Author's Note: This story was created for the HODOWE: International Left-handers Day Challenge and focuses on the concept of "left-handedness" related to a morganatic marriage.
The dream is his real life; the world around him is the dream.
~~~Michel de Montaigne
The Cinderfella Affair
by LaH
February 1955
U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters in New York City
There was an undeniable spring in the step of Napoleon Solo as he walked down one of the many gunmetal-hued corridors in the North American headquarters of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Life for him was currently good, actually much better than good. He had recently started on a career as an enforcement agent, a career that provided him in its philosophical concepts an outlet for his most altruistic and humanitarian tendencies while giving him in the form of physical action the kick of ready adrenaline he unthinkingly craved. And that profession also made full use of his quite uncanny ability to strategize in often unconventional ways. What more could a man honestly ask of the vocation he had chosen for himself?
Now to top it all off there was Clara Richards, the young woman who had taken a firm grip on his heart. The two of them had been friends since childhood, but the heady emotional intoxicant of romance had recently entered into that already secure relationship. Today was the first Valentine's Day they were going to spend as a "couple", and he had definite plans in the works. He had even managed to land a half-day off and thus would be on his way to pick up Clara for their tryst in just a couple more hours. His mood was so upbeat; it was all he could do to keep from whistling as he walked toward the office of Alexander Waverly, the Continental Chief of U.N.C.L.E.'s North American division.
And that was another thing for him to be pleased about: he had been summoned to Mr. Waverly's office for a mission briefing. This was in no way, shape or form usual. Though he was Section II, he was just getting his feet wet in the espionage business, having been an agent for less than two months. He had graduated from Survival School top of his class; in fact top of any class to date. His commission into Section II had been immediate and his assignment into the New York main office had been an added mark of achievement. But of course he was yet "low on the totem pole" and his duties thus far had been as back-up to men more experienced in the vagaries of keeping world order. Yet today he had been especially sent for by Mr. Waverly himself. That could only mean a more sensitive and thus important task was being assigned him. Something to employ all his many talents, both those naturally come by and those rigorously learned within the confines of the Command's tough training school. And he was ready for the challenge; he was more than ready. Yes, life at this moment was downright grand!
"Ah, Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly greeted him as he entered through the auto-pneumatic doors into the confines of the chief's private domain. "Please take a seat."
"Sir," acknowledged Napoleon respectfully as he sat down in an available chair before the round desk-cum-conference table, nodding a silent hail to the other man already seated, Jake Sterrelis, the current head of Section II and his own direct supervisor.
"It has come to my attention, Mr. Solo, that your grandfather on your mother's side was none other than Franklin Milbourne, one of this country's most honored diplomats," Waverly commenced the briefing.
"Yes sir," responded Napoleon perfunctorily. This fact was no secret. It was indeed a matter of record in his personnel file, the entirety of which even the greenstick agent had no doubt the extraordinarily well-informed head of Section I knew backwards as well as forwards.
"And that he did at one time serve as U.S. Ambassador to Italy," Waverly went on.
"Yes sir, until he was recalled home when the tensions between the United States and Italy became too pronounced during World War II."
"Just so, just so," Waverly agreed with a nod. "And that, during the timeframe of his ambassadorship, you were a member of the embassy household."
"Sir," interjected Napoleon in some confusion, "my grandfather was my legal guardian from just a few months after my birth. Thus wherever his diplomatic career took him, I was a member of that household. This is, I'm sure, not unknown to you, so I fail to understand—"
"You know of the nation of Nascoste I take it, Mr. Solo?" Waverly interrupted.
"An island sovereignty between Italy and Albania in the Adriatic Sea."
"Yes, a sovereignty, Mr. Solo, recently coming under the rule of Grand Princess Abriana."
"So I heard on the news."
"You are acquainted with the Grand Princess, Mr. Solo."
It wasn't a question and thus it puzzled Napoleon. "Sir?" he found himself querying in return.
"When you were eight years old and residing as part of your grandfather's household in the U.S. Embassy in Rome, you escorted the then seven-year-old Crown Princess, who had lost her way in the huge compound, back to the apartments where her father, Grand Prince Adalfieri, was being temporarily housed during a weeklong diplomatic conference."
Napoleon blinked. The specific memory did indeed come back to him, but how in the world had Waverly known about such an insignificant incident in his past?
"I… uh… Yes sir," was all he could manage to stumble out.
"The Grand Princess remembers you fondly," put in Sterrelis now.
"She… What?" questioned a now completely nonplussed Napoleon as he glanced back-and-forth between the faces of his boss and his boss' boss.
Act I: Once upon a time…
"Let me explain it all to you in more detail, Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly submitted easily as he reached for his favorite pipe.
"That would be appreciated, sir."
Napoleon watched in quiet anxiety as the Continental Chief leisurely packed his preferred pipe with his personal blend of Isle of Dogs 22 tobacco and, once it was filled to his liking, lit the contents of the bowl. The Number 1 in Section I then took a long and unhurried puff before he began his explanation.
"We have reason to believe that Thrush is in Nascoste at this time attempting an extension of influence, shall we call it, through the royal family itself."
"Ah. So you're hoping to somehow counter-influence the Grand Princess into seeing the ultimate negative of Thrush's machinations? The hollowness of any splendid promises they may make?"
Waverly put up a hand in warning as he took another though much shorter draw on his pipe. "Do not attempt to get ahead of me, young man."
"Sorry, sir," apologized the chastened Napoleon.
"It is not the Grand Princess whose loyalty Thrush is attempting to woo. That young woman has been bred in the intricacies of ruling politics and is not easily cajoled into releasing a sure hand on any reins of government. But the Grand Princess has a younger sister…"
"The Princess Adjuvant Donjeta," Jake supplied readily when it appeared Mr. Waverly might be at a bit of a loss regarding the name and official title of the royal in question.
"Not quite nineteen and wayward as a wild mare," continued Waverly, skillfully weaving in the timely interjection of his Number 1 in Section II as if it was but a planned part of his own discourse. "And it is this young woman in whom the circling Thrush is sinking its claws."
"She has taken as a close political mentor one Zamir Continetti," Sterrelis took up the account. "His connections to Thrush are a bit vague, but nonetheless very much traceable. Of course, since the Grand Princess is not yet wed and therefore has no legitimate offspring, the Princess Adjuvant is next in line to the throne."
"Correct me if I am misstating the obvious," put in Napoleon, "but didn't Grand Princess Abriana just turn twenty-one earlier this month? She has plenty of time to settle down and produce a slew of royal progeny."
"No doubt, Mr. Solo," agreed Mr. Waverly, "but Thrush would undoubtedly prefer Princess Adjuvant Donjeta remain the heir apparent."
"You think they will make an attempt on the life of the Grand Princess?"
"Not at this time, Mr. Solo. It would smack of… being too suspiciously auspicious a turn in events. It would put all Thrush's cards face up on the table, so to speak."
Napoleon pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand hoping to combat the onset symptoms of a headache. Just what he didn't need with all the special plans he had for tonight.
"What has any of this to do with me, Mr. Waverly?" Napoleon finally demanded a bit testily. "If I may be so bold as to ask," he then tempered the bluntness of his inquiry.
Waverly turned his gaze toward Sterrelis and nodded shortly. Jake took a deep breath and then revealed with deliberate emphasis, "Princess Adjuvant Donjeta would be officially recognized as the Crown Princess if her older sister was to marry against the succession laws of Nascoste."
Napoleon simply stared blankly at the Chief Enforcement Agent. He still had no inkling where any of this was going.
"If she married a commoner, Nascoste's royal inheritance laws would declare such a marriage morganatic with any offspring of the union ineligible for ascension to the throne. Thus leaving the path to future governance of the country clear for Donjeta and the behind-the-scenes manipulations of her bird-affiliated advisor," concluded Jake in a bit of a rush, as if he had suddenly run out of sufficient oxygen to speak in measured confidence as the head of Section II.
"I still don't see—"
"Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly forwarded in the tone of a teacher who had hoped the pupil would himself have picked up on the gist of the lesson before now, "as you are an American, you are very much a commoner in the eyes of Nascosten law. The Grand Princess has, we know, spoken fondly of that long-ago encounter between you as children. If you were to renew your acquaintance now as young adults, perhaps a spark could be ignited."
Napoleon's mouth dropped open. He couldn't help it; this was completely astonishing, a startlingly unwelcome bolt from the blue.
"You want me to romance the Grand Princess?" he sought to be told outright.
Mr. Waverly waved his hand dismissively at this logical but limited assumption. "Mr. Solo, we want you to marry the Grand Princess."
Funny how life could turn on a dime. Little more than an hour ago he had been happily contemplating on his upcoming tryst with Clara while making his way to the office of the Number 1 in Section I, cheerfully anticipating his first truly significant assignment as an enforcement agent for U.N.C.L.E. Well, he'd gotten that "significant assignment" all right. And now Napoleon Solo sat in the office of one of the organization's etiquette coaches being briefed on specifics regarding how to address and act around members of Nascosten royalty.
He felt like he had been hit by the mental equivalent of a Mack truck. Of course Mr. Waverly and Jake Sterrelis had ultimately explained both the logic and logistics of the plan. Continetti had been making his advice indispensible to the Princess Adjuvant no doubt under Thrush orders, but why exactly remained a mystery. Why did the supra-nation want a foothold in Nascoste via the royal family itself? What was their ultimate goal? Nascoste wasn't a mineral or monetarily rich principality. It wasn't any seat of world power. It was extremely small and politically insignificant. It sheltered no great natural resources. It was just a pleasant little island in the Adriatic where the main financial boost came from tourism. So why was it of such interest to Thrush?
…"We need answers, Mr. Solo," the Continental Chief had informed his agent bluntly, "and we need them in a hurry. If Thrush sees its connection to Princess Donjeta paying off more immediately than even they could have hoped, if they see her right now as the unquestioned heir to the Nascosten throne and thus as placing the future securely within their grasp, they may well slip up and make apparent the reasons for embroiling themselves in the lives of that country's reigning family."
"I'm assuming the Grand Princess is privy to this… uhm… deep-sea fishing expedition?" Napoleon had asked, uniquely confident that this would all just be a matter of 'dress-up' for the benefit of Thrush.
Jake had looked very uncomfortable with Solo's inquiring pursuit of this information, squirming a bit in his chair and sitting up somewhat straighter.
"You would be assuming wrongly, Mr. Solo," Waverly had himself directly answered the question.
"I don't understand."
"This is a somewhat delicate situation. Nascoste is not a charter member of the Command. Oh, we have a standing agreement of cooperation with the current government, and that government has never been anything less than accommodating regarding U.N.C.L.E. investigations involving possible Thrush activity within its borders," Waverly expounded on present particulars. "But this matter is decidedly different as it touches upon the honor of the royal family itself. Therefore, before we make any accusations against Continetti that could lead to some form of allegation against the activities of the Princess Adjuvant herself, we need to be on much more solid ground."
"And you provide us the perfect means to attain a failsafe foothold upon that solid ground, Napoleon," Jake had confirmed to the raw operative. "You have an advantageous background in diplomatic folderol. You have a passing acquaintance with Princess Abriana. You're good-looking enough to turn the head of the lady-in-question and know well how to employ personal charm to such purpose. And you're still new to the ranks of U.N.C.L.E.; thus Thrush will not yet have compiled a dossier on you that could easily defeat us in springing this trap fully undetected."
"So this marriage is to be real?" Napoleon had inquired, recognizing with some embarrassment that his voice had taken on an unusual higher register.
"Unquestionably real, Mr. Solo," Waverly had guaranteed without so much as an apologetic pang of conscience. "But of course the Command will authorize the necessary arrangements for a legal annulment once we have our answers and the Grand Princess can be brought in on the details."…
"Your mind is wandering again, Napoleon," Helen Raquesse, the protocol specialist, chided her trainee with a little half-smile.
"I'm sorry, Helen," Solo readily apologized with a half-smile of his own. "It's just all rather overwhelming. One minute I'm about to take a half-day off to go on a Valentines' outing with my girl, and the next minute I'm booked on a midnight flight to Rome with orders to summarily take a princess as a bride."
"It doesn't matter, Napoleon," Helen dismissed his mental meandering. "I've already gotten enough feedback from you to determine there really is no need for me to instruct you in any of this material."
"It's like riding a bicycle," Solo revealed unenthusiastically. "Once you've mastered the skill, you never truly forget."
Helen eyed him with an assessing tilt of her head. "Don't be so glum, Napoleon. By all accounts the Grand Princess is an agreeable sort of young woman: intelligent of mind, engaging of personality, athletic of body and rather pretty of face."
"She could be the equivalent of Venus herself and it wouldn't matter to me," Napoleon thought unhappily. "She's not my Clara; thus I don't want to make any kind of commitment to her!"
"I'm okay, Helen," he lied smoothly. "Just never expected my keystone mission would require so much involvement of a singularly personal nature."
That produced a light laugh from Helen. "You really are a greenstick, aren't you, Napoleon?" she teased him easily. "Don't worry though; all of your superiors judge you an incredibly fast learner."
Napoleon gazed at her for a long moment with a query forming on his lips. But he wisely decided this question was one better left unasked.
"The coronation of Grand Princess Abriana is to be take place in a little more than four months," the member of Thrush Central duly reminded Zamir Continetti, their covert man within the royal inner circle of Nascoste. "I understand there is no progress in convincing her toward backing her stepbrother's revolutionary movement in Albania."
"The pivot of this effort," Continetti in turn reminded the man from Central on this private communications line, "lies with the Princess Adjuvant Donjeta. The Grand Princess is too astutely aware of Nascoste's tenuous status as a small independent nation lying so close to the borders of the Communist Bloc. She will do nothing that might in the end serve to endanger Nascosten autonomy. But Donjeta? Ah, that young lady is more intemperate in such matters. She has a naiveté regarding international politics that Abriana displays only in what one would call personal matters of the heart. The Grand Princess is a romantic in that sense, but the Princess Adjuvant is a romantic in the larger sense of political practicalities."
"Yet she is but Princess Adjuvant; thus her power is limited."
"True enough," conceded Continetti. "Still, once her sister is coronated, her place in the governmental scenario is secure. The Adjuvant, as supposed representative of the country's citizenry in governmental matters, has a rather unique position within the framework of the Nascosten absolute monarchy."
"Well, you are our expert on that aspect," allowed the man of Central. "Thus I will accept your supposition that Donjeta will have power enough to suit our purposes."
"Her unacknowledged stepbrother Mergim is her emotional weak spot," Zamir put forth certainly, "and his insurgency is a matter close to the aspirations of her own heart because of the past trials of her deceased stepmother. While Mergim himself is too engrossed in his unrealistic struggle for Albanian self-determination to thoroughly vet the wherewithal of any assistance he receives."
"These young idealists never cease to amaze me with the sheer depth of their foolishness."
"Something upon which we of Thrush can readily capitalize."
"Indeed. Realize though, Continetti, we need all done rightly to meet our ultimate goal. When we arrange to 'place a bug in the ear', so to speak, of the Soviets with regard to the Albanian rebels receiving a boost in weaponry and monetary support from an outside source, it has to be completely provable that outside source is the Nascosten royal family. None of it can be in any way traceable back to Thrush."
"I have the ties to guarantee this," pledged Zamir. "Not only my place as advisor to the Princess Adjuvant of Nascoste, but my former position in the Albanian revolutionary forces."
"Hard to believe you were yourself once one of those foolish idealists, Zamir."
"That was long ago and far away. Now I realize there is no hope concerning these wildly optimistic yearnings for the weakling human race as a whole. Now I know that power should be in the hands of those unafraid to use it. Now I understand the philosophy of Thrush and acknowledge it is the way that things must be, for in the end only the strong survive."
"You are a wiser man now, Zamir, no question. And when Thrush gains ready access to the ear of the Soviet government because of this good turn we will do them with regard to the Albanian insurgent Mergim Hajdari, Central will find a suitable way to reward you. Perhaps with the throne of Nascoste itself," the man from Central joked half-seriously. "Yet in the meanwhile it would do no harm and undoubtedly much good if a way could be found to further insure the political clout of Princess Adjuvant Donjeta."
"Mr. Solo? Mr. Napoleon Solo?" the impeccably dressed middle-aged man repeated a second time before it registered with Napoleon that he was being addressed.
He had been thinking of Clara: constantly every minute on the long jetliner trip between New York and Rome, and then on the short commuter flight between Rome and Diamant-Grezzo, the capital city of Nascoste, and now as he stood in the small airport being hailed by this stranger. He had been permitted to send his sweetheart a formally-worded message by special courier that had stated he could not keep their date and that he would be away on business likely for a good while. Nothing more personal to shield her from the shock that was to come. However, on a last minute impulse he had scrawled across the very bottom of the paper: Please forgive me. I swear I will make it up to you.
Solo focused his attention on the man who had already twice inquired for confirmation of his identity. "Yes, I'm Napoleon Solo."
"I am John Davies, Mr. Solo, Executive Assistant to the U.S. Ambassador to Nascoste."
"Pleased to meet you," Napoleon paid heed to polite formalities as he extended his hand to the other man.
"Oh, it is I who am most pleased to meet you, Mr. Solo," responded Davies as he respectfully shook the agent's hand. "Both Ambassador Tilerstein and myself have been briefed in the main about your undertaking. Since we are quite fond of the Grand Princess, may I say how incredibly relieved we are that Mr. Waverly was able to assign this delicate commission to someone already favorably known to her. Her Gracious Highness has turned in recent weeks a bit nostalgic regarding her childhood. No doubt, as her coronation looms closer, she feels even more strongly the non-compromising weight of her responsibilities as a reigning monarch. She is so very young," Davies punctuated his declaration with an indulgent sigh. "Thus I think perhaps she makes of the time of her more unencumbered youth something of a charming fairytale."
"That should make it easier for me to win her affection," Napoleon conceded, though in his heart he much begrudged the admission.
"Indeed, Mr. Solo, I much suspect it will. Shall we attend to your luggage? I have a chauffeured car waiting at the side entrance."
As they sped along the mid-morning bustling streets toward the American Embassy, Davies continued his easy chatter. Napoleon entered into the conversation only occasionally and in but scant-worded spurts.
"Ambassador Tilerstein was, I believe, friends with your grandfather, Franklin Milbourne."
"Yes, I remember Mr. Tilerstein. He served as legal attaché to my grandfather in Greece."
"Indeed. And what a perfect cover that has provided for having you housed within the embassy walls! The grandson of an old friend come visiting, as it were. And the grandson of such an esteemed diplomat as well. The Ambassador has always credited Mr. Milbourne for providing the bulk of his on-the-job training in diplomatic policy."
"My grandfather would be flattered."
"No flattery at all, Mr. Solo, from what I know of Franklin Milbourne. An extraordinary example of a high-level civil servant if ever there was one. And it seems you share his dedication in that regard, at least in some respect, what with your own career in U.N.C.L.E."
Napoleon looked bemusedly at the obsequious official. "Somewhat different dedications I think."
"Oh, to be sure. The Command's involvement in physically risky situations and its stated non-partisanship and all that. But nationally-centered international politics is no picnic, Mr. Solo. It has its own share of pitfalls. One wouldn't want to chance possibly starting World War III with an errant word or gesture."
"No, one wouldn't," agreed Napoleon, as he attempted to hide his amusement.
"So I hope you won't take it in wrong part when I say to you, please do be mindful of the tangled national-centric politics involved in this particular task. Nascoste may be of no great world prominence; still accidentally incurring its enmity is not something to which United States governmental policymakers would take kindly."
"Are you giving me an official warning, Mr. Davies?" Napoleon unexpectedly challenged the other man.
"Merely a friendly caution, Mr. Solo, no more than a friendly caution."
"You can rest assured that proceeding with caution is exactly what both I as an individual and U.N.C.L.E. as an organization will without question do."
That marked a rather uneasy end to the admittedly mostly one-sided conversation. Fortunately they arrived but shortly thereafter at the American Embassy in Nascoste.
Napoleon, understandably weary from the many hours of his journey (and the multiple pangs of his secret heartache), was escorted to his rooms with only a brief obligatory greeting from Ambassador Tilerstein.
Once Solo was safely out of earshot, Davies – with a disapproving shake of his head – remarked to his superior, "I'm afraid this enterprise is doomed to failure from the outset. For how so aloof a young man can hope to capture the amorous notice of the Grand Princess remains very much a mystery to me."
That evening as Napoleon stood before the full-length mirror in his suite at the American Embassy, inspecting his appearance in his set of elegant formal clothes, he took stock of his current attitude.
"Well, Solo," he chided his reflected image, "are you going to make moon eyes and sigh dejectedly like a lovesick puppy? Or rightly do the job you were sent here to do? You're an U.N.C.L.E. enforcement agent, dammit! You have responsibilities, serious responsibilities. You can't expect those responsibilities to conform to the shape of your personal life. That personal life of yours has to fit in around those responsibilities. You've known that from the first moment you signed on to attend Survival School. So buck up and take that leap of faith into the deep waters of absolute conviction in the methods and motives of the Command. You trust in the savvy of Waverly's judgment; now rely on the fullness of your own dedication."
He took a deep breath, insured the taming of his wayward forelock with a final dab of Brylcreem, and headed toward the door. Descending the steps with a decided jauntiness, he was subsequently directed into the Ambassador's private study by a household servant and entered those premises with a completely confident air.
"Ambassador Tilerstein," he enthusiastically greeted the older man with an extended hand and a truly brilliant smile. "You must forgive my seemingly taciturn disposition earlier. I plead exhaustion from the long journey."
"Perfectly understandable, Mr. Solo." Tilerstein accepted Solo's hand in a firm clasp. "I trust you are more yourself after this afternoon's nap?"
"Much more so," agreed Napoleon with yet another dazzling smile, "thank you. I find myself now quite ready to take on the pleasurable commotion of this evening's festivities."
A reception for Grand Princess Abriana was being hosted that night in the U.S. Embassy. It was but one of a round of such soirées successively taking place over the preceding and subsequent few weeks in celebration of said royal's twenty-first birthday, as well as recognition of her upcoming coronation. Though Abriana's sovereignty had informally commenced with her father's death more than a year before, official acknowledgement of her as the reigning monarch of Nascoste had needed to wait upon her legal coming-of-age. With that event now past, the coronation could take place at last. It was scheduled for the 21st of June. The 21st had been decided upon to reflect the age of the Grand Princess at this major milestone in her life. June had been chosen because Abriana had herself described the ceremony of coronation as a "solemn yet celebratory union between myself and my country, very much akin to that between a loving bride and a steadfast groom". And tradition, after all, did account June a "lucky month" for brides.
"And a commotion it has indeed been, Mr. Solo," Tilerstein chatted on amiably, 'with every representative embassy in Diamant-Grezzo making a play for a palace-sanctioned function of one kind or another in order to mark Her Gracious Highness' passport into legal maturity."
Napoleon chuckled easily. "I do vividly recall that kind of diplomatic one-upmanship from my grandfather's stints in various international posts. Do you remember, Mr. Tilerstein," Solo went on as he readily accepted a small glass of Campari wordlessly offered him by the other man, "the supposed peace-conference luncheon in Athens that turned into a food-fight between the Russian and British delegations?"
"I do, I do!" chimed in Tilerstein with an amused smile as he poured himself an aperitif. "The sight of all those generally stoic bureaucrats with the lapels of their fine suits dripping moussaka is one I will never forget!"
"And my grandfather lifting his glass of ouzo afterwards and toasting unabashedly: Here's to the awarding of new governmental decorations born of old recipes! Wear them with the distinction their provisional history deserves, gentlemen."
Tilerstein laughed heartily at that memory. "I also recall," then put in the Ambassador a bit slyly, "a certain 15-year-old youth who took advantage of the ruckus to spirit away a certain pretty serving girl from the kitchen, the pair later discovered kissing ardently in the car of a Russian diplomat. Gave the already disgruntled fellow quite a shock," he finalized with a quick wink at Solo.
Napoleon cleared his throat. "That vehicle did contain such a nicely roomy and ingeniously concealed backseat," he forwarded as he returned Tilerstein's wink. "A particular plus I tried to explain to my grandfather, but he just wouldn't see reason."
"Age seldom assigns emotional sense to the zeal of youth," Tilerstein commiserated with a wide grin.
"And so tonight we are left to hope that coming of age has not yet resulted in emotional sense wholly replacing the zeal of youth," espoused Napoleon gamely as he raised his glass in an informal toast.
Tilerstein raised his own glass in response. "And that no mental food-fights break out as a result of such youthful zeal."
Napoleon smiled again, knowing full well this was another "friendly caution" being made him by his own government. He knew the hazards, but he also knew the necessities. And for the first time he realized he was totally prepared to blend all the sundry ingredients together smoothly to produce an agreeably palatable international dish.
As Grand Princess Abriana walked the receiving line during the reception being given in her honor at the U.S. Embassy in Diamant-Grezzo that night, she found her mind wandering to recollections of attending such events as a teenager with her father. And now her father, Grand Prince Adalfieri, was dead and gone, his body buried in the state crypt for more than a year, and she stood in his place as ruler of Nascoste. It was a place she always knew would be hers one day; still that "one day" had come much too soon for her liking. She missed her father and, even more, she missed the effortlessness of that time when she had not yet been expected to make decisions that would impact, whether positively or negatively, the present and future of her entire nation. She longed to be a child again. Yet that was simply impossible and she had dutifully learned to accept the reality of that. Though the daydreams still came at moments when she least could predict them taking hold of her mental landscape, like now at this official function.
She stopped before Ambassador Tilerstein and accepted his bow with a warm smile. She liked both the man and his laughing-eyed wife. As she moved onward as was customary, a dark-haired young man – quite a handsome dark-haired young man she noted – standing to Tilerstein's right bowed most elegantly and greeted her with a richly-voiced "Your Gracious Highness".
Abriana stopped before the young man and remarked casually to Tilerstein, "Ah, your guest is well-versed in the nuances of Nascosten etiquette, I see. He did not make the common mistake of addressing me as a Serene Highness."
"Mia nonna sarebbe lieto di sapere che ho conservato abbastanza del suo insegnamento nella protocollo diplomatico di raccogliere un tale complimento, Signora," Napoleon urbanely observed.
{Translation: My grandmother would be pleased to know I have retained enough of her teaching in diplomatic protocol to collect such a compliment, Madam.}
Abriana set her gaze once more upon the young man. "Tu sei italiano?" she inquired of him.
{Translation: You are Italian?}
"Americano," supplied Napoleon. "Eppure l'italiano è la lingua nativa di Nascoste, non è vero? E mia nonna anche insegnato che l'eventuale avvio di conversazione con un sovrano dovrebbe essere fatta nella lingua nativa del paese sovrano."
{Translation: Yet Italian is the native tongue of Nascoste, is it not? And my grandmother also taught that any initiation of conversation with a sovereign should be done in the native tongue of that sovereign's country.}
"Tua nonna è una donna molto perspicace," conceded Abriana. "But, as we are currently standing in the Embassy of the United States here in Nascoste, and thus on what is considered American soil under the rules of international diplomacy, I believe speaking in English to be quite acceptable procedure. Anche se il tuo italiano è impeccabile, signore."
{Translation: Your grandmother's a very shrewd woman.}
{Translation: Though your Italian is impeccable, sir.}
"Grazie, Gracious Highness."
"Mr. Tilerstein," the Grand Princess once more addressed the American ambassador, "will you introduce me to your guest?"
"With pleasure, Madam," Tilerstein took up the requested task. "May I present to you, Gracious Highness, Mr. Napoleon Solo. He is the grandson of a sadly deceased diplomatic colleague of mine: Mr. Franklin Milbourne."
Abriana extended her hand to Solo and he took hold of that hand with an enticing mixture of proper gentility and perhaps improper boldness, kissing it as proscribed by international courtesy.
"Wait…," a look of some past association with the mentioned names flashed in the blue eyes of the princess. Then she broke out in a completely natural and very broad grin: no proper protocol in that particular smile. "You're him!"
"Him?" Napoleon pretended bewilderment. "I am most assuredly a him; yet I presume Your Gracious Highness means something more unique by her declaration than such a generality?"
"The boy in Rome! The one who gallantly escorted a very lost and rather teary-eyed little girl back into her father's arms!"
A responsive sparkle lit in Napoleon's hazel eyes. "Ah, I do remember a somewhat independent little girl who, despite her obvious upset, betrayed a certain self-sufficient pride in having given her bodyguard the slip."
"So self-sufficient, she broke down crying the minute she realized she hadn't a clue how to find her own way back to where she should be."
"Understandable as the compound did have quite a tangle of corridors leading off willy-nilly in many different directions."
"So you made mention at the time in a valiant attempt to soothe my much wounded sense of self-reliance. Even then you had the manners of a courtier."
"My grandmother's influence again," commented Solo with one of his signature dazzling smiles.
"Oh, and she did teach you well, that grandmother of yours! You didn't even get flustered when I started bawling so hard I erupted into fits of hiccups!"
"It would have been very impolite to take especial note of those hiccups."
The extraordinary grin again. Abriana was literally beaming. "They were quite loud hiccups though, weren't they?" she wheedled playfully.
"They startled the dogs in the hall into barking," teased Napoleon just as playfully.
Now the princess laughed outright, more relaxed than she had been in she couldn't remember how long.
"Will you escort me into dinner, Napoleon? May I call you Napoleon?"
"I would be honored, Gracious Highness, to have both the pleasure of acting as your dinner companion and in hearing you call me by my given name."
"All settled then!" exclaimed the suddenly ebullient royal. "Oh, I would talk of those times, Napoleon," she continued with warm wistfulness as she placed her hand on Solo's properly curved arm, "of those sweet and innocent times long ago."
As Napoleon and Abriana made their way into the dining room, Tilerstein took amused note of John Davies, who was standing as if thunderstruck with his jaw all but dropped to the marble tiles of the entrance hall. Casually walking up to his usually oh-so-in-control assistant, the Ambassador remarked quietly, "Looks like you underestimated that young man, John. And you're generally so good at gauging personalities by first impressions."
Davies found himself with absolutely no response at all to that verbal reflection.
"So small arms marksmanship is an avocation of yours, Napoleon?" Grand Princess Abriana continued her animated dinner conversation with Napoleon Solo.
"I do appreciate the solid feel of a reliable gun in my hand, yes."
"No doubt an appreciation you learned during your time in military service?"
Napoleon smiled noncommittally. "A likely enough beginning."
"And usually you carry a pistol?" Abriana questioned a bit disbelievingly.
"At most times," admitted Napoleon, carefully setting the stage for future wear of his U.N.C.L.E. sidearm when in her presence, "though not tonight of course. Not yet having earned your confidence in my, shall we say, riskier nature, that would have been very rude behavior."
Abriana laughed delightedly. "Behavior of which your grandmother would not approve. Though then perhaps I could dispense with my bodyguards when in your company. That would be a pleasant form of independence, being free of the intrusion of bodyguards."
"And would I willingly serve as your bodyguard, Madam," Napoleon teased with a brilliant smile, "in the hope of keeping our time together free of all intrusions."
Abriana blushed quite prettily as was only a becoming response to such a forward yet flattering remark from her male companion.
The Grand Princess of Nascoste was, in truth, an attractive woman, though by no means one that would be commonly credited as beautiful. Of somewhat less than average height, she was nonetheless blessed with a slim, lankily limbed and small-breasted athlete's body. Her most exceptional feature was surely her smooth-skinned, narrow hands with their long, slender fingers, and she exhibited that attribute to advantage with the donning of a multitude of rings and bracelets. Her triangular face with its delicately but undeniably pointed chin displayed a singular openness of expression. There was no sultry allure to her round eyes, upturned nose, and a mouth that was perhaps a few millimeters too large to maximize physiognomic symmetry. Those eyes though were the palest shade of blue that could be fully accounted as being that particular color, and thus were unexpectedly arresting. The short tilt of her nose gave her face a puckish quality that definitely engendered a youthful appeal. And the balanced fullness of her upper and lower lips effectively disguised any possible disproportion as to the size of her mouth as a whole. The subtle beige-pink hue of her complexion was highlighted by a sparse dusting of slightly darker freckles across the bridge of her nose, while her golden-brown hair was fetchingly cut in a face-framing chin-length style. Overall there was a vulnerable sweetness to her looks that even Solo, who made no bones about having a preference for what might be considered the more generally glamorized female physical traits, had to concede tickled the senses with warm temptation. This was not a woman with whom a man was likely to frantically leap into lust, but this was a woman with whom a man could serenely settle into satiety.
"I find I have but little time any more to indulge in my own avocations," noted Abriana with a hint of regret. "Still, I do make time for almost daily jaunts on horseback. That's a leisure pastime I enjoy far too much to fully sacrifice to the demands of state. Do you ride, Napoleon?"
"My Aunt Amy would not have it any other way," stated Napoleon with a mischievous grin. "She insisted I take lessons as a boy and that I have the skill mastered by adolescence. One doesn't gainsay Aunt Amy in such things, so I did as she insisted. Though I will confess riding never became a favorite pursuit of mine. I much prefer sailing."
Abriana shivered. "I'm terrified of the water," she admitted.
"I'm not fond of immersion in it myself," admitted Napoleon in turn. "But singlehandedly guiding a boat upon its surface, interpreting the vast movements of the sea and steering your vessel to become one with them: that's another thing entirely. I've sometimes thought I would like to navigate a sloop around the world."
"By yourself?" Abriana questioned, obviously put out by the danger inherent in any such solitary endeavor.
"Well, perhaps with one special person for companionship," Napoleon forwarded with another of his brilliant smiles, causing Abriana to blush quite appealingly once more.
"I understand that you have received an invitation from the Grand Princess to go horseback riding," Mr. Waverly commented through the silver cigarette case. Proper attachment of a wire to an available lamp electrical cord had effectively turned the aforementioned article into a means of international communication between U.N.C.L.E. field operative and U.N.C.L.E. operations chief.
"Yes sir," acknowledged Napoleon.
"Good work, Mr. Solo, in capturing with such commendable alacrity the intrigued attention of Princess Abriana. The quicker you can gain full access to the royal Nascosten family circle, the better it will suit our needs."
Napoleon didn't know what to say to that, so he wisely said nothing.
"Equestrianism is one of the Grand Princess' personal passions according to our intelligence reports," Waverly continued. "Let us hope that her invitation to share in one of her favored pursuits will provide a possibility for you becoming another such passion of hers."
Now that unabashed expectation by his superior really did make Solo uncomfortable. Somehow giving Abriana what amounted to the smooth-operator gigolo rush made him feel somewhat sleazy of character.
"Sir, couldn't everything just be explained to the Grand Princess upfront?" he thus found himself questioning the manner of his mission outright. "I mean about Thrush possibly grooming her sister for some nefarious purpose? I'm quite certain Abriana is savvy enough regarding national politics to—"
"No, it will not do, Mr. Solo. That method would only serve to put Thrush on the offensive and the Princess Adjuvant on the defensive. It could as well create tensions within the royal family that could never be healed. Tensions that might be entirely uncalled for, if Princess Donjeta is truly just an innocent being used by Thrush completely without her understanding."
"But, sir—"
"No buts, Mr. Solo. You have your assignment," the Number 1 in Section I of the North American division of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement pronounced in his most authoritative, not-to-be-second-guessed tone. "Now complete the task, young man. Sweep that young woman right off her feet and into your arms."
Waverly broke off the verbal communiqué from his end before Napoleon could manage another word.
"Yes sir," the greenstick enforcement agent subsequently muttered in compliant resignation to the now dead air of the closed connection.
"Are you aware, Highness," Zamir Continetti advised the Nascosten royal who sought out his counsel in all things, "that today will be the eighth time in a two-week span your sister is going out riding with Mr. Napoleon Solo?"
"Oh, I know she is quite enamored of the man, Zamir," Princess Adjuvant Donjeta summarily dismissed this fact. "She certainly talks about him enough when we are in private. She goes on and on like a twelve-year-old in the throes of her first romantic crush."
"Yet the Grand Princess is not a twelve-year-old," countered Zamir.
"Yet she is a romantic," counter-countered Donjeta.
"Be that as it may, she is the ruler of Nascoste, now of legal age and soon-to-be coronated. Thus any romance in which she indulges is significant to the future of this nation. So don't you think, as second-in-line to the throne, it is time you met the gentleman in question?" smoothly urged Continetti.
"Zamir, she likes having her beau all to herself, and I don't begrudge her dreamy spirit that wistful little gratification. Goodness knows she has serious matters aplenty to weigh down that gentle side of her."
"Begging your pardon, Highness, but did you know that for her past two outings with Napoleon Solo the Grand Princess bade her bodyguards give them a wide berth? Such a request for privacy speaks perhaps of her liaison with this man becoming more… intense than an idle amorous interlude."
Donjeta worried her lower lip as she pondered what Zamir was trying, without outright saying, to get across.
"You think she would consider him as possible husband material?" Donjeta now caught on.
"We can only surmise by those small details regarding the relationship to which we are currently privy," Continetti sagely noted.
"But…" Donjeta worried her lower lip once more, a habit when focusing upon some internal speculation that she had gotten into in childhood and that she just could not seem to break now on the brink of full adulthood. "He's American, isn't he? There isn't much likelihood of him having a noble pedigree. So if she married him…"
"The marriage would need, by the laws of Nascoste, to be declared morganatic," supplied Zamir with a small smile.
"And I would be declared Crown Princess," concluded Donjeta. "Then I could be of more direct aid to Mergim," she mentioned the name of the officially unmentioned stepbrother who lived in Albania and was covertly operating as a gorilla rebel against the Communist government there.
"Indeed, Highness. All our hopes in that regard could be the more assuredly realized."
Donjeta rubbed a finger back-and-forth across her lips as she further pondered the situation.
"Do you think Abriana truly loves him, Zamir? This Mr. Napoleon Solo?" she posed the rhetorical question to the councilor. "I truly wouldn't ever want her unhappy. But if this man could fill at last with joy the sad emptiness seemingly always resident in that starry-eyed soul of hers, well…"
"It would indeed be truly sisterly of you to wholeheartedly support her in taking firm hold of that unique opportunity, Highness."
Acting as always on Continetti's "suggestion", Donjeta, the Princess Adjuvant of Nascoste, made an especial point of entering into her sister's personal study at the exact time she was informed by said counselor that therein waiting upon the Grand Princess to keep their latest date was none other than one Mr. Napoleon Solo. Napoleon, recognizing the lady immediately, gave her a slight bow upon that entrance.
"Mr. Napoleon Solo, I presume," Donjeta greeted him playfully with a ready smile.
"The Princess Adjuvant Donjeta, I doubt not," Napoleon greeted her just as playfully with just as ready a smile.
"You must pardon my uninvited intrusion into your company, Mr. Solo, but Abriana has been singing your praises day and night," Donjeta teased. "Thus I found myself intrigued by the prospect of meeting such a paragon."
"Your sister is too generous in her compliments," Napoleon bantered back. "And please, Highness, do call me Napoleon."
Donjeta tilted her head in obvious assessment of him. "You are quite handsome, Napoleon."
"And you are quite beautiful, Highness," Napoleon returned her cheeky chitchat tit-for-tat.
And that was no less than truth for it was Donjeta of the two royal siblings who possessed true classical allure. Taller than her sister, her figure boasted more feminine curves and her shapely legs seemed to go on forever. The somewhat subdued golden-brown color of Abriana's hair was amplified to a breathtaking golden-blond in her younger sister. Similarly the pale blue hue of the Grand Princess' eyes was intensified to a brilliant sapphire in the eyes of the Princess Adjuvant. Donjeta's facial features portrayed a perfect symmetry: large eyes with a slight upward sweep at the corners, a slim nose of a length neither too long nor two short, and a set of full lips that gave her mouth a luscious pout. No freckles stippled the peach-cream complexion of this noble lady, nor was there any other impish quality to her looks. She was downright stunning from the top of her head to the tips of her toenails, and that reality was something of which Napoleon was certain she was keenly aware.
"Shall we bat flattery about like a rubber ball between us?" Donjeta moved away from the game of verbal tennis. "Or shall we attempt to get to know each other more honestly?"
"Whichever is your preference, Highness," conceded Napoleon with diplomatic ease. "My manner is completely at your disposal."
"So you bend in the wind, Napoleon?"
"Only in matters of casual exchange. With regard to those things dear to my heart, you will find I am made of iron."
"And is my sister one of the things dear to your heart?"
"That is a personal matter between your sister and myself."
"As the only living member of her immediate family, may I not be made privy to the basic nature of the issue?"
"Begging your pardon, Highness, but no you may not. Not by me in any case."
"Touché, Napoleon. It seems we have gone from conversational table tennis to conversational fencing."
"Quick-witted repartee, I have always found, is more an art than a sport. Thus do I pay due homage to a very talented artist, Highness," Napoleon complimented the lady with an acknowledging slight bow of his head.
Donjeta now smiled broadly, revealing a faultless set of dazzlingly white teeth. "I think us at the very least evenly matched in that regard.
"You have gone riding with my sister a goodly number of times in the past fortnight, so I understand," the Princess now switched tactics. "Do you much enjoy riding, Napoleon?"
"I much enjoy your sister's company," stated Solo quite audaciously. "Therefore, if riding is the means by which I can facilitate that particular enjoyment, then yes, I will say I do much enjoy riding."
The Princess laughed openly at the cleverly spoken thrust-and-parry. "You do undoubtedly own a distinct devilish charm, Napoleon. But then you are quite aware of that, aren't you?"
"Likely as much as you are aware of your beauty, Highness."
"And both of us undeniably use such assets to full advantage."
"Undeniably," seconded Napoleon with one of his trademark megawatt smiles.
"I also understand you were but recently honorably discharged from your country's army after serving quite notably in the Korean conflict."
"You understand correctly."
"And you have retained a continuing interest in marksmanship.'
This was not phrased as a question. Apparently the Princess Adjuvant had done her homework with regard to him. Or more likely Zamir Continetti had done it for her.
"A private passion," glibly granted Solo.
"Like my sister?" Donjeta, with equal glibness, seized upon this opening in the ongoing dialogue between them.
Napoleon's smirk made it evident to his subtly confrontational tête-à-tête partner that he would not be tripped up by any abrupt turn of topic.
"That is a question I will not answer."
"To me."
"To anyone but your sister."
"Would you describe yourself as an opportunist, Napoleon?" the Nascosten royal bluntly put the crux of her concern out in the open.
Donjeta found Napoleon's subsequent small smile somehow soothing to even the most suspiciously alert of her nerves. There was perhaps a bit of slyness in it; yet did it make the man in some unaccountable way come across as completely trustworthy.
"I would describe myself as a man unusually blessed by Lady Luck," Napoleon unashamedly responded right to the point.
Donjeta tilted her head again as she assessed him once more. Her longtime habit of worrying her lower lip when considering the pros and cons of something – or in this case someone – came to the fore for a full minute or more before she finally pronounced her decision with regard to him. "You know, I find I like you, Mr. Napoleon Solo. I like you very much indeed."
"I am honored, Highness."
Grand Princess Abriana chose that exact moment to make her own entrance. "Donjeta," she addressed her sister, somewhat surprised to find the younger woman here in her private study, "did you wish to speak with me?"
"Only to tell you I approve of your beau, Abriana," Donjeta assured her sibling. "Don't keep him in hiding, dear," she admonished as she drew close enough to the shorter woman to lean in and kiss her lightly on the cheek. "He's quite up to the test of public scrutiny."
Then, with a mischievous wink at the Grand Princess that made the older sibling flush hotly and a quick leave-taking address of "Napoleon" to Solo, Donjeta flounced out of the room.
Following that exit, Napoleon laughed lightly as he commented to Abriana, "Something of a chess-player, that one." Then he looked affectionately at the Grand Princess. "But she does 'approve' of me, and you're secretly relieved about that, aren't you?"
"Donjeta and I are quite close as sisters go, and…" Abriana hesitated even as she blushed once more.
"Then I'm glad she does approve of me," Napoleon gently rescued the Princess from any awkwardness inherent in the moment.
"As am I, Napoleon," softly stated Abriana with a shyly adoring smile that seemed to set her whole countenance warmly aglow.