“I’m Jai Winters,” I say as I approach him.
He glances at me for a moment, his eyes scanning up and down, before asking, “Can I see some ID, please, sir?”
“Uh…sure.” I show him my passport, which he seems to find acceptable because he gives a curt nod before grabbing the handle of my suitcase and motioning for me to follow him to the exit.
He leads me to a sleek black sedan, and as I relax back on the buttery leather seats, watching out the window as we leave the airport behind, I can’t help wondering about the family I’ll be working for. All I know is that they’re an old aristocratic family and they have two children who need schooling in French, German and history. I’m not entirely sure why they’ve hired me and not someone with an actual teaching qualification, but I’m not about to turn my nose up at a paying job. Especially not one in a country I’ve been dreaming about visiting for years.
Still watching out the window, I notice we’re approaching the cobbled streets and red-roofed buildings of Vlalens’s Old Town. I’m excited to see it, but that’s offset by my confusion, because as far as I know, all the main aristocratic estates are further out, away from the center of town.
I don’t say anything, though, figuring the driver knows where he’s going. And when he drives through the front gates of a building I recognize in an instant, my jaw practically drops into my lap. This cannot be right. No way have I been hired to work in the royal palace.
When the driver pulls up and my door is opened by a waiting servant, I get out of the car, a little unsteady on my feet with my mind still in a complete daze.
I glance around for my suitcase, but the man who opened the car door for me merely smiles and gestures for me to step inside the palace. “This way please, Mr. Winters. Your luggage will be taken to your suite for you.”
My suite?
I step inside and am promptly met by a pint-sized woman who, despite her small stature, looks stern enough to command an army. She’s probably about my mom’s age, and is wearing a tailored pantsuit I’m sure my mother would find just darling. Her iron gray hair hangs in straight curtains just past her chin, and her lips are painted with bright red lipstick.
“I am Veronika Zareva, Crown Secretary,” she says with a slight Korovan accent, extending her hand for me to shake. “We spoke on the phone.”
I nod and take her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I’m a little surprised. When you said I’d be working for an aristocratic family, this wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“There were security protocols to maintain,” she explains. “I hope you are not disappointed?”
I let out a breath of wry laughter. “No, definitely not. Just a little dazed.”
“Come with me. I’ll show you to your suite and explain more about your role.”
I keep pace alongside Veronika as she strides briskly through the halls of the palace. My eyes don’t really know where to look, but I decide to just listen to Veronika for now and get my bearings later.
“As we’ve already discussed, you’ll be tutoring the prince and princess in French, German and history—”
“Won’t the prince be going away to school soon?” I ask, recalling something I read earlier in the year about Prince Tomas turning eleven.
Veronika lets out a heavy sigh. “That is something of a contentious topic at the moment. The king would very much like the prince to attend Eton like he did, but the government is concerned about the optics and are pushing for a European school instead.”
“Ah, I see.” The government’s position makes sense, I suppose. Korova is very much interested in joining the European Union, so sending the crown prince to school in a country that has left that union would certainly send a negative message. “Do we know where he’ll go to school if not England?”
“Likely France, possibly Germany,” Veronika says. “Hence why you’re here.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“In the morning session the royal children have their basic schooling with Ms. Tamlin, a tutor from England who has been here since Prince Aleksandr was a boy,” she says, referencing the king’s younger brother who is now around my age. “She instructs the children in spelling and arithmetic and such. They are both fluent in English and also speak Korovan, which I believe you speak as well?”
“That’s right.”
She nods with satisfaction and continues with her preamble. “Your classes will be in the afternoon, after the luncheon. And when they’ve finished their lessons for the day, the children will have a number of other activities to attend—horse riding, ballet, painting, that sort of thing. You’ll be given a schedule so you can keep track.”
I want to ask whether I’m expected to perform musical numbers and make a daring escape from the Nazis, because it’s starting to sound like I’m being hired more as a governess than a tutor, but I decide against it; I’m not a hundred percent sure Veronika would appreciate the joke.
“This section of the palace is what we call the residential suites,” Veronika says once we’ve veered away from the bustle of the main palace. “You have a modest suite, with access to a common kitchen and living room, as well as a small dining room for the upper level staff.”
‘Modest’ is not really the word I’d use to describe my suite, seeing as how between the sitting room, the bedroom and the ensuite bathroom it’d rival the square footage of my apartment
