Page 6 of Royally Matched
Chapter Two
As Max walked down the ramp from the royal jet, he looked out at the familiar sight of the Triola royal welcome. A long, black, stretch-limo, along with a chauffeur, stood nearby. There were several paparazzi waiting with cameras behind a roped off area.
They were shouting out questions rapidly. “Where’s Starla? Is she coming to Triola to meet you? Are you going to propose?”
Max pushed his sunglasses up from the bottom of his nose and shrugged. “You guys ought to know, I won’t be staying in Triola long enough for her to need to come here.”
Without hesitation, more questions were sprayed at him. “Why are you back? Are you out of money? Is there something wrong with the king or queen?”
This time, Max refrained from answering. He didn’t like the sudden turn the questions took. Ignoring the paparazzi, he walked to the limo and waited for Patrick to join him as his chauffeur opened the car door.
“Good evening, your Royal Highness,” the older man said with a grin. “It’s good to have you back in Triola.”
Max glanced over at the chauffeur. After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Harry? Is that you?”
The grey-haired man nodded. “It is indeed, your Royal Highness. Your father thought you would prefer to have someone you know rather than one of the new chauffeurs.”
“I hate to admit it, but he was right. It’s good to see you,” Max said, patting the older man’s back. “You were always good to me growing up. You never treated me like a burden.”
“Of course not, your Royal Highness,” Harry stated with an offended tone. “I think no one has ever viewed you that way.”
“I very much doubt that,”Max declared with a roll of his shoulders, “but it’s kind of you to say so.”
Max slid into the leather seats of the car and immediately looked around for a bottle of champagne. Nothing. “That’s odd. No liquor either,” Max mumbled under his breath.
“Is everything all right, Master Beaumont?” Patrick asked with concern, as he took a seat across from Max.
“Nothing you need to worry yourself about,” Max stated as he pushed the button to lower the partition separating them from Harry. “What’s going on?” Max barked out in irritation.
“What are you referring to, your royal highness?”
“The fact that there isn’t a lick of alcohol in this car,” Max accused as he leaned forward. “It’s like the Prohibition in here.”
“The king thought it best you stay sober while you’re home. He ordered that all the alcohol be removed from the royal palace and all the limos.”
Max slumped back in his seat and crossed his arms. “So, it really is the Prohibition,” he mumbled, already hating the decision to give in to his father’s blackmail. “This will be a long week.” Then realizing he wasn’t at the palace yet, Max stated, “I want you to stop at the nearest store.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, your Royal Highness. Your father gave explicit instructions I was to return with you directly. No stops or detours.”
“Sounds about right,” Max stated begrudgingly. “The old man thinks of everything.”
Irritably, Max punched the button to roll up the divider. If Max would sulk, he would do so without Harry watching him.
What had Max gotten himself into? He hadn’t expected his father would orchestrate a moratorium on all libations while he was home. What else did his father have cooked up while Max was in Triola? Perhaps he should have tried to make it on his own rather than just assume he couldn’t do it.
As Max’s chauffeur pulled through the gates signifying entrance into the royal palace, the enormous baroque structure came into view. The stacks of marble pillars lined the front and framed the massive doors in the center. The facade had gold that accented the statues that were sprinkled throughout the garden and on the edges of the fountain in the center.
Max wondered if they would give him his old set of rooms in the west wing. With over 2,000 rooms, he wouldn’t be surprised if no one had stayed in them since he last left two years ago.
The limo came to a stop, and a few moments later, the door opened to reveal a footman for the palace.
“Good evening, your Royal Highness,” a young brown-haired man he didn’t recognize said, holding the car door open.
Max stepped out, and made his way up the stairs and through the doors being held open by two additional servants. Though Max couldn’t see him, he knew Patrick was close behind.
“Your father informed me you were to come to his study as soon as you arrived,” Patrick stated from behind Max. “We should go there posthaste.”
“We could do that—but we won’t,” Max informed Patrick. “I haven’t been back here in two years. I think Iwill check out a few things before meeting with my father to receive my penance.”
