Royal Weddings. Joan Elliott Pickart

the street, a woman and a small blond child sat on a pink blanket beneath an oak, eating ice cream. The cars rolled past on the street, each one observing the speed limit. Everything seemed peaceful and perfect. Idyllic.

      Except between Elli and Hauk. Between them, the air crackled. With hostility. And with heat.

      She demanded with a low voice, “Do you know more of what drives my father than you’re telling me?”

      “No.”

      “If you did know more, would you tell me?”

      “I can’t say. It would depend.”

      “On?”

      “What I knew. What I was ordered to keep to myself, what I thought wise to keep to myself.”

      “So, I can’t really trust you, then. You could be lying to me now. You would lie to me now—if my father had ordered you to lie, if you thought you should lie.”

      “You knew that from the first. And you can trust me. To take you where you need to go, to keep you safe.”

      “Where I need to go?”

      “Yes. By your own vow, I will take you where you need to go.”

      She was recalling the things her mother had said. “Do you think it’s possible that my father hopes I might somehow claim the throne of Gullandria once he’s gone?”

      “No.”

      He had replied almost before she had the question out of her mouth. She couldn’t hold back a sharp little laugh. “Well, you had no trouble answering that one.”

      “You think like an American.”

      “You said that before.”

      “And it remains as true now as it was then. There will be a kingmaking when your father is gone. And a prince will be chosen to succeed him. A prince. Not a princess. And certainly not a princess raised across the sea, a woman not even brought up in our ways.”

      She looked at him sideways. “You could use a woman ruler. You might learn a few things. You could get out of the Dark Ages and start treating women as the equals they are.”

      “A woman may never sit on the throne of Gullandria. But that doesn’t mean a woman doesn’t have rights—more rights, in some cases, than a man.”

      “Rights like…?” She began walking along the path.

      Hauk fell in step with her. “She can own property. She is equal, as an heir, when a parent dies.”

      “Equal in terms of property rights. Well, good. That’s something. But you said more rights.”

      “Yes. Our marriage laws give the woman the power. You’ll recall I told you that a man can’t divorce after his wife gives him children?”

      “I remember.”

      “I didn’t tell you that a woman can divorce her husband. A woman has the right to divorce at any time, simply because she believes the marriage is unworkable.”

      “I assume there is some reasoning behind that.”

      “It is thought that a woman is more responsible in matters of hearth and home, that she would be less likely to break the vows of marriage for frivolous reasons.”

      Elli hated to say it—but she did, anyway. “I don’t agree with that. I think men and women should have the same rights. I don’t think one—either one—should have more power than the other.”

      “You have plans to change our laws?”

      “It was just an opinion.”

      “There’s an old saying. An opinion means only as much as the power and intention of the one who owns it.”

      She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you implying my opinion doesn’t mean much?”

      She could have sworn he almost smiled. “It’s only a saying. Take what you will from it.”

      Ahead of them on the path, an old man tore at a loaf of bread and tossed the pieces into the pond. The ducks gathered, nipping up the soggy bits. Bold pigeons scrambled around at his feet, gobbling the crumbs that fell to the walk from his hand.

      Elli paused. “You think maybe my father plans to marry me off to someone, then?”

      Hauk paused, too, and they faced each other once more. “It is not my place to think. Not about the intentions of my king.”

      “You’ve said that a hundred times. But I mean, you know, go with it for a minute. What would be gained, if he married me off to some prince or other?”

      Hauk lowered his head, a gesture she had come to realize was meant to display his subservience. “I cannot play this word game with you. I have already said more than I should have.”

      “Why? We’re just…talking. Just sharing opinions.” She gave him a grin. “Minus power. And intention.”

      “You have a fine mind. And a devious one.”

      “Hey. I guess I’ll fit in just great at my father’s court.”

      “I think you will—and I cannot help you scheme against my king.”

      “I’m not scheming. I’m only—”

      “Enough.” He walked on. The old man saw him coming and stepped out of his path. The pigeons scattered.

      Elli had to hurry to keep up.

      A short time later, they went back to the apartment where Elli found two messages on her machine. One from a girlfriend and one from a guy she’d known a couple of years ago, while she was still in school at UC Davis.

      Hauk stood right there as she played the messages back. He shrugged. “Just leave them. You can answer them when you return.”

      “Well, that’s reassuring. You seem to think I will return. Too bad my own mother fears otherwise.”

      He had that locked-up-tight look he got whenever he decided that responding to her would get him nowhere.

      He was right to get that look. She said, “I’ll answer them now, thank you very much.”

      He made her return the calls on speakerphone. He stood there, listening to every word as she told her girlfriend she couldn’t do lunch this weekend and asked for a rain check, then told the old school friend, David Saunders—in town just for a couple of days on business—that she wouldn’t be able to meet him for a drink. She was leaving town tomorrow. A family trip. David said maybe next time.

      “That would be great. Give me a call.”

      “You know I will.”

      She hung up and glared at Hauk. “You enjoy this? Listening in on my private conversations?”

      “No.”

      “Then maybe you should stop doing it.”

      He turned away, shaking his golden head.

      And that angered her.

      More than angered her.

      All at once, she was utterly furious with him. She grabbed his arm.

      He froze.

      Beneath her hand, his silky flesh felt as it if had been poured over steel. Her palm burned at the contact, her fingers flamed. The heat seemed to sizzle along her arm, blazing on, up over her shoulder and down into the center of her, making a pool of molten fire in her lower belly.

      She let go, brought her hand to her mouth—and it was like touching him all over again, pressing her skin that had been on his skin against her lips.

      She lowered her hand, slowly. Carefully. She felt shaken to the core—and ashamed of