"Back straight. Shoulders back. Chest out," Princess Lupa said. "None of that terrible American posture."
"How am I supposed to reach the salt like this?" I said, sticking out my arm.
The silk scarf the Princess had used to tie my shoulders to the back of the dining chair kept me held in place. I wiggled my fingers, just a couple inches short of the salt shaker.
"You don't," the princess said and dug her red claws into my shoulder, pulling it back even further. "It's rude to add salt and pepper to your meal. It implies the chef did a poor job."
I dropped my arm with a huff. "Well if he didn't put salt on the french fries, he kinda did."
"Then pretend he made them perfectly." She pulled out the chair beside me and sat down, her cat-like eyes glowing in the morning light.
"Seriously?" I said. "The salt's right there. You never use it?"
"Never."
It wasn't the Princess that answered.
Prince Leopold walked into the dinning room, stopping behind my chair. He leaned down, over my shoulder and grabbed one of the sad french fries off my plate, popping it into his mouth.
Suddenly, my posture was perfect.
"They taste good to me." The chair shifted slightly as he grabbed hold of the decorative knobs at the top. If the back of the chair hadn't been there, he would have been pressed against me.
I reached for my water, my mouth all of a sudden dry, only to be stopped by the scarf again.
The Prince leaned forward and used two fingers to slide the glass into my reach.
"Thanks," I squeaked, and gulped down some of the water.
"What can we do for you, brother?" Lupa said. Her eyes moved from me to the Prince above me, and narrowed.
"I was wondering if Cat would like to join me on a tour today?"
"A tour?" I tried to turn to see his face, but was stopped one again by the damn scarf.
"The palace is open to the public today. We could join one of the tour groups. You could learn more about the palace and country."
"And be seen together," the Princess nodded. "It's a good plan. I'm surprised you're suggesting it."
"You've seen the latest reports. Cat and I are trending."
I could hear the smile in Prince Leopold's voice. I blushed and looked down at my plate.
Pictures of Leopold changing in the parking lot of the clubhouse were all over the internet. I'd even seen a meme.
The Princess waved her hand. "Then I supposed I can't stop you."
The Prince began pulling at the knot at my back, making the scarf tighter along the top of my breasts. I pressed my thighs together as my mind drifted to all the different things the scarf could be used for. Under different circumstances, being tied to the chair by the Prince could be very, very fun.
"See you later," I said to the Princess as I jumped up from the chair. Did going on a museum tour sound particularly thrilling? No. But definitely more fun than not eating french fries.
Plus, it was another opportunity to get some good shots for the press. Museum tour might not scream fun, but it definitely screamed things-you-do-when-dating-a-prince.
"What part of your body do you plan on exposing this time?" I asked as soon as we were out in the hall.
"No planned nudity," the Prince reported. "We're aiming for wholesome and educational this time."
I snorted.
We arrived at the top at the end of the hall. Mr. Arsenault and Farrow waited on either side of a door I knew led to the main foyer.
"Are you ready, Your Highness? Mademoiselle?"
"All set," I confirmed.
Farrow pulled the door open, leading the way out into the crowd.
Two armed guards on the other side suddenly moved into attention, swinging their weapons and arms into a salute. The tourists in the foyers instantly turned to look at the commotion, their eyes going wide as the Prince and I appeared through the door. Simultaneously, the room bowed.
I plastered a smile on my face as my heart rate began to climb.
For some reason I hadn't realized that going on tour during public hours would mean there would be lots of public.
Prince Leopold began saying hello to some of the tourists, shaking hands with them. In a flash, there was a man in a uniform beside him holding two passes. I assume he'd been prepped for our arrival. That he was another prop in the plan. I couldn't imagine the Prince and I would actually need passes to take a tour of the rooms we walked through on the way to breakfast every morning.
"The next english tour is not for a few hours," the uniform man said apologetically. His accent was thick.
Understanding my cue, I threw myself into the conversation. "That's okay, I need to practice my French anyway. And I'm sure Prince Leopold will help translate."
The man bowed his head gratefully. He and the Prince exchanged a few more words, then we were handed our passes and directed to wait in line at the edge of the room with the other people we'd be touring with.
Farrow was discreetly given a pass as well. He leaned against the wall in front of us in line, blending in with the other tourist in his jeans and t-shirt. Mr. Arsenault stood across from us, on the other side of the red rope, like an impenetrable wall of protection. Clearly not interested in hiding.
The Prince dropped his head down, his voice low. "Stop using my title."
"Pardon?" I frowned. Wasn't that like illegal? Princess Lupa had made it very clear titles and full names always needed to be used. It's why no one called me Cat. Well...almost no one. "Your sister said–"
"Just my first name," Leopold insisted. "It implies familiarity."
"You picked a French tour on purpose, didn't you," I whispered back.
The Prince leaned a little closer. Still a perfectly respectable distance away. But the way he leaned into me, towards me, made it seem like the most important thing in the whole world were the few inches between us.
"Do you not like my lips so close to your ear?"
I couldn't help it. I blushed. Then the usual frustration bubbled to the surface. "I can think of much better things you could do with your mouth. Shutting it, for instance."
Leopold laughed lightly. "There are more locals on the French tour."
Another guide appeared at the head of our group. He began talking in French at warp speed, with lots of hand gestures. One of which he used to indicate the Prince and I.
The whole foyer turned and looked at us again. I flushed as another round of bowing and photo taking commenced and resisted the urge to step closer to Leopold. Sure, he might be a conceited-ass, but he had about a foot and a half of height and a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle on him. Not to mention the military training.
Fortunately, the guide quickly drew the attention back to himself and began leading us out of the foyer and down the long hall I'd walked down when I first arrived at the palace.
The crowd laughed suddenly.
"What did he say? I asked, resisting the urge to catch up the two steps so I could talk at Leopold's side.
Luckily, I didn't have to choose. He turned to look at me, slowing until we were side by side. "I thought you didn't want me whispering in your ear."
I shot Leopold a glare and he smiled. "He asked if I wanted to lead the tour."
"And now?"
The guide had stopped us outside an open door. I couldn't see further into the room because the group was blocking my view.
"We are going to enter the first gallery. It was once used as a receiving room by the Queen. It still is for formal events." Leopold's voice was deep and even in my ear.
"You said more words than he did."
"I have more words about the palace that he does."
The crowd began to file into the room. I was about to follow and then stopped. The feeling of Leopold's large hand on my lower back made me freeze.
It was the smallest gesture. To guide me. To make a connection between us. But it felt just like when he'd taken his shirt off. Like he'd stuck his tongue down my throat in front of the press. Something calming and territorial and dominating.
My stomach tightened. My fingers tremble slightly. My heartbeat quickened.
"Are you alright?" Leopold asked, feeling my hesitation.
It's all part of the show.
I nodded once. "Let's go. We're missing it."
We followed our group into the next gallery. There was another tour group inside and a number of other small groups looking through the paintings and artefacts.
A small whisper filled the room as the tourists realised that Leopold and I were there. Fingers pointed. Phones lifted up.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on edge.
A group on the far end of the room began to speak louder. Our tour guide raised his voice slightly to make sure that he could be heard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shape move, and turned in time to see an older man, with leather like skin and grey hair, coming towards me quickly.
In a flash, Leopold grabbed my wrist, and pulled me behind him. Then Mr. Arsenault was behind me, and Farrow beside Leopold.
The room fell silent. The man held his hands up as if to say he meant no harm, but kept speaking aggressively. Spit flew from his mouth. His arms moved in big gestures.
Leopold's hand balled into a fist at his side and I reached for it. He folded his fingers through mine and spoke in a slow, calm voice to the man.
My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for things to settle. Waited to understand what was going on.
Two more guards in black uniforms arrived then, one on their side of the man. They began talking very quickly to him. The man's yelling grew louder.
Leopold turned, his arm going over my shoulder this time, blocking me from the action. "Let's go."
I sure as hell didn't need to be told twice.
We moved quickly from the room, out into the hall, and through a series of guarded doors.
I was out of breath by the time we stopped somewhere in the maze of halls in the living quarters.
Leopold pushed open a pair of wooden doors. I followed him through into the room beyond, leaving our guards out in the hall.
I was surprised to see that we'd arrived at some sort of sitting room. The King and Prince Henri were inside, looking over paperwork.
"Leopold, Catherine." The King looked up from the papers, a smile on his face. It fell as he looked at our faces. "What happened?"
"We were confronted by a Traditionalist on the tour," Leopold said. He ran a hand through his curls and began pacing back and forth.
"A what?" I took a seat on a nearby sofa, still a little breathless.
"A Traditionalist," Henri repeated. "They are loyalists and historians or a sort. People who take pride in the Royal Family of Solis and want its lineage and tradition to remain pure."
"That's good...isn't it?" I asked. The King pulled his reading glasses off. "Normally, yes. All of the changes in the line of inheritance have caused some distress though. What did they said?"
"He was shouting at Cat." Leopold fell onto the couch beside me. So close, our legs touched. I saw the King and Henri's Gaze narrow in on the lack of space and had to resist the urge to move.
Then the words Leopold said clicked into place."Me?"
Henri nodded. "I wondered if this might happen."
"What is he mad at me?" I asked again.
"You're not royal," Leopold replied. He pushed himself up from the sofa and began to pace again.
I frowned. "I thought I was."
"Your ancestors were," Prince Henri said. "Your bloodline has been tainted throughout the generations though. You have no official title, country, claim to anything, really."
My nose wrinkled. I'd gone from fairytale princess to common wench in less than five minutes.
"So what do we do?" Leopold demanded.
The King let out a long sigh. "Nothing for now. They pose no real threat. We knew they were likely to say something if you and Catherine became...close."
Leopold leaned forward, resting his hands onto the table where the King and Henri sat. "We need to do something."
"The Traditionalists aren't violent. They won't hurt Catherine." Henri gave me what I was pretty sure was meant to be a reassuring look.
"It's not just her I am concerned about," Leopold said.
"Then what, son?"
Leopold's lips pulled into a grime line, his eyes drifting to his brother. "He said that they are gathering supporters to rally behind the next in line for the throne."
My frown grew deeper. Wasn't Leopold next in line for the throne?
As if reading my mind, Leopold's gaze shifted to me. "He said they want the throne protected. That if Henri won't take, the next most honourable man should. It was quite clear he didn't mean me."
Finally, I gathered the courage to ask my question. "Who's next in line after you?"
Leopold's nostrils flared slightly. "Antoine DuBalise."