Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1 (27 page)

Em’s own gown was in the building, she’d heard, but was still clearing the various security checkpoints, a fact that had set them all giggling more than a few times, as their anxiety tangled together with their excitement for what lay ahead.

“Now remember,” Em urged, “no fights. No scenes. No
tsipouro
. I need you guys on your toes if someone is going to pour wine down my back.”

“Go get dressed.” Nicki waved to the aide, who now stood at the door, looking expectantly at Em. “And if you have a clothing crisis, send someone to get us. Surely in this entire freaking castle, they can find something to fit you.” She grinned. “Or we’ll take out one of the dueling daughters who show up early for the ball, and you can wear her gown.”

The journey across the castle to the queen’s state rooms was brief, but the castle itself was unusually quiet. The Accession Ball was to be held in the Visitors’ Palace, exactly the kind of event that the impressive glassed-in building was meant for. They would all arrive at the party via limo—after the fustier dignitaries, she was advised, but before the night’s main stars, Garronia’s native belles.

Em grimaced. It was too bad this night wasn’t going to be televised. She could see the previews now:
Gowns! Glory! Backstabbing in Garronia!

Her laughter helped settle her nerves, and by the time she arrived at the appointed door, she felt almost centered. She walked into the chamber with her head high.

Then her mouth dropped.

Hanging from a dressmaker’s mannequin, with stuffed arms held out wide to give the full effect, was the most beautiful gown she’d ever seen. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped midstride until the queen’s bright laughter startled her and she almost stumbled.

“Exactly the response we were hoping for!” Catherine announced, and repeated the words to the dressmakers, who were also now looking at her with shining eyes.

“But it—it’s custom-made,” Em said, finally stepping forward, walking around the mannequin and seeing the pins and unfinished seams. The gown was crafted in layers of lush pink fabric, not so soft as to be debutante level, but a rich, dusky rose that she knew would look good against her skin—the shade of a dark blush. The gown’s neckline was a low square, rimmed in a softer pink, and the bodice was tight and sleek against the waist. Its rose-pink skirts fell straight over the hips before blossoming into a sharply defined cascade of heavy material, caught up in elegant gathers. And the gown’s sleeves dripped lace and beading, especially from the elegantly elongated cuffs, an unexpected detail that rendered the gown the perfect fusion of past and future, daydreams and reality. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, then turned to the women, speaking the only Garronois words she knew for certain. “
Absolutely beautiful
.”

“And so you will be, Emmaline,” the queen ordered, gesturing to the women, who suddenly exploded in a flurry of movement. “We have been blessed by your visit to Garronia, and I should like very much for you to celebrate this night as the sweet princess you are. Life is short, is it not?”

Em blinked, but she had no time to respond to the queen’s words, as she was surrounded by the fluttering hands and prodding fingers of a trio of laughing, chattering women.

Unlike during the social of the day before, Kristos could not slip in silently to his own Accession Ball. More was the pity.

Because all he wanted to do now was talk with Emmaline. Tell her the mad, insane idea he had formulated just last night, even as he was giving his speech, even as he should have been focused on his countrymen, his allies. Instead he’d only been able to focus on her, and from that had come the idea that had no preparation, no counsel from all who should advise him.

The idea that just seemed
right
.

He stood now with his parents at the front steps of the Visitors’ Palace, his eyes long since blinded by the flash of photographers’ bulbs. All the media they thought they’d shooed out of the country were now back in force, and with the arrival of every new limo or luxury SUV, the excitement seemed to mount. Though the families of Garronia they’d invited wouldn’t be arriving until the very end of the procession, he’d already welcomed a half-dozen nobility or near-nobility from across Europe, and even the American ambassador to Greece and his wife, who warmly shook his hand and asked after the Americans staying with the family.

It was the question of the hour, in fact. His mother had just smiled and said they would be along shortly, and that was all the information she was interested in sharing.

Over her head, the king had shrugged. He’d been married to Catherine for too many years to second-guess her machinations.

Still, Kristos wasn’t expecting the next dark SUV that swept up the drive to carry anything more than another aristocratic family. It had none of the usual markings of a royal transport, and the windows were tinted black. But when Dimitri stepped out from the passenger’s side, Kristos straightened. Another doorman opened the double passenger doors, and a great, excited cheer went up.

The media went apeshit.

The Americans’ names were suddenly all being called, none louder than Emmaline’s. At a nod from Dimitri, the ranks of guards drew tighter, lining the red carpet as an honor barrier. No one carried obvious guns, of course, but at least their presence would give the women space to breathe.

Francesca stepped out first, and there was a moment of hushed silence before the photogs practically leapt forward, the flashes from their cameras becoming a light storm. Nicki stepped out to equal applause and quite a few more appreciative whistles. Kristos cringed at the comments, but Nicki seemed to take them in stride, offering him a broad wink as she and Francesca turned back to the car. Lauren emerged next, standing next to a slightly stunned Dimitri.

“Oh, lovely,” his mother breathed. “Well done, dear.”

Kristos could understand the dazed look on the bodyguard’s face. While Lauren had always, arguably, been the most classically beautiful of the four Americans, tonight she was stunning. With her sleekly styled hair, serene expression, and perfectly fit dress, she looked more like a reincarnation of Princess Grace of Monaco than a thoroughly modern celebutante. She waved to the cameras and smiled—radiantly—then turned back to the SUV as well, reaching up to help the last of their number into the spotlight.

Emmaline emerged with one hand firmly lifting her skirts high, so the first thing Kristos saw was her foot, clad in a dark pink shoe. Then a frothy dress in more shades of pink fell over that shoe, and she stepped out of the SUV and onto the red carpet.

A roar went up from the crowd, and Kristos found himself glad that their early guests were already safely ensconced inside the Visitors’ Palace—and that the rest of the young women he was expecting tonight were in their own limos outside the palace and hopefully not online. The distant, rational part of his brain didn’t want to deal with the fallout from the media’s attention to Emmaline.

But he couldn’t help revel in it now.

In yet another way he’d never expected to see, Emmaline was absolutely breathtaking. The gown fit her perfectly from its plain square neckline to its almost theatrical sleeves, the folds and gathers of the dark rose silk molded to her slender body. Her hair was not swept back, like Lauren’s, but hung to her shoulders in soft brunette waves, framing her face and setting off the blush that softened her cheeks. Her makeup was understated, and, unlike the other women, she wore very little jewelry—only a constellation of pink dangling diamonds at her ears.

“Catherine…” the king suddenly said, disapproval in his voice.

“Shh.”

Emmaline nodded deferentially to the crowd and looked around, not even wincing at the flashing lights and shouted questions. The girls all then turned and glided up the red carpet toward the receiving line and mounted the steps of the Visitors’ Palace, as if they had been born to royalty themselves.

Kristos greeted them all, one by one, but when Emmaline paused in front of him, her eyes downcast, her manner shy, he felt his heart give a sudden, ruthless tug. “Absolutely beautiful,” he said in Garronois, and she finally met his gaze. Her expression was filled with emotions he couldn’t hope to sort out, but they were powerful, they were sure, and they were all intended for him. “Welcome to the ball, Emmaline. I am so glad you’re here.”

For some reason, those words seemed to unlock her reserve. She gave him an unguarded, delighted smile that almost brought him to his knees—well, one of them—right there, in front of everyone. Then she allowed herself to be urged along by Lauren. Kristos stared perhaps a moment too long as she disappeared into the archway, before turning back to face the cameras again, his face once more carefully neutral. He watched the next vehicle circle up the drive, recognizing the crest on the side of the limousine, and glanced at his mother.

“That was neatly done.” His mother had been in charge of the order of guests, and she’d positioned the arrival of the American guests perfectly—after some of the most notable foreign attendees—and before the most discussed prospects for his royal hand. As much as the thought made him feel slightly sick, he had to admit the timing was masterful.

She lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “I didn’t just start planning parties yesterday, Kristos. I’ve had a few years to prepare.”

King Jasen’s words were slightly more pointed. “Those earrings were a
gift
, Catherine. A gift I thought you treasured.”

Kristos’s eyes widened as he turned to look at his parents more fully. Catherine’s smile was placating as she leaned up to kiss Jasen’s cheek, but ever so slightly smug as well. “It’s not as if she’s going to keep them, Jasen, and I thought it would be a shame for them not to be on display again, given the event.”

“God save me from a meddling wife.” The king rolled his eyes. “If anyone notices those…”

“Then they can talk to me about it,” Catherine said firmly. She turned to Kristos, dismissing the matter with a graceful flutter of her fingers. “Your father gifted me with those earrings on the night of his own Accession Ball, sweetheart. I rarely get the chance to wear them and—more to the point,” she said sternly, looking back at the king, “they are
pink
. Now, I ask you, how much pink jewelry do you think I actually have lying around my jewelry boxes?”

“Not nearly enough, I see,” Jasen said dryly.

“Not nearly enough is right.”

They all turned to the fore as the media’s interest was piqued again with the arrival of another limo. The next set of doors opened, and a gratifying swell of approval lifted from the photographers and reporters. The face of the young woman turned from slightly pensive to delighted, and Kristos breathed a sigh of relief.

It was never easy to sway the media to your plan, but despite her clear enjoyment of their American guests, his mother needed the focus to remain on the women of Garronia. Because, regardless of the outcome of tonight’s nonsense, she needed to keep up at least the
illusion
that the family was continuing the tradition of the Accession Ball as some sort of sneak peek at the next Queen of Garronia.

Kristos shook his head, suddenly unsure about his own illusions. His heart had always been with the military, his head in the battle, his body eager and willing to be on the front lines, defending his country, supporting his fellow soldiers. But now he was a man divided. Ever since his visit to the solarium yesterday—and his speech last night when her emotion had swept him up in her gentle embrace—his attention seemed to center solely on Emmaline, his heart practically in his throat. He no longer knew what he wanted.

Well, that wasn’t true. Not exactly.

“Kristos, your attention.” His mother’s words recalled him, and he straightened his shoulders, ready to face once more an illusion not of his own making, until he could sort through the ones that were.

Because unless
he
somehow made some kind of miracle happen tonight with Emmaline, the people of Garronia would be waiting a long time for their queen. He pushed away the ache in his chest to focus on the elegant, expensively gowned woman making her way toward him up the steps of Visitors’ Palace.

A
very
long time.

Chapter 19

Em turned again on the dance floor, her gaze sweeping the impressive room. It was everything she’d imagined, really. The starlight twinkling far above, the women in eye-popping gowns, their partners either dressed formally or in military uniform. Dimitri once again looked extraordinarily handsome, working his way through an ever-expanding ring of admirers while still remaining close to her and her friends.

And Em had had no shortage of dance partners either. The men of Garronia—and Europeans, as well—seemed more than happy to overlook her lack of understanding of their native languages and instead spoke in English with remarkable fluency. Even now she was in the arms of Stefan, Kristos’s cousin, and his command of the language was almost as unsettling as his cold blue stare, which currently was burning holes into the back of a very familiar figure.