the dangerous accident, he had made inroads toward a friendship with her. An important step.
When he found the man who had nearly put an end to all this, he would not only punish him, he would make him wish for a quick death.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
He had liked it ever so much better when she called him by his name. But of course she was not free to do so at the moment.
"You were very kind to let me ride back with you."
Every so often, she got formal like that. He really preferred the other side of her, the American one that bubbled over with expressions he could not take literally but wanted to hear more of. And he was quite pleased that she had lost some of the shyness she had exhibited with him on the plane.
"It was my pleasure." If she only knew. "Your father has invited me for lunch, so I will see you in a little while."
He watched carefully as she took her first steps away from him, to make sure she was not hurt more than she would let on, that she did not stumble and fall. But she really did appear to be all right. Her limp was slight.
It could have been much worse. She could have been killed.
He turned on everyone present and snapped, "Come to the stables and bring everyone who was anywhere near that mare."
It took only minutes; there was no one else for them to go roust out. The groomsman swore the girth had been perfect when he saddled her.
A man-at-arms from Castle Ennsway stepped forward. "Except for a minute, she was never out of my sight, Your Majesty."
"You deserted your post?" William demanded.
At His Majesty's tone, the man blanched. "Her Highness's own assistant secretary asked me for assistance, Your Majesty. I thought—"
"You thought?"
"But, Your Majesty—"
William turned abruptly to his man-at-arms. "Throw him in the dungeon."
* * *
Chloe had a one-o'clock lunch date with King Albert.
"What would you like to wear?" Angela asked.
"Oh, I don't know. I usually just..." No, she couldn't say she usually just stood in her cramped bedroom and stared into her dark, minuscule closet until the right clothes struck her. Or that she rooted through the hamper for her least dirty tank top. "I usually just pick a color."
"Like blue?"
"Mmm, maybe." She headed for the shower, thinking maybe red would be a nice color today; it would give her courage. When she returned, wrapped in a towel as big as a sheet, she found a blue dress laid out on the bed.
"Is this all right, Your Highness?" Angela asked.
Well, what did it matter, really? Maybe Angela knew that King Albert's favorite color was blue or something. Maybe she was trying, in her own way, to present Chloe in the best light. "Sure."
"I will get you something else."
"This is fine."
"But, you are—" Angela pointed to her own eyebrows "Frowning?"
"It's fine, really."
Angela rushed toward the closet, calling over her shoulder in an eager tone, "I will bring you every color until you like."
Chloe sighed; she really didn't mean to cause more work for anyone. "Red, Angela."
At ten after one, in a scarlet skirt and heels, she was jogging along a stone passageway—she could have sworn she'd been through it just five minutes before, but so many of them looked alike—and muttering to herself about making one wrong turn after another. When she finally found her father's suite, she burst through the doorway.
Everyone turned to face her at her abrupt entrance; William, his smile warm and gentle as he stood next to her father; King Albert, seated at the head of the table with an oxygen tank by his side; Louis nearby, stroking his beard with a hand that bore a long scar across the back. The servants went about their business silently, and William and Louis moved toward their dining chairs.
Nearly out of breath, Chloe tried to look composed as she apologized courteously. "I'm sorry I'm late, Father."
King Albert's smile was feeble, but warm nonetheless. "I understand your fall has put you off schedule."
Sounded good to her, better than I