Matt's plan turns out to be this: catch a flight to Vertsea, take a taxi to the royal manor, and speak with the Queen and King.
The ride there is stressful, to say the least. The neighborhood is a quiet one, the sort that might be seen in an old-fashioned movie. It's filled with houses that come from old money, three-story buildings with painted white fences and magnolia trees blooming in the front yards. Everything's kept in perfect shape, just like always.
Victoria is thrilled to be home again. She's missed the smell of this place from winter roses blooming along the sidewalks and citronella candles hanging from the front porches. The ride ran longer than it should have, and many of the candles have already been lit.
This is not, of course, the royal palace. It's more of a home away from home than anything else, a manor in the mountains of Vertsea where the royal family can escape from the ruckus of the capitol house.
Everything here is tasteful, with just the right amount of red ribbons hanging on the fences and fairy lights strung up around the windows. Handmade wreaths hang from the front doors, with fresh holly and boughs of pine.
She cracks the passenger-side window and lets the cold air rush over her. Even with her pink and purple plaid jacket on, it's cold. “Are you sure about this?”
Matt squeezes Victoria's knee. “Of course I am.”
“It's not going to be fun.”
“When is life fun?”
“I don't think you really understand how my parents are.”
“I heard that note,” says Matt lightly. “I've seen the headlines. They aren't speaking out against you, but they aren't standing up for you either. I know they aren't good people.”
Victoria protests, “They aren't bad people!”
“Yes they are,” says Matt firmly. “And I'm great at dealing with bad people.”
The taxi turns onto the last street. It has to park at the end of the curb because of the guards. They linger outside for a few minutes after that, just standing in the falling snow and looking around. It's a beautiful yard, the sort clearly tended by someone other than the owner. Every tree has just recently been trimmed, and a pile of firewood has been stacked up under a nearby overhang.
The manor is large, almost ridiculously so. Ivy wraps up the sides of the walls and dances over the windows. Heavy burgundy curtains hang over the glass, stopping anyone from looking inside. A winding cobblestone path starts just inside of a black wrought iron gate, which depicts the visage of a boar, the national animal of Vertsea.
Two guards stand on either side of the gate. Victoria smooths down the skirt of her dress. She's showing now, and the baby bump pushes against the fabric. Lace hangs over her blouse to add a bit of texture and design.
Each guard wears the same blue uniform, the national outfit of the Vertsean Army. They are a small force, but like the boars, they are strong. Both men nod at the approaching duo. Neither raises their arms.
That, at least, is still something that would be unacceptable in regards to a princess. Victoria hooks an arm around Matt's, making it clear that they're here together. She doesn't want any issues with the guards. She doesn't want any issues before she even makes it into her former house.
“Hello,” says Victoria with a cordial nod of her head. “If you could open the gate, I would appreciate it.”
“Of course,” says the guard on the right.
The guard on the left gives her a strange look. “We weren't informed that you would be visiting today, Princess Victoria.”
Victoria does her best to stand up a little bit straighter. “Must I report my movements to the guards of the gate now?”
“No,” says the guard on the right. “Of course not!”
He pulls out a remote from his pocket and hits the center button. The black gates part with a low creak. The guard on the left shakes his head. “We just don't want to cause trouble. Our jobs—”
“Your jobs are to listen to my orders,” says Victoria, “and to listen to the orders of my family. So long as you follow those rules, there will be no repercussions for this.”
The two guards trade uneasy looks, but they don't hinder the progress of Matt or Victoria after that. She leads her fiancé into the gated yard, which is so perfect it hurts. The manor house looks like it belongs in a storybook or on the front of a puzzle box. Victoria has always loved it. This place looks more like home than anywhere that Victoria had stayed growing up, but now, much to her surprise and disappointment, there is no feeling of comfort.
Compared to Matt's apartment, where she has been staying, it seems stifling and fake. The woodworking is built on lies, and the stones are crafted from implausible situations. The path up to the manor is long and winding. Pale flowers grow along the path, and the air smells like winter roses.
“I used to love coming out here,” says Victoria softly. “When I was a little girl, I would play with my nanny out here, and we would pretend the rose bushes were the homes of faeries.”
“You used to look for faeries?”
“When I was little!”
“That's cute,” says Matt. He presses a kiss to the side of her head. Her curls are soft. Her hair reflects the light of the midday sun.
Victoria huffs. “You're not winning me any favors. I still blame you for making me come out here.”
Matt says, “I didn't make you do anything.”
“Of course you didn't,” grouses Victoria. “It's not like this is your idea or anything.”
There's another guard standing outside of the dark wood doors for the manor. This one doesn't even say hello before opening the door, bowing as Victoria and Matt walk inside.
The foyer is a marble room with bright lights and pale pink tinting. There are oil portraits and hand woven tapestries hung up on every wall. It looks like someone built this as a museum rather than a home—a strange thought, and one that's never crossed Victoria's mind before.
Matt whistles. “This place is pretty fancy. I can't imagine a grubby-handed kid running around here.”
“There were no grubby-handed kids in here,” says Victoria lightly, “only ballet slippers and dignity.”
Dignity is something Victoria was raised with. As a princess, she was brought up to listen to orders, never make a fuss, and behave at all costs. Even in the safety of the palace walls or the manor house, there was no guarantee that she was completely protected from prying eyes or loose lips.
As such, Victoria was always on her best behavior. These lessons and rules followed her through the teenage years and well into her early adulthood. Now, as she stands outside of the sitting chambers for the King and Queen of Vertsea, she finds herself falling back on those rules.
The dress she's wearing is modest, but it's far from the formal gowns she's used to wearing. It doesn't resemble the handmade skirts and blouses the Queen wore during her pregnancy, either, of which Victoria has seen many a picture. It makes her feel less, for she knows the grandeur that lays behind this door.
It makes her feel less, too, when she looks over at Matt. At Victoria's request, the usual t-shirt and jeans have been replaced with a pair of ill-fitting slacks and a simple black, button-up shirt. His hair has been brushed out but still looks messy, much like her own hair, which has been pulled back into a ponytail.
Matt wraps an arm around Victoria's waist. He asks, “Are you ready for this?”
Victoria gives a tittering, nervous laugh. “Do I have a choice?”
“Always,” says Matt. “Always.”