§ § § - December 21, 1974

Leslie was standing in the west corridor of Lilla Jordsö's royal castle, staring straight at an inhumanly good-looking teenage boy who could only be Christian. He was easy to recognize; his features in his youth were smooth and sharply outlined, carved from alabaster perhaps, astounding in their perfection. His dark hair was just slightly long; he was dressed in a tuxedo that fit him exactly, and he stood in front of the door to what Leslie recognized as Carl Johan and Amalia's suite, hands driven deeply into his pants pockets and head tilted back, his eyes closed and a weary expression on his beautiful face. He was slightly shorter than she knew him; she remembered his telling her he had been sixteen in this memory, and supposed he must have taken another year or two to reach his full adult height. She stared in wonder, wanting to touch him somehow, to smooth his hair, to stroke his cheek, to give him a hug.

Finally Christian shook his head, pulled one hand free and rapped on the door; he was raking his hand through his glossy chestnut-hued hair when it opened, revealing Carl Johan, looking much as Leslie knew him but without the gray hairs and the extra lines on his face. "Oh, Christian," the older prince said in surprise, taking in his brother's expression. "Are you all right? Something wrong?"

Christian gazed at him with a pleading expression atypical of him. "I hope you don't mind if we talk," he said. "I've...I've got something on my mind."

"Come in, by all means," Carl Johan invited, and opened the door enough to allow Christian in. Leslie managed to dart in behind him before Carl Johan pushed it shut again; she peered around the room while the two princes took seats. It was just about the same as it was in the present day. She was taking a seat of her own when Amalia emerged from the bedroom half of the suite, already clad in an expensive-looking nightgown and robe.

Christian looked uncomfortable. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Christian asked to talk," Carl Johan explained to Amalia, who also looked much like her current self but minus the touch of gray and the softening of the face. Youth, Leslie noted with a little smile, had truly blessed the Enstad family, and somehow for the most part they had retained their good looks into the present day.

"Oh, I see," Amalia said now. "No, don't worry, Christian. I'll just close myself into the bedroom here—I meant to read before I get some sleep. Have a good talk." She smiled, took Carl Johan's hands and gave him a soft but lingering kiss, then murmured a goodnight to them both and retreated.

Carl Johan, smiling after her, made himself comfortable, then regarded his younger brother, whose face seemed almost agonized somehow. He had been staring after Amalia, then shifted his gaze to Carl Johan; when the brothers' eyes met, Christian swallowed and let his head droop. Carl Johan's smile faded and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, peering at Christian with concern. "What's wrong, ungstebror?"

"Is there something wrong with me?" Christian asked plaintively.

Carl Johan's gaze grew a bit confused. "How do you mean, 'wrong'?"

"I just...oh, I don't know." Christian fell back in his chair, his head flopping against its back, staring blankly at the ceiling while his hands drooped over the chair arms. His tuxedo jacket had come unbuttoned somehow, revealing a ruby-red cummerbund. "I can't believe I used to look forward to being able to attend the Christmas ball every year," he grumbled. "It's such a damned bore. Nobody decent to talk to, Father constantly pushing me to dance, girls staring at me and then looking away when I look back..."

Carl Johan settled back in his chair again and crossed one leg casually over the other. "Well, I don't know if that means there's anything wrong with you, Christian. I mean, have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"What, you mean my looks? Well, if I'm supposed to be so good-looking, why don't I have girls begging to dance with me? Not that I'd bother. All those high-society divas with their demands and their expectations, trying to be poised and sophisticated and regal, and they just come across as snobbish and stuck-up. But when I see a girl I might actually want to dance with, she looks away and manages to get lost in the crowd."

"You might be too good-looking," Carl Johan commented with a teasing grin. "Let's face it, Christian, you're every teenage girl's fantasy. If girls have wet dreams, I bet you'd be the leading star of them all." He laughed at Christian's dirty look. "That's supposed to be a compliment, in case you weren't sure."

"If you say so," Christian said dubiously. "If that's all they want me for..."

After a silent pause, Carl Johan frowned. "All right then, Christian, why are you really here? What's on your mind?"

Christian opened his mouth twice to speak, catching himself each time before he said anything, frowning. At last he seemed to figure out what he wanted to say. "How did you know you were in love with Amalia?"

Carl Johan's face became a surprised mask; he shifted in his chair, giving himself time to think, and absently scratched his head while Christian watched him. At last Carl Johan stilled and sighed. "Well...that's a hard thing to explain. I know how it all happened, or at least how everyone will tell you it happened. Amalia latched onto me at that Christmas ball, told me she loved me, and made me fall by our second dance together."

"That's the tabloid story," said Christian. "What's the real one?"

Carl Johan chuckled and admitted, "Well, it took a little bit longer than that, but not very much. Amalia had my attention from the time the Sjöbloms were first presented to Mother and Father on the dais—you know how attendees at their first-ever Christmas ball have to formally meet the family." Christian nodded. "I was debating asking her to dance, but some other girl got to me first, and then I sat one out. As soon as I got back onto the floor, Amalia approached me and asked for a dance, and I agreed. What actually happened was that, at the end of the first dance, Amalia admitted to being one of my many admirers through all the photographs of me that were being published at the time, the way they are now of you. During that dance, she had asked me a string of questions, so many that I had no chance to ask her any. But the fact that she showed such interest in me was very flattering, and since I'd noticed her earlier anyway, I thought there might be something there. So I kept her out for the second dance, and I took my turn to ask her questions. When that dance ended, she gave me a kiss and informed me that she had just fallen in love with me."

"Herregud," Christian said, clearly fascinated. "And you fell then?"

"Not quite...it took me three more dances, and then I knew this was the girl for me and there'd never be another. I sneaked her into one of the guest suites in the south wing and really kissed her for the first time, during the final dance when all the lights are turned as low as they'll go. I was hooked from then on, forever. Still am." He smiled a little, as if he didn't realize he was doing it. "We tried to maintain some sort of propriety, but we both knew we were the right ones for each other, and we started making love three weeks after we first met. You know the rest, of course...we couldn't keep our hands off each other, and now we have a three-year-old and another baby on its way."

"I wonder what you'll tell Gerhard if he ever asks about it," Christian said through a laugh. "Okay, maybe the real thing wasn't quite like the tabloid version, but it's close enough to pass as such. But you're saying, anyway, that...you knew you were in love with Amalia by the end of that Christmas ball where you met."

Carl Johan nodded. "Yes, I think that's a reasonably accurate assessment."

Christian stared into the distance, his eyes unfocused but seemingly trained on some spot on the floor. Leslie took in his seated stance as she and Carl Johan waited for his next question; he sat almost like a typical teenage boy, long legs stretched out straight in front of him, feet resting on the backs of his shoes,slouching slightly. Yet despite the slump, there was still and always something regal and elegant about him. The tux, of course, lent him an additional luster that merely made him seem that much more unreal somehow.

"Did you ever fall in love before Amalia?" Christian queried after some time.

Carl Johan had to consider the question. "Hmm...no," he mused at some length, "I don't think so. That's not to say I was never interested, but just in the way any teenage boy is...I'm sure you know how I mean." Christian only hiked an eyebrow at that, and Leslie laughed softly at the familiar gesture. Carl Johan grinned too and warned, "Don't tell me you don't, ungstebror—I won't believe it."

Christian rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right...I have my moments. But we're talking about you here, not me."

"For the moment, we are," Carl Johan corrected with another grin. "We'll get back to you, never fear. I can remember only one time I ever even came close. There was a very pretty servant girl once...I was about your age, I think. I guess Father took note of my interest in her, because he said he'd picked her out for me to lose my virginity with." He let out a laugh when Christian's mouth fell open in disbelief. "What, you didn't know? That's how I learned about sex, you know. She quit working here after that encounter, which was disappointing for me for a while, but you know how it is—royalty and servants don't have relationships. Sex is one thing, romance another. I eventually forgot about her, but she was the only one till Amalia came along. And it's not as if I was in love with her...probably more in lust. Remember, I was sixteen." He gave Christian a pointed look. "Enough of me—what about you? Whatever happened to that girl you were hanging around with a couple of years ago, at any rate? I always meant to ask but never got a chance."

Christian frowned, as if he had to think back; then his face cleared. "Oh, that's right, Annika Tennholt. Her father's ambassadorship here ended for some reason and she had to return to Sweden." Carl Johan nodded understanding, but remained silent, as if waiting for more. Christian's reluctance was written all over his face, but he finally gave in. "She was someone to go places with...just a friend. You know perfectly well I don't have any of those. It was nice to have that for a while, except that I never went beyond that, and she did. She, well...she tried to get me to do more than just kiss her, but I wasn't ready for that."

"Not at fourteen?" Carl Johan prodded, as if testing him. "You might be aware that's when Arnulf had his first sexual experience."

"Why the hell would I want to emulate Arnulf?" snorted Christian, and Carl Johan laughed aloud. Leslie giggled at Christian's disgusted look. "The thing is, I just didn't have any feelings for Annika beyond friendship. All those girls Father's constantly trying to push at me, or push me at...none of them appeals to me, not a single one. I don't care how pretty their faces are or how perfect their figures are. They're all the same to me. They're all born rich, part of the upper class and the nobility. I...I don't care about that kind of thing. We in this social stratum are expected to keep company with our own kind, but we rarely, if ever, consider love part of the equation. And yet this family is different—I know it from all the stories that have come down through the generations. Grandfather Lukas married for love. Father loves Mother. Arnulf loves Kristina, and you love Amalia. Anna-Laura falls in love every month or so, from the way she carries on. I know it can happen. So—so I want to know..." Christian hesitated, his mouth open; then his face became a study in sheer frustration and he slapped the chair arm with one hand. "Why can't I fall in love? Why can't I even get a stupid teenage crush? Something's wrong with me—I'm sixteen and I've never even had that!" He stared at his brother pleadingly. "Carl Johan, I...I know this probably sounds dumb because I'm still young and all that. But I'm really afraid I'll never be able to fall in love. I...I think I'm too picky. I sort of know what I want in a girlfriend."

"Like what?" asked Carl Johan.

"I...I wish there were a way for me to meet ordinary girls. Middle-class girls. Girls who wouldn't see me as a prince, or even some kind of overly pretty teen idol, but as...as a person. A human being with feelings and dreams and wishes. I don't know about Arnulf and Kristina, but I can tell Amalia sees you that way."

"Christian," Carl Johan said gently, "I know what you're trying to say, but royalty is becoming a scarce commodity in this world, and those of us who are left are all globally famous—even the ones who aren't directly in the spotlight. Mother and Father get all the attention because they're king and queen, and Arnulf gets more than the rest of us because he's Prince Heir...and you and I and Anna-Laura are more obscure, especially outside the country, but that doesn't make us unknowns. You're extremely unlikely to find a girl who doesn't recognize you for being part of the jordisk royal family. And if you're so choosy that you can't fall for just any girl that you have enough in common with, then you're probably going to end up being the family bachelor for the rest of your life."

"Father would absolutely vomit snakes if that happened," said Christian.

Carl Johan laughed again. "True. It's just that what you want is probably impossible. If you truly expected to find a girl who didn't see you for the prince you are, she'd probably have to come from one of those primitive tribes they're supposed to have in the Amazon rain forest. I know one thing...if you do find a girl like that, she's likely to be unique, and you'd be so undeservedly lucky, I'd have to kill you out of pure jealousy."

"Like hell," retorted Christian, grinning. "You've already got Amalia. You don't need to find a girl who sees past the royal façade and the looks and the money."

"Well, there you are—if it can happen to me and even to Arnulf, there's no reason it can't happen to you. I don't think there's anything wrong with you; I just think you've set your standards far too high, and you probably need to lower them, at least a little." He shook his head. "It's hard to believe we're having this discussion now, when you haven't even got your completion certificate yet and your photograph probably decorates the bedroom walls of every teenage girl in this country. Relax, Christian. It'll happen in time. I don't see why you're so worried about it—you never give a damn what Father says otherwise."

"I still don't. I just want him to stop throwing me at every likely-looking girl he sees," Christian said irritably, and his brother laughed again. "Well, all right...I'll let it drop for the time being. I guess you have a point about it being pretty early in my life for me to worry about that. Look...do me a favor and don't tell Father. If he finds out what I said to you in here, he'll only redouble his efforts and make me even crazier."

Carl Johan nodded. "Of course, your secret's safe with me. Just give yourself a chance, Christian...and give some of those girls a chance too, huh? Otherwise you'll never find out what kind of girl you could fall in love with."

Christian absorbed that with a thoughtful look, then nodded and arose. "Okay, then, thanks, äldrebror. I'll let you join Amalia. Good night."

"If Mother asks, do I keep it secret from her too?" Carl Johan kidded. Christian seized a throw pillow from an unoccupied chair and pitched it at him, and he caught it; both of them laughed and exchanged goodnights once more.

Just as Leslie arose to follow Christian out, the room blinked out as if all the lights had been shut off, and then that familiar door popped into view in front of her. She let herself out and spied her present-day husband in a chair, slouched in much the same position as his sixteen-year-old self had been moments before, his eyes closed and a slight frown creasing his still-beautiful features. "Are you all right, my love?"

Christian's eyes popped open and he sat up, then smiled ruefully at her. "Your last memory certainly gave me something to think about," he said. "But we can come back to that if you like. What did you think of mine?"

"It kind of amazed me that you were worried about not being able to fall in love as early as when you were only sixteen," Leslie admitted.

Christian shrugged and said, "I think even at the time, I was pretty surprised myself. But I'd already endured a couple of years of Father shoving me at girls, and always the sort of girls he thought would be suitable for a prince. Sometime after Arnulf dropped that revelation on me that Father made me marry Johanna because he was afraid I was gay, I began to wonder when Father first entertained that idea. I suppose I'll never know."

"Hmm...well, it was quite a talk, anyway. It gave me a good sense of how close a relationship you and Carl Johan had when you were growing up. Maybe in some ways it's better to have a sibling that much older or younger than you, because you can relate to each other in a different way. I wasn't like that with Kristy and Kelly just because we were only two years apart."

"Not that Kristy at least didn't seem to look up to you, from what I've seen in at least one of your memories. Which brings me around to this one. Herregud, my Rose...was that truly Michael Hamilton? He bore you and your sisters no resemblance at all. Not in facial features, not in build, nothing. It was as if he had no hand at all in your creation."

"Something for which I've been eternally grateful for years," Leslie assured him wryly. "I knew it from an early age, and I sometimes let myself daydream that he wasn't the guy who got Mom pregnant with us and our real father was out there somewhere just waiting for us to find him. But yup, that was Michael. He smoked for a lot of years—that's why he looked like that. He quit when I was around eleven, but that just seemed to make him even meaner, as if the nicotine had been some kind of mellowing influence on him or something. If he hadn't died in his own firetrap, cancer probably would've got him sooner or later."

Christian shook his head and regarded her with some wonder, slowly getting to his feet. "I could hardly believe it when you twitted him with that wisecrack about remembering how old you were. I truly thought he'd break some of your bones for a few seconds."

"Mom's probably the only reason we got away with the occasional shot across his bow. You saw what she did when he threatened me. So what else did you see?"

"That shabby little spun-sugar room you lived in," said Christian with a half-smile. "After your mother and sisters came out with party things, I had to know, and I went in and up to your room and watched you put away clothes. I still remember your telling me once that you needed to have everything in its proper place. You've always been like that, haven't you? Your room was immaculate, especially compared to the twins'."

Leslie grinned. "Did you see all Kristy's unicorn drawings?" At his nod, they both laughed. "Yeah, I guess I always have. So you got a good sense of the layout of our house. What was the last thing you saw?"

"You and your mother at the table, with her promising you that your fourteenth birthday would be much better than your thirteenth. You looked confused, but I knew instantly that she wasn't just making a vow, she was predicting the future."

"Yeah," Leslie murmured, "she was. You're right. For some reason I never realized that till you pointed it out, but that's exactly what she was doing. At the time I just thought she was promising me she'd find a way to make it better, even if she had to go way out of her way to do it. But she knew it was because I'd be here with Father and Tattoo."

"You may not realize it, my Leslie Rose, but you're braver and stronger than you know. Whatever we do in the next few months, you're going to be just fine."

She nestled into his embrace. "I know I will, because I have you." He hugged her, and they were still standing that way when Roarke looked in on them.

"Food for thought?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

They looked around, caught his eye, looked at each other, and nodded almost in perfect synch. Roarke smiled at that, then gave them a signal to follow him out; they did, both thinking back over the past three days, wondering what the final foray into memory would bring them.