Royal Affair (3 page)

He managed to pull back and walked to the
doorway. She went with him and opened the door. For a bit, they
stood on opposite sides, staring at each other as if they couldn’t
bear to part. Finally, she gave him one more smile and eased the
door closed behind him.

Friedrich stood in the cold hallway with a
silly grin on his face and an erection that would do a man half his
age proud.

Not touching Friedrich proved almost more
than Marta could manage. They naturally fit together, rounding out
the party composed of Friedrich’s second son, Kurt, and his new
wife and her parents. With Dev and Felice in their mountain
hideaway and Ulrich and Dixie returned to the palace to greet her
family, only the six of them were left to tour the ancient part of
Danislova’s oldest city. With the narrow streets and alleyways,
their shoulders bumped from time to time, and she had to make
herself pull away. The fact that Kurt and Casey were newlyweds and
her parents were acting as if they were didn’t help matters.

“These buildings date to the fourteenth
century,” Friedrich said as they walked beneath the wooden-beamed
overhangs of houses that had served as homes for guild members and
merchants. The original middle class of Danislova. Flowers hung
everywhere, and residents waved from windows. Friedrich
acknowledged his subjects with a tip of his hat here and there.
Kurt waved back, and Casey occasionally joined him. She was a
princess now, after all.

Friedrich gave Marta sidelong glances as
they went, and she could only remember the heat in his dark eyes
the night before just as he’d turned her in his lap and kissed her
senseless. Her skin heated again, and she’d surely be blushing. The
people might see and realize what had happened between them and
what still would happen. Would she cause a scandal if their affair
became public knowledge? If she did, would he put her aside? Would
she lose him before she’d really had him?

A child emerged from a doorway holding a
lily in each of her hands. As everyone watched, she approached, her
flowers held up toward Friedrich.

“Are you a prince?” she said.

He bent toward her. “I am, and so is my
son.”

The girl glanced toward Kurt and then back
to Friedrich. “My mother says I can give you this flower.”

“Thank you, and thank your mother.” He
reached for the lilies.

The girl held one of the flowers back. “This
one’s for the lady.”

Marta placed her hand on her chest. “For
me?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” the girl
said.

“She is, isn’t she?” Friedrich said.

“You’re beautiful, too.” Marta took the
flower. “Thank you very much.”

The girl blushed and returned to her
mother’s side, burrowing into her skirts. After Friedrich tipped
his hat, they continued.

They arrived at an inn adorned in front with
a carved wooden sign in the shape of a raven.
Zum schwarzen
Vogel
, it read. A slight, silver-haired man, easily seventy
years old, appeared wearing the long white apron of a waiter.

“Your Majesty,” he gushed as he bowed and
bowed. “We are so very honored.”

“Herr…” Friedrich said.

“Grossmann, Majesty. We met. Many years ago.
You wouldn’t remember,” the man said.

“To the contrary, I do. Your name slipped my
mind,” Friedrich said. “Do you suppose you could feed the six of
us?”

“Of course,” Herr Grossmann gushed. “Please,
do step inside.”

The interior of the inn was dark but clean.
The patrons stood as their party entered, and the men removed their
caps in deference to their sovereign. Friedrich also took off his
own hat and handed it to Herr Grossmann.

“Please, resume your seats,” he said.

“This way.” Herr Grossman led them to a
narrow stairway that led to a private dining room overlooking the
town square. An ancient church across the way dominated the
space.

Kurt went to the window and stared outside.
“I remember this place.”

“It was many years ago,” Herr Grossmann
declared.

“You were young,” Friedrich added.

“But I remember,” Kurt said. “Dev and I got
bored and went outside. It started to snow, and mother came to
collect us. In a moment, the people had surrounded us to say
hello.”

“The princess,” Herr Grossmann declared.
“She was so lovely, so gracious.”

Marta hardly needed a reminder of
Friedrich’s wife and princess. Cecile had been perfect in every
way, for the people, her children, and her husband. Marta should
have gotten over her envy of the woman, who’d died so many years
ago. But she could help but wish she’d had Cecile’s life and had
given Friedrich children.

Curse the jealousy. It made her so petty.
She simply would not think in those directions.

“Do sit down, everyone.” Friedrich pulled
out a chair for Marta, changing the subject from his late wife,
thank heaven. They set their lilies next to each other on the
tablecloth.

Kurt continued staring outside while the
rest of the party sat.

“I’ve made the same meal you had that day,”
Herr Grossmann said. “The leek soup, the
Schnitzel
and
potato pancakes. Cook even found the recipe for the fruit meringue
the princess enjoyed so much.”

“She did,” Friedrich said, staring straight
ahead at nothing in particular. They were, after all, discussing
his late wife in front of the woman who would soon become his
lover.

“The meringues!” Kurt said. “The chefs at
the palace used to make those.”

“My wife gave the princess the recipe,” Herr
Grossmann said.

Joy filled Kurt’s face. “I haven’t thought
of them for so long.”

“Sit down, Son,” Friedrich said softly.

Kurt took his seat beside Casey and grasped
her hand. “Just the way I remember. Everything.”

“I’ll bring the soup,” Herr Grossmann said
and disappeared toward the kitchen.

Marta sat quietly with her hands in her lap.
Kurt still seemed flushed and happy at the memories of his mother
in this place. Who could blame him? Even at a young age, he’d
shouldered much of his nation’s grief at the loss of the
princess.

“Your wife must have died young,” Casey’s
father said.

“Very young,” Friedrich answered. “She
wasn’t yet fifty.”

Mrs. Vaughn clucked her tongue. “Such a
shame.”

Marta studied the man beside her. He’d been
young, too. His hair had still been dark, like his sons’, and had
turned white later. Perhaps from the stress of ruling a nation and
from the loss of his wife.

“And your husband, Lady Marta?” Mrs. Vaughn
said.

“Older than Fried…His Majesty’s wife. That
is, the princess.” People insisted on speaking of these things, no
doubt believing they were offering comfort. It had never soothed
her, and especially not now. Friedrich’s stiff posture next to her
said he felt the same. Still, one had to go through the
motions.

“Lady Marta has been a friend of our family
for years,” Friedrich said. The night before, they’d made a tacit
agreement to become more than friends, but she couldn’t mention
that now. She couldn’t even remember the details of that visit to
her room without fear of blushing and letting everything show on
her face.

Herr Grossmann returned with steaming bowls
of soup, which he served to each of them.

“I almost forgot, Your Majesty.” Herr
Grossmann reached into his apron and pulled out a photograph in a
small, gilt frame. “The princess allowed me to pose for a picture
with her.”

“Really?” Friedrich set his spoon down and
sat very quietly.

Herr Grossmann held the picture out to
Friedrich. “See? This is the prize of my inn.”

Friedrich took the picture and studied it
for a moment. “It was a long time ago.”

Marta watched him as best she could without
displaying any feeling to the others. An unschooled eye would
detect nothing amiss from his expression except, perhaps, that he
didn’t show any emotion. Marta caught the tension in his jaw. After
a moment, he handed the picture back. “It’s a good likeness.”

“May I see?” Casey reached for the picture.
“Kurt, it’s your mother.”

Kurt leaned over his wife’s shoulder. “It’s
from the visit here. I remember that scarf she wore in the
winter.”

“She’s beautiful,” Casey said.

Casey must have seen pictures of Cecile
before but perhaps not in a casual pose. Cecile’s portrait hung in
a prominent place in the palace, after all. Marta shouldn’t resent
a dead woman, no matter how much everyone around her had loved
Cecile or continued to rave about her beauty. Marta was still here,
alive and sitting next to the man she’d secretly loved and with
whom she’d soon have an affair. She’d be his second love, not his
first all-consuming one, but she would have him, and that was more
than enough.

Still, when Mrs. Vaughn took the photograph
and ooohed and aaahed over it and when Mr. Vaughn added his
approval, her soup lost some of its taste. When Mr. Vaughn passed
the photo to her, she glanced at it, smiled, and passed it to
Friedrich. He, in turn, returned it to Herr Grossmann without
looking at it.

Herr Grossman tucked the photo back into his
pocket, his smile beaming. “I’ll bring the
Schnitzel
. Enjoy
your meal.”

Marta set her spoon down and pasted a smile
on her face.

*

Friedrich seemed particularly solicitous,
touching Marta’s elbow, as they toured the church. With all the
twists and turns in the ancient structure, she had him to herself
after the priest offered give Casey, Kurt, and the Vaughns a tour
of the small graveyard off to one side.

They stood in front of a shrine to the local
saint, Olivius—a small altar in front of a painting of the holy man
with a goat on one side and a sheaf of wheat on the other.

“Patron of local farmers,” Friedrich said.
“It’s said some of them pray to Olivius directly, although the
priest discourages it.”

“Like a pre-Christian god?” she asked.

“Old beliefs run deep in this part of
Danislova.”

“And you don’t question them.”

“It’s not my place,” he said.

Because she could, Marta touched him. No
more than a hand on the wool of his sleeve, but she couldn’t afford
even that freedom in public, given what he’d said about scandal.
“You’re a wise sovereign.”

“I was born to it, as was Dev.”

“And yet, he married for love,” she said.
“An American, no less.”

“Felice will make a wonderful Princess
Royal.”

“Still, you weren’t given a choice,” she
said.

“Things were different when I was young.” He
turned toward her.

She studied his face and, as usual, found
the strength and determination in the line of his jaw and the
warmth of his eyes. The years had only enhanced his male beauty, at
least in her view, which was admittedly biased about everything
concerning this man.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon at lunch,”
he said.

She shrugged. “I don’t know what you could
have done differently.”

“The people loved Cecile. She was so good
with them.”

“And you loved her.” He’d love Marta, too.
Perhaps not with the same passion, but he would.

He took her hand. “Come, let’s talk.”

They walked together to a pew and sat. He
didn’t release her hand but twined their fingers together on the
wood between them. “We didn’t love each other at first, but thank
heaven, we at least liked each other. She performed her duties as
wife and princess well from the beginning, for which I was
grateful.”

Marta lifted a brow. “Her wifely
duties?”

“Yes, all of them.” Which, of course, would
include in his bed.

“You did need an heir,” she said, and if her
arithmetic was right, they didn’t take long to produce a son.

“I did.”

“It’s not my business,” she said. “I
shouldn’t have asked.”

“I told you I don’t have sex casually,” he
said. “You need to know me.”

“I do.” Not know him? She’d watched him for
decades. If he’d strayed from his wife—and with his looks and
station in life, he could have dallied with any woman who caught
his eye—she would have known. There would have been gossip. She
would have seen his wife’s sadness.

“Cecile was a virgin on our wedding night,”
he said. “I was as gentle as I could manage, but I still hurt
her.”

Imagine. The woman had given her virginity
to someone she hadn’t loved. Cecile had known Friedrich, of course,
and would have had to realize he’d be kind. But what if she’d loved
someone else? Cecile would never have known the true joy of sex for
its sake when she’d gone to her marriage bed.

“We…” Friedrich cleared his throat. “…worked
things out as we went along.”

Meaning they’d had a good sex life. How
could they not when they’d obviously adored each other for years
before Cecile died?

“I haven’t had a great deal of experience
other than with Cecile, but you won’t find me wanting.” He said it
with a shy smile. The statement sent a thrill through her. She’d
known they’d become lovers. They’d settled the matter. But to hear
him say it out loud in a church in front of Jesus on his cross—not
to mention St. Olivius—made their upcoming tryst more immediate.
He’d wanted anticipation. Wooing, he’d called it. How wonderful
that she hadn’t insisted on rushing things. She couldn’t have
enjoyed the breathless excitement, the pleasant tingling that
curled her toes.

He turned toward her, running his arm along
the back of the pew behind her. “So, what about you? Were you a
virgin? Did you love your husband when you married him?”

“No and yes.” She bit her lip and willed
herself not to blush. Without success.

“Ah.” One silver brow went up. “Not a
virgin?”

“I’d fallen in love with a young man,” she
said. “Or I thought I had at the time.”