Chapter 4

Present Day

When Laurent handed me a breakfast tray himself, I said, “What happened?”

“Why should anything be amiss? I’m simply serving Your Highness.”

I glowered. “Either tell me what’s happened or I’ll throw you in the dungeon.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for tossing me into the wine cellar.” Laurent cleared his throat then gestured at my phone. “It should be in your inbox.”

He scurried off before I could open the email. When I clicked the link, it took me to a tabloid story featuring our interview yesterday. 

Miss Gallagher doesn’t seem to be enjoying royal life, does she? Apparently, there’s no reason to smile when you’re a princess married to the handsome prince! Perhaps the luxury isn’t up to her usual standards. What could be explained as pre-wedding jitters seems to have become acting rather high in the instep.

The article, if you could even call it that, continued in a similar vein. My temples started throbbing. Once again, I’d been right: Niamh’s sarcasm was not translating at all, and the public was not viewing her favorably. I returned to Laurent’s email, and I discovered that Niamh’s favorability rating was currently at an all-time low.

“You look like you just swallowed a bug,” said Niamh as she entered the breakfast room. “Or maybe a few spiders.” When she saw me looking at my phone screen, her expression instantly closed. “What is it now?”

I sighed. I hadn’t even begun to drink my coffee. I took a sip, wondering how I’d frame this without Niamh becoming defensive. 

Yet as I gazed at her and saw the dark circles under eyes, I hesitated. Did I want to ruin our honeymoon just yet? The real world could wait. Our next appearance was simply to have dinner at a local restaurant, and there wouldn’t be any interview questions. 

“Nothing important. I was reading a ridiculous story about…” I racked my brain. “One Direction.”

Niamh sat down next to me with a plate of pastries. She definitely had a sweet tooth, and I had to admit I found it rather charming.

“One Direction? They broke up forever ago,” she said.

“I meant Gary Styles. The one with the hair.”

She bit her lip. “You mean Harry Styles?”

Was that his name? Christ, I was bungling this badly. “Yes, of course. Harry. How could I forget?”

“I distinctly remember you not knowing anything about One Direction a few months ago.”

“I’ve evolved. I’ve listened to their music. It’s very catchy.” The listening was true; the catchiness of it was more of a lie. Their music was such sentimental trash that I’d barely gotten through two songs.

“Name another member. Just one.” Niamh put her hands on her chin. “I dare you.”

“Zayn Malik.” I crossed my fingers under the table, hoping the name was right.

Niamh looked impressed. “You couldn’t remember the name Harry, but you could remember Zayn? I’m impressed. Next you’re going to tell me you’re writing One Direction fanfiction.”

I stared at her. “How can you write fanfiction about real people?” 

“Oh, you sweet summer child.” She was laughing maniacally as she began typing into her phone. “It’s the Internet. Haven’t you heard of rule thirty-four?”

I shook my head. I regretted going down this rabbit hole already.

“You can find any kind of porn on the Internet. Duh.” Niamh cackled. “There, just sent you one. This one is an angsty Harry/Zayn fic. Also has some mpreg, if that’s your cup of tea.”

I began to read this fanfiction, mostly to appease Niamh, and when I realized what, precisely, the term mpreg meant, I set my phone back down. I considered myself fortunate that I’d skipped the part where Zayn gives birth to his and Harry’s baby.

“You asshole,” I called her in French. 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Ooh, I should send you the diagram of how mpreg happens. It’s a whole thing—”

“If you send me one more thing, I will poison your coffee tomorrow morning, and I’m certain Laurent would assist me in this endeavor.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. You need me too much to poison me.” She drank down the rest of her coffee and sighed loudly. “But now you know that if you get on my bad side again, I’ll just send you graphic One Direction fan art.”

My wife was ruthless. Thank God I hadn’t mentioned the tabloid story. I didn’t want to know what horrors she’d unleash upon me for that conversation.

I put off talking to my wife as the day passed. During lunch, I opened my mouth to speak, but Niamh’s brother Liam texted her right in that moment. Now thoroughly distracted, she wouldn’t hear a word I said right that moment. That was what I told myself, even though I knew it was a flimsy excuse.

I girded my loins to bring up the dreaded topic that afternoon. After I’d had a cup of tea fortified with a splash of brandy, I inquired with Niamh’s maid, Celia. Celia was a pretty thing, but she wasn’t the brightest, either. She tended to swallow her tongue any time I asked her for a simple request. I would’ve asked any other servant, but she was the only one I could find.

“Your Highness,” she squeaked, curtseying. Her hands fluttered like a neurotic butterfly. 

“Do you know where my wife is?” I repeated.

Celia thought for a long moment. The question seemed genuinely to stump her. “I remember this morning that Her Highness mentioned that she would like to sit by the pool this afternoon,” she said finally, “and I made certain to apply sunscreen all over her.

“She was not very happy about that, though. She complained that it was greasy and smelled, but I reminded her that sunscreen was crucial for someone as fair as Her Highness. She would burn to a crisp in this sun!”

I rubbed my temples. “Are you saying she’s at the pool?”

“Oh, no, sir, she said after lunch that she didn’t feel like getting into her bathing suit. She’d eaten too much, you see. She felt—” Celia leaned closer to me so her voice was a whisper, “—a little bloated.” She let out a titter.

I wanted to throw myself out of the nearest window. “Is she taking a nap, then?” Perhaps if I just came up with probable places Niamh would be, Celia would finally point out which one contained her mistress.

“A nap? Madam never naps.” Celia tapped her pointy little chin. “She said she’d like to take a walk in the garden. Madam loves flowers.”

“So she’s in the garden?” Why was I even attempting to confirm this?

Celia’s eyes widened. “Of course, didn’t I say that already? Oh, what a scatterbrain I am!” 

“I would never describe you as such.” My tone was dry. Celia, being Celia, simply beamed at the unintentional compliment.

I made my way to the gardens. Considerably smaller than the expansive grounds at the palace, the villa’s gardens were special for its orchid collection. My mother had begun the tradition of adding a new orchid every time the family visited in the summer. But since my parents hadn’t come here since I was fifteen, no one had brought an orchid with them in over a decade.

I hadn’t brought one along. It had completely slipped my mind. Besides, the tradition was based on celebrating being together as a family, and Niamh and I were hardly family to one another.

The sweet scent of jasmine filled the air as I rounded a corner. I found Niamh crouched on the ground next to an indeterminate species of bush. When she heard me approach, she shushed me.

“You’ll scare them away!” She didn’t even look at me as she said the words.

I crouched down next to her, peering into the shade of the bush. “Why are we whispering?” 

“Look.” She pointed, and I squinted, finally seeing that there was something in the bushes. No, multiple somethings.

“Are they squirrels?” I asked.

Niamh gave me an exasperated look. “Can’t you hear them? They’re kittens.”

I’d heard faint noises that sounded like cheeping. I shrugged. “I know little about wildlife.”

“The mom must be around here somewhere. The babies are pretty fat. I got a good look at them, but they got scared and moved further into the bush.” Niamh moved a branch aside. “Look how cute they are! So tiny!” She cooed at the kittens, and one mewed back.

We continued our vigil until my knees were starting to hurt. Niamh cooed more words to the kittens, sometimes wiggling her fingers, hoping the kittens would emerge. I counted three sets of eyes total. One was completely black, and all I could make out was its blue eyes.

“Niamh, I need to speak with you about something,” I said finally.

She let the branch go, sighing. “I’m worried the mom will return and move them. Do you think there’s some kind of trap here on the estate? I don’t want them to stay outside.”

I gaped at her. “They’re cats. They live outside.” The extent of my feline encounters had been the occasional meeting with one in a barn or digging in the trash in a city. I’d wanted a dog as a boy, but my mother was terribly allergic and had nixed the idea quickly.

“But if we leave them out here, they might not make it. And if they do, they’ll keep breeding. You’ll end up with an entire colony.”

“There’s never been an entire colony of cats living here. They’ll go elsewhere.”

“Doubtful. Cats have their territories and don’t deviate from them. No, I’d like to catch them and at least get them to a rescue. Then they can be fostered and adopted out.”

“I have no idea if such an organization exists in Salasia. Cats are outdoor animals here, as far as I’m aware.”

“Well, then, I’ll foster them myself.” 

The stubborn tilt of Niamh’s chin told me that she’d made up her mind. I’d already learned that telling her “no” would result in the opposite, so I just said a prayer that the mother cat would take her babies elsewhere.

“You can ask Jacques if he can assist you. He might have an idea how to trap them,” I said. Jacques was the gardener; I doubted he trapped much wildlife, but he was the best bet Niamh had in this scheme.

“Oh, good idea.” Niamh’s eyes lit up. “Look, look! I think that’s Mama.”

I turned to see a skinny gray cat atop the fence. She’d paused, surprised to see us. Her tail flicked back and forth, and she remained in a crouch, simply staring at us.

“I think she wants us to leave,” I said.

The gray cat didn’t blink. It was creepy. I wondered if she was placing a hex on us, and I had to restrain myself from making the sign of the cross on my chest to ward off her feline evil.

“She looks hungry, poor thing. I’ll go get them food. If there’s food, she might not move them.” 

Despite my best efforts, I wasn’t able to distract Niamh’s from her cat hunting. I was rather relieved that I could continue to avoid bringing up the tabloid stories, for now. And seeing Niamh so excited, her expression soft, was so intoxicating that I nearly forgot about the shadows lurking nearby.

We’d fetched a platter of sardines, canned tuna, and a bowl of water for the cats. Niamh tossed a sardine at the mother cat, where it landed on the ground right below her. Her ears twitched, but she remained where she was.

The kittens, however, were instantly lured away from their hiding spot. I imagined their mother was completely exasperated at their idiocy. One gray striped kitten, one black, and one gray and orange kitten tumbled from the bushes.

They began to eat the fish with gusto. Although they were all so wobbly that more than one got more food on their faces and paws than in their mouths.

“What fatties.” Niamh stroked the striped kitten, but it barely registered the touch. 

We’d brought a box with us to place the kittens inside, Niamh explaining that the mother cat would follow us. Based on the cat’s blasé expression, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe she would be pleased to give away the responsibility of these kittens to someone else. 

The kittens had fallen asleep in the box by the time Niamh had gotten them situated in a little room near the kitchen that was mostly for storage. We waited for the mother cat, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“You can go, if you want,” said Niamh. “You look bored.”

“I’m not bored any time I’m with you.” The words came out of my mouth before I could rethink them. 

But when Niamh smiled, a genuine smile that I hadn’t seen in ages, I couldn’t regret them.