The Royal Treatment. MaryJanice Davidson
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ATTACKED!
Prince David, intent on his late-morning observations of the residents of Allen Hall, never saw the arm that snaked around the doorway, effectively clotheslining him. In a flash he was on his back, and being dragged into a small, dark sitting room. He got a whiff of wildflowers and decided not to resist.
“The thing is,” his fiancée told him, straddling his chest, “I appreciate you buying the cow and all, but I think you ought to get some milk for free.”
“Are you feeling all right?” he gasped. One minute he’d been wandering the halls, minding his own business, the next—attacked!
“Oh, sure, it’s just—I’d be crazy to plan on spending—what?—fifty, sixty years with you? Without…you know. Sampling the merchandise.”
“If I understand you,” he said carefully, “and I’m not at all sure I do, you’re proposing we—may I have my shorts back, please?”
“In a minute,” she said, and then she was nimbly unbuttoning his shirt and spreading it open.
The Royal Treatment
MARYJANICE DAVIDSON
KENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
For my mother, who would have made an excellent queen; and my father, who was the inspiration for His Majesty King Alexander II.
And for Scott Gottlieb, who was left out last time, but not on purpose.
Author’s Note
I took several liberties with this book, chief of which, Alaska is not a country. Once I made so bold as to twist reality to suit my needs, I changed a few other things as well. I hope the reader has as much fun exploring this new world as I did.
Acknowledgments
As always, thanks to my wonderfully supportive family for their…well, wonderful support. Particularly my sister, Yvonne, who has listened to all my dull story ideas without yawning even once. That’s true of my husband, as well. Special thanks to Karen Thompson, who reads my rough drafts without complaint; and Giselle McKenzie, who complains heartily about my rough drafts.
Extra-special thanks to my editor, Kate Duffy, and the generous and kind Lori Foster; they have been unfailingly supportive.
Also, many thanks to two women I’ve never met: Martha Stewart and Judith Martin. I usually finish a book when my hero and heroine decide to say “I do” and never get to think up a wedding. Martha Stewart Weddings and Miss Manners on Weddings were invaluable.
Contents
Prologue
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
PART TWO
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
PART THREE
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
PART FOUR
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Prologue
From The Queen of the Edge of the World, by Edmund Dante III, © 2089, Harper Zebra and Schuster Publications.
Even today, with all the comforts of a peaceful twenty-first century, Alaskans are a hardy group, and none more so than the royal family. There’s a saying in this part of the world: Alaskan royals wrestle bears, but only after tea.
This hardiness was vital for a young, vast country. Alaskans had to be tough, not only to break from Mother Russia in 1863, but to then go on and form their own government. It could not have been easy, but the royal family rose to the occasion.
It’s precisely this hardiness that occasionally causes trouble. Queen Christina’s father-in-law, King Alexander II, was no exception.
Historical records confirm King Alexander adored his daughter-in-law from the moment he set eyes on her. With characteristic impulsiveness, he decided this tough, uncompromising commoner would be perfect for his son, the Crown Prince David.
Of course, convincing His Highness the Prince, not to mention the woman who would eventually become the mother of kings, was no simple matter….
PART ONE
Nobody
Nobody really knows me, and I don’t really know anybody. But that’s okay.
—Christina Krabbe
Chapter 1
“If you ever touch me again, I’ll pull off your ears and stuff them up your nose.”
Christina Krabbe explained this fact of life to her supervisor, who was at the moment rolling around on the deck, cradling his mashed privates.
Never should have gotten out of bed. Should have tossed the clock on the floor and gone back to sleep.
But she’d never been late for work a day in her life, and if she didn’t crack eight hundred eggs for Friday’s rosemary scrambled eggs, who would?
Christina had known there would be trouble, almost from the moment she came on board. Ed had “accidentally” brushed her butt or a breast a million times. Never enough to be called on his behavior, always enough to make her dread the next time she ran into him. She was just surprised her boss had taken this long—almost three weeks—to make his move.
But today…coming up behind her and grabbing her boobs like she was a cow to be milked…she’d back-kicked and elbow-struck, and then he was on the floor and it was done and couldn’t be taken back. Not that she would.
His lips were moving. She bent closer to hear.
“…fired.”
“What?”
“…fired. You’re fired.”
“Uh-huh. What’s the phrase? You can’t fire me, I quit?