The Royal Mess. MaryJanice Davidson
href="#u753963d9-19fd-53ca-84c2-54c9a9cec434">Part Three - PRINCESS NICOLE KRENSKI
A Note to the Reader Hello, Gorgeous! Drop Dead, Gorgeous! The Royal Treatment The Royal Pain Doing It Right Teaser chapter Teaser chapter Copyright Page
Author’s Note
As with The Royal Treatment and The Royal Pain, I’ve taken liberties, and as of this writing, Alaska still is not a country. However, it is possible to spend a wild night with a charming lady and, occasionally, bastard princesses do result.
The events of this book take place two years after the wedding of HRH Prince Sheldon, American citizen, to HRH Princess Alexandria, House of Baranov.
This book is for my father, Alexander Davidson III. He is not the inspiration for King Alexander II; he is King Alexander II. I have received praise I do not deserve for making up such a colorful monarch. The truth is, all I did was observe my father for three decades and write down what I remembered.
Acknowledgments
Thanks as always to Kate Duffy, supreme-o editor of the multiverse. She is unfailingly patient, never runs out of clever ideas, and best of all, thinks I’m great.
And to Ethan Ellenberg, my agent, for setting up the deal and generally keeping me out of trouble as I juggle various obligations.
Also thanks to the wonderful flap copy writers and cover designers at Brava. I can’t write decent flap copy (the blurb on the back of the book) with a gun in my ear, and I’ve noticed that without a nice cover and intriguing flap copy, you could write the next War and Peace and it’ll just sit on the shelves. Not that this is the next War and Peace. Or even the next Gone With the Wind. But still. You see what I mean.
My name’s on the front, so if you like this book, I’ll get the credit. But all I did was cough up a manuscript; the finished product was a group effort.
Basically, this book is for the unsung heroes of publishing—the ones who worked just as hard as I did, but whose names aren’t on the cover.
“Bastard, adjective: Born to parents who are not married to each other: baseborn, illegitimate, misbegotten, spurious, unlawful.”
—Roget’s II: The New Thesaurus,
Third Edition. 1995
“You are a pest, by the very nature of that camera in your hand.”
—Princess Anne, to a photographer,
quoted by John Pearson, in
The Selling of the Royal Family
“If God made me a princess, why didn’t he take a little more time and make my hair so it wouldn’t snarl?”
—Robert N. Lee, Rowland V. Lee, Princess,
Tower of London, while the Princess’s
mother is combing her hair, 1939
“Your life doesn’t run you. You run your life.”
—Alexander Davidson II
“What?”
—MaryJanice Davidson
Prologue
April 26, 2007
Dear King Alexander,
My name is Nicole Krenski, and I am your illegitimate daughter. My mother was Tanya Krenski; she was formerly a bartender at the Suds Bucket, which is where you met. You saw her socially for about three weeks before you married Queen Dara. (She—Mom, not the queen—used the money you gave her to finish paying for her journalism degree, moved to America, and we lived in Los Angeles for many years while she worked as a reporter for the Times. Not the queen, Mom.)
I’m sure you get these kinds of letters all the time, so I’ve enclosed my DNA results, as well as most recent blood work. If you prefer your own physicians to examine me, tough nuts . . . I hate needles.
My mother passed away recently without ever telling me who you were. When her attorney read me her last will and testament, I was pretty shocked, and it’s why I had to write to you.
To tell you a little about myself, I am five foot seven, with blue eyes and dark brown hair. My birthday is March 20, 1972. I enjoy tennis, cooking, and the collected works of Pat McManus and Carl Hiaasen. I work as a hunting and fishing guide for the Outer Banks Co. out of Juneau, and in my spare time I punch up scripts for Hollywood. The former is infinitely more satisfying, but the latter pays the rent.
I don’t expect to hear from you, so don’t feel bad. To be blunt, I can understand how a bastard popping up out of nowhere would be awkward for you and the rest of the royals. I just wanted you to know about me, but I understand you have many responsibilities, both family and professional.
I’ve attached my contact information in case you want a lackey to reach me. But if I don’t hear anything, no hard feelings.
Sir, I hope this letter finds you in all good health.
Sincerely yours,
Nicole
Part One
BASTARD
Chapter 1
“Holy mother of God!” King Alexander II yowled.
Jeffrey Rodinov, who had been casually leaning against the closed door of the king’s office, instantly sprang back, then went through the door. He didn’t open it and run through. He went through the door, his nine mil in his left hand. The safety was off. It was always off.
“Sir, get down!”
“I’m having a heart attack here, Rodinov, so don’t point that thing at me.” The king had a piece of paper crumpled in a large fist. “Holy Jesus! My God!”
Jeffrey snatched his two-way from his right hip, pressed the Call button, and barked, “Code seventeen, the Boss’s office, yesterday.” In other words, Dr. Hedman, get your ass up here pronto.
“Can you believe this? I can’t friggin’ believe this.” The black-haired, blue-eyed king, head of the Royal House of Baranov, was normally the picture of florid health. Right now he was as pale as the paper he was clutching.
Jeffrey had never seen him like that, not even after he’d been shot four years ago. (The first, and last, vacation Jeffrey had ever taken. Left the country for one damn month and the whole place fell apart.)
“Sir,” Jeffrey began, only to be interrupted as Edmund Dante, the king’s majordomo, galloped through the shattered doorway, then screeched to a halt in front of the large mahogany desk.
“My king,” Edmund gasped. “How may I assist you?”
It was a day for surprises; Jeffrey had never seen Mr. Dante so rattled. The king’s special assistant was as tall as His Majesty, but thin as a stick. He had served the Baranovs since time out of mind and as such, had no fear of