.”
She nodded, “That sounds serious.”
“With him, it usually is.” He reached for her hand. “I'll come find you later.”
“When?”
“As soon as I can.” He hated how uncertain that sounded. “I was actually planning to spend the day with you.”
Her eyebrows lifted, “You were?”
“I was going to show you around Valoria.”
A small smile returned to her face, “Really?”
“Yes,” Greg smiled. “I thought you should actually see the country you're apparently princess of.”
Aziza laughed softly, “I'd like that.”
“You'll still get your tour,” he said, glancing at his watch. “But first, you have your first princess lesson in a few minutes.”
Her smile disappeared again, “My what?”
Greg laughed, “Princess lesson.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It probably is.”
“Are you enjoying this?”
“Immensely.”
“Traitor,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
He grinned, “You'll be fine.” He squeezed her hand. “And I'll see you afterward.”
Before leaving, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. When he pulled back, Aziza looked up at him surprised.
Greg smiled. He liked seeing her look at him that way. “Wish me luck.”
“With your father?” she asked, glancing anywhere but at him.
“With surviving my father's mood.”
“How about I pray for you instead,” she smiled.
“Even better,” Greg stepped away.
For one brief moment, he wanted to stay. He wanted to forget the summons, forget the crown, forget the endless responsibilities that had followed him back to Valoria. However, he couldn't. He was Prince Alexander III and apparently, today, Prince Alexander had duties.
As he followed Michael down the corridor, Greg glanced back once. Aziza was still standing there, watching him. Somehow, that made leaving even harder.
****
The King's study had always made Greg feel younger than he was. Perhaps it was the books, or the enormous desk. Or, maybe it was the portraits of generations of Kinsingtons staring down from the walls as if every mistake Greg made was being recorded for history.
His father stood near the fireplace when Greg entered. Queen Clarissa sat nearby.
Greg stopped. He wasn’t expecting her to be here. “Mother.”
“Alexander.”
He resisted the urge to sigh.
His father gestured toward the chair opposite him, “Sit.”
Greg didn’t move, “I'd rather stand.”
“Very well,” The King said, frowning.
Greg crossed his arms, “You summoned me.”
“I did,” His father's eyes narrowed. “Are you still refusing the annulment?”
Greg almost laughed, “We're beginning with that?”
“It is the most important matter.”
“No. It's the matter you care about most.”
His mother's expression tightened, “Alexander.”
Greg looked at her, “I've already made my decision.”
“And you believe that decision is wise?” the King asked.
“I believe it's mine.”
Silence.
Greg could feel his temper rising, but he forced himself to remain calm.
His father finally changed tactics, “The reporter.”
Greg frowned, “What about him?”
“Why was he here?”
“To conduct an interview.”
“About the marriage.”
“Yes.”
“And you intend to release it?”
“Yes.”
His father looked displeased.
Greg shrugged, “Aziza and I decided that controlling the story was better than allowing strangers to tell it for us.”
His mother studied him, “Aziza decided this?”
“Partly,” he smiled despite himself. “She actually came up with the best part.”
“The best part?”
“She refused to let the publicists portray us as careless strangers who barely knew each other.”
His mother's eyebrows lifted.
Greg continued, “She pointed out that we'd been friends before Vegas. That we trusted each other. She said we didn't have to reveal everything, but we shouldn't pretend our marriage meant nothing.”
The room grew quiet.
Greg felt an unexpected warmth in his chest. “She was right.”
His father stared at him, “And you approved this?”
“I did more than approve it,” he said, smiling. “I was impressed.”
Queen Clarissa's expression softened slightly, “She stood up to the communications team?”
“Yes.”
“And didn't become emotional?”
“She was nervous,” Greg remembered the way Aziza had spoken anyway. “But she stood her ground.”
His father frowned, “This does not make her prepared to be princess.”
“I never said it did,” Greg paused. “But it tells me she may be more prepared than you think.”
His father's jaw tightened, “She has no training.”
“She can learn.”
“She has no experience.”
“Neither did you when you were young.”
The King's eyes flashed. “That is not the same.”
“No,” Greg said. “It isn't because I think she actually wants to learn.”
His mother looked between them. “Alexander, your father is concerned about the consequences.”
“I know.”
“And he's not entirely wrong.”
Greg's shoulders dropped, “I know that too.”
The admission seemed to surprise both of them. Looking at his father, he said, “But you're treating her like the problem when she isn't.”
His father said nothing.
“She didn't trick me into marrying her. She didn't chase the crown. She didn't even know I was a prince,” Greg's voice softened. “She woke up married to me and found out her entire life had changed.”
Shaking his head, he continued, “And she's still standing beside me.”
The King looked away. For a moment, Greg thought the argument might continue. Instead, his father exhaled.
“Enough.”
Greg raised an eyebrow.
The King moved toward his desk, “If you insist on keeping this marriage, then you must begin acting like a prince who understands the responsibilities that come with it.”
Greg's stomach sank. There it was. The other shoe finally dropped.
His father picked up a folder, “You have urgent diplomatic work.”
Greg accepted it, “What kind?”
“There's a developing trade dispute with the Republic of Bellmere.”
Greg opened the folder. Bellmere was a neighboring country with which Valoria had maintained friendly relations for decades.
“What happened?” he asked, scanning the documents.
“A proposed shipping agreement has broken down over tariffs and access to one of Bellmere's ports.”
Greg looked over the first page more thoroughly, “That's serious.”
“It could become more serious if handled poorly,” His father nodded. “The Bellmerian government is sending a representative to the palace.”
“When?”
“In two days.”
Greg looked up. This would cut into his plans to spend more time with Aziza, but he’ll make it work… somehow.
“Who?” he asked.
His father gave him a look.
Greg almost smiled. Right. He should have known better. It didn’t matter if he asked or not, his father wouldn't have told him.
“Fine.”
The King continued, “You will handle the preliminary negotiations.”
Greg closed the folder, “You want me to?”
“You are the second prince.”
There was something about the way his father said it that made Greg pause. Not my son. Not Alexander, just the second prince. His title. His responsibility.
The King continued, “You've spent enough time avoiding the duties expected of you.”
Greg's jaw tightened, “I haven't been avoiding them.”
His mother gave him a pointed look, causing him to sigh.
“Fine. Maybe a little.”
His father almost smiled.
Almost.
“You'll find the complete briefing on your desk in your office. Review the trade agreements, correspondence, economic reports, and Bellmere's previous proposals. I expect you prepared before their representative arrives.”
Greg nodded, “I'll handle it.”
“Good.”
That was his cue that he was dismissed. Turning toward the door, he reached for the handle when the King stopped him.
“Alexander.”
Greg looked back and waited.
His father was watching him carefully, “Do not allow your personal circumstances to interfere with your responsibilities.”
Greg understood the warning. His marriage. Aziza. The scandal. Everything.
His expression hardened, “They won't.”
He left the study, but as the doors closed behind him, a strange feeling settled over him. His father, the King, had given him important diplomatic work. Work that could have gone to someone else, that should have gone to his brother, the actual Crown Prince. Work that would place him directly in negotiations with a foreign representative, and his father had refused to tell him who that representative would be.
Greg walked toward his office, the folder tucked beneath his arm. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. His father was planning something. He just had no idea what. And somehow, he suspected that whatever it was, his accidental marriage wasn't the only thing his father had been thinking about.