contemptuous man who turned his scorn on her now.
“You're playing at being queen, Dottie. No more than that. Don't turn away from me.” He seized her arm as she turned and pulled her unceremoniously back to face him.
“Let me go,” she snapped.
“Not till you've heard me out.”
“Let me go at once, or I'll scream and bring the guards in.”
“I'm trembling.”
“You should. 'Laying unauthorized hands' on the monarch is high treason. You taught me that.”
“Why, you cheeky little-”
“Calling the monarch names is probably treason, too. I'm sure I could find a law about it somewhere. But I won't need to. You won't risk me calling the guards. Think how undignified it would be.”
In the silence his hand fell from her arm. Nothing in his lifelong training had prepared him for this situation, and his outrage and confusion were almost tangible.
Dottie took advantage of it to say, “You have our permission to leave.”
“
“The crown princess gives you her permission to leave.”
“Dottie, you're beginning to do it very well but-”
“You will address me as Your Royal Highness, and you will not approach me again until I say so.”
She was shocked by her own temerity. After a stunned moment Randolph stepped away, bowed his head, clicked his heels and departed without a backward glance.
Everybody knew. In less than an hour the news of the breach had gone through the palace. By the next day everyone knew that it was worse than that. Prince Randolph had waited one day to give her the chance to summon him. When she didn't, he'd taken off to his estate in a terrible rage.
“He was just like this as a boy,” Aunt Liz recalled. “There were dreadful storms, when it was best to keep out of his way. But don't worry. Just give him a little time to calm down, then send for him again.”
“In a pig's eye I'll send for him.”
“Then you seem condemned to perpetual stalemate,” Aunt Liz said crossly.
“No way. He'll bring me the papers tomorrow as usual, and I'll let him know that he's forgiven.”
“For what?”
“For incurring my royal displeasure,” Dottie said with a chuckle.
There was something to be said for being royal. You could win every argument.
But next morning there was no sign of Randolph. His assistant appeared with a message to say that he'd been called away unexpectedly to settle a matter of administration in the princess's service. He would deal with it speedily, and on his return would give himself the honor of reporting to her, etcetera. Dottie made a suitable response, and wished she could have Randolph there for just five minutes, to tell him what she thought of him.
He was gone four days, then five, then a week. Dottie, who'd prepared a dignified speech, grew infuriated at never being able to deliver it.
When he did return after a week, and a servant came to say that he would wait upon her, she was so annoyed that she sent a message to say that she would inform him when it was convenient for her to see him.
After that there was silence.
“Why doesn't he report to me?” she demanded of Aunt Liz.
“Because you told him not to. Do you think a man of Randolph's pride is going to risk another snub?”
“Okay, so he can just sit there and sulk.”
“Yes, and you can sit here and sulk. And that'll make two of you sulking while the country goes to rack and ruin. I've no patience with either of you. Call him up and tell him how much you've missed him.”
“No way.”
“Dottie, why ever not?”
“Because I'm the crown princess,” she said miserably.
Somehow being royal was no guard against feeling that the world was empty because one man wasn't there. There had been nothing between them but kisses, anger and the half-admitted flaring of desire, but now she longed for more. Kisses weren't enough. She ached for him.
She wanted to know if his body, beneath his clothes, was as hard and athletic as she suspected. She'd had so little opportunity to find out, and the thought tormented her night and day. She wanted him to kiss her deeply, powerfully, and then do more than kiss her. She wanted him to take her wherever passion could lead them. She wanted him to show her the whole world.
But he wasn't there.
As Harold's visit neared, there was a series of meetings between politicians and civil servants, which Dottie insisted on attending. She wanted to know every detail of the arrangements. There were receptions, a state banquet and a ball in Harold's honor. There would be a performance at the State Opera House, and Harold would be asked to give a speech to parliament. So far so good.
But Harold also wanted to visit Korenhausen, a magnificent country mansion, where his grandmother had been born.
“He couldn't stand the old lady,” Sternheim snapped. “What's he playing at?”
“I suppose he wants to stand there looking 'deeply affected' for the sake of the photographers,” Durmand said. “And to remind everyone that he has Ellurian royal blood.”
“So have I, and I come from an older line, which is why I'm here and he isn't,” said Dottie, who'd been studying hard. “Let him do what he wants. Is there anything else?”
“Just one thing ma'am,” Durmand said. “It'll be hard to-”
“What is it?” Dottie asked. Not only had Durmand stopped but his eyes, and those of every other man in the room, were riveted on the door. Turning, she saw Randolph standing there with a brow like thunder.
“Out, all of you,” he said curtly.
His manner was so grim and purposeful that every man around the table forgot that Randolph was officially a nobody, and rose to leave the room. Dottie rose too, to confront him indignantly. But instead of being impressed by his sovereign's wrath he took firm hold of her arm.
“I didn't tell you to leave,” he said.
“What?”
“I said stay here.”
The door closed behind the last man.
“And just what do you think you're doing?” she demanded.
“I came to commit high treason,” he said, pulling her into his arms and silencing her mouth with his own.
The sudden granting of what she'd yearned for was a stunning shock, obliterating everything except sensation. It was glorious to have his lips against her own again, thrilling to feel the implicit promise in his movements, and despite her indignation she felt herself yielding to temptation.
But then, having let her glimpse wonders, he slammed the door again, drawing back a few inches, but keeping hold of her shoulders.
“Don't you ever keep me out again,” he growled.
Her temper flared. “And don't you tell me what to do. I'm the queen.”
“Not until your coronation, and not if I wring your neck first.”
“As if!” she scoffed.
He was holding her just far enough away so that she could see his intense, blazing eyes. This wasn't the Randolph she knew, the urbane, worldly wise aristocrat, or the friend and mentor whose exasperation with her was usually tinged with wry amusement. This was a man driven beyond endurance, no longer in command of himself. Something stirred in her-not quite alarm, but certainly a feeling of danger. She realized suddenly how helpless she was, alone with him, now that he was too angry to be careful. She hadn't known that danger could be so thrilling.
“I have spent the last two days twiddling my thumbs, waiting for
