Royal Reflections

Chapter THREE

Lucille

Silence loomed as Roman and I rode in the royal limousine back to the royal plane. Despite the late hour, the streets of London beyond the windows were alive, traffic bustling on the roads and people hustling on the sidewalks. Beside me, Roman sat statuesque, handsome as ever, dressed in his Royal Air Force uniform, complete with medals and ribbons. He wore a version of this uniform in our wedding. During my indoctrination, I learned all the ranks and titles he held.

Throughout the evening, I'd watched and listened. According to the news apps and reports I'd seen before dinner, there were discussions during the day between my husband, his British counterpart, and members of the British Parliament. Not all the reports were favorable to Molave, or more specifically to Roman.

Our tour was supposed to be a sign of good faith, of willingness to back our neighboring countries as tensions around the globe increased. While I'd been busy with tea, visiting a children's hospital, and a tour of Buckingham Palace, Roman had been tending to matters of state.

Even though my husband didn't share his concerns with me, I saw the stress in his eyes, the lines near their corners, and the rigidness of his jaw. My bachelor's degree was in political science. My lessons regarding Molave didn't end once we took our vows, and yet I was relegated to photo opportunities and discussions about my attire.

My dress for this evening's dinner was a floor-length ivory gown designed by Giorgio Armani. Lady Buckingham joked that it was in poor taste to wear the same designer as the hostess, in this case the princess. While I was a fan of Alexander McQueen, one of her favorite designers, this particular off-the-shoulder design nicely covered the bruise on my upper arm, making a jacket unnecessary.

I lifted my fingers to the sapphire-and-diamond choker around my neck as I imagined it tightening.

“Everyone speaks of your beauty," Roman said, breaking the silence and bringing my thoughts back to the present.

My hand dropped to my lap. With only the illumination from beyond the car windows, I bowed my chin once before responding. “I'm but the moon to your sun, Your Highness."

Roman hummed before reaching for my hand.

My skin prickled at the coolness of his touch as he lifted my knuckles to his lips.

The heat Roman used to conjure had dwindled to nothing more than a flicker of an extinguishing candle. I remained still, waiting for him to release my hand.

There were subjects that were off-limits with my husband; however, at this rare moment of affection, I chose to broach one of the subjects. “Are you well?"

Roman's dark stare narrowed. “Don't question my ability."

“I'm not. I'm concerned. There was a moment or two this evening…" I wanted to say there were moments when Roman seemed off, disconnected. I stopped as his grip of my hand intensified. Swallowing, I feigned a grin. “A moment or two this evening," I said again, adding, “when I longed to reach out to you."

“And that concerns you about my wellness?"

Tilting my head to the side, I replied, “I wondered if you felt the same way."

“You're my wife, my duchess, my princess. One day, you'll be my queen. You are mine to hold when I desire."

Nodding, I acquiesced, leaving my hand in his grasp as I turned toward the window and took steady breaths, hoping that whatever episodes I'd witnessed earlier wouldn't translate into a shared night with the man at my side. There was a pattern emerging, correlating times when his detractors criticized and critiqued with his dominating behavior with me.

Two more cities, I reminded myself.

“You know it," Roman said, his tenor deep.

I turned back. “It?"

“That many speak of your beauty." Releasing my hand, he ran his thumb over my cheek. “They say that I'm a lucky man."

The scent of liquor on his breath overpowered his cologne.

My pulse increased. “No, Your Highness, it is I who am lucky."

His lips curled into a grin. “As long as you understand your duty to me, to Molave."

“I do. I'm willing to do more."

Roman shook his head as his chiseled jaw clenched. “Do not start, Lucille."

With my chest tightening, I turned to meet his dark gaze. My knowledge and abilities were wasted as nothing more than an adornment. Taking a breath, I said, “More will not take away from my duties as duchess or princess. More would not change my duty as your wife. I want to help our people."

“Our people?"

“Yes, the citizens of Molave." With my marriage, I gained dual citizenship. “I've recently learned of some disparity in healthcare, not simply funding but in obtaining it. There was also a headline about concerns regarding imports. The reports say our people are riled. I believe that as a sovereign, these concerns should be a priority."

“Do not tell me" —his tenor lowered with each word— “what is a sovereign priority."

“For me, Roman. I can help. I want to help. Your mother…"

“My mother?"

“The queen is growing tired. I could help her, assist her in her work."

“And you believe because the baroness frolics from event to event, that is what you should be doing?"

The small hairs on the back of my neck were standing to attention. “My mother does more than frolic. She raises millions of dollars with her events. That money funds her foundation, which in turn funds—"

“Your father's political agenda."

My eyes opened wide. “Excuse me, sir. My mother's foundation is not a funnel for my father's use."

Roman smirked. “If it were up to me, Edwin would rein in the baroness. She takes far too much of his spotlight."

Through gritted teeth, I maintained my tone. “I'm sure my father would be open to hearing your advice."

“Hearing and heeding are not the same. You hear me, yet you persist with your outlandish ideas."

Outlandish.

Healthcare and essential supplies were far from outlandish. The queen and I had discussed my taking a bigger part, and still, without King Theodore's or Roman's approval, I was not able to assist.

Slowly, Roman turned my direction. “What were you and the princess snickering about?"

Snickering.

I sat tall and spoke slowly. “If you're asking me to recall each conversation I've had throughout the day, I'm unable."

“You are a princess, not a schoolgirl. What you do and say reflects on me."

The moon to his sun.

That wasn't a saying I made up or believed due to Roman's radiating warmth. No, it was told to me by the queen, his mother. My duty was to be a reflection of my husband. The problem was that Roman Godfrey wasn't the sun. He didn't radiate anything worth reflecting.

Another nod and I stared straight ahead, my mind concentrating on maintaining civility, getting back to the plane, debriefing with Lady Buckingham, and readying for bed. Tomorrow we were on to Madrid.

The limousine entered the restricted tarmac where the royal plane was guarded. Unlike when we arrived, there would not be an audience other than our staff. While those members of our staff and our advisors were blessed with eyes and ears, when it came to our personal lives, they were sworn to keep blind and deaf.

By the time the car came to a stop, there was a line of royal guards on each side of the stairs descending from the plane. Lady Buckingham; Elizabeth Drake, Molave's chief minister; and Lord Avery, Roman's chief assistant, were also present.

Once the door was opened and Roman and I were standing on the tarmac, he leaned down, his liquor-scented breath on my neck. “Advise Lady Buckingham that you will be joining me tonight in my bedchamber."

As our advisors bowed their heads, we ascended the steps.

Once Roman and I were aboard the aircraft, Lord Avery and Mrs. Drake were the next to enter.

“Your Royal Highness," Roman's assistant said, speaking to the prince. “If we may, sir, Mrs. Drake and I request to speak with you before you retire."

My mouth grew dry, wondering if their discussion would include the negative reports I'd only briefly seen. Before agreeing to the discussion, Roman turned my way. “I'll send for you."

Moving one shoe behind the other, I curtsied. “Your Highness."

As the three went one direction, Lady Buckingham appeared at my side. “I'll draw your bath."

No secrets.

No spontaneity.

No choices.