All Fall Down (9 page)

“So the palace officials put me in an elevator and take me down to the basement. I thought I was going to an office or a study or something — probably to see an aide. But no. It was the pool. Hot springs run underneath the whole city, you see. And there is the king himself, climbing out of the water. Naked as the day he was born. Ha!” Grandpa slaps his leg. Ms. Chancellor demurely covers her smirking lips. “Then His Royal Highness proceeds to stand there stark naked through the whole talk. Lots of bowing and apologizing on my end. And then the king — the
naked king
— says, ‘Oh well. I guess I have time to get back in. Why don’t you join me?’”

“What did you do?” I ask.

“What could I do? I joined him!”

“So you took a bath with the king of Adria?”

“I did indeed, Gracie. I did indeed.” He gives a very mischievous grin. “So just keep that dress on tonight and you’ll be ahead of me.”

“I promise I’ll try.”

Those are the words that are still in the air when the limo slows and turns through the palace gates. When a uniformed man opens the limo’s door, I glance down at the red carpet that runs to the palace’s massive doors. Grandpa exits the car first and offers his arm to me.

“You ready, Gracie?” he asks with a wink.

I smile and look up at the white-haired man who, to me, is little more than a stranger.

“Absolutely,” I lie.

“A
mbassador William Vincent of the United States of America!”

The small man has a huge voice. It booms through the ballroom, over the low din of chatter and the faint sound of the string quartet playing in the distance. He wears a red jacket with military medals I don’t recognize, a rank and regiment I don’t know.

Grandpa and I have been standing in line for ten minutes. I’ve already lost the feeling in both of my big toes. But now that we’ve been announced, I’m expected to walk. And smile. I can see Noah on the far side of the room. When I catch his eye, he gives me a low, exaggerated curtsy just like Ms. Chancellor made me practice.

I want to laugh, but it’s not funny. Falling flat on your face in front of seven hundred people rarely is.

Slowly, Grandpa and I make our way down the very long receiving line. Shaking hands. Repeating names. Smiling. It feels like my jaw might fall off. I wish my lips were as numb as my toes.

“Your grandmother used to do this with me, Gracie,” Grandpa whispers while we’re waiting to be introduced to the royal family. “And after your grandmother passed, your mother took this walk with me every year.”

“I know,” I say as we ease slowly down the line.

“No matter where your father took her, she always came back and held my arm for this night.”

“I know,” I say again.

“What I’m trying to say is that it’s nice to, once again, have the woman in my life by my side.”

He means it. I can tell. And for one second I forget about the women in tiaras, the crowds that are watching the procession. I’m looking only at the old man with the white hair. For the first time in Adria, I don’t feel entirely alone.

“Your Royal Highness.”

It takes a moment for me to realize that my grandfather is no longer speaking to me — that he isn’t making a joke, mocking me and my princess-cut gown. But then I see her and I forget everything I was thinking.

Her dark hair is pulled back in an elegant pile of curls that are topped by a diamond tiara. Her dress, I note, is
not
a princess cut, but I don’t stop to comment on the irony. I’m too busy staring at the woman in front of me, wondering if she might be the most beautiful person that I have ever seen.

When my grandfather bows, I remember to curtsy. I lower my eyes and my head. My job in this moment is simple:
Don’t fall down
. I’m doing pretty well, but I know better than to get cocky.

Then the princess reaches out and takes both of my grandfather’s hands in hers.

“I’m still not used to hearing you call me that, Mr. Ambassador,” the princess says.

Grandpa laughs — actually laughs — and tells her, “It would have been a strange thing to yell when I was telling you girls to stop sliding down the banister.”

Then the princess laughs, too. My grandfather takes her gloved hand and kisses it. And the moment is so strange — so surreal — that I almost forget what I already technically know: that Princess Ann wasn’t always the wife of the future king of Adria. Once upon a time she was just a regular girl in Valancia. And she was my mother’s best friend.

Then Grandpa seems to remember I’m beside him. “Your Royal Highness, may I present my granddaughter, Grace?”

I do my best curtsy. I try out my most serene smile. I don’t trip or fall or knock anyone down, but I’m certain I’ve done something terribly, terribly wrong because the princess is staring at me, stunned. And it looks like she might be crying.

“You look like your mother,” she says softly, then turns her gaze to my grandfather. “She is exactly like Caroline.”

Grandpa’s hand is at my back. “I know.”

Then the princess’s hands are in mine and she is leaning close to me, kissing both of my cheeks, saying, “Hello, Grace. I am so glad to see you again.”

Again?
Her wedding was on the cover of every magazine in America. When she finds a new favorite designer, it actually affects the stock market. She is one of the most famous women in the world. And, even with all my issues, I’m pretty sure if I’d met her I would remember.

But Princess Ann merely tilts her head and says, “But perhaps you don’t recall. It has been a long time, after all. Not since you were perhaps three? Maybe four? We all went to the beach one day. You and your brother rode the carousel. Your mother and I lay on a blanket and laughed for hours. It was a happy day.” The woman smiles the same smile I’ve been seeing on the covers of magazines for years. But then the smile fades. “I never go to the beach anymore.”

I wait for the memory to wash over me, but it doesn’t come.

“Your mother, Grace —” I can feel the line growing behind us. We should have moved on by now, but Princess Ann still holds my hands. “I miss her so. I am very glad to see you.”

“I live here now,” I somehow manage to blurt.

She smiles. “Then perhaps we will ride the carousel together sometime soon.”

Moving down the line again, I feel half a step behind my body. I no longer think about my sore feet or my tight dress. My mind is too busy imagining Princess Ann and my mother sliding down the embassy’s banister and lying on the beach. I finally realize why the girl in my mother’s pictures looks so familiar.

I curtsy when my grandfather is greeted by Ann’s husband, the prince. His mother. And finally the king himself, but in my mind I’m on the carousel. I’m waiting to hear my mother laugh.

“Mr. Ambassador,” the king says, taking my grandfather’s hand.

“Your Majesty,” Grandpa says with a low bow. In his free hand, Grandpa carries a very formal-looking scroll of paper. It is secured by a red ribbon and sealed with wax. “Please allow me to present my papers of appointment on behalf of the president of the United States.”

Solemnly, the king takes the scroll and carefully hands it to an aide.

“It is my pleasure to accept these credentials and welcome you back to Adria, my friend.”

When the two men shake hands again, they really do look like friends.

Then Grandpa bows again. I curtsy. And both of us walk away.

“Are we done?” I’m asking as Ms. Chancellor approaches.

“Cakes are done. People are
finished
,” she says in the singsong tune I’m coming to know quite well. But she’s not angry. If anything, she’s beaming. “You were wonderful.”

“I just stood there,” I point out.

“And you did it
very well
.”

“Do you feel like pushing your luck?” Grandpa asks.

“Not exact —”

“Mr. Prime Minister!” Grandpa says it with such gusto he’s almost shouting. There is a small group of men standing in a circle, talking, and Grandpa walks straight toward them. I don’t have a second to object before he says, “Allow me to introduce my granddaughter, Grace.”

“Hello, Grace,” the man in the center of the group says, turning to take me in. He’s tall, his tuxedo classic. I watch the way he glances from my grandpa to me.

Is this the one I’ve heard about?
the prime minister’s look says.

Yes. Go easy on her
, Grandpa’s smile replies.

“Welcome to Adria. How long will you be with us?” the prime minister asks.

“Grace is here to stay,” Grandpa tells him, beaming.

“Excellent. You know, I’ve been saying for ages that we need someone to keep this old man in line,” the prime minister jokes.

“I think she’s up to the task,” Grandpa says.

I know he and the prime minister are talking about me, but at no point do I get the feeling that they are talking
to
me. I might as well be a statue. A work of art. I am simply something to be commented upon.

I see Alexei and his father only a couple of feet away. I smile but Alexei just walks on, as if he doesn’t see me at all.

“So, Grace, how do you like our little nation so far?” the prime minister asks.

“It’s very nice,” I say and risk a glance around the massive room. The ceiling is at least fifty feet high and the walls are lined with portraits, many of which are older than my own country. “I’ve never been to the palace before.”

“Oh, really? Well, there’s a lot of history here, Grace.” He walks to one of the oldest portraits and points up at a portly man in a crown. “Fredrick the First. He was a knight who stopped here on the way home from the Third Crusade at the end of the twelfth century. But it seemed that Fredrick was not yet finished fighting, because he landed on our shores and won Adria from the Mongols who ruled it then. Before the Mongols, for a short while there were the Turks. Before the Turks, the Byzantines and the Romans. But Fredrick built the wall, so Fredrick and his heirs got to keep it. Unless you consider …”

The prime minister walks down the long line of paintings and points at another portrait. This one is of a woman.

“Queen Catalina. She was the eldest daughter of the king of Spain, but she was betrothed to King Fredrick the
Third
when she wasn’t much older than you are. She married at seventeen, I believe. Her husband died in his sleep five months later, and Catalina ruled for sixty years.” He leans closer. There’s a glint in his eye as he adds, “If you ask me, she killed him.”

We walk silently down the gallery, the portraits looming large over us — kings and queens still keeping a watchful eye over the land so many people had died for.

“What about them?” I ask, pointing to the only portrait in the room that shows an entire family.

“Oh, well, in many ways, they are our most famous royals.” The prime minister laughs, but it is not a joyful sound. “That is King Alexander the Second, his wife, and their two sons. There was a daughter, too, but she was just a baby at the time — so young they hadn’t even commissioned a portrait of her yet. Alexander ruled during a terrible famine. The wells were dry. The crops were dead. And almost the entire region was at war. The people were hungry and frightened, and they grew to distrust the monarchy. One night, the royal guard rebelled. They left their posts and threw open the gates. The people stormed the palace and dragged Alexander and his family from their beds.”

“They were murdered?” I ask.

The prime minister nods grimly. “Power has always corrupted, my dear. Even the
promise
of power. It is a hard thing to look at through a fence for hundreds of years without wondering what it would be like on the other side.”

“But Adria still has a royal family?” I say, confused.

“We do indeed,” the prime minister says. “That great tragedy began what is known as the War of the Fortnight. In the end, the rebels surrendered and the king’s brother took up the throne. The monarchy was restored — this time
with
a house of parliament and a prime minister.” He gives a slight bow, as if the tale had conjured him out of magic.

“So just like that it was over? The rebels just gave up?”

“Yes, dear.”

“But why?” I ask.

For a long moment the prime minister looks at me as if the answer should be the most obvious thing in the world. When he speaks again, his voice is soft.

“It rained.”

I look back at the painting of the dead king and queen and the two little princes who were dragged from their beds. For the first time I realize how perilous peace can be. I appreciate the tightrope that my grandfather has spent his whole life trying to walk. And now, more than ever, I grow terrified that I am going to make us all fall down.

“Now, Grace, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, I need to borrow your grandfather. Official business,” the prime minister says. “Man stuff.”

Before I can say anything else, Ms. Chancellor takes my arm. “I believe it’s time for us to go powder our noses.”

“He said
man stuff
,” I tell her as we walk away.

“He did indeed, dear.”

“Are you okay with that? Tell me you are not okay with the phrase
man stuff
.”

“I am not,” she says through a too-bright smile.

“But —”

“But Queen Catalina bided her time and ruled for sixty years, my dear.”

“So you’re going to kill the prime minister in his sleep?” I ask.

She never softens her smile. “No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the power of patience. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see the Chinese ambassador and I need a moment of his time.”