The Frog Prince (31 page)

The clapping finally tapers off when the Austrian National Anthem is played. Over our heads, the choir takes off again with the Ballad of His Kingly Badness, and Roman makes his way towards the entrance, shaking the hands of the parliamentarians nearest the edges of the main aisle as he goes.

Elfriede remains standing, clapping and crying until Roman has left the
Abgeordnetenhaus
. We all spend the next few minutes hugging each other and congratulating Elfriede. I squeeze through the press of people so I can fulfill my promise to introduce Jason to Isabella, but the two of them seem to have skipped introductions and are in the middle of an embrace. I feel a hand on my arm and turn around.

“Leigh, we’re almost ready,” says Elfriede.

Beside her is the man who escorted us to the box. Apparently he also speaks English. “You will join His Majesty in the
Vestibül
,” he tells her. “Together you will greet the crowds on the steps of the Parliament. The cortege will then walk the route to the Palace.”

“Walk?” I manage to say. I can’t be sure, but the ride from Schönbrunn was at least two or three miles. My four-inch heels definitely do not qualify as walking shoes.

Elfriede smiles. “We are walking to the President’s residence, the Hofburg Palace. Only a few blocks,” she promises. “The cars will pick us up there and take us back to Schönbrunn to dress for the ball.”

I’m about to ask who will be joining us on this royal hike when Jason appears, Isabella just behind him, both of them looking a little moony. “
Frau
Lorraine,” he says, “since they are not part of the official procession, I have offered to escort Princess Menen and Catherine back to Schönbrunn after His Majesty’s speech.”

Elfriede smiles. “That is very kind of you.” She embraces Isabella and kisses her on the cheek. While she’s doing that I grab Jason in a hug and prepare for his normal string of sarcastic comments.

“Stay away from Mikhail Romanov,” he whispers in my ear.

I pull away, smiling. My smile fades when I see his serious-as-a-heart-attack expression. Before I can ask him what he’s talking about, I feel a tell-tale hand on my back.

“I believe we are ready,” says Mikhail, stepping aside as if to make way for me.

“
Herr
Romanov,” Jason says coldly, “perhaps you will join me in escorting these ladies back to the palace?”

I’ve never seen Jason demonstrate this much dislike for anyone. It seems odd that he would turn his ire on a silly, privileged Lothario like Mikhail Romanov. My eyes dart to Isabella and then away, and decide that Mikhail must have made an ill-advised move on her at some point during the evening.

Mikhail is clearly displeased with Jason’s suggestion, but can’t very well invite himself on the royal parade. His reply is stiff. “Certainly,” he says, holding his arms out for Menen and Kat, the latter looking like she’s died and gone to heaven.

Jason gives me a long, serious look before following Mikhail, Kat, Menen and Isabella up the aisle and out of the box.

The wait in the
Vestibül
is unbearable. Elfriede works the room, smiling and shaking the hands of world dignitaries and royal second, third, and fourth cousins. I make one round with her, and then spend the rest of the time checking out the marble statues of Greek gods that line the perimeter. Thirty minutes later and I have sorted them in my head in alphabetical order by both their Roman and Greek names.

Apollo, Ares, Artemis, Athena, Demeter, Hephaestus Hera, Hermes, Poseidon, Zeus
, I chant to myself. An official-looking guy enters the vestibule, and my hopes rise a little when I think maybe he’s going to blow a trumpet or something to announce the king’s arrival. No such luck. I sigh and turn away.
Apollo, Ceres, Diana, Juno, Jupiter, Mars, Mercury, Minerva—

I hear the sudden commotion and turn around to see Roman and his entourage enter, his face bright with excitement. I join in the applause–softly though–aware now that doing this with gloves on makes you sound lik a clapping seal at Sea World or, as Elfriede put it, “someone beating an area rug with a tennis racket.” Roman speaks briefly to his mother while adjusting his cufflinks, and they both look around. He smiles when he sees me, heading immediately in my direction, which makes my little peasant’s heart go pitter-patter. I step forward and take the hands he holds out to me.

“Do you feel official now?” I say.

“Not really.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t have a crown or a throne,” I say.

He laughs. “Yes, playing dress-up would have made all the difference.”

“Where were you all this time?”

He groans. “Signing documents. Have you ever seen the President sign his name with, like, twenty pens? It’s just as hard as it looks.” He looks towards the door and back at me. “You ready to walk?” Before I can answer he adds, “Where’s Jason?”

“Uh…well, I kind of gave him the night off.”

He eyes me in disbelief. “You did
what
?”

“Look, I needed shoes,” I say, my words coming out in a rush, “and then he saw Isabella curtsey, so I said I would introduce them, and then he sat behind her and everyone was hugging….” I trail off when I see his glowering expression.

“You
dismissed
your security?”

“It’s not like there aren’t security people to spare around here,” I say, waving my arms at all the mouth-breathing, dark-suited men around us. “I’ll just stand close to someone who’s wearing an ear piece and talking into his watch.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why?” I say, irritated now. “Is there a hit out on me or something? Besides, you know I hate having someone follow me around all the time. Makes me a little claustrophobic.”

He sighs, but doesn’t answer as a woman walks up to us with my full-length coat. Roman takes it from her and helps me into it. Once she walks away he says in an undertone, “There are people who aren’t supportive of even a figurehead monarchy.”

“And by that you mean there are people who aren’t too happy with your American girlfriend, right?”

“Leigh…”

“I’ll be fine! I’m walking with your mother, and I’m sure there’ll be helicopters and guards everywhere.” I smile and pretend to slap lint off his uniform. “Not to mention that the best way to demonstrate your displeasure with the monarchy is aiming at the king, not his royal mistress.”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Thanks, that really makes me want to dash right out the door.”

I hold out my hand. “Are you ready to meet your loyal subjects, Your Majesty?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth turning up in a totally inappropriate smirk. “Man, I
really
like the way you say that.”

I sigh. “I hope you’re not going to react like this every time some girl calls you ‘Your Majesty.’ You’re supposed to be Roman the First, not Henry the Eighth.”

Roman laughs and takes my hand. “Come on,” he says. “My speech is right in front of the Athena fountain.”

“Are there a lot of people out there?”

Roman pretends to cough into his fist to disguise whatever it is he’s trying to say. I hear something along the lines of “a few hundred.”

“A few hundred?” I say. Although that sounds like a bit of a poor turnout for a new monarch, I’m secretly relieved that most of the populace has elected to stay at home and watch the festivities on TV. I feel a little less nervous than I did before.

Roman frowns, like he’s reluctant to break some bad news to me. “A few hundred
thousand
,” he says. Seeing my expression he adds, “Don’t worry, you can hide behind the mayor’s wife. We could fit two of you behind her with room to spare.”

One of his handlers approaches. “We’re ready for you, Your Majesty.”

And we’re outside before my sweat glands even have a chance to go into overdrive. The glare of the TV lights make it difficult to see the crowds, but the tsunami of cheering and screaming that erupts each time Roman raises his hand to wave confirms that there are a lot of people out there beyond the lights.

A curved drive connects the street below with the Parliament entrance, and now I can see why our car didn’t enter this way. Long, wide stairs have been built over the drive, probably so the royal procession down to the fountain wouldn’t look like an overdressed horde descending a mountain switchback. The party splits in two, each half stepping down opposite sides of the red-carpeted drive to reach the Athena fountain below.

The Parliament building and the fountain are both lit up, the white marble glowing gold. Even the water in the fountain sparkles with gold glitter. An elaborate stage has been built in front of the fountain. Beyond an empty security buffer zone in front of the stage I can just make out the faces of the people who have stood in the cold, probably for hours and hours, waiting for Roman. Everything–the stage, the lamp posts, the trees in the park across the street–is covered in sparkling, gold lights.

I had thought the people inside had stamina, but they were nothing compared to the persistent cheering of the crowd outside. After twenty minutes or so, I’ve become completely desensitized. I don’t even feel nervous anymore as I join Elfriede and the others in smiling and waving at all the people and the sea of little Austrian flags.

Roman finally realizes that people won’t stop cheering until he starts talking so he bellies up to the podium. “
In Anwesenheit des Parlaments...
” he begins.

My shoulders raise and lower as I exhale in a small sigh. As usual, I’ve forgotten that Roman’s speeches won’t be in English for my convenience. I look around until I find Jason on the far end of the stage with Isabella. My hopes that he will mutter a translation for me out of the corner of his mouth like a ventriloquist are dashed.

“
Der Schweizerische Robinson
…”

At this my ears perk up.
Did he just say ‘Swiss Family Robinson?’
I think. I stifle a chuckle at the absurdity of the idea, as if he’s promising a chicken in every pot and a tree house in every yard.

“…
mich zur Disney-Welt
.”

Okay
, I think,
now I know I heard the phrase “Disney World.”
I sneak a sidelong glance at Roman in case he’s lost his mind and I have to throw a bead from my dress at his head. He looks as animated as he did when he told me this story in his tree house back in the mountains (minus the sexy shaving). No one else on the stage seems alarmed that a newly-crowned, grown-ass man is expounding on a twenty year-old Magic Kingdom fantasy.

When he’s done with his speech he gets busy shaking some more hands. I try to work my way over to him, but we’re inundated by handlers at that moment, all eager to get everyone in line for the royal procession to the Hofburg Palace. I queue up with Roman’s mother behind a bunch of reinstated dukes and baronesses. Then something occurs to me. “Does this mean you’re an official countess again?”

She raises her voice so I can hear her over the booming cheers of the crowd. “President Baumgartner thought a higher rank would be more appropriate for the king’s mother,” she says, laughing gaily. “I have been raised to the rank of duchess.”

“That’s fantastic!” I shout, “Do you get a crown?”

Elfriede’s confused expression makes it clear that she either can’t hear me or doesn’t understand my question. There’s no time for any more chit-chat as the handlers wave us forward. The cortege proceeds like a marching band off the stage and down the cordoned-off streets. There’s a wide gap between Roman and his swarm of bodyguards and all of the rest of us, but the walk is very short. We walk slowly, but even so we’ve arrived at the Hofburg Palace within twenty minutes, the so-called “winter residence” of the Habsburgs.

The TV cameras capture Roman’s farewell to President Baumgartner. Somehow Isabella has ended up at the top of the procession. I keep my face expressionless as the President pulls her from the line and embraces her. My neutrality slips a little when the man bustles her into Roman’s limo to the spontaneous and enthusiastic cheers of the onlookers. By the time I’m climbing into a separate car with Elfriede, my jaw is clenched so hard that I’m certain I look like an end-stage tetanus victim.

Elfriede appears lost in happy thoughts and our ride back to Schönbrunn is mostly silent, which is fine. I don’t want to ruin her memories by muttering epithets through my locked molars.

I peek at the clock inside the car and realize that there’s only one hour before the King’s Ball begins. I say a hasty goodbye to Elfriede and jump out of the car before the driver can open the door. With only a few false turns, I make it back to my suite, cursing myself the entire way for refusing Johanna’s offer to send a hairdresser and makeup artist to help me with my transformation. Fortunately, I see as I enter my bedroom that someone has already steamed the wrinkles out the gown and laid it across the broad bed.

I redo my hair by parting it on the side and teasing it at the crown to create a little volume. Then I smooth the top and sides and gather it loosely behind my right ear, securing the tail with about a hundred hair pins. I attack the remaining length with a curling iron, letting the long, soft curls cascade forward over my right shoulder.

The gown is exquisite, maybe the most beautiful thing my mother’s ever made. I slide my legs into the full, pickup skirt of deep crimson satin and listen to the familiar sound of petticoat fabric whispering over my skin. The corset bodice laces up in the back, and since I can’t really pull it tight enough myself, I put my arms through the fragile-looking spaghetti straps, and hope they will be able to truss up the whole mess until I can get some help.

A jewelry case on the bed contains the glittering diamond earrings and necklace that Elfriede “borrowed” from a shop today. Another perk of being royal: you can just walk out of stores with tens of thousands of dollars worth of merchandise “on loan” like a high-class layaway.

I put the earrings and necklace on, and then lift the skirt to tip-toe to the gilded full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. Crystal beads and tiny sequins in a leaf pattern cover the bodice and wink at me in the lamplight. After admiring myself for a few minutes, I drop the skirt, slip on my shoes, and get down to the business of practicing. By the time Johanna Rettenwender taps on the door to my suite forty-five minutes later, I’ve pulled on my over-the-elbow white gloves and I’m ready to go.