Page 10 of Royal Resistance

But not like that. Diandra and I have only ever been friends.

Except for one night, and we don’t talk about that. Not ever. “Thanks,” I tell her, taking one of the glasses. “But I’d really love a pint.”

“You’re not standing here with a pint,” she chides. “And it’s mead, not wine.”

“You’re my second favourite Laz, you know that,” I tell her, leaning out of sight of the door to down the glass, warmth spreading through the hollowness inside. It’s hard to be celebrating when my life has turned completely upside down.

Not to mention my father died. And my brother still isn’t speaking to me.

“I’ll have to bring a bigger glass next time.” She peers around me. “Looks like you’re almost ready to start. Interesting choice of ceremonial uniform,” Diandra says with a grin. As she gives my royal blue pants, red jacket with the yellow sash slashing across it, a bemused glance.

“My father let my mother design it, and I really think she must have been colour-blind,” I tug at the hem of my jacket. The red clashes with my hair, and this yellow is not a good colour for anyone.

But this is what the royal family of Laandia wears during royal celebrations.

“You’re definitely noticeable.” Diandra grins again. I’ve known her for years. She’s practically my sister—smart, quick-witted, and blessed with a wicked sense of humour. Diandra is an artist, and one of the few people who’s never been impressed by the title, or anything else I’ve managed to accomplish.

I’m used to people watching me, but it’s different when I’m on stage. Although some might say this is like a giant stage, with a huge audience. Being a king is like giving a different kind of performance.

I’m not comfortable with it. Yet.

I take a deep breath. Etienne hovers by the door, his shoulders straining the material of his suit, his earpiece tucked in. Benny has positioned me against the wall, so when people arrive, they’ll have to pass by me on the way to the bar.

Benny signals to Duncan, as smoothly as if we’re on stage. “Time to go,” Duncan tells me.

“Yep,” I say as Etienne swings open the double doors.

I may not have wanted to be king, but I’m good at this. I will be good at this.

“Do you know what would make this easier?” Diandra asks as the first guests appear at the door. They take in the fuss and finery of the ballroom before they see me standing there, alone, save Duncan and Diandra slightly behind me.

“If it wasn’t a coronation and I could hop on the stage and start jamming?” I counter.

“If you had a wife to share this with,” she says. “Dunc and I can only do so much. If you had a wife, you’d have someone to rescue you from boring people. She’d help you remember names. You could play good cop, bad cop.”

Over the years, I’ve given more thought to being a king than being married.

“I think a queen would do a little more than that,” Duncan points out.

“I’m not looking for a queen,” I inform them as a grinning Bryan Adams makes a beeline for me. “And now is not the time for this.”

“Maybe you should be,” Diandra says. “And I think it’s the best time for it.”

4

Selene

Being at the Coronation Ball in Laandia should make me feel like a princess.

I should be tingling with excitement and anticipation. I have the dress – a turquoise blue column of silk that slithers and sparkles and leaves my shoulders and back bare. The ballroom of the castle is filled with a glittering who’s who of the aristocracy, celebrities, and oh my goodness, I just saw Jon Bon Jovi stop and talk to the doctor from the American television show, ER.

I am going to meet the prince of Laandia – no, he’s the king now. I’m going to meet him and smile and say all the right things and do my best to feel like the second coming of Cinderella and not an imposter who is still incredibly angry that this is not my Coronation Ball.

Focus. Breathe. Let go of the anger.

They don’t announce us when we arrive, and I’m glad of that.

It’s been an adjustment going from Princess Selene, the heir apparent of the kingdom of Avelaine, to Selene Brighton-Black, therapist. I refused to be called Lady Selene.