“Of Nava, I presume?” Ele interrupted.
The queen pinned her with a sharp stare, the point of which made a sheen of sweat break out on Ele’s face and beneath her arms.
“He is currently at sea with our Royal Navy. When he returns from his tour in December, you will officially be engaged. And of course, from Nava. We are in a battle for the future of the kingdom. The independence of Nava would cause a ripple effect not only in our country, but in global politics and economies as well.”
“And there are no stipulations for me to get out of this? Some mandated counseling or secret jewel buried somewhere in South Africa, which I have to find to release me from an ill-fated marriage?” Sarcasm dripped from every word. Now that she’d released her tongue, words spewed from her mouth in a torrent of indignation, disbelief, and desperation.
Ele had expected something like this for years. And the need for a political alliance had grown steadily over the last five. It made perfect sense. And she would have accepted it for what it was. A political alliance, a part she was chosen to play. But some unfulfilled part of her rebelled while she worried about her future husband’s reaction to her “condition.”
“This isn’t some fairy tale, Eleanor.”
“What if I schedule every appearance from now on at 12:17 p.m.? Would that earn me an out?”
“If it were that easy, I would have insisted on it eleven and a half years ago,” Lilian droned in a tone one hairbreadth away from a call to her security detail to lock Ele in the dungeon.
Ele thrust her shoulders back, refusing to give in to the desire to ooze into a puddle of despair right in front of one of the most powerful women in the world. “Am I free to go?”
“No.” Lilian perched against the side of her desk, her tailored wool suit as unflappable as her icy glare. “James is going to America for the World Championship Cup as part of the delegation of support for our national team. Their success can draw visitors here in droves. Seeing the crown prince supporting the team is excellent press.”
Ele stared straight ahead, barely listening to the queen.
“You will join him there for the first game of pool play.”
Ele’s spine snapped straighter as she dropped her gaze to the floor. America. World Championship Cup. National Team. Tristan.
“From there, Jamie will make some goodwill visits, using the United States as his base of sorts. Of course, you know your twin. He hopes to make every game. But in case he can’t, you will go in his stead. We will adhere to protocol. If he is at the game, you will not be there.” She waved her hand, as if the protocol established after the assassination of her parents were merely an item on a grocery list—common. “I suspect I will not be able to keep Juliana here. Thus, she will be your responsibility. If she gets herself in trouble, I will hold you accountable.”
Ele kept her gaze trained on the floor, afraid if she lifted her head, the queen would read every emotion in her eerily similar eyes. Ele couldn’t afford that, as the price for treason was still death.
“Eleanor!”
Ele’s head snapped up. “Yes?”
“You may go now.”
Ele stood and walked to Lilian. She leaned down and kissed her grandmother’s cheeks. When Lilian held out the crown jewel on her hand for Ele to kiss, Ele resisted the urge to spit on it.
She walked to the door, turned, curtsied, and left. She hurried down the hallway, concentrating on the clip-clop of her heels on the floor. She ducked around the corner and leaned against the wall, safe from prying eyes. Robert followed, maybe three steps behind. He warily eyed her, trying to judge her mood.
“Your Highness?” he inquired quietly.
She scooted over and nodded to the space beside her. When he settled against the wall, she sighed.
“What do you know about Matthew Bennington?” she asked in a hushed tone.
Robert’s eyes slanted in her direction, but he kept his body rigid. “Nothing—yet.”
Ele nodded, confident he would find out whatever she needed to know. “Seems we’re going to America.”
“Yes.”
“I owe someone an apology.”
“Yes.”
“Set it up, please.”
5