Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 58(@200wpm)___ 47(@250wpm)___ 39(@300wpm)
“You’ve been talking to Roland, haven’t you?” Her face flushes, but she doesn’t answer. “Don’t worry about it, Mama. I will be devoting considerable effort to finding my queen.”
“I have some ideas on who would be suitable,” she says.
“No thank you. I’ll decide on my bride. I am the one who has to live with her the rest of my life, and I would like to at least like her so that love may grow. I don’t want a marriage like you had with Father. You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course. My greatest wish is that you find love.”
“You know, it’s never too late for love, Mama. You’re still young.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“See that you do. I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. Grandchildren would make me happy.”
“I’ll get right on that.” I stand and pull her into a hug.
“Thank you son. Do Uskia proud.”
“I will,” I say, kissing her cheek.
I spent the rest of the day finishing the paperwork and my presentation to the council. I could have had others do it, but this is too important to leave to someone else. We need the United Nations behind us as we deal with the scourge that is Caerleon. They are trying to colonize the world, one small country at a time. I refuse to be next. I’ve finally gotten a large enough army to be of use to the UN. It’s high time Uskians do their part for the world as a whole and not just our little island.
Moncrieff has packed my luggage and is joining my Royal Guard, my secretary, and me. We arrive in New York late in the evening. We check into the hotel, and I get some sleep. My presentation at the UN is early.
“Fuck! That did not go well at all,” I fume to Sandrine. I’m barreling down 42nd Street like a madman. Sandrine, who can’t be younger than sixty, is struggling to keep up with me. I stop and wait for her as my guard brings up the rear. The presentation was riddled with technical difficulties. Surely that won’t be held against me, but you never know.
“You answered their questions properly, Your Majesty,” she says, out of breath. I should apologize, but I’m off again. I was in there almost all day. I look at my watch and see that it’s four forty-five. I didn’t expect an answer today, but I did expect some kind of response or even a reaction.
“Would we have done better in Geneva?” I wonder aloud.
I’m practically running when something slams into my chest. Automatically, I reach my arms out and wrap them around the person. Immediately, my nose is filled with lavender and vanilla as I breathe the woman in my arms in. Her soft curves are now plastered to me.
“Ow, shit,” a feminine yet husky voice says, muffled by my chest. There is a hint of an accent, but I can’t place it.
I look down at the same moment; deep green eyes look up and meet mine. I am mesmerized by her beauty. I’ve never seen anyone so achingly beautiful, but it’s more than that. Her eyes. I could drown in them and die happy. I smile, but she does not. Her eyes widen in fear… maybe, but no, it’s recognition. She extracts herself from my arms, and I mourn the loss of her.
She executes a deep curtsey. A skilled one at that. Who the hell has she been bending at the knee for? I find that I don’t like the thought of that.
“You don’t have to do that, Miss,” I say, reaching for her again. I pull her up to her full height. “I’m not your king.”
She stares at me, her full bottom lip parts from her equally full top lip.
“Aren’t you?” she asks.
“You’re American, aren’t you?”
“I am,” she says.
“Then unfortunately, I am not your king.”
“Let’s agree to disagree,” she says, tucking a strand of wayward hair behind her ear. She intrigues me, and women do not intrigue me.
“You have me at a disadvantage. What is your name?”
“Ashlee Bernadette Beaufort,” she says, curtseying again. I hear Sandrine giggle behind me. I throw up a hand to silence her.
“George Alexander Dax Garnier, King of Uskia, at your service,” I say, offering her a bow. I don’t bow to anyone these days, so I am unsure why I feel the urge to bow to her. My queen, my mind shouts at me.
Oh, fuck.
“Your Highness, we must get you back to the hotel. You are having dinner with the mayor in an hour.”
“Right. Of course. Miss… it is Miss isn’t it?” I ask, scanning her hand for a wedding ring, finding none.
“Yes. I am not married.”
“Good. Good,” I reply, and she raises her eyebrow at me.
“Join me for dinner?” I ask, not wanting her out of my sight.
“Uh… with Mayor Marks?” she asks.