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Authors: MaryJanice Davidson

BOOK: The Royal Mess
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Chapter 11
D
avid Baranov, Crown Prince of Alaska, plopped down in the chair in front of the king's desk. Relieved to have a break from reading tedious legislation, Al all but shoved the paperwork away from him. “Come in! Sit down! Spend some time with your old man.”
“Dad, you've got to finish that stuff up sooner or later.”
“Shut up, you.”
“It's a wonder anything gets done. If you're not stalling, you're sneaking out to go fishing.”
“Put your mouth in Park, boy.”
His son mimed locking his lips shut, then tossed an imaginary key over his shoulder.
“Well?”
David shook his head. “No go, Dad. And for the record, no one has ever spoken to me like that in my life. Except for you. And . . . well. Is it just me, or does she remind me of Christina?”
“She reminds me of every one of you brats,” the king growled.
“Yeah, the resemblance was hard to miss. And not just on the physical side.” David paused. “Have you, ah, told the other sibs about this yet?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Pause. Al fought the urge to roll his eyes.
Here comes the moral assurance that I haven't gone down in his estimation.
“Listen, Dad. I had all last night and all day today to think about it. And I don't—I mean, I know you and Mom weren't exactly thrilled with each other a hundred percent of the time, and I'm sure Nicole's mother was what you needed at just the right time. I just, you know. Understand.”
“What a relief. I love you, boy, but I require neither your permission nor your assurance.”
“Sieg heil
, Your Majesty.”
His eldest son stretched out long legs and yawned. He had the distinct air of fish guts about him and was dressed casually. Al was always startled to see how much his boy looked exactly like a younger version of him. It was like looking into a sneaky mirror.
Hell, it didn't seem so long since he'd been David's age. Objectively, it had been decades. Subjectively, it felt like maybe five years. Hell, he was a father by the time he was David's age.
Of course, David was a father now, too. The king smiled, thinking of his granddaughter, Dara.
“Oh, and she's only the best angler I've ever seen,” his son teased, bringing Al back to the conversation.
“Second best,” the king grumped. “And don't you forget it, boy. You're not too big to spank.”
“Actually, I really sort of am. Think of how Dara would be scarred to see her grandfather assaulting her father! She could be the Queen of Alaska someday, and yet psychologically crippled.”
“Meh.” So, he mused. David had obviously gone fishing. Nicole had agreed to take him out, as she'd taken Jeffrey out. Maybe there was a way to crack this egg yet. “You get anything else out of her?”
“Yeah, she knows the technical term for an uncontrollable fear of doctors.”
“Who doesn't?” he bluffed.
“Iatrophobia,” his son kindly supplied.
“If that kid's scared of anything, I'll eat sushi.”
“Please, Dad,” his son mock-begged. “Don't befoul your gourmet palate. Hamburgers will never taste the same.”
“I got to take shit from every one of my kids. Every one.”
“It's your curse,” his son agreed happily.
“Iatrophobia,” Al mused.
“I don't think it's that simple. In fact, I think it was a feint.”
“A feint?”
“She's trying to throw us off the trail. Which is exceedingly weird. She writes us about her, when she could have clammed up, and then refuses to cooperate.”
“You could refuse my dying wish so easily?”
His son colored, but doggedly continued. “Who wouldn't want to be one of us? She passes the DNA, she's got a claim to one of the biggest fortunes on the planet. She'll never have to worry about money again, nor any of her kids, or grandkids. Plus, we have a pretty good time around here.” David spread his palms. “What's not to love?”
Al smiled at his son. David was young. And he thought his family's way was the only way. Although Al strongly suspected his son was quite a bit more intelligent than he was, he lacked experience. Al had been walking around on the planet long enough to know just how much people feared change.
David, born and reared a prince, could not conceive of any other lifestyle, nor understand why a stranger would turn it down.
“It was her and her mama for her whole life,” Al said. “And now she's all alone. Maybe she likes her solitude.” Except scratch the maybe.
There was a discreet rap on the door. “C'mon in, Edmund!” they called in unison.
“Majesty. Highness.” Edmund fairly staggered under the load of paperwork. Al made a conscious effort not to cringe. “May I presume to ask how it went, Your Highness?”
“Do you s
ee
her anywhere, Edmund?”
“Watch the tone, boy,” the king said absently, drumming his fingers on the desk. One thing he had insisted on before any of his children could walk: hired help were also subjects, and subjects deserved respect. Always. Except, of course, for one. And he'd straightened
her
out, by God. Sent her packing with a flea in her ear. Again.
“Sorry, Edmund,” David was saying. “My morning was equal parts aggravating and amusing. Didn't mean to mouth off.”
“I know not to what you refer, Highness. Will you permit me a suggestion?”
“Don't you hate when he pretends he doesn't control our every move?”
“With all my black heart,” Al replied. “Spill, Edmund.”
“I think the time for gentler tactics have passed.”
“You don't mean?” the prince gasped.
“The big guns?” the king guessed.
“Exactly.” Edmund paused a beat. “Princess Christina.”
“Dear God,” king and prince said in unison.
Chapter 12
“S
o!” the Crown Princess of Alaska greeted her as she entered the office. “You're the numb-nut who won't submit to a blood test.” She stuck out an unmanicured hand. Startled, Nicole shook it. “Nice to meet you. I'm Christina.”
“Uh, yeah. I read about your wedding in
People
. And your daughter's birth in—”
“
News of the Weird
?
”
the princess guessed.
Nicole's hand shot up, too late.
“My God,” Jeffrey-the-annoying gasped. “Was that . . . a s
mile
?”
“Shhhh, Jeff. Don't scare her off.”
“Jeff-
rey,
Your Highness. As we've discussed, only His Majesty—”
She spun on him and said, “We've been over this a zillion times. You call me Christina, I'll call you Jeff-
rey
.”
“Your Highness—”
“Yes,
Jeff
?”
“He can't,” Nicole interrupted, smiling again and praying neither of them would comment. “Generations of duty to the royal family. Familiarity is beaten out of them at an early age.”
“Well, screw,” the princess muttered.
“
I'll
call you Christina. I'll also call you ‘see you later' and ‘thanks for stopping by.' ”
“They said you were never at a loss for words,” the perfectly cool, tall, blond woman said. Like every royal she had met so far, she was dressed casually: tan shorts (a bold move in forty-five-degree weather), a T-shirt (another bold move) with the logo
I'M THE PRINCESS OF ALASKA
,
WHO THE HELL ARE YOU
?, and a buttercup yellow sweater knotted around her waist. “They also said you looked
extraordinarily
like Alex and Kathryn, and that's true, too.”
“Super duper. Well, what's up? Salmon fishing? Hiking? There's not much in season if hunting's your thing . . .”
“No, thanks. Uh, could you cool out your boss a little? He looks about ten seconds from a stroke.”
Nicole was embarrassed; she'd been so distracted by Jeffrey (who was in his black tailored suit; duh, she should have known this one wasn't going fishing) and the Crown Pr—Christina that she hadn't even noticed Freeborg was at his desk.
And Christina was right. He was as pale as the belly of a trout.
“Mike? Mike!” She waved a hand in front of his glazed eyes. “It's okay. I'm not in any trouble.”
“You're one of them,” he accused, pointing a trembling, banana-sized finger at Christina. “Her husband said! Yesterday!”
“Oh, no,” Nicole assured him, but she was looking at Jeffrey as she said it. “Not
ever
.”
“Blood will tell, honey.”
Then, in unison, she and Christina said, “Don't call me honey.”
Alone, Christina added, “See, see? Your reputation precedes you!”
“Is that so?”
“Yup.”
“And you think I'm an in-law.”
“Don't think. Know.”
“So, if you were trying to talk one of
them
into something they absolutely did not want to do, how do you think it would go?”
Christina opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, looking remarkably salmon-like. Then she glared. “Don't confuse me with facts.”
“That's a valid warning,” Jeff added.
“Pipe down, Jeff-
rey
. One thing I've learned living with some of the richest people in the world is that everyone has a price. So what's yours?”
“What?”
“What's it gonna cost to get you to come with me and submit to our DNA test?”
“Are you implying that you can
pay
me?”
To turn my back on my mother and everything she ever did for me?
God! They were all the same! “You
bitch
!” Then she socked her. Almost. Jeffrey moved like lightning, so she actually socked him in the throat (she'd been aiming for Christina's left eye).
“Hey!” Christina yelled as Nicole's boss clawed for his wastebasket and started retching. “Rule number one: Nobody roughs up the help!”
Then Nicole saw black stars explode as Christina socked her back.
Chapter 13
“O
w ow OW!” Nicole yelled, regaining consciousness. She opened her eyes, then groaned in equal parts pain and horror. About a hundred people were crouching over her.
“—didn't mean for her to hit her head!”
“Christina, for Christ's sake. We sent you to be a diplomat—ever heard of the word?”
“Ma'am,” a paramedic said, ripping the blood pressure cuff off Nicole's arm, “can you tell me where you are?”
“The seventh circle of hell,” Nicole answered.
Christina elbowed two other Baranovs out of the way and peered down anxiously. “I'm so sorry, Nicole. I only meant to give you a black eye.”
“
That's
an apology?” the crown prince demanded.
“I didn't mean for you to hit your head on the boss's desk when you fell!”
“How—how did you all get here so fast?” She was looking around, and in addition to two paramedics, she recognized Princess Kathryn, Prince Nicholas, Crown Prince David, Prince Alexander, Princess Alexandria, King Alexander, and her brand-new nemesis, Christina. “Does the palace have a teleporter pad?”
“You've been out cold for twenty minutes,” Prince Alexander, a shorter, younger version of his brother David, told her. “We had tons of time to get here. I'm Alexander, by the way.”
She clapped a hand over her eyes. “I know who you are. I know who you
all
are.” Her head was on the firmest pillow ever. Who knew Freeborg kept—
“Are you okay, kiddo?” the king asked anxiously. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“How many fingers am
I
holding up?”
“Now that's rude,” Prince Alexandria said approvingly.
“
All
of you back off and give her some air,” Jeffrey ordered from—ulp—directly above her. She realized with equal parts heat and cold that the pillow was him, and her head was in his lap.
As one, the royal family took three steps back.
“Your vitals are fine,” the other paramedic was telling her, “but with such a long loss of consciousness I think we should run her to the hos—”
“No hospital. No doctors. No way.”
“Ma'am—”
“I'll sign the NMA.”
“NMA?” she heard the youngest, sixteen-year-old Nicholas, whisper to his sister Kathryn.
“No Medical Attention,” Kathryn replied. “Means if she falls down the stairs and breaks both legs while barfing up blood, she can't sue.”
Nicole almost laughed at the mental image, but managed to mask it as a groan of pain as she sat up.
“If you come to the hospital, you could get a prescription . . .” one of the paramedics wheedled.
“First someone tries to bribe me with money, now Vicodin? Do I have ‘weak loser' written on my forehead?”
“Christina Baranov!” the king roared.
To Nicole's vast enjoyment, Christina backed away from the red-faced king so fast she nearly tripped and went sprawling. “I didn't try to bribe her with money! I just said everyone had their price!”
“Oh, I can see how that wasn't offensive,” Prince Alexander snarked.
“Shut the
hell
up, Alex. I meant like how I got the run of the kitchens when I got here. I just thought maybe she'd like her own lake or something.”
“A fine plan,” Alexandria observed, squinting down at Nicole. “Good job, Christina. Really. Hey, Dad, let's put her in charge of defusing the situation in China.”
“Hand it over,” Nicole told the paramedics, who were packing up.
“What?”
“The blood you stole while I was conked.”
The paramedics looked at each other with superbly faked expressions of confusion. “Blood we—”
“Nicole!”
“Stop yelling, it hurts my head!” she yelled back.
Half the light was blotted out when the king pointed a finger at her. “The Baranovs
do not steal
. Apologize at once.”
“I'm so sorry,” she said sweetly, “that you're sensitive about being called thieves after your ancestors stole the country from its rightful owner, Mother Russia.”
There was a long, awful silence broken by Nicholas saying, “Screw the blood test.
I'm
convinced.”
“If she doesn't have a legitimate DNA test supervised by our own docs in the palace, Edmund will murder us all in our beds,” David explained to his siblings.
“Hold your breath waiting for
that
to happen.”
“Which part?” Kathryn asked.
“Will you all keep it down?” Jeffrey rumbled from behind her. He was still sitting behind her, like she might (ha!) get dizzy and fall back in his lap again. “You're upsetting her.”
“She punched you in the larynx, Jeff.”
“Is
that
why he sounds so dreadful?” Kathryn whispered to her brother Alexander.
David knelt beside her, and when he spoke, it was with so much sympathy she could hardly bear it. “It
will
happen, Nicole. It has to. See, if you're really a Baranov, which everyone in this room knows you are, that means you're first in line for the throne.”
“But—but you and Christina Quickknuckles are the crown prince and—”
“Nicole, you're older. Think about it.”
She did. Then she crawled to her boss's wastebasket and threw up.

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