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“I NEED you to handle this, Cassandra,” Prince Thomas of California announced, and he dropped a thick folder on my desk. The thump startled me into staring at him, taking away precious time from my work to ensure there was a memorial for Their Majesties of New York.
The file would break me, as would the other similar stacks he’d dumped on my desk after word spread that New York had a new queen and king.
In a way, I pitied Thomas.
Yesterday, he’d been just another Californian prince.
Today, he was the next in line to rule.
Rather than slap the prince with the file to find out if it could serve as a weapon, and rather than lose my job and possibly my head, I picked it up, braced for the worst, and flipped the folder open. In an era of computers, emails, and digital transactions, the appearance of paper copies of invoices for the memorial annoyed the hell out of me. As they wouldn’t add much work to my endless day, I resisted the urge murder my boss.
A good aide kept cool and calm under any circumstance. I faked a smile and replied, “I’ll take care of it, sir.”
“Good. How are you holding up?”
The question surprised me; in the five years I’d worked as one of Prince Thomas’s invisible aides, he’d barely said a word to me. On rare occasions, we crossed paths in the halls, and sometimes, he acknowledged me. Most times, he offered a nod or a smile, usually grim.
Until yesterday, I had barely existed in his world.
Today, he couldn’t stop invading my office with more work.
I missed yesterday.
My smile softened into something a little less cheerful but a great deal more honest. “I’m fine, sir.” Then, as I was trying to at least pretend I could be somewhat honest, I regarded my overwhelmed desk with a less-than-happy expression. “Mostly.”
“As soon as we’re through the memorial, we’ll open hiring. The transition is not going quite to plan.”
I raised a brow. “There was a plan, sir?”
“Thomas,” he corrected. “Well, there was the start of a plan, but it survived for about twelve hours before the former New York monarchs made a mess of it. We’d meant for Ethan to make an announcement and begin the transition gradually, but the wildfire changed everything—and His Royal Majesty of Montana did not want to leave any openings. Ethan wanted to ease Rachel into going back to New York while making certain she has the support she needs. So, I get the job rather than Ethan, because she needs him to keep her stable, and I’m available.”
Right. Availability mattered, and as the new heir, available and next in line to rule meant most of the work landed on my desk. “Will we be hosting the public coronation?”
“Unfortunately.”
As a mid-casted airweaver with a minor blood leeching talent nobody had bothered to rate, I barely qualified to work in the palace at all. Mostly, my parents’ ranking as elites had qualified me. The rarity of my leeching talent, which I could use to staunch blood in case of emergency, had given me a foot in the door. My ability to conquer any stack of paperwork had put me in the royal wing of the palace in an administrative role, where I sometimes bumped against my boss in the hallways but rarely anywhere else.
With His Royal Highness as my new boss, my ventures into the hallway would be a great deal more stressful in the future.
I drew in a deep breath to calm myself. I could handle a coronation on top of the memorial without snapping. I could snap after the coronation. By then, the palace would hire more appropriate staff for the job. I drew in a deep breath, held it until my chest hurt, and released it in a slow exhale.
“When will the coronation be held?”
“Immediately following the memorial. That comes from the top. The top is unwilling to negotiate.”
From the top meant two people: Thomas’s parents, His and Her Royal Majesties of California.
Could someone die from stress? I’d find out soon enough. I estimated I would be too tired to remember my own name within six hours; I’d already lost track of how long I’d been working since word had come down the line that I was responsible for arrangements for the memorial.
What was a coronation on top of a memorial?
“Understood, sir.”
His Royal Highness of California cleared his throat.
“Thomas,” I dutifully replied, and while I considered rolling my eyes over the prince’s request, I kept my opinion regarding the differences in our station to myself.
People like me weren’t even supposed to talk to people like him.
While I couldn’t resent Ethan for marrying the woman he loved, I wanted to toss the entire royal family into the ocean until they came to their senses and stopped making me do work I had no business doing.
“I expect I’ll be back within ten minutes, which is when my asshole parents will surely find something else to dump on my desk, Cassandra,” the prince complained before striding out of my office.
He would drive me straight to a midlife crisis before I turned thirty, and I lost a few precious moments watching him leave.
Someone needed to fire his tailor. I couldn’t imagine anyone being capable of working with him while he wore such a perfectly fitted suit. The damned thing clung to him, and I suspected he spent an unreasonable amount of time working out in the palace’s gym.
The members of the royal family needed to pay a little less attention to their appearances. I needed my peace of mind intact, and having a fit boss who went out of his way to be handsome violated my peace of mind.
Only after the prince turned the corner did I manage to return my attention to my work.
How had planning the memorial for His and Her Majesties of New York fallen onto my shoulders? It should have fallen onto Dedaran’s shoulders. Dedaran could have handled it without breaking a sweat. My former boss handled everything with grace and dignity.
Me? I’d stopped sweating a few hours ago because sweating expended precious ener
gy I could no longer spare.
Oh, right. I remembered. Dedaran was heading to New York as the primary aide of the new His Majesty of New York, formerly known as His Royal Highness of California. In the hours following the deaths of the New York monarchs, the royal shuffle had begun in earnest.
I checked the time. If all had gone to plan, Dedaran would have landed in New York an hour ago to manage the new king’s affairs, organize the palace in New York, and otherwise bring order to chaos.
I couldn’t tell which one of us had the worst job.
As a secondary aide to the newly minted His Royal Highness of California, I should’ve been ordering flowers, writing cards, and preparing hotels for visiting dignitaries as an overflow assistant, a glorified secretary of sorts, a jack of all trades who could handle any task with minimal loss of performance.
Someone had decided to test my capabilities. I hoped I never found out who was responsible. I’d hate them for the rest of my life. I’d consider haunting the bastard to extend my hatred for a few extra years, too.
Some of my fellow aides were transferring to New York in an effort to ease Her Royal Majesty’s burdens, a gift of sorts from the royal family. The others were claiming seniority and executing the out clauses in their hiring contracts, which gave them the right to flee upon Prince Thomas of California’s promotion to heir or monarch.
My contract did not include such a clause.
I regretted that. Not only did I regret the lack of such a clause, I couldn’t figure out how it had escaped my contract. Had I been young? Foolish? Charmed by the handsome prince now in line for the throne?
Years ago, fresh out of high school and faced with the choice of college, palace service, or joining the family business, I’d opted for palace service. Without a college degree but with a solid understanding of computers, my parents’ elite rank had bought me a spot among the candidates, a free-for-all employment pageant where the royals selected their newest aides.
For some reason I still didn’t understand, Prince Thomas had snagged me out of the lineup before anyone had bothered to interview me, jumping the line over even his parents to secure my employment on his staff.
Years later, the whole thing still confused me, but I’d learned to keep my doubt to myself. The royals didn’t need someone like me moaning and groaning about the workload, wretched hours, and packed palace schedule. Given the current state of affairs, they deserved some time moaning and groaning about their workload, wretched hours, and packed schedules.
I wanted to flee from the chaos and leave some other poor bastard to handle the planning. Alas, after me, there was exactly nobody else qualified to handle the job.
The other aides, the ones who hadn’t quit or were headed to New York, scrambled to do the million and one tasks their bosses required of them before the memorial service.
It would’ve been nice if one of the other princes had offered even one of their staff to help, but no. They wisely kept their distance.
Asshole royals.
Prince Thomas, as the current eldest prince in residence, needed to school his brothers about being selfish. One aide would have helped a great deal. With one extra aide, I could go home long enough for a nice shower, a change of clean clothes, and a treat from my freezer.
I kept chocolate bars for emergencies in the back of my freezer, and I deserved three of them. No, four. Maybe five. I deserved one for each day since I’d last been home, however
many chocolate bars that was.
As there was no one to help me, I dealt with the funeral on my own while hoping for the best. His and Her Majesties of California played host to Her Royal Majesty of New York and her consort, who should have been our heir.
I’d only caught a few glimpses of the woman, and I’d gotten the feeling she needed all the help she could get. Prince Ethan—no, King Ethan—would have his hands full with her, as the pomp and circumstance of preparing for a Royal funeral seemed to suck the life out of her. She only smiled when he was around, and her two pet tigers constantly rumbled, mouthed at her hands, and did everything they could to distract her from the growing tensions in the palace.
At first, the tigers had frightened me, but only a blind fool couldn’t see the truth; the animals adored the fragile queen.
As the monarch’s aides scrambled to make preparations and support Her Royal Majesty of New York, Thomas’s aides—reduced in number to lonely me—handled the rest of the work.
Without any bodies to bury, the funeral would be more of a remembrance ceremony, during which California would thank New York for the sacrifice of its monarchs.
I had no idea how the hell I was supposed to plan a coronation on top of a funeral, what was supposed to happen at one, and what the New York queen wanted, if she wanted anything at all.
According to the rumor mill, the former monarchs had done the new queen a favor by permanently getting out of her life. With whispers of abuse rampant, including threats about what the royal family would do if the struggling queen heard a single whisper about her, I did the only thing I could.
I kept my head down, did my work, and avoided the situation as much as I could.
California had gone overboard giving our heir to New York’s queen, but after the initial surge of resentment over the arrangement had faded, I realized someone had accomplished something truly brilliant.
The new Her Royal Majesty of New York would care what happened to my kingdom when the wildfires burned each year. Her marriage to Ethan of California ensured that.
Assuming, of course, she was half as nice of a person as the rumors claimed.
I believed the rumors. She’d gone to face the flames even after her parents’ deaths. The speculations whispered throughout the palace suggested the New York monarchs hadn’t done anything at all for the wildfire, escaping shame and using their beleaguered daughter to do it.
Those whispers rang of the truth, although I couldn’t see how such a withdrawn, worn, and skittish woman could accomplish so much.
She couldn’t even force herself to smile.
To my shame, I admired her for her unspoken honesty, showing her heart on her sleeve and in plain view on her face. I remained a coward, smiling on command despite the weight of a new world slamming onto my shoulders.
In that, we were similar enough.
Instead of making the usual phone calls, sending flowers, and arranging suites for visiting dignitaries, I arranged for a pair of urns worthy of a king and queen, I contacted the largest cathedral in San Francisco for approval to use their building for the ceremony, and ordered enough flowers to fill said cathedral. Calling the cathedral to inquire if they would be willing to host the public coronation of the New York monarchs might kill me—although it could work out.
If the ceremonies were held back-to-back, we wouldn’t further disrupt services at the cathedral or have to coordinate extra transportation between sites. Heaving a sigh, I grabbed my phone, shuffled through the papers on my desk for the bishop’s number, and dialed.
“Miss Ferran, how may I serve?” the bishop asked.
Well, well, well. Last time, I’d had to leave a voice mail several times before I’d managed to get through to the man. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Bishop Lanhallen. I’ve just been notified California will be hosting the coronations of Her and His Royal Majesties of New York, and I wanted to inquire if your cathedral would be willing to host the event immediately following the memorial.”
As someone who attended church only under duress every blue moon, I prayed for a miracle to spare me from having to locate a second venue, which would likely need to be the second-largest cathedral in San Francisco.
“It would be our honor to provide the blessing for their coronation, my child. Shall we handle it in the Californian tradition?”
Miracles could happen, and the bishop might talk me into converting to his religion if he kept making my job simpler. “If you would, I would be most appreciative. It might be worth
investigating how New York handles their coronations if only to avoid stressing Her Royal Majesty of New York. The Californian tradition may be kinder to her, however. We’ll need to accommodate her animals, as they do not leave her side often,” I reminded him.
“I’ve been promised the appropriate animal empaths will be on hand to handle any concerns with her feline companions. I have already discussed the situation with His Royal Majesty of New York personally, and I am satisfied their presence is truly necessary. We are praying for the new monarchs, and that Her Royal Majesty of New York finds peace in her new life.”
I hoped the woman lost her haunted appearance at the very least. “Thank you, Bishop. Your understanding is truly appreciated. I only found out a few moments ago we will be hosting the coronation.”
