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wardenparker · 1 year ago

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The King's Queen - chapter 3

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness/cancer, not the world's best father/son relationship, abusive relationship (in marriage). Summary: The selection of your ladies in waiting is far more dramatic than you had expected...and it is still not the biggest event to happen today... Notes: Introducing our story's villain! Booooooooo Hissssssss

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

Waking the next morning in a plush bed with linens more luxurious than the finest hotel is a little disorienting, considering you barely remember how you got here. It comes back in fragments as Frederica bustles about the room, opening your curtains and pulling back your blankets, and the image of Javi’s face swimming over yours as he placed a gentle kiss good night on your forehead comes back most strongly. You fell asleep at the cliff, that’s right…

“I have a tray for you, señorita. The king and the prince are busy this morning.” Frederica motions to the carved wooden tray on your bedside table. Crusty bread has been toasted and lined up on a plate with thinly sliced meats, and small containers that look like butter, jam, and some kind of tomato spread are all sitting ready for you along with an espresso drink and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“Gracias, Frederica.” You sit up gratefully, and she dutifully sets the tray over your lap so you can eat breakfast in bed. “Is it alright that I call you by your first name?” You know that you ought to know the rules already — that most women in this position already would. But you don’t think the woman would judge you for asking a question.

“Técnicamente, señorita?” Technically, miss? On the move once again, she is at your closet pulling out clothing for you. “A lady’s maid is called by her family name. The household and the family – including you – should call me Flores.”

“Flores.” You nod and file away the information as you sip your coffee. It’s only mildly sweet and just warm so that it doesn’t burn your mouth, and you love it. “What does one wear to interview ladies in waiting, Flores? Do you have any ideas?”

She hums thoughtfully, looking into your closet again before looking back at you. “Something that will not crumple,” she advises, putting away the linen dress and silk blouse she had been considering. “You will be sitting most of the day. It will look messy.”

“What about that one?” She has pulled a blue wrap dress with flowers delicately printed on the light fabric and it strikes you as the sort of thing that Javi might like. “Would that be appropriate?”

“This?” She appraises the dress for a moment then nods and shoots you a mischievous grin. “We will find you a hat and you can interview your ladies in the garden. You will look like you belong in a painting.”

“Perfecto.” There cannot be any shortage of hats in a royal palace, you’re sure, but you have a few of your own and one is bound to work. “What is the prince busy with this morning?” You ask after a moment, deciding that the tomato jam and a few slices of the cured ham sound delicious in your first slice of toast. “Do you know?”

“Sí.” She nods as she starts to look through your things for an appropriate pair of shoes to match the dress. “They say some of the Crown Jewels have been brought out of storage. Though no one seems to know what for.”

“Oh, I see.” You know. You know very well. Javi must be looking at rings with his father this morning. And that gives you a certain twist of nerves and excitement that has you remembering the exact, delectable pressure of his kiss from last night. “I’m sure we’ll know soon enough,” you murmur with a smirk tucked away in the corner of your mouth. He had asked if you wanted to be able to pick out your ring. Perhaps he is narrowing down a few favourites — or perhaps his father has already decided for you both. It could easily be either.

******

“I must admit that I am surprised that you are so eager to pick out a ring.” The king’s brow arches as he tries to mask the pain of moving in the discreet motorized chair that had been secreted through the halls of the palace.

The room where the selection of jewels had been brought this morning is well-hidden, an extension of the library that was once used as a private prayer room for medieval kings. For the last few centuries it has been more of a place for meetings that the crown wishes to remain under wraps. Or, like this morning, official business that is to be kept quiet. A dozen brilliant rings of all shapes, sizes, and origins have been selected for the prince to choose from for his bride-to-be.

Javi’s eyes speculatively contemplate the rings and dismiss several heavier sets outright. He doesn’t want your hand weighed down by something too ostentatious. “I want my father to see me settled before the end of his time.” He had stayed up most of the night thinking about everything after he had put you to bed. It was quite possibly the most internal reflection he has had in a long time.

“I will be announcing my abdication the week after your engagement is made public.” The king has never been accused of being a sentimental man, but he most certainly believes there is a correct order to things. “The people will see you settled as well.”

Javi swallows and nods seriously. The heaviness of the comment making his heart clench and he realizes that despite their differences, his father is dying. By next year, he will not have his father’s council to guide him. It makes him wish he had spent more time with him. “As you wish.”

“It will prevent the beginning of your reign from being overshadowed by my death.” Having given it a great deal of thought, he and his advisors have agreed on this being the best course of action. It is unconventional, which is not a word that is normally used to describe King Miguel, but it is in the best interest of the nation he has dedicated his life to.

“And it will allow you to have some peace for your last days.” Javi’s heart breaks as he touches the ring his mother had worn when she was alive. He wonders if his father had put it back recently because it had been in their bedroom safe the last time Javi had seen it.

His father ignores the idea that peace or rest should be thought of at all, but leans closer to see Javier touch his mother’s ring gently. “It would not be unheard of for a son to offer his betrothed the mother’s ring,” he admits. Although it is a terribly trendy thing to do at the moment. The English princes have cornered that market.

“I think she would like it.” Javi admits, a small amount of moisture building up in his eyes. “Did you put this back recently?”

"I did." He had been reluctant to part with the gem considering his late wife's fondness for it. The emerald cut diamond had been selected by his own mother for his bride-to-be and the setting was created specifically for their engagement. "The connection between your mothers is important. It was appropriate to return it to the collection for you to choose from."

“I think mama would approve.” The choice of ring is appropriate and he picks it up and tilts his head. “Perhaps the infinity band with it.”

Sitting sometimes helps with the pain that the king faces near constantly and sometimes it does not, right now being one of the instances where the pain is stronger no matter what position he is in. "Your mother—" He clears his throat to cover a wince. To draw attention to his pain will help nothing. "Enjoyed choosing her own band." Of course, his own bride had made the choice with her mother at her side, but that will not be possible for his son's bride.

“Then I will leave it up to her to choose.” Javi decides, kneeling down beside the chair and looking up at his father. “Would you like to be present when I propose?”

"I will be present for the photographer to take your engagement portraits." The date, time, and place of which have already been decided, though the king doubts his son has viewed his appointments with any regularity. "The choosing of her was what was important. Ask her how you will, so long as it is appropriate and private. None of these public declarations. They are undignified."

“Yes sir.” Javi agrees. “We went to the cliffs last night to look at the stars. I might take her back to ask her there.”

"Remember she will be asked numerous times how it was done." Miguel warns his son. An arranged marriage may not be the most romantic option – much to Javier's chagrin – but it will still be anticipated and talked on by the entire nation. "If she can be happy to tell the story, so much the better."

“I will arrange to have a candlelit dessert on the cliffs.” Javi decides. “Perhaps I can find her favorite one from the States and have it flown in.”

"Our chefs can make anything." Dismissing the idea that Javier's American attraction could yield anything positive, the king waves one hand dismissively. "But do as you will. She will need to begin the wedding planning immediately so plan your date accordingly." He still thinks the idea unnecessary, but his son is a sentimental sort of man. "The less delay we have in everything, the better."

“Then I will do it tonight.” It might not be on his timeline, but he will not disappoint his father.

"Good." Checking his watch, the king looks to his son once more and the ring that he is holding. What once was the boy's mother's will now be his wife's and that is not a path through sentimentality that Miguel is equipped to walk himself. "I have a meeting," he announces gruffly. "Whatever you decide to do, let her keep her appointments today. I expect to know the names of her ladies in waiting before lunch and have a report from her dressmaker before dinner." The latter is not usual, but he needs to make sure the American will be dressed appropriately. She will be an important face in the kingdom in no time at all. She should look like it.

“Of course.” There is the thread of cold civility that Javier expected. The need to conform to the schedules and demands of the crown. He nods. “Have a good meeting, your Majesty.”

******

Having Flores nearby for this entirely odd interview process is your only source of comfort at the moment. The ladies who have been announced and curtsied before you have spanned several decades in age and experience. Some of the younger ones have been nauseating suck-ups. A few of the older have been merciless snobs. At this point you're grateful for the good weather and the mid-morning tea service that was provided by the kitchens for you to have some kind of polite activity to engage in while speaking to the numerous noblewomen who have come through the gardens.

"Dama Gabriella Gutierrez." The next lady is announced and your head tilts slightly with interest. This would be the woman that married Javi's cousin when he was refused permission to propose to her. This is your almost-fiancé's ex-girlfriend. Just when you thought today could not get more surreal.

"Buenos días." You have learned that it is not expected for you to stand for each lady, so you keep your seat when you nod to hear and put out your hand to offer her the seat across from you at the small table. She's stunningly beautiful and closer to Javi's age than you are, immediately making you feel more intimidated by her than maybe you ought to be.

Gabriella comes in and executes a deep, perfect curtsy. Nodding her head respectfully since your own station will be so much more elevated than her own. Jealousy tinges her vision as she looks up, seeing the woman who would be queen instead of her. “Buenos días.” She murmurs demurely, surprised to see that while you are lovely, there is no air of pretense surrounding you.

“Hablas inglés?” You have checked with every single one of the ladies before switching over to your own native language, finding that while all of them have been fluent not everyone seems fond of the idea that their queen will be American born. By the time they have made it to your table they all know who you will be to them. At least that is one topic you do not have to broach yourself.

“Sí, yes.” Gabriella nods. “Javi— Prince Javier,” she corrects herself, “prefers to speak English causally.” She explains, feeling the urge to shift guiltily since she was in love with the man you are going to marry.

“Please join me.” This will be an insightful conversation if nothing else, and the nearby footman pours a cup of cold lemonade to set in front of her. The kitchen had been perplexed when you had asked for iced tea with lemon to sip on and sent up hot tea and lemonade separately. Apparently America really is the only place you can get iced tea. “You…know the prince well…as I understand it?”

“I am….old friends with the prince.” Gabriella wonders why you have not already dismissed her as a candidate. The only reason she was here was because Lucas had demanded that she make sure that it was known that she had been interviewed for it. A preverbal slap in the face, but that was nothing new with her husband.

“That is a very polite way of putting it,” you smile though, because you have definitely been the ex-girlfriend on the other side of the table more than once. Never to this magnitude, but you know it can be hard. “Would you tell me a little about yourself?”

She frowns slightly. Aware that you should have all the information on her in front of you. “I am married to the Count of Ibiza.” She murmurs, her hands folded in her lap and tightening slightly. “Prince Javier’s eldest cousin.”

“Yes.” The sheet of information about her that you received says that already, but you offer her a smile. “But I wish to know about you. Not who your is husband or where you fall in the line of succession, or what title your parents had.”

“Forgive me.” She pauses and calculates what she wishes to ask. “I do not understand what you would like to know?”

“Well…” The other women that you had asked this of had trouble with it as well and you don’t blame them. You have lived your whole life as a congressman’s daughter and a future queen. You, of all people, understand. “Have you been reading anything interesting lately? What are your hobbies? The way I see it, the ladies that I end up spending my time with ought to be ones that I have something in common with. Otherwise this will be a truly tedious time for all involved.”

It is refreshing in a sense to imagine that someone would take an interest in her own hobbies. “My favorite books are not appropriate for a queen to be reading.” She admits, her cheeks burning with shame. “It has been a long time since I have been able to indulge, but I enjoy baking and experimenting with new dishes.”

“I find myself deeply interested in your reading habits, Contessa.” The embarrassment in her face means she either likes what your stepmother calls ‘beach books’ or she reads smut, and either way you already like this woman much more than the others. The one who said she was too mature to read novels had been dismissed almost immediately. “But first, what cuisines do you enjoy? And what is your favorite thing to bake?”

“I—” she flusters and does the unladylike thing of shrugging one elegant shoulder. “I find everything interesting. Trying to make things that I see on TV.” She admits, wondering if you would find it as ridiculous as Lucas does. “I enjoy making…how do you say? Fritters? Fruit fritters?” She tilts her head, wondering if she has messed up the word.

“Like the fried batter with fruit pieces in it?” You nod right away and end up smiling a little wider. Without realizing it, you had expected her to be classically trained or at least have her interests mean that way. “Any kind of fritter is always worth it. But that’s probably a very American thing for me to say.”

“They are so simple and yet they are so delicious!” She insists, leaning forward happily for a moment before she realizes who she is addressing. She sits back and nods. “Yes.”

“Oh please, if you want to get excited about something I wish you would do it,” you admit with an unladylike sigh. “I have spent all morning with women afraid to offend me if they have so much as a different favorite color.”

“That is how it is done.” She murmurs quietly. “We are here to be a friend to you. Not to have our interests returned.”

“I am not in the habit of forcing my interests or beliefs on those around me.” She is right, of course she is. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it or even agree with it. “I have seen plenty of so-called friendships between women that work that way and they are not beneficial to anyone.”

“You do not want me for a friend. I am not good at it.” She blurts out before biting her lip. She had come here expecting to hate you and yet you seem so kind.

“If that is really how you feel, then I won’t keep you.” Although you have to admit that you’re a little disappointed about it. Gabriella Gutierrez seemed to have had her happiness stamped out of her and a person like that deserves a friend. “But if that is only what you have been told, then I will refuse to believe it.”

“I—” her hands clench together again. “I am…unsuitable for everything.” She admits. “This was supposed to be a lesson.”

“A lesson?” That makes you frown deeply. “From whom, precisely?”

“I should not have said anything.” Mortification rolls across her features and her chin trembles. “Please do not say anything. I will go. I will not say a word.”

“No.” It is the first time you have ever ‘pulled rank’ so to speak, and it is telling that you have done it when you are afraid for someone’s safety. “No.” You reach across the table and offer her your hand. “Was it your husband? Someone in your family? Why is meeting me a punishment?”

“It is a reminder that I was not good enough to be Javier’s wife.” She confesses quietly. “That I am a horrible wife, and that I would not even be a good lady-in-waiting for the woman who will be queen.”

“What absolute bullshit.” Even with your voice low the fury behind the words is obvious, and you feel like you’re seeing red instantly. “The king refusing Javi’s request to propose has nothing to do with your suitability. It had to do with a contract. I have no idea what kind of a man your husband is but if he is the one who told you this then I suddenly find I have a vested interest in helping you stay away from him.” It’s straight out abuse is what it is, and you feel more deeply about her safety now than any other issue.

Her eyes widen in fear and she glances towards the closed door. “I should not have spoken so…impetuously.” She demurs. “My apologies.”

"The last thing I want is to make you more uncomfortable." Fearing that you have certainly achieved that without any effort whatsoever, you sit back in your chair and try not to do anything outrageous like sigh or frown. "You are certainly not prisoner here. If you wish to go, you may."

“You are…different than I imagined.” She stands and curtsies again. “I apologize for my outburst and understand that you would not wish me to be your lady-in-waiting. We would spend time together and I have a history with the future king.” A small, polite smile is offered and she turns around to walk out.

Alone – to a point – again in the fragrant expanse of the garden, you turn to look at your maid with a frown. "Was I wrong, Flores? To be honest?"

“It is rumored that the marriage between the Prince’s cousin and his wife is a deeply unhappy one.” She confides, her own frown in place. “The count has flaunted their marriage in public, but the servants know.”

"Servants know everything." That seems to be one stereotype that is entirely true, and at least you can be thankful for having someone on your side in that way. "How many more interviews are there?" You ask after taking a moment to digest the idea that all it not what it seems within this family that you are set to marry into.

“There is only one more.” Flores tells you, wishing that she had mentioned that there was a bit of competition between Javier and Lucas when they were younger. For some reason Lucas felt he should be heir.

“Who is last?” Meeting Gabriella was surprising and has put you on your guard. Now you’re wondering if the last candidate for lady in waiting will be the same as all the others or be completely out of left field like she was.

“Dama Margaret Zurita.” Flores tells you. “She is closer to age for you than some.”

“I hope that signifies something positive.” You offer her a tired smile before nodding to the footman – this one is named Raul – and straightening yourself out in your chair. “Alright, Raul. One more.”

Margaret walks into the gardens and curtsies prettily but there is a sincere smile on her face when she looks up at you.

"Sientate, por favor." Beginning the way you have begun with everyone, you offer her the seat across from you at the little garden table. "Hablas inglés?"

“Sí.” She nods and tilts her head. “If you would prefer, I am known as Maisie amongst my friends, and I hope that we will be friends.”

"Maisie?" The only person you've ever known with that name is the actress from Game of Thrones, but it seems to fit the woman in front of you nicely. She is elegant and poised but doesn't carry the immediate air of pretention that some of the others had. "It is a beautiful name. Please, tell me about yourself, Maisie."

“Oh. I don’t know what to tell you.” She’s honest to a fault. “I enjoy reading and horse riding, but I also prefer to enjoy new experiences.” She hums. “What interest appeal to you?”

"Are you reading something currently?" The last thing you want to do is answer a question about yourself and have her start to simply agree with the things you say because she thinks that is what you are looking for.

“I am reading The Wife’s House.” She admits, flustering slightly. “I don’t care for non-fiction.”

"I don't think I've heard of it." The name doesn't ring a bell at least, but someone admitting to reading for pleasure and not being ashamed of it is delightful. "Would you tell me about it? I'm always in the market for a new novel."

“It’s a thriller.” She brightens slightly, animating as she talks about the book she’s engrossed in. “If you like Gone Girl, you would love it.”

"I love Gone Girl." You're going to have to get your hands on a copy of his book as soon as you can, and the idea of having something new to read brightens you. As much as you are a bookworm, you have never been the kind of person who accumulated a large personal library. Knowing that one day you would have to pick up and move at the drop of a hat had made that impractical, and instead the local librarians had known you extremely well. "What do you like to do besides reading and riding?" This entire morning has been a parade of women who had demurred and insisted that whatever you enjoyed, they would like. It is wonderful to have someone actually express their own interests.

“I am supposed to tell you that I enjoy charity work, and I do. But not the types that have press releases.” She admits. “Real help. I have helped rebuild a house that was burned down in a fire. The resident was elderly and he was going to have nowhere to go. His family had passed.”

"I wholeheartedly appreciate a person who would rather get their hands dirty and provide real help than discuss how to be charitable over a meal that would bear a three-figure price tag in a restaurant." At last, you can't help thinking to yourself. Someone with a personality. "Can I ask who it was that might have coached you on what you are supposed to say to me this morning?"

Maisie freezes for a moment, not expecting that question but then she remembers that she had said something about what she was supposed to say. Except now, she wasn’t going to lie to you. “The Count of Ibiza.” She admits quietly.

“Interesting.” That is now the second time you have heard that man mentioned, and you can’t say you’re fond of what it implies. “And who is the Count of Ibiza to you?”

“May I speak freely?” Maisie asks, her eyes floating towards Flores and then back to you.

Of everyone here you have the least fear of Flores being untrustworthy, and instead offer the nearby footman a smile. For all you know, he has been instructed to report back to someone – like the king – and if he hears nothing then he will have nothing to report. “Raul, you may leave us.”

Bowing respectfully, the footman quickly exits the gardens and Maisie waits another few beats before she speaks. “The count is not a man you should trust.” She confides quietly, but clearly.

"I am gathering that rather quickly," you admit, picking up your glass to have something to do with your hands. "But who is he to you? His wife left here not five minutes ago."

“Gabriella was here?” Maisie’s brow shoots up and her jaw ticks a minute amount. “I had thought that she would not put in for it.”

"It seems she was made to." And the fact that this count – Javi's own cousin – is ordering and abusing his wife in this way? It makes you livid on principle. "I take it that you were made to, as well?"

“There is a…hierarchy that is unacknowledged by the rest of the country.” She murmurs quietly. “After the immediate royal family, the Count of Ibiza is the highest-ranking member of the court. And knows it.”

"And he is in the habit of abusing his station?" You could remark about what or whom else he abuses but you hold back. "Ordering the other nobility around as he sees fit?"

“He calls it….’privilege of rank’.” She snorts before she composes herself, barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes.

"I take it the king is unaware of this habit of his nephew's?" Surely he would put a stop to it if he knew. Wouldn't he? Of course...there is a chance that this is just how things work in the Balearican Islands. And if that is the case you are not going to be terribly comfortable around any of these people.

“The Count is very skilled at hiding his true personality from those of importance.” She shakes her head. “King Miguel would never allow such an abuse of rank.”

"I see." This last conversation has been utterly enlightening in a rather unpleasant way, but you chew on the facts as you sip your lemonade. "Which naturally means he will hide his true face from me, as well. Unless he thinks he has the upper hand over me." When you look up again, you tilt your head at the woman across from you and hum softly. "Forgive me, I have met so many new people today that my mind is jumbled slightly. I can't seem to remember your title or who your husband is?"

“My husband is not a royal.” She admits with a small smile. “I am the daughter of the Count of Dragonera. Distant cousin to the Prince.”

“You are family, then.” Your lips twist into a smile. “However distant, family is powerful. What would you think of being a lady in waiting, Maisie? Spend time with me here at the castle and see what we can do together about the Count of Ibiza’s unfortunate habits?”

She is honestly surprised that you are extending the invitation to her, straightening slightly and a warm smile starts to break out across her face. "I would be delighted." She decides. One does not simply deny the future queen anything but the idea actually does hold tremendous appeal. She does not like her distant cousin and would like to see his hold on the family behind closed doors diminish. "Gabriella is a good woman." She adds, wanting to defend the woman who was Javier's interest before you. "Please do not judge her. There was a lot of pressure for her to marry Lucas."

“On the contrary.” Having made the decision, your stubbornness often turns to resolve. And in this instance you truly would not consider any other option. “I intend to extend the invitation to her as well. It seems to me that she could use a friend, and perhaps it will help her to spend a little less time under her husband’s thumb.”

Maisie’s expression lights up with delight and admiration for your kindness. “Ladies-in-waiting are at the whims of the queen.” She agrees with a conspiratorial smile.

Your own mischievous grin comes with a nod as you sip your drink again. “And with the wedding coming so quickly I am feeling particularly whimsical.”

“A wedding does take a lot of time and dedication to put on.” She agrees. “Especially a royal wedding to the future king.”

“My only fear is that it would be cruel to make the Contessa a part of that planning when she is so unhappy in her own marriage.” You admit, deftly not tacking on the fact that Gabriella Gutierrez almost gained her surname through marrying the man you are betrothed to.

“Gabriella would not feel any ill will. She is in love with the idea of love.” Maisie tells you. “She would be thrilled. Maybe a little heartbroken.” She admits quietly.

“I don’t want to cause her any pain.” In fact, that is sort of the motive for the entire plan in your mind. Sparing the woman that Javi had loved from the obvious pain of her situation. “If she is uncomfortable I will make sure she sees as little of the wedding planning as possible.”

“She has made peace with her fate to not be Javier’s wife.” Maisie smiles sadly. “It is a matter of pride that she be happy for him. Especially if he is happy.”

“I intend to do everything I can to ensure that he is.” Even before meeting him you had been resolved to keep your future husband happy. But now that you’ve met him? It brings a soft, smitten smile to your lips.

“He has charmed you.” Maisie sighs softly, happy to see it. She has always cared for the softhearted prince.

“Very much.” And you’re not afraid to admit it. In fact, it’s a relief. “He seems to be a sweet, sincere man.”

“He is.” She nods, happy that you seem to understand him. “I have always felt he was far too good to be royalty.”

"Or is that exactly the kind of person we want to have in charge, in a world where depersonalization and insincerity run rampant?" You shrug, not wanting to launch a full-scale debate. "I'm here to be the support he needs, whatever that ends up meaning. And for right now, that means making sure that the country is focused on happy news."

“Then I would be delighted to be your lady-in-waiting.” Maisie springs to her feet and rushes over to embrace you in a hug.

It's such an unexpected gesture that you almost laugh, accepting the hug wholeheartedly and squeezing her back before gently letting go. "Would you be willing to stay for a few hours today?" You ask, eyebrows pinched and raised with earnest hope. "I have to meet with a dressmaker today and I have a feeling that the things that American politician's daughters wear is a bit different than what future princesses and queens are supposed to wear."

“Of course.” She nods and shoots you a small grin. “I serve at your whim.” She reminds you with an arch of one perfect brow. “Perhaps we also need more assistance as well?”

"Did you have something in mind?" The idea that people serve you is something you don't know if you'll ever get used to. Even asking the palace staff for something makes you feel demanding – like a Karen ordering around restaurant staff.

“Gabriella as excellent taste.” She smirks and winks at you, “and I am sure she would love to get out of whatever is happening right now.”

"How terribly disappointed the count will be to discover that his wife's presence is required at the palace." Returning her smirk, you nod in agreement and look back to your maid who is standing nearby. "Flores, do you think you could ask the kitchen to prepare two more plates for lunch today? It seems I will be bringing the Contessa back to us after all." At some point you will have to report your choices to the king, but you can do that with or without Gabriella present.

“Yes, my lady.” She nods her head and rushes off to do your bidding. Happy that you are going to help poor Gabriella out. Even if she and the prince could never be what they wished, she was a kind soul who deserved happiness.

"Is there anything you would like to know about me?" It might be an unusual question, you don't really know. But as you and Maisie start to walk back to the palace, you find the need to fill the air with something other than schemes. Since you have done the royal equivalent of walking up to her on the playground and asking her to be your friend, you feel like you should offer something of yourself.

“Tell me something shocking.” She demands, giggling slightly. “Something that you have done or wish you could do.”

The number of things you have done in your life that could be considered acting out in any way is slim, but you hum slightly as you try to think of something good enough to divulge. "I...actually slapped the first boy who ever kissed me," you admit with a sheepish grin. "It actually caused some drama between our families for a while."

Maisie smirks and nods. “Good for you.” She hums, crossing her arms over her chest. “He stole a kiss and learned some manners.”

"My brother backed me up. He was there when it happened, and I think if it wasn't for him being a witness, my father would never have believed me." Your father's penchant for believing his son over any of the women in his life is only one of his many misogynistic traits that you had taught yourself to ignore or gloss over so you didn't go insane at home as a teenager.

“That is a shame.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “I don’t know if my father would ever not believe anything that I told him.” She had a wonderful father who believed that women were much more resilient.

"I think he sees my mother too much when he looks at me," you admit, though it pains you slightly. "We lost her to cancer when my brother and I were twelve. And it hurt him far more than he has ever been able to say."

“I am very sorry for your loss.” She tells you, giving you a sympathetic smile. “A parent that young is hard for anyone.”

"Thank you." Her kindness is more than appreciated, and you nod to the footmen who open the palace doors to allow you inside without having to even pause in your steps. "She was a wonderful, kind woman, and I think he loved her much more than he will ever admit. Mostly because he has my stepmother now."

“It is hard to be the second wife.” She had seen many of her friends’ mothers and fathers replaced by new spouses over the years and the difficulties of the dynamics. “Most seem to think that love is measurable. If they still love the lost spouse, they don’t love the current as much.”

"I prefer to think that all loves are different." Maisie has a point though, and you nod in acknowledgement. "A first love will always feel different than a second or third. You could fall in love fifteen times in one life and no two of them would feel the same. What matters is that you cherish them when they come along."

“It’s the guilt of the living.” Maisie nods. “King Miguel has spoken of it. Privately, of course.”

"My mother was friends with the queen." Somehow, of everyone you have met so far, Maisie is the easiest to talk to besides Javi. Opening up to her doesn't feel forced or disingenuous. It just feels like talking to a friend. "They were at university together. That is...how I was chosen for the prince. Because of our mothers."

“Ohhhhhh.” Her hands clutch her heart and she practically melts in front of you. “That is just so…sweet. I like that. So very much.”

"I wish they were still here, but we'll find a way to make sure they're with us when we get married." It's something you've already promised yourself, and you mean to stick to it.

“That would be very lovely.” She nods. “It is something that could be very tasteful, a memorial table.”

“I’m sure the king will have some preference of how his late wife is honoured.” And whatever it is, you’ll honour it. Because there is no sense in going against a dying man over something that you have no stake in. That would be cruel, plain and simple.

“Yes, he will.” She smiles, appreciating how you already understand that portion of the dynamic. “He is a good man.” She promises.

The halls of the palace are busy today, and though most people do not yet know who you are, those who do – and those who recognize Maisie – pause in their paces to pay their respects before hustling on. The general commotion seems to be headed in one direction, though, and you recognize it to be the wing of the palace where business is taken care of. Not the wing where people live. “Flores.” Seeing your maid amongst the people walking by, you manage to catch her attention. “Is everything alright?”

“I am not sure, my lady.” She admits quietly, her own observations making her frown. The palace is a busy place, but it normally seems very effortless. Now, there is a sense of haste that she is unused to. “Did the prince indicate there would be any event in your honor tonight?”

"He didn't, but I haven't spoken to him yet today." Heading with her in the direction of all the fuss, you are relieved to have Maisie right beside you without effort. In fact, she seems to just glide along in the crowd - you'll have to learn how to manage that to look as elegant as she does.

Maisie's eyes widen when she sees a discreet uniform, one that is never a good sign in the royal halls. "I fear there is an issue." She whispers quietly to you. "Do you see the two people with the very tiny stars on their cuffs?"

Instead of saying anything you just follow the direction she is indicating and nod slightly when you spot the embroidered insignia on the uniforms up ahead. God forbid you say something wrong and it is overheard, but you know there is fear in your eyes instantly when Maisie indicates there could be a problem.

"They are doctors for the palace." She confides. "Emergency doctors."

It only takes a moment for your mind to kick in to high gear, and you're ready to push through the crowd instantly. The only problem is that since no one knows who you are, they aren't inclined to move for you. "Maisie," you take her arm tightly in yours and remind yourself to breathe. Panicking now will do no good. "We are going to walk straight through this crowd together. I need your royal blood for a moment. Mine is not blue enough for them to let us through just yet."

“Of course.” Maisie takes the lead, wrapping her arm around yours and clears her throat. “Please excuse us.” She speaks clearly. “Coming through.”

The sea of people parts for the noblewoman, albeit reluctantly, and lets you through to the end of a corridor where four people in subtle uniforms are bent over a figure being guarded resolutely by palace guards. There doesn't seem to be a prayer of getting by to find out what is going on until you catch a glimpse of chestnut curls a few feet away. "Javi." Trying not to cause more commotion than is already happening, you and Maisie push your way to the edge of the group of guards as quickly as you can. "Javi!" You try again to get his attention, this time more insistently.

Distraught eyes turn toward you and he leaps up from where he is kneeling down a few feet away from his father. “Let her through!” He shouts, rushing towards you as if a moth drawn to a flame.

He reaches for you like a lifeline, locking you into a tight hug that you return reflexively. "What happened?" Your hands immediately come up to his cheeks, holding him still when it seems like he might vibrate away or dissolve into a pool of his own tears.

“H-he collapsed.” Javi shudders, having been walking next to him when it happened. Shouting for help and fearing the worst until he could be told that his father was at least still breathing.

The medics and guards had been shielding the figure on the ground from view, but on the other side of the line it is very obvious who it is who has collapsed on the parquet flooring. "Oh god..." Swallowing any other exclamation or even any other sound, you nod your understanding and look back to Javi with wide, sympathetic eyes. "We have to let them do their jobs, querido." The term of endearment falls so easily from you, so naturally that you don't even realize it. "We can follow them to the hospital unless there is something else you need to be doing?" For all you know there is a speech or statement to be made to the people over this. The protocols aren't exactly ingrained in your brain because you were never made privy to any of them.

Javier shakes his head right as a tall, handsome man with silver hair and startling blue eyes walks up. “Primo. He oído. Yo me encargaré de todo.” Cousin. I have heard. I will handle everything. His hand slaps against Javier shoulder almost bruisingly and he barely spares a glance at the king.

You frown in confusion for barely half a minute before you catch a glimpse of Gabriella out of the corner of your eye. So this is Lucas, you think, the furrow in your brow deepening. He looks...oily. Not as in the use of oil, but slippery. Snake oil salesman kind of oily. In a Western he would be twirling his mustache and tying a damsel to the train tracks. "How could you possibly have heard?" You ask, lowering your voice and slipping your hand into Javi's to lace your fingers together. "It's only just happened."

Brows knitting instantly, his wild eyes turn towards you and then drop down to your fingers enter twined with his cousins. “I was in the throne room.” He lifts a brow at you dismissively. “You are?”

"Not going away." Javi's understandable shock keeps him from responding, but you are very used to standing up for yourself. Being American does come in handy once in a while – including moments when you want to make yourself a bit bigger than you really are. Bombasity, your brother calls it. "I am the woman currently standing beside the Crowned Prince, who will remain standing beside him."

His smile is charming, but it doesn’t reach his glacial eyes. “The American intended.” He coos, glancing towards Javier. “It is a good thing you are here. Primo, do not worry. I will take care of things so you can be with him.”

“It will be best to let the doctors do their work.” You decide, instantly not trusting a single hair on this man’s head. Even if you didn’t know what little Gabriella and Maisie had told you, you still wouldn’t trust him. He has the blankest, coldest eyes you’ve ever seen. “I am sure that some guest quarters can be assigned to you while Javi and I find out what is happening.” Glancing back at Maisie, you nod to her as well. “You, too, my friend. I’m sure Flores can see to having a room arranged for you.”

One perfectly groomed brow arches and his eyes flicker over to Javier again, expecting him to say something. But the prince doesn’t, too focused on his father and not even paying attention to the conversation around him. “I see.”

“I am sure your contributions to the situation will be appreciated in coming days. But let’s first find out exactly what is happening before we move too boldly.” Obviously this man has not expected you to have a backbone, but you understand the terror of seeing a parent you love be very ill. It either makes you bold or weak, and neither is a judgement call. “Gabriella?” Motioning past him to his wife, you beckon them woman closer as gently as you can.

“Sí?” Lucas despises when she speaks English, due to her connection with Javier and she clasps her hands together to force a smile on her face.

“Whatever you need to get settled, we will see taken care of,” you promise her with a reassuring smile all your own. “It seems I will need my ladies in waiting very nearby, so it may be some time before you return to Ibiza. I hope that will not be too disappointing for you?”

“You have selected Gabriella?” The surprise in her husband’s voice is unmistakable, along with the expression on his face. “Is that wise?”

“I certainly think so.” The smile on your face never falters. “Is it not an honor for her, count?”

He’s been backed into a corner and he does not care for it. “It is.” He purrs, reaching over and taking his wife’s arm. “I only hope she appreciates it.”

“I am certain that it will be a wonderful opportunity for all.” If you could never speak to this man again you would be more than happy about it, but you grit your teeth and smile all the more broadly. “But right now, it would be best for you to situate yourselves comfortably and wait for news, I think.”

His brow raises again and if looks could kill, Javier would be planning your funeral. Lucas despises being told what do to. “I’m afraid that I have more connection to the family at this moment.” He insists. “I am family.”

“Which is why it will be so reassuring to have you here at the palace.” An instinct, something primal in the pit of your stomach, tells you to keep him away from the hospital and you’re not sure why but you listen to it fully.

“I can be better use helping Javier.” Lucas insists. “There is the matter of running our country.” He shakes his head. “I know that as an American, you are unaware of how things work, but our people look up to the monarchy.”

“And they will continue to be able to look up to their crowned prince without hesitation.” The emergency medics are moving the king now, and Javi is right with them as his father is being taken away. “You can be of such help to Prince Javier. It is dearly appreciated.” Barely having enough time to nod to Maisie, you are off and striding toward Javi to take his hand. You have just made an enemy of the Count of Ibiza and you both know it, but there is no way you are letting that man near the ailing king. Instinct tells you not to.

“I don’t know what is going on.” Javier is nearly in tears, biting his lip to keep from breaking down. “I was just— he just helped me pick out- pick out your ring.”

“For now just hold my hand and nod if you make eye contact with anyone.” You’ve been through a health scare as a political child before, and although he has too you doubt that he was in the spotlight then like he is now. “We’ll find out what is happening when we get to the hospital.” Looking up at him, you have a forced if pleasant smile painted on your lips but your eyes are full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, querido. But we’ll get through this. I’m right here with you.”

Grateful to have you with him, Javier clings to your hand and manages to compose himself. Making sure that no one sees the devastation in his eyes and weariness in his spirit.

A member of the king's guard rides in the ambulance with the medics and you and Javi are ushered into a car to follow behind it. Basic rules dictates that Javi and his father never travel together because of the line of succession, and right now that counts more than ever. As soon as you are in the back of the car and another guard is in the front with the driver, you take off after the ambulance at an appropriately speedy rate. Javi looks like he's going to break down any second but you haven't stopped holding his hand.

______

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