§ § § - July 17, 1996: Lilla Jordsö
"Ers Höghet—Kungliga Slottet." The words in jordiska roused Christian from a sound sleep and he sat up with a start. Sure enough, the royal palace, located about ten kilometers west of the capital city of Sundborg, loomed outside the windows of the official car that had been waiting for him at the airport. It wasn't Christian's home, hadn't been since he became a widower at the tender age of twenty-two; and for that he was thankful, because the place never failed to intimidate him. It had been a great relief to move out and rent a flat in the capital; there, at least, he had some semblance of privacy.
Christian got out of the car and stretched at leisure before mentally bracing himself and striding for the great entry hall with grim, determined steps. It was his intention to spend the absolute minimum time possible here, to state his plans and begin the proceedings to relinquish his right to the title of prince. His footsteps echoed in the vast entry with its stone walls and ceilings that stretched up three stories and ahead of him some hundred meters. It was the kind of place meant for formal receptions of other royal personages, heads of state, presidents, prime ministers and ambassadors. Often during his childhood, Christian had seen many of these dignitaries cooling their well-shod heels in here while awaiting the leisure of King Arnulf I, his father. Undoubtedly Arnulf II continued the practice, Christian reflected, making his passage through the hall as swift as possible.
He smiled faintly with the memory of his goodbyes to Leslie at the plane dock; they had been quite alone, so had spent a good chunk of their time just kissing each other. When the final boarding call had come, he had sighed and hugged her hard. "I'll come back as quickly as I possibly can," he had promised her. "The wait will be as hard on me as on you, Leslie Rose, so you can take some comfort in that."
"Just get going—the sooner you get it over with, the sooner you'll come back," she had told him. "Be safe, my love, please." Her somewhat shy endearment still warmed him every time he replayed her last words to him in his mind.
A soft, inquisitive sound brought him back to the present and he looked around to discover that cats had begun materializing out of the woodwork (or the stonework, he thought whimsically). His grin became real: where there were cats, there was Anna-Kristina. Years ago he had teasingly nicknamed her Kattersprinsessan—the Princess of Cats—and she still fit the description to this day. His twenty-four-year-old niece bounded out of one of the massive hallways that branched off the main hall, two on either side, and squealed in delight at sight of him. "Uncle Christian! When did you get back home?" she cried, throwing herself at him and hugging him.
"Just now," Christian chuckled, returning her hug. "I've come back for a very special reason, Anna-Kristina. I'm going to be married." He grinned at her open-mouthed look of shock, and began, "Her name's Leslie..."
Her delighted shriek cut him off and left the sentence forever unfinished. "How wonderful! You've really found a woman to love, after so long? We have to tell everyone...oh, I can't wait to meet her!"
"Oh, I don't know when that will happen," Christian bantered, spirits buoyed by her ecstatic reception of his news. "You see, I'm here only to start proceedings to give up my right to be called a prince, for I'm going to be living with her on her home island."
"Then I'll go back with you and attend the wedding," Anna-Kristina declared firmly. She tucked her hand into his and strolled alongside him. "You look so happy, it can't be anything but a love match. Oh, wait until the word gets out. How wonderfully romantic! It'll be the royal romance of the decade! Mamma and Pappa are just finishing breakfast. Come on, I'll go in with you."
Uncle and niece made their way to the last doorway on the right of the main hall and entered a large room dominated by an enormous chandelier on either end of the ceiling and a table that could seat thirty people. The only occupants were Anna-Kristina's parents, King Arnulf II and Queen Kristina. Arnulf looked around and smiled in surprised welcome at his youngest sibling. "Christian! You're back quickly after all!"
Christian stopped behind a chair and nodded his head in deference to his brother's royal office. "I have news," he began.
Anna-Kristina, bubbling over, broke in. "Pappa, Uncle Christian's finally found someone—after all this time looking! He's going to marry her and then move to the island where she lives!"
The queen coughed, turned bright red and hastily excused herself, all but running out of the room as if in a hurry to escape. Arnulf's smile died and his expression frosted over. "What is this the girl is saying?"
"It's true," Christian said. It had been too much to hope that his brother would be even remotely happy to hear his plans, and he steeled himself. "I've come back only to tell you the news and to process the paperwork involved in giving up my title. Then I'll return to Fantasy Island for my wedding."
"You'll do no such thing," Arnulf informed him icily. "You're already married."
Behind him, Anna-Kristina gasped; Christian thought the world had quit revolving. "What?" he demanded, his voice now as glacial as his brother's. "What do you mean, I'm—?" His mind flashed back to the one angry phone conversation he'd had with Arnulf back on Fantasy Island, and he suddenly understood. "You didn't void that contract!"
"Of course not," snapped Arnulf, rising to meet his brother near eye level. "You've always chafed under control, Christian, but I must admit you do know what's expected of you—at least, till now. When you walked in here, I believed you had come to see reason and had returned home to settle down with your new wife."
Christian sneered, "Did you truly believe I was going to docilely accept your word as law, Arnulf? This is my life you're playing with! When I told you to break that marriage contract, I meant every word of it and you damned well know it! What have you done to me?"
"I've done what you stubbornly refused to do: find a woman and get married," Arnulf said flatly and implacably. "You have a duty as a prince of Lilla Jordsö, Christian, and it's time you did that duty. I married you by proxy to Marina when she and her father arrived here two days ago. If you try to marry anyone else now, you'll be a bigamist." Christian gaped speechlessly; seeing it, Arnulf added, "Furthermore, lill'bror, now that you're here, you will not be allowed to leave the country again until your marriage has been consummated."
Christian stared, statuelike, head reeling; it was too much for him to take in. Arnulf nodded sharply once and said to Anna-Kristina, "Bring Marina here."
Christian would later remember only the black rage that overtook him before he succumbed to sheer despair. How could he salvage his future with Leslie now?
§ § § - July 18, 1996 – Fantasy Island
That Thursday evening was quiet enough that Roarke and Leslie had an extraordinarily rare block of free time after supper on the veranda. They decided to watch a little television, something they did so seldom that it felt like a special occasion just to sit in their upstairs rec room with tumblers and a pitcher of a spiced tropical fruit punch that Mariki had mixed up. They'd watched the news and had settled back to get a little guilty pleasure out of an entertainment-news program that was just shy of being a TV tabloid.
While the co-anchors nattered on about the latest doings of the hottest movie and rock stars, Mariki appeared in the doorway, said her goodnights to them, and took her leave. They smiled after her and turned back to the set, just in time to hear the female anchor making a breathless proclamation. "…And now, a very special announcement, live from Lilla Jordsö's royal castle; our Brenda-Lyn Duffy is on the scene with an exclusive report. Brenda-Lyn?"
The scene on TV cut to an excited young reporter standing in front of what appeared to be a stone castle straight out of the Middle Ages. "That's right, Candace. We are about to hear an announcement from none other than King Arnulf the Second himself—and wait, there he is now!" Roarke smiled, and Leslie sat up with surprised anticipation.
"Wow...they're announcing Christian's and my engagement on global TV?" she asked wonderingly and grinned. "I hope they show him—I didn't know I'd miss him this much." Roarke chuckled and patted her shoulder.
On TV, the camera swung around to follow a small procession marching out of the palace grounds; in front, clearly holding pride of place, was the king, who stepped smartly onto a raised dais and adjusted the microphone on a podium in front of him. He spoke English slowly and precisely, with a pronounced jordisk accent. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am pleased that you are here to witness this great event. Without further ado, I should like to present our newest royal couple: my brother, Prince Christian, and his brand-new wife, Marina." He stepped aside from the mike, and there indeed was none other than Christian, his face stony, standing at the side of a waiflike young woman with jet-black hair and skin the color of milk. Arnulf beamed like the sun and began to applaud the couple, loudly and deliberately.
Leslie froze, eyes on the screen, seeing Christian and yet not seeing him. Wife? she thought numbly. He was already engaged to some other woman? Christian's image fuzzed out as shock crept over her and she stopped registering the broadcast.
Astonished, Roarke looked at Leslie and winced at what he saw, even though he had expected it. She sat stock-still, gaping at the screen, her lower jaw gradually falling even as he watched, her eyes huge with disbelief and fast-growing betrayal. From the television set, applause swelled up and an unseen band began to play some sprightly tune of celebration, while the camera zoomed in for a closeup of Christian and Marina. Roarke took the opportunity to study the picture closely; Marina seemed serene, wearing a Mona Lisa smile, while Christian stared resolutely straight ahead, his unsmiling expression one of detachment and rigid control. The camera then pulled back enough to include King Arnulf in the picture; he must have been cued by someone offscreen, because he turned to face his unseen audience and, still clapping, spoke over the music. "I thank you for your warm reception, as do my brother and new sister-in-law. I am sure everyone watching us today, wherever they may be, will join me in wishing them much happiness and many children."
Roarke frowned, concentrating on Arnulf. Was that triumph he saw glinting in the king's eyes? It was clear to him from their respective expressions that Christian was grimly enduring the ordeal; Marina was quietly accepting; and Arnulf was just a little too proud of himself. What had happened? From beside him he heard a whimper of bewilderment from Leslie, and shifted his attention to her, tucking her hand between both of his. He was startled at how cold it was.
"Leslie, don't hold your emotions in," Roarke warned her gently, his tone filled with compassion. "Remember, it's not good for you."
But she was still so stunned that all she could do was turn to gawk at him with an aura of utter abandonment about her. "He was coming back," she said helplessly, in a voice like a child's. "We were going to get married…and he lied to me!" She began to sag, wilting like the tiny roses Christian had so lately compared her with, and stared blankly at the floor without seeing anything. Roarke gathered her into his embrace and rocked her a bit, feeling her shivering, wondering a little bleakly whether she would recover this time. She had taken the chance and risked her heart—following his own counsel, among others—and had lost the gamble.
His gaze strayed to the television screen where Arnulf and Marina were graciously accepting congratulations, and he saw Christian standing on the edge of the dais, ignoring everyone and everything around him, staring grimly at something only he saw. Leslie wasn't capable of seeing it through her pain and sense of betrayal, but a strong instinct told him that Christian had not gone into this situation willingly. Sooner or later, Roarke knew, he would find a way to explain how everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.
‡ ‡ ‡
The Fantasy Island Chronicle put an unfortunate tabloid-style slant on the story of how one of their own had been "done wrong" by a scheming royal. Roarke, seeing the paper the morning after the press conference, tossed it into the wastebasket in disgust. "Scheming royal", indeed! he thought, annoyed. The irony is that they are actually correct; they have simply applied the label to the wrong man!
For the next two weeks Leslie had to endure the gazes of pity and sympathy from her father's numerous staff as she carried out the duties of her job. Even her friends, well-meaning in their indignant support of Leslie, finally began to get on her nerves with their repeated declarations of what a jerk and a creep Prince Christian had turned out to be and how much they despised the two-timing so-and-so for what he'd done to her. She began to avoid meeting them for lunch and took to making her rounds with her head down, evading eye contact everywhere she possibly could. She spoke only as much as necessary and rapidly became a mere shadow of her usual friendly self, inciting alarm in Roarke and making Mariki mutter darkly about assorted means of revenge on Christian.
Then, on the afternoon of August 5, Leslie came in from the veranda, looking hunted. "Father, is it all right if I take the rest of the day off?" she asked. "I can't stand this anymore—I need to get away. I thought I'd take the next charter to Honolulu and do some shopping. At least there nobody knows me or what happened with Christian."
Roarke nodded with complete understanding. It was a Monday, the day with the lightest workload. "By all means, child, go ahead. Stay as long as you wish. I ask only that you phone me if you decide to remain there overnight."
"Oh, I don't think I'll do that," Leslie said, "tempting as it is…but if I change my mind, I'll get word to you right away." She picked up her purse from the computer desk where she generally kept it during the day. "I'll see you later on."
"Try to enjoy yourself, sweetheart," Roarke said. "Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to have one or two of your friends accompany you?"
Leslie stopped short, just in front of the steps up to the foyer, and shook her head so vigorously that her hair flew out around her face. "Absolutely not. I know they mean well, but all they seem to be able to do is talk about how big a fraud they think Christian is and how they'd love to tell him off on my behalf. I just want to get past all this and talk about something else, but they're too busy playing avenging angels."
Roarke chuckled. "You might take it as a sign of their loyalty toward you and of the closeness of the friendships you forged with them all those years ago. But yes, I agree, it can be quite tiresome to hear the same subject belabored over and over again. All right, then, go ahead. Don't forget the pass so that you can return." As he spoke, he reached into the drawer where he kept them and handed her one; she gave a wan smile of thanks and left. He settled into the chair and opened a ledger to balance some accounts.
About twenty minutes later, the phone rang and he paused in his figuring to pick it up. "Yes, may I help you?"
"Mr. Roarke? This is Prince Christian," came the response, surprising him only a little. He had been half expecting something like this. "May I speak with Leslie?"
"She's not here, Christian, I am terribly sorry," Roarke replied neutrally.
He heard a gusty sigh on the other end. "I suspect she would have refused to talk to me in any case. Well, that's as well. I called to ask a great favor of you." Roarke listened in silence as Christian made his request; at one point his dark eyes went wide with surprise before narrowing thoughtfully. Perhaps it's the best way, he ruminated while Christian fell silent, waiting for the reply. If the situation stands as I believe it does, this may be the only way. He drew in a breath and quietly gave assent.
"Mind you," he added, "you are going to find your objective difficult in the extreme, but I will not hinder you in any way. Does your brother, the king, know about this?"
"There's not a word he can say," Christian said in a hard voice. "He got what he wanted from me. Now it's time for him to give some ground."
"Very well," Roarke said. "I suggest we set the date for the twenty-fifth of August, and that you inform the king accordingly. My staff and I will handle the rest."
"My deepest and most heartfelt thanks, Mr. Roarke. This means more to me than you can know," Christian said fervently. Then his voice changed. "I must go…again, thank you so very much." A click sounded in Roarke's ear.
Slowly he hung up, wondering. Christian had sounded hurried just before signing off. Was he making his plans in secret? Roarke sighed softly and put his attention back to his accounting, mentally bracing himself for the uproar when Leslie found out about it.