court.
Prince Harold was away on a visit to southern Europe, so the only other member of the family I had yet to meet formally was George. I was about to ask Stephen where the king’s eldest son was, when there was a little commotion at the end of the room, and I turned to see Aleksey enter. The smile that had begun to creep over my face at seeing someone I was beginning to think of as an ally, even a possible friend, faded, leaving a slightly sick feeling in my stomach. A striking, beautiful young woman accompanied Aleksey down the room. They were arm in arm. I could not deny they made a stunningly attractive couple as, indeed, nature intended.
Stephen was tugging my arm. I ignored him, then changed my mind and asked in sotto voce, “Who is that with Prince Christian?”
He looked faintly amazed and then replied, “That’s Princess Anastasia,” as if he were surprised I could walk and talk at the same time, being so impaired as to not know the name of this apparition.
The paragon and her escort reached us. I bowed low. Aleksey waited until I’d straightened and then said rather grandly, “Doctor, may I introduce the Princess Anastasia,” and added after a slightly telling pause, “my fiancée.”
I gave him an open, unreadable look and turned to her. I went against all my better nature and used and abused the power I knew I had. I smiled; I had perfect teeth too. I spoke; I was educated and traveled, clever and witty. I charmed; I was amusing and self-deprecating. I totally and deliberately ignored Aleksey, and within half an hour I had the princess on my arm, and we were taking a slow turn around the room.
To my great disgust, Anastasia was utterly delightful. She was unassuming, funny, intelligent, and surprisingly independent. She was from Vienna, which helped. She didn’t appreciate Hesse-Davia and its antiquated ways much either, although when I told her some of what I had seen on my journey—obviously not the final and worst horror—she was appalled. Much of the poverty and degradation had been hidden from her. She had gained most of her impressions of the country from her maids, with whom she seemed to have a very forward relationship: they gossiped like sisters.
I had been in the castle almost five hours, and I was beginning to regret my sleepless night and very hurried breakfast. I felt an unreasoned and unjustifiable anger at everything, but I could not discern its provenance other than hunger and fatigue. To say something, rather than allow the silence to say what I did not mean it to, I asked politely, “When is the wedding to be held? Surely not in the winter?”
“Wedding?”
I frowned. “Your wedding to Al—to His Royal Highness Prince Christian.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me. In the spring. As you say, winters here are very unfortunate. We could not travel on our wedding tour in the winter.”
“Have you been here long?”
“Forever.” She pouted a little and added, “I came here when I was fourteen.” Seeing my hesitation, she helped out, “I have been here five years.”
“Five years!”
She chuckled and patted my arm again. Strangely, it was not patronizing. “I have a very fortunate life, Doctor. God has blessed me.”
I wondered whether she meant by being engaged to Aleksey. I could see how she might think this. I glanced around to see where he was. He was watching us, leaning in a very unroyal manner against the wall, the wolf lying alert at his feet. For a moment I thought Aleksey’s eyes were on me, but clearly they would not be, for I was walking with his beautiful bride to be. I suggested that if we made for the table, some food might appear, and she sighed softly. “I’m afraid we are all waiting for George. Nothing will happen until George arrives.”
She was right. Half an hour later, His Royal Highness Prince George did arrive. He marched in, demanded to know why luncheon was not already served, and sat down at the head of the table. I wondered
Prince Harold was away on a visit to southern Europe, so the only other member of the family I had yet to meet formally was George. I was about to ask Stephen where the king’s eldest son was, when there was a little commotion at the end of the room, and I turned to see Aleksey enter. The smile that had begun to creep over my face at seeing someone I was beginning to think of as an ally, even a possible friend, faded, leaving a slightly sick feeling in my stomach. A striking, beautiful young woman accompanied Aleksey down the room. They were arm in arm. I could not deny they made a stunningly attractive couple as, indeed, nature intended.
Stephen was tugging my arm. I ignored him, then changed my mind and asked in sotto voce, “Who is that with Prince Christian?”
He looked faintly amazed and then replied, “That’s Princess Anastasia,” as if he were surprised I could walk and talk at the same time, being so impaired as to not know the name of this apparition.
The paragon and her escort reached us. I bowed low. Aleksey waited until I’d straightened and then said rather grandly, “Doctor, may I introduce the Princess Anastasia,” and added after a slightly telling pause, “my fiancée.”
I gave him an open, unreadable look and turned to her. I went against all my better nature and used and abused the power I knew I had. I smiled; I had perfect teeth too. I spoke; I was educated and traveled, clever and witty. I charmed; I was amusing and self-deprecating. I totally and deliberately ignored Aleksey, and within half an hour I had the princess on my arm, and we were taking a slow turn around the room.
To my great disgust, Anastasia was utterly delightful. She was unassuming, funny, intelligent, and surprisingly independent. She was from Vienna, which helped. She didn’t appreciate Hesse-Davia and its antiquated ways much either, although when I told her some of what I had seen on my journey—obviously not the final and worst horror—she was appalled. Much of the poverty and degradation had been hidden from her. She had gained most of her impressions of the country from her maids, with whom she seemed to have a very forward relationship: they gossiped like sisters.
I had been in the castle almost five hours, and I was beginning to regret my sleepless night and very hurried breakfast. I felt an unreasoned and unjustifiable anger at everything, but I could not discern its provenance other than hunger and fatigue. To say something, rather than allow the silence to say what I did not mean it to, I asked politely, “When is the wedding to be held? Surely not in the winter?”
“Wedding?”
I frowned. “Your wedding to Al—to His Royal Highness Prince Christian.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me. In the spring. As you say, winters here are very unfortunate. We could not travel on our wedding tour in the winter.”
“Have you been here long?”
“Forever.” She pouted a little and added, “I came here when I was fourteen.” Seeing my hesitation, she helped out, “I have been here five years.”
“Five years!”
She chuckled and patted my arm again. Strangely, it was not patronizing. “I have a very fortunate life, Doctor. God has blessed me.”
I wondered whether she meant by being engaged to Aleksey. I could see how she might think this. I glanced around to see where he was. He was watching us, leaning in a very unroyal manner against the wall, the wolf lying alert at his feet. For a moment I thought Aleksey’s eyes were on me, but clearly they would not be, for I was walking with his beautiful bride to be. I suggested that if we made for the table, some food might appear, and she sighed softly. “I’m afraid we are all waiting for George. Nothing will happen until George arrives.”
She was right. Half an hour later, His Royal Highness Prince George did arrive. He marched in, demanded to know why luncheon was not already served, and sat down at the head of the table. I wondered
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