The Royal Treatment (18 page)

“I
don’t…you know…
feel
any different.”

“No? Not at all?”

“Well…I feel well-laid—”

“Ah.”

“And finally! In a proper bed without worrying about someone barging in on us. That’s the great part. But I don’t feel like somebody’s wife. And sure as shit not like Her Royal Idiot, Christina—I s’pose it’s too late to talk to you about keeping my own name?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, at least everybody around here seems to know how to pronounce Baranov. Your dad
still
gets my maiden name wrong. How many times do I haveta tell him? The ‘e’ is silent!”

She yawned and rolled over, burrowing under David’s arm. He rubbed her back and she burrowed farther. “Ryy frr nnn ykkkk?”

“Ready for New York, did you say? Yes. In fact, we’d best get going soon, or—”

A polite rap-rap on their door. “Your Highnesses! It’s just about time to go!”

Christina’s head popped up. “Piss off, J—wait a minute. That’s not Jenny.”

“You gave her the week off, remember?”

“You mean she actually listened? Too cool! Here, sit still, you’re not decent.”

“Look who’s talking,” David said, amused, as she flung the sheet over them.

“Come in!”

Princess Alexandria poked her head in. “Well, you’re awake, at least. Thank the gods I didn’t walk in on some prefornication rituals.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Jenny begged me—before she and Edmund were dragged away, protesting every second—to make sure you guys got up and out of the palace on time. Since I was coming to see you off anyway…” She shrugged. “No big.”

“You’re still wearing your bridesmaid’s dress,” the prince observed.

“Yeah, well.” Another shrug. “Long night. And your friend Kurt can
really
put ’em away.”

“You stay away from him,” David snapped, sitting bolt upright.

“Bite me, your royal buttinsky. But get dressed first. Nice rack,” she added to Chris, then swung the door closed.

“Oh, very nice!” David exploded, leaping out of bed and pacing in a splendid nude rage. “Now that blast—that rat—that
person
is zooming in on
my
sister since it’s patently obvious he can’t have you!”

“Calm down,” Chris said, amazed at the furor. Even his penis was trembling in rage. “Kurt’s harmless—a little girl-crazy, but basically harmless—and your sister can snap his spine if he gets fresh.”

“Well.” David stopped and thought for a minute. Christina stopped and admired his form for a minute. “That’s a valid point, Christina. Yes. She can—she’s been studying for years—all right.”

“Besides, Kurt knows your dad. You think he wants Al mad at him again?”

“Oh, to dream.”

“FYI, you look pretty sexy in the morning, y’know, all scruffy and unshaved and stuff.”

“Likewise.”

“I am
not
scruffy. Slightly mussed, I’ll grant you. And just for that, I get the window seat on the plane.”

She started to flounce off the bed and he caught her with a lusty smack on her bare buttocks. “Ow! You’ll keep your hands to yourself, you fucking pervert.”

“Not a chance,” he said smugly, and tried to smack her again, but she ran, shrieking, to the bathroom, and beat him by two feet.

“W
hich reminds me,” she said, tucking her T-shirt (a wedding gift from the king:
I’M THE CROWN PRINCESS, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?)
into her jeans. “Enough with people waking us up. Haven’t you ever heard of alarm clocks?”

“Alarm clocks?” David said, as if saying,
Rattlesnakes?

“Yeah. It’s a fabulous new invention, champ. You set them for a certain time, they buzz or play music, bingo! You’re up. Works great.”

“Yes, but…”

“Where the hell are my tennis shoes?”

“Did you check the closet?”

“Why would they be
there?”
She checked. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Chris, about alarm clocks—”

“Anything’s better than having a grown person shake another grown person awake, I mean, how old
are
we? I feel stupid, being woken up by somebody else.”

“Yes, but,” the prince said, trying not to whine, “alarm clocks don’t bring you breakfast and chat about the weather and press your suit and keep you up-to-date on current events.”

“Or tuck you in or give you a kissy-kiss on your nosey-nose. Ech! David, really. Time to grow up.”

“How about if you get an alarm clock and wake
me
up?”

“Fine. Loser.”

“I get up rather early,” he warned her, “to check on the residents of Allen Hall.”

“Oh, the penguins can wait another hour or six for their fish heads. Come on, let’s go, let’s go, let’s
go!
New York, here we come!”

“New York, watch out,” David muttered, then dodged his wife’s small fist, and pushed her out the door.

“H
i, everybody,” the new princess said, blinking as about a zillion flashbulbs went off into her face.

“How’s married life, Your Highness?”

“Is New York ready for Alaskan royals, Your Highness?”

“What are your plans, Your Highness?”

“Well, John,” Christina said, recognizing the liaison for MSNBC, “my plan is to give all you losers the slip, get on this plane, and go far, far away. And cripes, how many pictures do you need?”

“Prince David, could you step back—there! Thanks.” Another flashbulb popped. David looked resigned as the press corps descended on his wife. “So how was the wedding?”

“Don, you were
there,
” she said patiently. “I saw you hiding behind the rosebushes. I told Jenny to bring you a slice of cake.”

“Where
is
the press officer?”

“I gave her the week off. She works harder than all of us put together—she deserves a vacation.”

“What’s the itinerary in New York?”

“Oh, I’ve got it all printed up for you guys and David will be handing each of you a copy—
not!”
Over a wave of laughter, she continued. “Forget it, you pests. Our itinerary is our business.”

“Just like your sex life, eh, Your Highness?”

“I heard that, Darrell. See if you get a Christmas card.”

Kurt, responding to a signal from the prince, stepped up to the microphones, shouldering Christina aside so she nearly went sprawling into the wall. “Fun’s over, kids. You can catch these guys on the way back.”

“Good-bye,” Chris said, before Kurt caught her elbow and dragged her toward the private room off the tarmac. “Real subtle,” she said, once they were out of earshot.

“Hey, don’t look at me, sunshine. Your hubby gave me the old hairy eyeball, so I grabbed you.”

“Oh. David, I’m sorry about all the fuss—you’re not mad, are you? Once I’m old news they’ll forget about me and start bugging you again, I’m sure of it.”

“Christ, I hope not,” he said fervently. “The dumbest thing Prince Charles ever did—besides cheat on his wife—was resent the attention she got. Do you know how many more papers I can get done now? Think of my research!”

“Toldja he wouldn’t be mad,” Kurt said, blowing a bubble the size of his head. It smelled strongly of artificial grape.

“How can you chew gum this early? And you, would it kill you to be a little jealous of the whole ‘hey, Princess Christina, over here’ thing?” she asked, mildly disgruntled. “And where the hell are we?”

They were in a large, luxuriously appointed room where the east wall was one big window. She could see planes coming in and taking off. In the distance, the plane the royals used to go here and there was slowly approaching. The press corps, locked out on the other side of the wall, was slowly dispersing.

“Hi!” Prince Nicholas said, dropping his chicken drummie and throwing his arms around her. “We wanted to see you off!”

“You’re getting barbecue sauce all over my shirt. Bleah, how can you be eating at—what time
is
it, anyway?”

“It’s ten-thirty,” the king said with a yawn as he ambled over. He looked more like the groundskeeper than the country’s reigning monarch in his baggy sweatshirt, drawstring-waist pants with dirt stains at the knees, sockless tennis shoes, unshaven cheeks and jowls, and bloodshot eyes. “You couldn’t leave at, what? Noon?”

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.” She gave him a hearty smack on the cheek, grinning to see the lip gloss mark she left. “I bet you’re running on about thirty seconds of sleep. You look like a car wreck, old man.”

“Hey, it was the first wedding in the family. Party time.” The king yawned again. “Marriage looks like it agrees with both of you. David, I haven’t seen you unclench like this since you were out of diapers.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he said dryly.

“We’re going to have a quick bite, and then you guys are going up, up, and away,” Princess Alexandria said. Chris was amused to notice she’d changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. She might be comfortable telling David off, but she clearly had no intention of letting the king know she’d been out partying all night. “Heaven knows there’s plenty of leftovers.”

“Any chocolate-covered strawberries?” David asked, wandering over to the buffet table. “The cute ones that look like brides and grooms? That was a great trick.”

“Dozens, sir.”

“Awesome!” she said, joining him at the table. “Hi. I’m Christina.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I know. I’m Devon—I’m filling in for Edmund and Jenny until they return. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”

“Relax, Devon, everything’s fine.” The guy was tall—not as tall as Edmund but, of course, no one was—and weirdly twitchy, with fuzzy blond brows that looked like tame caterpillars.

For someone who hung out at the Sitka Palace, he was a real wreck…most of them were formal, but relaxed. Devon looked like he was going to hurl into the punch bowl any second. Probably the pressure of his last-second promotion. Well, he’d relax when he realized none of them would bite.

“You guys want to check the plane for us?” the king asked, and the six-man security team obligingly trotted out the door.

“I’ll stay here,” Kurt called after them. “And guard the salmon.”

“Check the plane for
what?”
Chris asked, although she suspected she knew.

“Bombs, guns, porn, bad food—you know,” Princess Alex said, wolfing down a melon ball wrapped in prosciutto.

“Who’d care enough about us to blow us up?”

“Nobody
I
can think of.”

“So where
were
you all night, anyway, Alex, hm-mmmm?”

The princess threw a melon ball at her.

“Quit that,” Christina said, ducking. “One princess tossing stuff I can handle—don’t
you
start.”

“Hey, Chris, your shoe is untied,” Nicky said, and, before she could say anything, he quickly bent to tie it for her.

“You little weirdo, anything to touch—”
Zinnnnng-thump! “
—my clothes—huh?”

Zinnnnng-thump?

“Nicky!” Princess Alexandra screamed. There was a muffled thump as she dropped her buffet plate and it hit the carpet, spilling melon balls like brightly colored pieces of spring.

Zinnnnng-thump?

Kurt, in the act of drawing his gun, suddenly crumpled out of sight in exact time with a loud, hollow,
Bonnnnnnng!

Devon dropped the sterling silver serving tray (miniature wedding cakes had scattered everywhere), stepped over Kurt, corrected his aim, and—

“Nicky,
get down!”
the king roared, and his son dropped like a rock and rolled away. There was no mistaking the command in that yell—Christina nearly hit the bricks herself.

Zinnnnng-thump, zinnnnng-thump!

The king stared at the two small, red, feathered darts sticking out of his chest and slowly folded to the floor.

There was another
bonnnnnnng!
and Devon dropped his gun and clutched his wrist. Kurt was standing beside him, swaying. Blood trickled from his ear and dripped off his jaw. “Not s’fast without y’r pea shooter, eh?” he mumbled, then his eyes rolled up to the whites and he fell into the table.

“Y-you have to come with me, Prince Nicholas,” Devon said, trying a ghastly smile. He had the gall to stretch a hand toward the crouching boy. “Your place is with us.”

Christina opened her mouth, and found herself shoved backward and to the side. Suddenly it was difficult to see; David had planted himself squarely in front of her.