Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 68691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
And she smiled at me, a sparkle returning to her eye.
“Honey, you’re very flattering but I’m in my forties now, hardly a spring chicken,” she said mischievously. “Besides, when do you guys get knighted? Is that what you call it? Knighted?”
And I laughed. I was glad the depressing mood had passed, that Violet was back to her old self.
“The ceremony’s going to start in a few minutes, and no, we’re not being knighted. We’re being inducted into a brotherhood, the brotherhood of Legionnaires, personal body men for the royal family. Like the Secret Service is for the president, except here, we’re body men for the Crown Prince.”
And that made my mom’s head turn.
“Is he here?” she said, scanning the crowd, her eyes curious. “Is Prince Kristian here? I don’t see him.”
I just shook my head. I didn’t blame her for her interest. Kristian was our boss after all, so she wanted to get a look, and for a lot of women he was a full-on heartthrob, a Prince Charming straight out of the storybooks. No joke, the dude’s got groupies, screaming women who show up at his public events, begging for autographs. It’s bad sometimes, it’s embarrassing when the Prince was trying to have a serious conversation about nuclear disarmament and there are middle-aged ladies a few hundred feet away with posters reading, “I LOVE THE PRINCE,” and “KRISTIAN TAKE ME, I’M YOURS!” But he handled it well, all in a day’s work after all.
So I pointed him out.
“He’s over there,” I said, gesturing to the left, “See right there, among that gaggle of women.”
And my mom looked long and hard, her face expressionless before breaking out into a glowing smile.
“He’s so handsome, and he looks just like you,” she breathed softly. “Just like you and Kato.”
That was true, more than a few people had commented on our resemblance to Kristian, but then again, we’re all tall and built with black hair and blue eyes – hardly unique, you just had to look close to see differences. But this was my mom, and I humored her.
“Yeah, we’re almost like triplets, right?” I teased.
And my mom took a deep breath, frozen, before turning to us again.
“Right, triplets,” she said softly.
But then trumpets started up and the moment passed, the blaring notes announcing the start of the ceremony.
“We gotta go,” I called to Violet, heading to a stairwell with my brother. “But you can watch from below, don’t worry you’ll be able to see everything.”
And Violet nodded, her eyes sparkling, but also wistful and sad at the same time. I thought I saw a sheen of tears but that was to be expected. After all, her twin sons were moving on, moving onto a new life, a new woman, and a new job. It was all new beginnings from here on out … and yet there was so much to remember.
KRISTIAN
My dad was staring at himself in the mirror as we waited in a hallway, ready to be called out onto the dais. He brushed his grey hair this way and that, rearranging the wispy strands over his bald spot.
“Looking good big guy,” he muttered to himself, “looking good.”
And I shrugged. Georg wasn’t looking good, he was fifty and overweight, with a huge paunch and scrawny legs, but that wasn’t my problem. After all, the King did what he wanted and no one could tell him otherwise.
“Come on,” I gestured to my two body men. “It’s about to start.”
And Kato and Karl made their way forward slowly, their imposing frames heavy and athletic, stepping out from the shadows. They remained still, silent, their faces impassive, impossible to read.
Because Karl and Kato always been curiously quiet around the King. It’s not that they’re rude or insolent or any unprofessional shit like that, it’s that they don’t say much, don’t show much. I’ve always chalked it up to being professional soldiers. Combat makes men hard, I’ve seen it with the vets that I work with, and I guess the hardness can set in early, forming an impenetrable shell. Well, they’d loosen up over time. The quality of our lives with Tina was a balm to our souls, her energy, her light so amazing and uplifting at once, we found ourselves laughing without realizing why sometimes.
And at that moment, the trumpets stopped playing, the crowd growing hushed. That was our cue. My dad and I stepped onto the dais, looking out over the crowd below, Georg all smiles, jovial and red-faced.
“My people,” he declared, waving an arm expansively. “Thank you for joining us at the marvelous event. The White Gala is a tribute to the greatness of St. Venetia, our city-state’s gallant history and rapturous future.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Most likely, Dad had written the speech himself, it was so ridiculous. Gallant history? Rapturous future? It was so flowery, so over-the-top, so one hundred percent Georg.