It took over twelve exhausting hours to get to Valoria, followed by nearly an hour’s drive from the airport through the countryside into the capital before reaching the palace. The black royal SUV rolled beneath an arched stone gate crowned with the royal crest of Valoria, a rampant silver lion standing beneath a golden crown.
Greg leaned forward slightly in his seat as the palace finally came into view. Even after all these years, it never failed to impress him.
Perched atop a gentle rise overlooking the capital, Kensington Palace stretched across acres of manicured gardens, marble courtyards, fountains, and ancient stone walls that had stood for centuries. Tall towers reached toward the afternoon sky while rows of arched windows reflected the sun like polished crystal. It looked every bit the fairy tale tourists imagined.
Greg knew better.
Behind those beautiful walls lived duty...expectations...and politics.
Beside him, Aziza leaned forward and stared silently out the window. He couldn't blame her. It was an amazing sight for first time viewers. However, he could also tell how everything had become overwhelming for her. Although she'd tried her best to stay cheerful during the journey, the fatigue had slowly settled over her. Every now and then he'd caught her fighting a yawn before apologizing as though she'd done something wrong.
She wasn't accustomed to crossing continents in a single day. Truthfully… he wished her first visit to Valoria had happened under much happier circumstances.
The SUV rolled to a stop beneath the palace portico.
Immediately, security personnel stepped forward. Mike climbed out first, scanning the area before opening Greg's door.
"Home sweet home," Mike muttered dryly.
Greg smiled faintly before stepping onto the stone drive. He turned back to the open door, offering Aziza his hand. She accepted it with a grateful smile and allowed him to help her out of the vehicle. The moment she stepped out, her eyes widened.
"It's..." she slowly turned in a circle, "...beautiful."
Greg looked toward the palace.
"It was originally built nearly four hundred years ago."
“Really?” she asked, her eyes remaining fixed on the towering structure.
He nodded as they began walking toward the entrance. "The original palace burned during a winter fire."
"What happened?"
"That part of the story is still unclear,” Greg said, shrugging. “There have been rumors, like how my ancestor, King Alister, passed out drunk knocking over the oil lamp. However, he always denied it and no one ever spoke of it for fear of losing their head. After that though, he refused to rebuild it exactly as it was."
"Why?" Aziza asked, as she continued to take it all in.
He smiled as he said, "He wanted something grander."
Aziza laughed softly. "That sounds expensive."
“It was,” he chuckled. "A fact my father likes to remind us of."
She glanced up at him, "So you grew up here?"
"I did."
He pointed toward one of the upper wings. "My older brother's apartments are over there."
"The Crown Prince?" she asked, referring to their earlier conversation on the long flight where he explained to her about his family dynamic.
He nodded, "My youngest sister Daphne lives on the opposite side."
“She's the one who is about to be thirteen soon?”
“Yes, in three weeks,” he confirmed.
"And you?" she asked, looking at the palace again. “Where do you stay?”
"My rooms are in the east wing."
She looked around. "This place is enormous."
"It is… you'll probably get lost."
"I’m pretty sure I already am."
He chuckled, "Trust me, you’re not the only one. I still do sometimes."
That earned him another smile, as they walked up the front outside stairs to the palace. Good… she looked a little less nervous.
The massive carved doors opened before they reached them. Two footmen bowed.
"Your Highness."
Greg nodded politely, "Thank you."
They stepped inside, allowing them to walk in.
The grand entrance hall rose nearly three stories high, illuminated by an enormous crystal chandelier. Marble floors gleamed beneath their feet while portraits of generations of Valorian monarchs watched over the room. The familiar scent of polished wood and fresh flowers greeted him.
Home.
Within moments, several members of the household staff approached. The elderly butler bowed deeply.
"Welcome home, Prince Alexander."
"It's good to see you again, Albert," Greg said, nodding his head again.
The older man's expression softened, "And you as well, sir."
“Alexander?” Aziza whispered, tilting her head close to him.
Greg smirked, leaning close to her ear, “I’ll explain later.”
The head housekeeper stepped beside him. "Welcome home, Your Highness."
"Ah, thank you, Mrs. Whitmore." Greg smiled before gently placing a hand against the small of Aziza's back. "There is someone I'd like all of you to meet."
Every eye shifted toward her.
"This is my wife…” he smiled proudly. "Princess Aziza."
Silence.
It lasted only a heartbeat, but Greg noticed it. Albert's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. Mrs. Whitmore blinked. One of the younger footmen nearly dropped the stack of linens he carried before catching himself. To their credit, every one of them recovered almost instantly.
Albert bowed deeply, "Welcome to Kensington Palace, Your Highness."
Mrs. Whitmore curtsied gracefully. "It is an honor to have you here."
“Thank you very much,” Aziza said, smiling nervously.
Greg watched the staff exchange almost imperceptible glances. So… they hadn't been told. Reginald had informed his parents immediately after leaving America. Which meant… his parents had chosen not to tell anyone else.
Interesting.
Albert cleared his throat, "Your Highness..."
"Yes?"
"The King and Queen regret that they are presently occupied."
Greg's smile faded. “I haven’t even asked to speak to them yet.”
"They ask that you wait until they send for you."
Greg frowned, "So, they're truly unavailable?"
"I'm afraid so, sir."
Greg felt irritation stir in his chest. They had demanded he return immediately, insisting the matter was urgent. Now… they were too busy?
“I understand,” he inhaled slowly.
However, he really didn’t understand. Not even a little. Not when he could almost guarantee that his parents were not actually ‘occupied’ with any pressing engagements.
Before he could say anything else…
"Alexander!" A familiar voice echoed through the entrance hall.
His youngest sister hurried down the staircase, nearly forgetting royal decorum in her excitement. She stopped just short of throwing her arms around him.
"You're finally home!"
Greg couldn't help smiling, "Daphne."
She looked exactly as he remembered, bright hazel eyes, chestnut curls escaping their carefully arranged hairstyle, and enough energy for three people.
She looked from Greg, to Aziza, and back. "Who's she?"
“You don’t know?” Greg blinked, studying her carefully.
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
His irritation toward his parents deepened. They hadn't even told Daphne. He smiled anyway. “Well, let me introduce you.”
He turned toward Aziza, “This is my youngest sister, Daphne.”
Then he turned back toward his sister.
"And this,” his smile widened, "is Aziza... my wife."
Daphne's mouth fell open. "Your..." She looked between them several times. "...wife?"
Aziza gave a shy little wave, "Hi."
Daphne stared for another second before suddenly walking straight toward Aziza. Greg braced himself.
However, Daphne smiled. "So..." she folded her hands behind her back. "My brother married you."
“Yes,” Aziza nodded.
"Do you like books?" Daphne inquired, rocking back and forth on her heels.
Aziza blinked. "I love books."
"Tea?"
"Very much."
"Animals?"
"Well, I've always wanted a dog."
Daphne gasped, "You've never had one?"
Aziza shook her head. "My younger sister is allergic."
"Oh..." Daphne considered that. "Do you volunteer anywhere?"
Aziza smiled, "I tutor children at the community center whenever I can."
Daphne's face brightened. "Really?"
"Yeah, I enjoy helping people," Aziza said, shrugging as she folded her hands in front of her.
"What's your favorite flower?"
Aziza looked thoughtfully toward one of the floral arrangements. "White lilies. They're elegant without trying too hard."
Then she smiled warmly at Daphne, "But I think the blue flowers in your hair are prettier."
Daphne instinctively touched the tiny blossoms woven into her braid, "They're forget-me-nots."
"They suit you."
Daphne beamed brighter than Greg had ever seen her do before.
“I like her,” she said, glancing back at him.
He chuckled, "I noticed."
Daphne turned towards him. "You chose well."
Relief washed over Greg, "Thank you."
She turned back toward Aziza. "We're going to be really good friends."
“I'd like that,” Aziza said, smiling at her warmly.
"Wonderful!" Daphne clapped once. "Can we…"
"Not today," Greg said, smiling apologetically. "She's exhausted."
"Oh." Daphne immediately looked guilty. "I'm sorry."
Aziza quickly shook her head, "It's alright."
Greg squeezed Aziza's hand gently. Seeing her get along well with his favorite person there, filled him with joy.
He looked at Daphne again and said, "After she's had some rest. You can both have your visit."
Daphne nodded enthusiastically. "Promise?"
Aziza laughed, "Promise."
Satisfied, Daphne stepped back.
Leading Aziza toward the east wing, Greg said, "This way."
A few minutes later, Greg opened the doors to his private apartments. Unlike the public areas of the palace, these rooms felt comfortable rather than formal. Bookshelves lined one wall. A piano rested beneath the windows. The sitting room opened into a spacious bedroom beyond.
"This," Greg gestured around them, "is home."
Aziza looked around quietly. "It's beautiful."
"I'm glad you think so," he said, hesitantly. "You can stay here with me..."
She quickly turned to face him, her eyes wide.
Quickly clarifying, he said, "I mean… my apartments have more than one bedroom."
He pointed farther down the corridor. "If you'd prefer your own suite, I'll have one prepared. It won't be connected to mine."
She looked confused. "Why not?"
"I'm not the Crown Prince." He smiled, sheepishly. "Only the heir has the large family apartments."
"Oh."
"So..." he rubbed the back of his neck, "Whatever makes you comfortable."
She smiled appreciatively. "I think… for now… I'd rather stay here."
His shoulders relaxed.
"I'll let you get some sleep," he finally said after a short pause.
She nodded gratefully.
"I'll be in the sitting room," he added, quickly. "If you need anything..."
“I know,” she smiled. "I'll come find you."
"Good."
He quietly closed the bedroom door behind him. Silence settled over the sitting room, leaving him to think about things he’d rather not. Things like his parents’ “warm” reception.
Greg began pacing. Once. Twice. Three times. His jaw tightened.
Too busy.
His parents had summoned him home immediately, insisted on urgency, then refused to greet his wife. Not even a welcome. Not even for five minutes.
Reginald had informed them of everything. Which meant this had been intentional.
A message.
His pacing slowed. What exactly were they planning? Whatever it was… he doubted he was going to like it. With a frustrated sigh, he dropped into one of the leather armchairs facing the fireplace.
The flames crackled softly, as Greg stared into them. For the first time in years, he had absolutely no idea what his next move should be.
Nearly two hours later, a discreet knock sounded at the apartment door.
“Come in,” Greg said, sitting up in the chair.
Albert entered, walking half way into the room before he stopped and bowed.
"Your Highness. They're ready to see you."
Greg glanced toward the closed bedroom door. Aziza was still asleep.
Good.
She needed it. More importantly… she didn't need to hear whatever was about to happen.
"I'll come alone. Ensure that my wife’s sleep is not disturbed."
Albert nodded, "As you wish."
The royal parlor felt colder than Greg remembered. His father stood near one of the tall windows overlooking the gardens. While his mother sat elegantly upon a cream-colored sofa.
Neither of them smiled.
"Alexander," his father said, coldly.
"Father,” Greg said, before turning to his mother. "Mother."
His father folded his hands behind his back. "You've caused quite the problem."
Greg remained silent.
"You were sent abroad to escape scandal."
His mother sighed, chiming in, "Instead… you've nearly created an international one.”
Still… Greg said nothing.
His father continued, "You'll begin resuming your official duties immediately. Charities, military functions, state dinners and no arguments."
Greg simply nodded, "I understand."
His mother looked relieved that he wasn't fighting. "Good."
She exchanged a glance with the King.
"The fortunate news..." she continued, looking back at Greg. "is that very few people know about the marriage."
Greg’s stomach tightened.
"The rumors remain unconfirmed,” his father added, speaking calmly. "We can still arrange an annulment."
Greg looked up sharply.
"There is no reason for this situation to become public," his mother said firmly, nodding. "The matter can disappear quietly."
"No."
Both parents blinked, but he didn’t care. There was no way he would let his parents have their way.
His father frowned, "What did you say?"
"I said no."
The room became noticeably quieter. A chill ran down Greg’s spine. He was risking everything going against the King… his King. Yet, he wasn’t about to let them dispose of Aziza either.
His father straightened, "Alexander."
"Why?" Greg's voice remained calm. "Why is ending my marriage necessary?"
His mother answered first. "She has no title."
His father continued. "We know nothing about her. Nothing about her family."
"She is American," his mother added gently. "And she hasn't been raised for royal life. This life requires years of preparation."
His father's expression hardened. "There is also Lady Margaret Talia Evensworth."
Greg nearly laughed, "There it is."
His father frowned.
"She is an excellent match."
"No."
"Her family strengthens important alliances."
"I don't care."
His mother's eyebrows lifted, "Alexander."
He looked directly at both of them. "Aziza is kind, honest, and loyal. She puts everyone else before herself. She works hard and volunteers. On top of that, no matter what her accomplishments are, she remains humble and patient. She's everything people should admire."
His father remained unmoved. "And Lady Margaret?"
Greg shook his head. "She doesn't want me."
His mother looked surprised. “Now wait, I have it on good authori…”
"She wants a crown," Greg interrupted her, throwing his arms up in the air.
Silence.
Finally, he said, "I won't marry someone who sees me as a title."
His father's voice lowered, "You barely know this girl."
Greg smiled softly, "I know enough."
His mother studied him carefully. "What aren't you telling us?"
Greg inhaled, then answered honestly. "I think I might be falling in love with her."
The realization hit him hard. Was he really falling for her? He liked her for sure… always had since they met, but was he really ready to say he loved her?
It was still quiet in the room. His parents simply stared at him as though he had grown two heads.
Taking a deep breath, Greg continued, "I've probably loved her for a long time now." What was he saying…? He wanted to retract what he said, at least until he was sure of his feelings; however, it was too late. He couldn’t stop himself from saying more.
"We've decided to stay married."
His parents didn’t speak. They didn’t even seem capable of speaking.
A knock interrupted the silence. Albert opened the door.
"Your Majesties..." He bowed. "Princess Aziza."
Greg turned. Aziza stood hesitantly in the doorway. She looked refreshed after resting, but still slightly uncertain.
Their eyes met and he smiled. A real one. He just hoped it conveyed all the warmth and encouragement that he wanted her to feel from it.
Walking to her side, he gently offered his arm. She accepted it and together they stepped into the room.
Greg looked proudly toward his parents. "Mother… Father. I'd like to properly introduce you to my wife… Princess Aziza Makayla McIntyre Kensington of Valoria."
His smile widened as he looked at Aziza with unmistakable affection.
His parents still remained completely silent as they stared at his wife. However, it didn’t matter to him at the moment. Aziza was standing next to him. Now, if only he could find a way to make his parents accept his marriage.