Page 86 of One Last Stand
And not even close to the man on her arm.
Shep leaned down, his voice in her ear. “Remind me who these people are.”
The royal people?“Prince Alrick—youngest. Age twenty. At uni.” He was the bookend to his oldest brother, his dark hair a little longer, but with that same confident, charming smile and a build that suggested he’d followed in Luka’s stead and started rowing. “The redhead is Princess Madeline, age twenty-two and just finishing up university. I heard she wants to go into the military.” They stepped up closer. “The next is Prince Rillian, who is a chopper pilot in the military.” Light-brown hair, cut short, he took after his mother’s side, the Austrian side, and always reminded her of a younger Maverick with his swagger, despite his European accent.
“I’d probably like him,” Shep said.
“Yes. Except he’s a bit of a headline maker with the ladies. And then there’s Princess Victoria—she’s a doctor.” And every inch the woman that, once upon a time, London might have wanted to be. Put together, smart, regal.
“And you’ve met Crown Prince Luka.”
His Highness might have heard her, because he glanced down the row between greetings and spotted her. She bowed her head.
Next to her, Shep drew in a breath and stiffened.
Her parents stepped up to their announcement and walked to the center for their greeting.
She tugged Shep down, spoke in his ear. “King Maximillian and Queen Isabella are at the end. Don’t forget to bow, and don’t go crazy—just nod your head. And it’s Your Highness for the princes and princesses and Your Majesty for the king. We stand in front of the entire crew—and here we go.”
She waited until they were announced, then walked to the center. She did a small curtsy and Shep bowed his head and King Maximillian smiled and then they were in.
“That wasn’t so hard.”
“I feel like I’m back in boot camp.”
“Calm down. Let’s get some food.”
They entered a grand reception area with the house of Ribaldi’s cursiveRemblazoned on all of the tapestries that unfurled from the balconies’ balustrades, standards hanging from the soaring marble fireplace.
“There’s the buffet. I’m grabbing a shrimp crudités. Want one?”
“I’d rather eat my socks.”
Wow. She glanced at him. He did seem strung a little tight. “You okay?”
“When are we going to sneak away?”
She glanced around her. “Ix-nay on the eaking-snay.”
He frowned.
“Keep your voice down. After dinner, during the dance.”
“I might throw up before then.”
She patted his arm. “Try to find a plant.”
They wandered into the halls, the designated areas, and surveyed the art, read some historical facts. He filled her in on some stories, evidence of him having done some googling. Then they found their assigned chairs in the dining hall. In total, maybe two hundred people stood at the two long tables, waiting for the king to adjourn them to sit.
They settled onto the plush blue-velvet chairs. Gloved waiters removed the cloches from their plates. “What are these?” Shep asked.
“Game hens, I think,” she said, and yes, perfectly cooked, along with the lemon broccoli rabe. She dug in.
Shep hardly touched his food.
“It’s really good,” she said.
“I’ll get a pizza back at the embassy.”