Royally Knocked Up by Pamela DuMond

Chapter 4

Royal Nana’s ‘meeting’ was held in one of the palace’s more casual living rooms. A fire crackled in the large fieldstone fireplace. Sofas and easy chairs rested on plush green, dark red, and gold-accented tapestry carpets that adorned dark hardwood floors. A uniformed server manned a long table in the room’s corner, which held a buffet of hot and cold dishes, petit sandwiches, and an assortment of beverages. The usual array of royal suspects was in attendance: the king and queen, a few advisors, and one bejeweled, robed asshat. The man who ruined my life: Archbishop Causesdesperdues.

I debated whether to toss hunks of green Jello at his head when he wasn’t looking, or accidentally dump a cold lager on his lap, but I had to play it cool and it was killing me. So I kept my nose down and followed after Cristoph like a puppy, hoping he’d find a way to distract me and keep me somewhat sane. He juggled three plates at the buffet table while the attendant ladled food onto them. “Do you want some help?” I asked. Give me something to do, I was co-dependent, please let me be helpful, it saved me.

“Sure,” he said. “Take a dish to Royal Nana while I grab us drinks.”

“I’d like a few meatballs and a dollop of the green sauce,” Royal Nana said from across the room. “I checked out the buffet on the way in. I suspect the chunky green stuff is saag paneer. It’s rich, and filled with unnecessary calories, but a girl needs to live every now and again.” She smiled and waggled her eyebrows.

Cristoph stared down at the serving dish. “The green stuff is peas.”

“Never mind, then,” Nana said. “I’ll take the cold cuts, but only if they’re fresh and still cold.”

Cristoph tossed a few turkey slices onto the plate, swiveled toward me, and I scooped two dishes from his outstretched hands.

“Thank you, Cristoph,” Royal Nana said. “You’re my favorite grandson.”

“I thought Nick was your favorite grandson.” I deposited both plates on a tray table erected in front of the loveseat she was sitting on.

“Here’s the trick, Lucy,” Queen Cheree said. “Nana’s ‘favorite’ changes daily.”

“Sometimes even hourly,” King Frederick said, sawing into his rectangular chunk of lasagna.

“I like to be fair,” Royal Nana said. “I’m an equal opportunity grandmother.”

“Not all that fair,” Queen Cheree said.

“Let it go,” King Frederick said, and patted her knee.

I unwrapped the napkin rolled tightly around the silverware, shook it out, and smoothed it onto Royal Nana’s lap. I arranged the cutlery in its proper place— knife and spoon on the right, big fork, smaller fork, smallest fork on the left. I sat next to her on the loveseat, grabbed my plate, and balanced it on my knees.

“You’re a sweet girl,” Royal Nana said. She stared at me with her crystal blue eyes, the same color Nick inherited, and I couldn’t help but wonder where he was. Had he eaten? Did he have a warm blanket? Was he able to sleep? Did he miss me as much as I missed him? Would I ever find my way back into his strong, protective arms? “Thank you.”

“Have you figured out which of my grandsons you want to marry?”

I swallowed hard. “I’m already married to Nick.”

“Actually you’re not,” the Archbishop said.

I seethed, and reached for a meatball on my plate. Discretely, I cocked my arm back, and aimed for the man of the cloth.

“Lucy!” Cristoph said.

“Fine,” I grumbled. I dropped it, and wiped my hand on a napkin.

“I’m not here to shoot the breeze,” Royal Nana said. “What are we going to do about the miscreant, the ne’er do well, the opportunist, the would-be thief, the interloper, the bottom dweller who is trying to steal our throne? I won’t have it! Why aren’t you more concerned, Frederick?”

“I am very concerned, mother. But if I don’t finish my lasagna while it’s warm, I’ll still be concerned but I’ll also be hungry. I think better with food in my belly.”

“He does,” Queen Cheree said.

Royal Nana sighed. “This is less about your belly and more about the fate of Fredonia, as well as my beloved grandsons.”

“The would-be usurper claims the marriage was legitimate, even though it lasted only a week,” Archbishop Causesdesperdues said.

The pompous, corpulent priest, who probably hadn’t worked out in half a century, let alone thought about it, leaned forward on a cushy wingback chair next to the fireplace munching baby back ribs. BBQ sauce smeared across his thin lips and dribbled down his chin.

I hated him with the fire of a thousand furnaces. “Because you’re such an expert at deciding whose marriage is legitimate.” I glared at him, fantasizing that he would erupt in flames, crackle, singe, turn black, and the last bit of him would explode like a marshmallow left to roast too long over the fire.

“The usurper claims that he was the result of that short lived union.” The Archbishop’s tongue snaked out of his mouth trying to lick a trail of sauce. But the juice was making a run for it, dripping onto the sleeves of his ornate, satin robes. I doubted they were machine washable and I stifled a giggle.

“Lucy!” Cristoph shook his head, pressing a finger to his lips.

I rolled my eyes. “What I meant to say was…OMG! A secret royal baby! That’s only done in romance novels, I should know I read them—it’s practically a trope.”

“Cristoph,” Royal Nana said, clinking the fork against her white china plate. “I don’t see any peas. I asked for peas. You know how I love the peas.”

“You didn’t want the peas, Nana.” He walked toward me holding two lagers in one hand and a plate in the other.

“Thanks,” I said, pushing myself off the small couch, and taking one of the drinks. “Sit. I’ll get the peas.”

“Some scalloped potatoes, too, Lucy,” she said. “The browned ones. Not the white ones swimming in sauce.”

“Right. I hate those too.”

Cristoph plopped down on the couch across from his grandmother and gazed up at King Frederick seated across from him in a wingback chair. “Dad. What do we know about this guy?”

“Duke Michael Charles Perris of Knottingwood. I haven’t met the charlatan yet, but I fear this is the reason why Nick has been imprisoned.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Queen Cheree clucked under her breath. “Do you know for certain, Frederick, that Knottingwood is not your son? Have you tested his DNA?”

“No,” he sighed.

“I call shenanigans,” Royal Nana said, as I dropped off a fresh plate onto her folding tray.

“I wish I could say the same,” Cristoph said. “I was alerted to his claim the same night Lucy and Nick got married.”

“I knew something was up. You looked worried during the reception,” Royal Nana said, “even frowning when you bit into the wedding cake. I wondered if Lucy should have selected the lemon cake with vanilla icing instead of the banana crème. I too suspected that the bananas wouldn’t be in season this time of year.”

“I didn’t share the bad news, as it would only concern Lucy and Nick on their wedding night,” Cristoph said.

“You and I can talk about what ‘concerned’ Nick and Lucy on their wedding night at a different time,” Royal Nana said. “You’re in your twenties, Cristoph. I’m surprised that your parents haven’t yet shared the ‘Special Things Happen on a Wedding Night’ talk with you.”

Cristoph blushed. “That’s not what I meant!”

“You see what I’ve been dealing with all these years?” Queen Cheree said, and rolled her eyes.

Esmeralda swept into the room accompanied by Captain Sam on her heels. “Apologies. I was unavoidably detained.” She stared back at the hunky military man in a uniform, pointed to the red smudge on his cheek that matched the shade of her lipstick. “You have a little...”

“I suspected.” He wiped his cheek.

“Esmeralda you’re here!” I said. “And you brought Captain Sam. I thought—”

“We had a hard, long, negotiation, and have come to an understanding,” she said. “No more mixing business with pleasure.”

“Right,” Captain Sam said and stared at his feet.

“I’ve been thinking about the best way to track down this shameless would-be thief,” Royal Nana said. “Unlike our former problem with the priest impersonator, this runs deeper. This isn’t a simple mistake, but a conspiracy, a full-blown attempt to steal the keys of the kingdom. It was my realm before it was Frederick’s and I will not allow it to be robbed by some cheap wannabe with a phony sounding name.”

“Hear-hear!” King Frederick said.

“Stop worrying about this, Nana,” Queen Cheree said. “We don’t want your blood pressure to spike. Frederick will send his people—”

“Frederick’s people are already behind the learning curve. Esmeralda, as you might suspect, has gotten more heavily involved with the L.S.A. over the past year. I’m turning my control of tonight’s meeting, as well as the investigation over to her.”

“What’s L.S.A.?” I asked.

“The Ladies-In-Spying Agency.” Cristoph stood up and nodded toward the door. “Hey, I need to talk with you privately.”

“Okay.” I followed him toward the door at the far end of the room, and handed my dish to the server.

“Thanks to my connections at L.S.A. I have preliminary investigative findings.” Esmeralda pulled out a thumb drive and iPad from her purse and connected them. “But, as always, I’m happy to defer to King Frederick.”

“You’re a smart cookie,” King Frederick said. “Show us what you have.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Lucy, kill the lights on your way out.”

“Sure,” I said and flipped the ten switches on the wall.

Cristoph exited the room and beckoned to me.

“A moment,” I said, curious.

Esmeralda pointed to a surveillance photograph illuminated on the wall. “Based on my preliminary investigations, Knottingwood was recently spotted at Baden –Baden, Germany, frequenting the resort town’s many spas. He enjoyed the warm mineral baths at Du bist Ein, took in the mud massage at Das es Gut Spa, and was man-scaped at Shatzi Struedel.”

“I had that done to my yard at the chateaux in Friedricksburgh,” Royal Nana said. “It’s not cheap you know.”

“That’s completely different…” Queen Cheree said. “ Oh, never mind.”

“He’s a man who enjoys comforts of the flesh,” Esmeralda said.

“Don’t we all,” Archbishop Causesdesperdues said, and bit into another BBQ’d rib.

* * *

Iwalked with Cristoph down a corridor when it dawned on me that I’d paced this exact spot a few years prior. It was during the trying on of the bridal gowns and bridesmaid dresses event that Queen Cheree hosted when I was impersonating Lady Elizabeth Billingsley, and preparing to marry Cristoph.

I remember being exhausted and overwhelmed with keeping up appearances. So I wriggled off the expensive, silk, mermaid-style bridal gown and handed it to an assistant. I made a few excuses and left the festivities, all the people, the fabulous cocktails, and appetizers. I wandered down the hallway until I found a private spot to phone my BFF back in Chicago. Alida and I chit-chatted like we always did, and it felt so warm and soothing to be back in the company—even if it was only long distance—of a trustworthy friend.

Everything seemed complex and confusing back then, but now I found myself thinking that those might have been simpler times. I had a job that paid me a pretty penny, was forced to wear clothes that cost more than what I spent on rent in a year, and was falling in love with a handsome prince while fighting off the advances of another. Except for the people trying to murder me, was life really all that bad?

“So there’s this thing that I have to tell you,” Cristoph said as we turned a corner. “It’s embarrassing. I’d prefer it remain a secret, and hope you never stumble across the truth. But then I’d be a shifty man harboring critical information, and untold truths tend to fester until they become actual lies. And, as is often the case with people in power— the very same people that others look up to—the lies grow bigger, more scandal-worthy, dig a hole in one’s gut, and haunt the person hiding them.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for a hole in your intestines,” I said. “Tell me.”

“I found out about Michael Charles Perris of Knottingwood and his claim to the royal Fredonia throne while at your wedding reception in Cortina. I was rattled, wondering if I should share it with Nick, because it involved not only the future of Fredonia, but our lives as well.”

“We’re grown ups,” I said. “Why didn’t you?”

“Your wedding dance. The band played ‘At Last.’ Nick held out his hand to you and you smiled but shook your head.”

“I was on crutches with a sprained ankle. I couldn’t dance.”

“But Nicholas was determined. I saw that look on his face as he talked you into taking his hand and helped you stand up. He wrapped his arms around your waist, held you tight to him, your feet off the ground, as he waltzed you around the dance floor.”

“I insisted he put me down, immediately.”

He shook his head. “You giggled and kissed his cheek.”

“I told him he was being reckless, and that I wouldn’t be responsible if he threw his back out.”

“You laid your head on his shoulder and smiled. Just like the smile you’re wearing right now.”

“How do you remember all this stuff?”

“It was only a month ago.”

“Not the time. The details.”

“I don’t forget the details, Lucy.” He regarded me with a curious look. “I never forget the details when it comes to matters of the heart. I’m not embarrassed that my brother is unapologetically sentimental.”

“I love that about him.”

“Me too. I decided not to tell Nick about Perris’s claims. I wanted to give him a night off, not carry on palace business. Let him enjoy his wedding, simply be the proud groom marrying the beautiful girl on a snowy, winter wedding day.”

“You sound a bit sentimental as well, buddy. You’re always so busy with politics and errands. Traveling here, going there, I’m surprised you even thought about us.”

“Your welfare always concerns me. After your dance, Nick took me aside and confided that he wanted to spend the few hours leave he had from guard duty with you. He requested a favor. I told him yes.”

“What was the favor?”

“He wanted me to file your marital paperwork with the proper court clerk and ensure your union would be legal in the eyes of the church as well as the state. I told him I’d have someone take care of it, but he made me promise to personally travel down to the registrar’s office to guarantee everything was properly executed.”

“But you didn’t do it. Something came up. I know. You slept with someone you met at the wedding. That’s what you’re here to tell me. That’s why things got mucked up.”

“No. I didn’t sleep with anyone at your wedding. I wish I had.” He shook his head. “Regretfully, I did exactly as asked. One of my guards accompanied me down the mountain. We drove through thick snow, braved icy roads. We navigated the crappy traffic in town, waited in line at the proper hole-in-the-wall office. I posed with a few women for selfies, and then, for the heck of it, pulled the document out of the manila envelope and checked it. I realized that there was a problem and thought my eyes would pop out of my head.” He opened a door and gestured for me to go first.

“What was the problem?” I walked down a flight of wooden stairs. The air grew cooler and damp around us.

He flicked on the lights and I realized we were in a cellar of sorts, probably under one of the numerous palace kitchens. Bins of vegetables and boxes of groceries were stacked along one wall, and a few refrigerators lined another. Two orange tabby kittens jumped from box to box, sniffing the containers.

“A signature was missing. An important signature.” Cristoph paced across the cellar floor, disappearing into its darkness. I heard the flick of a switch and the second half of the basement illuminated.

Funny, usually I just noted Nick and Cristoph’s differences and forgot their similarities. The brothers, Queen Cheree’s ‘Irish twins’, were born ten months apart. One was blonde, the other sported dark hair, but both were devastatingly handsome. Nick was a smart-ass, slicing foolish arguments with adversaries with his rapier-sharp words. Cristoph was more of a thrill-seeker; jumping out of helicopters to ski the tallest mountains, and scuba diving in treacherous underwater caves. But in the harsh glare of this light, Cristoph looked so very much like Nick, and I couldn’t help but wonder about his question.

What if things had been different between us on our first encounter?

I met Cristoph when I posed as Lady Elizabeth Billingsley. My job entailed keeping him occupied until the real Elizabeth could return to Fredonia, accept his marriage proposal, and fulfill the business deal that tied their two families together. I stepped out of the plane onto the tarmac in Fredonia’s capital city Sauerhausen and was met with a marching band, handsome, blond Cristoph carrying flowers, and holding a small, black velvet box that I suspected carried an engagement ring. But even though it was very early in the game, my heart was already captured by Fredonia’s younger prince—Nicholas.

And now I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if I had met Cristoph before I fell for Nick? He was smart, and kind, and more sentimental than I ever gave him credit for.

He stopped and stared at me, and I feared he was going to ask me that question again. Was I attracted to him? Who wouldn’t be attracted to him? His mother? His grandmother? A patch of raindrops pooled on the sidewalk? I suspected that puddle wouldn’t stand a chance in Cristoph’s presence—it would heat up, turn into steam, and mist away. Was the universe, or God, or the Saint of Single Women Everywhere trying to give me a clue? Like, maybe it was time to give up on my dreams of Happily Ever After with Nicholas? Perhaps I was supposed to be Moderately Contented Thereafter with Cristoph?

But that seemed so unfair, a cruel twist of fate, and I didn’t think my heart could go along with the change of plan. I wouldn’t give up my Nicholas for his older brother, even if I was legally married to him. I needed to speak up, be brave, put this uncomfortable inquiry to bed, and answer him once and for all. “About your question—”

“You’re lagging behind… what question?”

“Um… the question in my brain that made me wonder when you were going to turn on the lights. Why else would I be dallying? Who wants to walk around in a basement in the dark? No one. Ever. Not even the bad guys. Not even serial killers want to walk around in dark basements. It’s probably just as scary for them as it is for the rest of us.”

Maybe now wasn’t the best time to have this conversation with Cristoph. Some things were better off delayed, like waiting for dough to rise or, if you were a five-year-old, trying to sleep on Christmas Eve.

“Serial killers are not scared of dark basements,” Cristoph said.

“Of course they are. Everyone is.”

“They’re not.”

“I bet even serial killers turn on the lights when they walk into a dark basement unless they’re like that guy from ‘Silence of the Lambs’ who had night goggles. Not everyone—abracadabra—magically has night goggles you know. Who didn’t sign our marriage license? Was it the priest?” I walked toward him. “What is wrong with the men of the cloth now days? Don’t they have to go to priest school to learn how to do this shit? So help me God, if one more religious official screws something up, I’m going to kill—”

“Not the priest,” Cristoph said, approaching another doorway, a square shaped call button jutting out from the adjacent wall.

“Whose signature was missing?”

“Nick’s.”

My hand flew to my chest. “Nicholas didn’t sign the marriage license?”

He shook his head, and pressed the buttons on the call square. “I’m afraid not.” A buzzer sounded, followed by a low click as the door unlatched. Cristoph pushed it open, and gestured for me to go first.

I walked through the doorway. “We were so busy getting married and had a narrow window for hot sex—I mean catching up before he had to return to guard duty. I’m sure it was an oversight.”

“That’s exactly what I thought. The weather forecast for Cortina predicted another snowstorm. Nick had already flown out. You and the ladies were at the inn packing to travel back to Fredonia. I was expecting a thick packet of evidence coming in about Douche – I mean Duke Michael Charles Perris of Knottingwood. I wanted to do the right thing for everyone, but honestly, I just needed to get the job done and get out of there.”

The orange kittens had followed us and now they were fighting, spitting, and hissing at each other. The bigger one clawed the tinier one, and it jumped up into the air and howled, which sounded more like “eep”, and raced off. The larger fur baby regarded the other one victoriously then licked his paws. A bad feeling bubbled up within me like acid reflux, and I was super glad I didn’t eat that suspicious looking meatball. “What did you do, Cristoph?”

“The clerk at the office called my number. And I thought who’s going to know? Who would ever find out? I walked up to the female clerk standing behind the triple paned glass, borrowed the pen chained to the countertop, signed your marriage license, and passed it to the woman through the transom under the security window.”

“What happened next?” My pulse started to race, just like those kittens.

“She looked at my signature, narrowed her eyes, and stared at me, like the way you check out the bags of lettuce on sale at the supermarket. Why are they on sale, you wonder? You know the expiration date is probably seconds away, but you’re still tempted.”

“What did you do?”

“I pondered a way to avert the clerk’s attention. And then I went with my signature move.”

“You slept with her?”

“No. I asked if she wanted to take a selfie with me. She did. We posed, smiled, and snapped a few pics. Then I left. I felt a little nervous about the deception, but at the time it seemed like everything turned out just fine.”

“Wait a minute. You signed our marriage certificate?”

He nodded. “I did.”

I exhaled. Everything would be okay. Cristoph had punted. “You went out of your way to help us out. You were sweet and kind to everyone. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Something went wrong. Nick’s in jail, an intruder’s at the gate, and I have to cop to the fact that I was distracted. I dropped the ball.”

“How bad could it be? We’ll just pull one of the originals at some point in time and have Nick initial next to the signature to be on the safe side.”

“Therein lies a rather large and insurmountable problem. I didn’t sign Nick’s name.”

I felt myself turn hot, then cold, and then hot again. I fanned my face. “Whose name did you sign?”

“My name. Prince Cristoph Edward George Timmel the Third of Fredonia.”

“Which means… I leaned back against a wall and slid down until my ass hit the cement. “Oh fuckity fuck. I am legally married to you.”