The lesson wasn’t one they preached so much as a way of life. Nyssa had helped with the orange harvests since she could toddle along behind her father and older brother. Her younger brother fell in behind her as soon as he could walk. She watched her father’s sure hands, dry and cracked from the sun, work the land and comfort a child with a scraped knee, until the time came when she too could take on these tasks.
Father’s face remained impassive. “I cannot ask my people to provide for my family.”
“Even if it means the life of your child?” Mother threw her hands towards Nyssa, a half dozen bracelets tinkling. “You have seen the threats, held the parchments in your hands. Is your pride worth more than she?”
Springing to her feet, Nyssa regarded her mother’s ebony tresses hanging over one shoulder, large brown eyes, and smooth skin. Mother’s fingernails, all the same length and rounded like moons, were set against soft hands that preferred time indoors and not in the fields. “I would rather die than take one gold piece from our people.”
Fire lit in Mother’s eyes. “Your life is a price I am not willing to pay. She is an innocent in the ways of the world.”
“Nia, my dear.” Father spoke in an intimate tone that calmed the stormy waters between mother and daughter. “We will send Kingston to watch over her.”
Kingston, the six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bodyguard who had protected Father since his coronation. He worked for the orchard as well, managing crews and overseeing the shipment of fruit at harvest. He was a fixture in Nyssa’s life, like the fountain in the center courtyard or the stone carvings along the bluff. And, he had visited America several times to negotiate with produce buyers.
“Very well.” Mother picked up her floor-length skirt. “I will not send my daughter to a strange land unprepared. I will pack her bags with the necessary items.” Her thin sandals whispered against the tiled floor as she left.
Nyssa stared after her, her mouth hanging open. Her parents’ relationship was like an avocado. Mostly, she saw a thick skin, but she suspected there was something softer beneath the formal greetings and conversations. Once in a while, Mother’s cheeks dusted pink with barely a look from Father, yet Mother was firm and could often be seen staring east towards her homeland. This intrigued Nyssa enough to ask something she should not. “Father?”
“Yes?”
“Was Mother unhappy to marry a Zimradian?”
Father chuckled. “Titania’s people have different traditions. They set their kings and queens as precious flowers meant to be pampered.”
Nyssa rubbed her lips together.
Her parents’ marriage was the result of a peace treaty between two kings. Nyssa’s future marriage would serve the same purpose, uniting islands and strengthening both families. Thoughts of marrying Prince Marius drew a dark cloud over her face.
It wasn’t that the prince wasn’t kind. He was.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart. He excelled academically.
It wasn’t that the prince was dull. He entertained many.
It wasn’t that he was ugly. He wasn’t.
In fact, Nyssa couldn’t come up with one good reason not to marry the prince—except that she didn’t love him.
Love.
A concept that was much different in America than Zimrada. Nyssa had seen two American movies: Back to the Future, and Sabrina with Audrey Hepburn, whom Nyssa suspected was a queen by her own rights. Both shows filled her head with “romantic notions,” as her mother called them. The movies weren’t the culprits that hijacked her heart. That robbery happened years ago when her younger brother gifted her a CD player and an Elvis Presley greatest hits album. It was within those deep ballads that she determined to find a man who would love her tender.
Prince Marius was not that man.
Pushing aside thoughts of a courtship that was, hopefully, several years away, Nyssa brushed away the gray clouds in her mind and let the sunshine enter her soul.
Father pulled his palm down his cheek. “Marriage was … an adjustment.” So many emotions rolled behind his eyes that Nyssa knew better than to press for additional information. Her parents loved one another, but that didn’t mean that they grew the same thoughts.
Father led her out to the balcony. The Zimrada palace was three stories high. Having used the pink sands from their beaches to stucco the exterior, the Jobassit family was the only royal family to live in a pink palace. At least, she’d believed that all her life. Perhaps she should look it up on the computer in her father’s office. The royal family had two—one for the king and one for the queen, although Nyssa spent much more time on them than either of her parents.
Brushing her fingers over the gritty exterior wall, she allowed the sense of home to flood through her soul. Perhaps she would leave the internet search for pink palaces for another day.
The family’s private area of the palace, including bedrooms, was on the top floor. Few outsiders were allowed here, and only a handful of servants. Although, if she were going to America, she would have to start calling them employees. They were paid for their labor from the orange grove’s profits—and paid well for being trusted by the king. Trusted enough to allow them near his children. Despite Mother’s accusations, Father was a protective patriarch.
The gathering room, where they took tea, faced the ocean with large double doors thrown open to let the salty breeze ruffle the white linen drapes. “Upon your arrival, you will host a ball. I’ve sent invitation to many of our business associates, royal families, and American politicians. You will greet the guests as they arrive. The night will serve as a way to introduce you as our representative—a role I was hoping you would grow into with time. For generations we’ve thrived in our corner of the world, but I’m afraid we will need to take
