Princess in Practice Page 3

  Lottie and Ellie had spent most of the summer in Maradova in a hazy splendour. Lazy mornings in fizzy fits of laughter, auburn afternoons relishing sugar-coated delicacies with steaming hot tea, followed by blue evenings of reading and glowing silver screens. They’d shared everything that summer, every film they loved, every song they cherished, and Lottie could almost believe their happy pretending. But, like the persistent twitch of Jamie’s top lip, and the phantom pounding of Saskia’s heartbeat from the basement below, the slumbering threat of their mysterious enemy was impossible to ignore.

  What on earth did the king need to tell her in private?

  Lottie threw on some comfortable but respectable clothes for the journey before rushing to the ground floor to meet King Alexander. It was impossible not to skid on the polished floors and she had to make a conscious effort not to slide around like a child all over the palace, although she was sure she’d caught the maids Hanna and Midori doing it themselves a few times.

  Lottie was surprised to find the king waiting for her in the hall. He was dressed in a golden robe that flowed over the marble floor. The king was a tall, sinewy man with thick light-umber hair and a permanently furrowed brow that gave Lottie the impression he read a lot as a child. Sometimes it was difficult to see the family resemblance between him and Ellie: where she was volatile, he was reserved; where she was rushed, he was measured. But occasionally she’d catch something wild in his eyes – the wolf, forever waiting, ready to strike.

  ‘We can have ourselves painted however we want and almost every single one of us chose to sit on our throne and look bored.’ The king spoke abruptly, without even greeting Lottie. He gestured to the wall with what appeared to be an attempt at humour, but Lottie was too distracted by the paintings to register the joke. It was her favourite part of the palace; she couldn’t help but revel in the fine detail of each piece, all the subtle colouring and hidden symbolism in the background. Every previous ruler of Maradova was depicted in this seemingly endless hall, the many eyes of a centuries-old lineage glowering down.

  ‘There’s so many of them,’ Lottie muttered, a strange sensation creeping over her as she met the gazes of these past rulers. ‘It’s amazing to have such a strong connection to your heritage.’

  The king turned to her, his arms crossed as he scrutinized her. A hard lump formed in Lottie’s stomach as she wondered if what she’d just said might seem stupid.

  ‘It’s an endless, unbroken chain,’ he mused, but there was something melancholic in his eyes as he gazed at the second-to-last painting in the hall. ‘Almost,’ he added. Lottie’s eyes locked on the pair of emerald irises that looked out from the portrait, its sombre black frame marking its subject as somehow lesser than his gilded companions. His hair was darker than the average Wolfson, growing sleekly down to his shoulders, and he had heavily lashed eyes and a roguish smile. There was only one other Wolfson who bore any resemblance to this man. Eleanor Wolfson.

  ‘My brother, Claude Wolfson. Odin pravila volk haka olen pak ranit.’ The king spoke the old Maravish language with ease and Lottie recognized the phrase. It was a saying adopted by the Wolfson royal family, which Jamie had taught her.

  One bad wolf can hurt the whole pack.

  Lottie knew little of Ellie’s uncle Claude; they scarcely spoke his name. He existed only as a reminder of what would become of you should you ever abandon your royal duties. She only knew about him from her princess lessons with Jamie, and from this painting, the painting intended to be his coronation gift.

  ‘My brother remains immortalized in this hall as a warning.’ The king gestured at the painting, his golden robe shining like liquid silk as it swayed with each movement. When he turned back to her she could see the lines around his eyes, set from a decade of frowning. ‘To fail the family is an unforgivable act. Do you understand what that means?’

  Lottie nodded solemnly. She knew very well that Claude was not to be discussed; he’d run away from the throne and become a gloomy symbol of how seriously the Wolfsons took their family traditions. Gulping down her nerves, she took in King Alexander’s hard expression and tried to picture Ellie in the same golden robes, that lump of guilt building up in her throat. How could she feel so troubled by her family worries when Ellie had so much more on her plate?

  What must it feel like to have the constant burden of duty weighing you down whenever you left the palace? She turned back to the glowing green eyes of the family traitor, the image blurring until Ellie’s mischievous smirk peeked out of the black frame. It was in that moment, locked in a staring match with the rogue wolf of the Maravish royal family, that someone silently crept up behind them.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’

  Lottie nearly let out a shriek, her mind tricking her into thinking that Claude had materialized behind them, but it was only Jamie, looking very serious as usual. He gave her a brief once-over, but his face gave nothing away. As soon as she saw him, curiosity began to creep through her; she was desperate to know what he thought of her gift.

  ‘Ah, Jamie.’ The king signalled for him to stand beside Lottie, the two of them seeming very small in the presence of his cascading robes. ‘Has Nikolay spoken to you?’ There was a weight to his words that Lottie tried to decipher, but neither of them let anything slip.

  ‘He has,’ Jamie replied impassively, not even a twitch on his face. Nikolay, the king’s Partizan, was a man with such a broad and powerful build that Lottie couldn’t help being a little scared of him. He had trained Jamie since he was a child and, as far as Lottie was aware, he was the closest thing Jamie had to a father figure.

  ‘Good.’ The hall suddenly seemed to turn cold, the sunlight disappearing, turning the shining marble floor to a muted grey, the colours emphasizing the dark lines on the king’s features.

  ‘At the ball, you both succeeded in preventing a true catastrophe,’ he began, his voice echoing. ‘Lottie, like a model Portman, you bore the burden of any danger intended for Eleanor.’ Lottie resisted the temptation to squeeze her eyes shut, not wanting the memory of that bone-chilling night to creep into her mind.

  I’m OK, I’m OK, I’m OK, she repeated to herself, determinedly focusing on the king’s voice.

  ‘And, Jamie, you expertly protected both your princess and her Portman while keeping the spectacle to a minimum.’

  She let out a deep breath as he spoke, forcing the dread out of her mind. She wouldn’t let Leviathan win.

  ‘We cannot allow the Maravish monarchy to appear weak, especially now that we seem to be the target of an unknown enemy. I need you both to be extra vigilant this year. Nothing can be overlooked.’

  Lottie blinked up at the golden-robed king, not sure she quite understood what he meant.

  King Alexander peered at them both, before turning his attention directly to Lottie.

  ‘Lottie Pumpkin –’ he spoke her name as if it tasted strange on his tongue – ‘my daughter has clearly become quite fond of you.’ The tone was matter-of-fact.

  ‘Y-yes,’ Lottie replied, unsure what was expected of her.

  ‘I know you both understand that Ellie has to come first,’ he began, his eyes never breaking contact with Lottie’s, ‘but there may come a time when you will have to put Ellie second in order to put her first. I trust you’ll understand should the moment arise.’

  Lottie didn’t say anything, because quite frankly she didn’t understand.

  ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Jamie replied instantly.

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Lottie added hurriedly, acutely aware that she was lying and that Jamie could probably tell.

  The king narrowed his eyes at Lottie and she had the feeling he was trying to pluck information from her head, but what he was hoping to find she couldn’t possibly guess. Finally he looked away and she felt her shoulders relax, not realizing how tense she’d become.

  ‘Excellent – you’re free to go. Good luck this year.’

  And that was it.

  Lottie watched, bewildered, as the king left them alone, his shining gold robes flowing behind him as the sunlight returned in beams.

  Stay vigilant? Put Ellie second to put her first? What does that even mean?

  Jamie let out a deep sigh and she realized he must have been holding his breath the whole time. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.’

  Lottie was surprised to see a smile crack his lips. ‘Say what?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ Jamie made quote marks with his fingers, but there was nothing mocking about his tone. ‘Did it feel weird?’

  ‘A little bit,’ she admitted, glancing down and feeling embarrassed that she might have sounded silly. When she looked back up his expression was thoughtful, and she could feel that there was something he wanted to say. ‘Jamie,’ she began, before he had time to speak. ‘Did you like your gift?’

  His face turned back to its usual blank mask and she started to feel nervous, her hands shaking slightly.

  ‘I understand what it’s like to feel disconnected from your family and I thought you might like it, that maybe you could learn something –’

  An unexpected harsh laugh boomed out of Jamie’s mouth, the sound lacking any humour.

  ‘I threw it away,’ he said. The words were casual, as if it were completely obvious that he would throw the gift in the rubbish like it were no more than a rotten apple.

  ‘You … what?’ Lottie wondered if he was trying to make a joke, then remembered Jamie did not have the capacity for ‘jokes’. ‘Why would you do that?’

  Lottie was getting more and more confused. Jamie didn’t even seem angry; he was acting as if this were all perfectly normal. When she’d pondered that he might never have received a gift before, she’d never considered h
e would be this dense about it.

  ‘We can’t get distracted by things like that, Lottie,’ he replied, making as if to leave. ‘You heard what the king said; we have to put Ellie first.’

  ‘I know, but –’

  ‘I know you didn’t mean anything by it, Lottie.’

  She was about to interrupt him, to explain how rude it is to throw away someone’s gift, when his face abruptly turned cold, eyes clouding over as his stony gaze latched on to her. ‘But never do anything like that again.’

  And just like that he returned to being calm, so calm she thought she’d imagined that split-second moment of warning.

  She had a million more things she wanted to say but she swallowed them reluctantly, not wanting to cause any more trouble.

  ‘OK.’ Her voice came out a confused squeak, sounding more like a question than she intended it to.

  Why on earth was he acting so weird about a gift?

  They took the Wolfsons’ private jet from Maradova to England later that morning. Lottie had now flown more times in privately chartered flights than on a regular flight; part of her felt uncomfortable with how quickly she’d got used to stepping on to a private plane.

  ‘I still think this is a terrible idea,’ Jamie muttered now from his place at the wheel of the black BMW. He’d been able to drive in Maradova since he was fifteen but had only received his UK licence that summer, making life infinitely more convenient for all of them.

  They were driving through the narrow, winding roads of St Ives, stone cottages lining their route. They were on their way to tell Ollie the truth about why Lottie couldn’t come home, the truth about her new life as a Portman. But before that they needed to collect Lottie’s belongings, and she couldn’t help feeling strange about it.

  The first thing Lottie noticed as she stepped out of the car was the familiar salty tang of the sea. She could hear the waves in the distance, pushing and pulling her back to her childhood and her mother.

  She was home.

  Although it didn’t feel like her home any more. The street felt smaller, the cobbles harder beneath her feet. The colours of the scene seemed faded, as if she were looking at a memory. Too much had happened since she’d left and she knew she could never look at this little seaside town in the same way ever again. The thought made her heart ache. Leviathan, Saskia, Portmans, Partizans … When she’d lived here stories like those were exactly that: stories. Now they were all too real.

  She turned to Ellie and was overcome by a wave of embarrassment for her old humble life as she watched her step out of the other side of the car on to the tiny narrow street. It felt weird to see Ellie in the context of her childhood memories; she was so used to seeing her in luxurious surroundings. Lottie’s home town seemed too small to contain this princess. Lottie gulped as Ellie removed her sunglasses, looking up at the tightly packed, colourful buildings that crowded around them. She stood out in her black ensemble and oversized leather jacket.

  Ellie peered at the dusty shopfront at 12 Bethesda Hill, with its faded blue paint and rambling wisteria. The bakery used to be called Ms Pumpkin’s Pastries, and was the place Lottie had once called home. In the whole year since she’d been gone it seemed her stepmother Beady had not once attempted to clean the windows or tidy up. Lottie doubted she ever would.

  ‘We’ll pick up the rest of your stuff and then we’re off. No need to stay longer than necessary,’ Jamie said matter-of-factly.

  He nodded at Lottie and she returned the gesture. She wanted to get this all over with as quickly as possible so she could get back to Rosewood.

  They stepped through the red door and up the wooden stairs leading to the flat above the shop. Lottie was greeted by a note in the kitchen, scribbled urgently in unruly handwriting:

  I’ve gone to Cuba to see Simon.

  Your stuff is in the black bin bags by the stairs.

  Beady

  PS Don’t make a mess!

  She quickly scrunched up the paper and tossed it in the bin before either of the others could read it. Seeing her dad’s name always made her feel weird, especially in Beady’s handwriting.

  ‘So where is your dad anyway?’ Ellie asked, inspecting a photograph of Beady with Lottie’s father that was stuck to the fridge with a tacky magnet from Las Vegas.

  ‘Cuba,’ Lottie said confidently, even though she’d only found out herself a few moments ago.

  Lottie stepped round the coffee table. The living room was littered with takeaway boxes. It was clear that Beady had left in a hurry, and Lottie wondered if she’d run out of money again. Although they didn’t exactly get along, Lottie couldn’t help feeling bad for her. Becoming her stepmother was never something Beady had wanted, and Lottie knew better than anyone what her dad was like. Lottie picked up a few pizza boxes and put them in the recycling bin.

  Jamie walked through the doorway carrying overflowing black bin bags. ‘This your stuff?’ he asked, raising one of them in the air. ‘It looks like they’ve been left for you.’

  Lottie reached to grab one of the bags, but it dragged her down with its weight and she gave a small ‘oof’ of surprise. How much stuff had Beady crammed in here?

  Jamie smirked. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to prove your strength when we start training at school. Until then –’ he heaved one of the bags up effortlessly to emphasize his point – ‘let the Partizan do the heavy lifting.’ Lottie couldn’t help smiling. Maybe they really were OK; maybe he’d forgiven her for the gift.

  Training was one of the reasons she was so excited to get back to school, so she could start learning how to fight. Lottie was determined to meet the threat of Leviathan head on. She would not let Ellie be put in the same danger ever again. Lottie’s mind conjured up an image of Saskia and she felt her hands go shaky. She couldn’t do this alone.

  ‘Hey, Lottie!’ Ellie’s voice floated through from the hallway. ‘Who’s this?’

  Lottie poked her head round the corner to find Ellie staring intensely at a small framed painting on the wall. She walked over to her friend’s side and the two of them gazed at the portrait of her ancestor Henry. She’d never really noticed the painting before; it had hung on this wall as far back as Lottie could remember. Henry had a soft amused expression. His hair was a muddy blond like Lottie’s but cut closer to his head than her own unruly curls.

  ‘That’s my great-grandfather Henry Pitkin.’ Lottie was surprised that Beady had kept the painting up. ‘Well, he’s actually my great-grandfather times about ten, but I can’t manage saying all those “great”s.’ Lottie smiled as she remembered the stories her mother had told her about him. ‘He attended one of the first classes at Rosewood Hall and became a teacher there when he graduated.’ She couldn’t help leaning forward to stroke the frame, recalling when her mother handed her the tiara for the first time. She could almost hear her mother’s voice now as she looked into Henry’s eyes. ‘Apparently he lived an exciting and mysterious life. Henry’s the reason I wanted to go to Rosewood so badly. He’s the one who was first gifted our family tiara.’

  Thinking about the heirloom made her reach for it, where it was nestled safely in her bag that hung by her side. Her fingers found it, the silver warm against her skin, and a faint haunting melody whispered in Lottie’s mind.

  ‘Pitkin?’ Ellie echoed.

  A prickly embarrassment ran over Lottie’s skin. ‘Yes. Pitkin was my mother’s original family name. We, um …’ Lottie looked down, a furious blush creeping up her cheeks. She absolutely hated talking about her name. ‘We had to … She changed it.’

  Ellie nodded slowly. ‘Who painted it?’ she asked, changing the subject, sensing Lottie’s discomfort.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Lottie said gratefully. ‘It’s always been a mystery.’

  Ellie peered more closely, the tip of her nose almost touching the ancient cracked surface. ‘It reminds me of your painting style,’ she pondered. ‘There’s something about the tone … It’s like the one you did of me.’

  Lottie chewed her lip in thought. Was Ellie right? Did she paint like this?