Royally Raised (Royally #2.5) - Emma Chase.pdf

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Royally Raised
Henry
“It’s uncanny.”
“It’s bizarre.”
“It’s fascinating. Look at her.”
My brother, Nicholas, gestures towards my daughter, Jane, at the far end
of the glittering, gold ballroom. At nineteen-years-old, Jane takes after
Sarah in beauty and build—dark cascading hair, a lovely face, long, lithe
limbs, sparkling brown eyes with speckles of my green. She smiles and
mingles with the press, as she glides towards the podium to answer
questions about the newly established scholarship fund in honor of my
grandmother, Queen Lenora.
But her personality and demeanor are distinctly unlike Sarah. Or me.
“She’s poised, self-assured, commanding even.” Nicholas says as she
takes to the podium—chin high, back straight, the very embodiment of
royalty in action. “She’s nothing like we were at her age.”
“I know.” I reply, bewildered. “Every responsibility I give her, every duty—
she absorbs like a sponge. She thrives off of it.”
“Mmm.” Nicholas grunts. “All your years of recklessness, all Sarah’s
sweetness, and somehow you two managed to give birth to…”
“Granny.” I finish for him.
“Yeah.”
It’s the damnedest thing.
“She’ll make one hell of a queen, though.” Nicholas offers.
“She will.” I nod, with pride. But then I frown. “It sucks that I’ll be too dead
to see it.”
My brother grins. “You could retire when she’s a bit older. Step down. Live
out your golden years away from the headaches of the capital and politics
in one of the country estates with your wife.”
I shake my head. “Nah. There’d be too many comparisons. Too much
second guessing of her choices and what I would’ve done. I won’t do that
to her. When Jane takes the throne it will be hers and hers alone.”
As Jane begins to take questions, we turn our silent attention back to her.
Until my sister-in-law slips into the room and up to my brother’s side
wearing a shimmery, knee-length red dress and strappy heels, her hair a
mass of wild black curls. Even in her late forties, she couldn’t be
described as anything less than a full-on knockout.
“Hey, guys.”
“You’re looking especially lovely, Olive.”
She gives me a glowing smile. “Thank you, Henry. It’s date night. Date
weekend, actually.” She moves her hand to my brother’s arm
affectionately. “We’re going to Cannes and I can’t wait.” Olivia glances at
Nicholas’s face and her smile wobbles. “You didn’t forget, did you? Tell me
you didn’t forget, Nicholas.”
They lived the first half of their marriage in the states—New York—with
frequent long visits to Wessco. That changed when Granny became ill.
And the day I was crowned King, I asked—begged—my brother to move
his family back home, to become my First Royal Advisor. I knew it was a
lot to ask, but I needed him. After discussing it with Olivia, he agreed and
although they have their own estate, they live most of the year in their
apartments here in the Palace.
Nicholas grins wickedly and wraps his arm around his wife’s waist, pulling
her close. “Two glorious days alone with my stunning wife? Even if I was
senile I couldn’t forget that. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. My
bags are already in the car.”
Olivia’s smile returns with full force. Then she glances towards my
daughter. “Janey looks great up there.” And then she snorts. “God, she
reminds me of your Grandmother.”
That seems to be the theme of the day.
Nicholas glances at his watch. “We should get moving.” He nods,
smacking my arm. “Henry.”
Neither of them bow, nor would I want them to—that would just be too
fucking weird, even for us.
“Have a good weekend, you two.”
After they make a quiet exit, I fold my arms across my chest, lean back
against the wall and watch Jane do what she does so well.
Until a reporter begins a question with, “Lady Jane—”
And my first-born cuts him off—right at the balls.
“Princess.”
“I’m sorry?” the reporter asks.
Jane sighs, quick and impatient. “I am the Crown Princess of Wessco, the
heir apparent—which means when you address me it will be as Princess
Jane or Your Royal Highness. Perhaps, one day when you can get that
right, I may stoop to answering your question.”
Oh boy
She turns her head away to the rest of the crowd. “Next.”
The same reporter lifts his hand tentatively. “Princess Jane—”
“Uh-uh,” Jane raises her finger, like a sharp-voiced school teacher
scolding a naughty pupil. “No interrupting. Shush.” She dismisses him
again. “Next.”
A dozen memories from my adolescence come rushing back, and I shiver.
It’s downright fucking spooky.
****
Later, I sit behind the desk in the Royal Office, the painting of my proud,
elegant grandmother in her crown and robes hanging on the wall behind
me. There’s a comfort in its presence, like she’s still here with me, having
my back as she always did, in her own way. A full appreciation of her
support and guidance, didn’t really hit me until she was gone.
And I missed her so much—I still do.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
My oldest daughter pops her head in. “You wanted to see me, Dad?”
I set the document I was reviewing aside. “Yes, sweets. Sit down.”
Her black designer slacks make a swishing sound as she glides into the
office. She takes the chair across from me, folding her legs, her face
serene and smiling.
“I wanted to talk to you about the press conference earlier.”

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