Lucy Gordon - Princess Dottie

The face was friendly but the tone was formal, and it impelled her to say, “Don't talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“As though I was the queen.”

“But you are the queen,” he said quietly, “and I never can forget it.”

“Then the sooner I'm gone the better. I couldn't live like this, people treating me as one person when I feel like someone else inside.”

“Not a person, a monarch.”

“Well a monarch's still a person.”

“No, a symbol,” he said quickly. “And if behind that symbol a person lurks, then she-or he-must keep that a secret, and never allow it to influence their behavior. The only thing that matters is what's good for your country. For that good, you must learn to be ruthless, to yourself first of all. Sometimes also to others, but mostly…” his voice grew heavy, “mostly to yourself.”

But in a moment he became cheerful again. “But that's enough dull stuff for today. Just now I want you to enjoy your new life.”

“So that I become so seduced by the goodies that I can't bear to give them up?” she said cheekily.

“Remind me never to underestimate you,” he growled. “Enough. Your instructor is waiting at the stable. Let's go.”

Dottie's nerves about riding vanished with the first lesson. Helmut, an elderly army sergeant who'd taught Randolph to ride, had a fierce aspect but a gentle manner. He'd found a docile little mare called Gretel for her. She was a pale honey color, with a soft nose that nuzzled Dottie in an eager search for tidbits, in a way that won her heart.

She didn't fall off, and by the end of the lesson Helmut declared that she had a natural seat and good hands. The next day he said she was ready for a gentle ride through the grounds, accompanied by a proper escort. He indicated eight soldiers standing ready with their saddled horses.

“I don't need that many,” she protested.

“We're going out into the country,” Helmut explained. “The queen must be properly escorted.”

The soldiers were young, with bright faces, and they saluted her with a combination of respect and merriment that put her at her ease. At least three of them managed to suggest that they would have wolf whistled their queen if it wasn't treason. She took her place in the center, and they set off. Helmut stood in the stable yard watching until they were out of sight.

Before long her companions complimented her on having acquired skill so soon.

“You have really never ridden before?” asked one called Heinz.

“Just once,” she said. “When I was a little girl in England we went to the seaside for a vacation, and there was a man with donkeys giving children rides along the sands. Grandpa put me up on a donkey, and I rode it for about three feet. Then I fell off and bawled the place down, and that made all the other kids cry in sympathy, so they lost their balance, and the donkey owner told Grandpa to get me out fast before he lost his livelihood.”

They rocked with laughter, and she discovered that she was really enjoying herself.

They were gone over an hour. As they slowly returned to the stables Randolph watched them from an upper window.

“You chose the escort well,” he observed.

“According to your instructions, sir,” Helmut observed. “They're all young, cheerful and every one speaks perfect English. As far as Her Royal Highness knows they're simply there to keep her company. We might be doing Prince Harold an injustice. He'd be mad to try anything.”

“But if he does,” Randolph murmured, “We're ready for him. Protect her, Helmut. Nothing must get in the way of that.”

“But sir, there's a rumor that she'll be leaving soon.”

“Just do as I ask, Helmut. Protect her at all costs.”

It was time for her first official public appearance, which would establish her in the eyes of the world. There had been a photographic session, with the pictures designed to stress her likeness to Queen Dorothea II. The palace PR office had been working overtime getting the news out to press agencies.

There would be a short reception, and the presentation of a bouquet by a little girl.

“She will make a little welcome speech,” Aunt Liz explained, “and in your honor it will be in English.”

“I have picked up a few words of German,” Dottie said defensively.

“How many?”

“Two,” Dottie confessed. “Who is she? How was she chosen?”

“Elsa Bekendorf. You've met her sister and brother. Little Elsa is such a sweet child. And of course the honor had to be given to a family of their standing.”

Dottie was silent, thinking of Sophie's head close to Randolph's, at the nightclub, and wondering whose idea it had been to thrust little Elsa forward.

Then she pushed the thought aside to enjoy her fitting for the elegant dress Aunt Liz had chosen. It was wild silk in a deep peacock blue which made Dottie stare a little.

“There's a time for restraint and a time for being eye-catching,” Aunt Liz said. “This is a time for being eye-catching. It's a pity that Your Royal Highness lacks just a little bit of height.”

“You mean I'm short,” Dottie said gloomily.

“There's always very high heels, but wearing them is a skill.”

“You leave that to me. When you're my height you learn heels as a matter of self-defense.”

The heels they chose were not merely high, they were suicidal, and Dottie earned Aunt Liz's admiration by being able to manage them without a care. They were both pleased with the result.

When the day came, Dottie listened just “offstage” as the prime minister explained her to the world's press. He described her background accurately enough, but with rather more emphasis on her “position of authority” than she thought entirely honest.

“What they would say if they saw The Grand!” she chuckled to Randolph who was waiting with her behind the curtain.

“That's why we haven't named the place,” he murmured. “Although I suppose they'll find it even tually. I'm afraid journalists may track you down there.”

“Pardon?”

“When you go home. You did say you were going soon.”

“Oh yes, of course. I forgot for a moment.”

Durmand reached the end of his speech. The curtains parted. Dottie walked out on Randolph's arm to face a barrage of flashing lights. He led her to the throne, then gently detached himself and moved to the side.

She tried to concentrate on the cameras, turning this way and that so that everyone could get a good view. She became aware that a little girl was approaching her with a bunch of flowers. Elsa Bekendorf was only about four years old, and it was clear that she was very nervous. Dottie's heart went out to the child.

Scowling with concentration Elsa made her way up the three steps to the throne, clutching her posy to within an inch of its life, and embarked on her speech of welcome.

But almost at once she was in trouble. Dottie guessed that her English was poor and she'd been taught the words parrot fashion. When she broke down she had no knowledge to fall back on. There was a faint hiss from Sophie, who was watching her baby sister, full of tension. That wouldn't help the poor little thing, Dottie thought.

Elsa must have realized the same, for she cast a beseeching look at Sophie, made as if to run to her for comfort, but checked herself at once. With nowhere to turn she became overwhelmed, sat down on the lowest step and howled.

In a flash Dottie was down the steps, kneeling in front of the little girl, giving the child her best smile. “Hey, come on. It's not so bad. You should see how scared I am.”

Elsa sniffed and looked at her woefully. She hadn't understood the words, but Dottie's kindly tone had gotten through to her. She managed a half smile and raised the posy, somewhat bedraggled now.

“For me?” Dottie asked. Suddenly her two German words came back to her. “Fur mich?”

Elsa nodded. The next moment she was swept up in an exuberant pair of arms as Dottie rose to her feet, hugging her and kissing her cheek. Elsa's confidence came back and she beamed at Dottie, receiving a big, laughing smile in return, and for a moment they were blinded by flashbulbs going off madly. And from somewhere behind the bright lights came the sound of applause.

“You, Elsa?” Dottie asked, and the child nodded.

“Mich, Dottie,” Dottie told her firmly.

“Dottie?” the little girl echoed. Then she seemed to understand and gave a chuckle. “Prinzessin Dottie!” she caroled loudly, and there was more applause, mingled with laughter.

Somewhere Dottie was aware of Sophie covering her eyes in disgust. Probably a lot of other people felt the same. She didn't care. She was going to do this her way.

Aunt Liz came forward to take charge of Elsa. Sophie might have seemed the most suitable person, but hell would freeze over before Dottie delivered this moppet into the hands of her hard-faced sister. Despite her bright professional smile, Sophie was furious, though whether because she felt the family dignity had been damaged, or because Dottie had scored a success it was hard to say.

At last it was over. She raised her eyes to meet Randolph's, expecting to find condemnation in them, and determined to outface him.

“Who says I can't be Princess Dottie?” she asked defiantly.

Then she saw that his eyes were warm and smiling. “You can be anything you wish,” he said, offering her his arm. “Well done, Dottie. You've staked your claim to the hearts of your people.”

Within hours the press conference had beamed around the world. Television channels showed it again and again, always focusing on the wonderful moment when Dottie had lifted little Elsa in her arms.

The Ellurian newspapers hailed her as Our Laughing Princess. Some played up the family resemblance. Others claimed she'd already showed how she would be “A true mother to her people. ”

“On the basis of one incident?” Dottie demanded over breakfast two days later. ”

“But it was great, Dot,” Mike said. He'd dropped in to tell her he'd be out sailing all day. “Just fancy, your grandpa being right all along!”

“Did he bend your ear with those stories, too?”

“Only the once. He took me to the pub. We got real plastered, and he came out with all this stuff about Duke Egghead.”

“Egbert. What did he say about him?”

“Well that's it, after I'd sobered up I couldn't remember, and I never have. When I get tiddly again it starts coming back to me, but it goes again.”

Those who'd feared, or hoped, that Dottie's unorthodox ways might bring her down were confounded. She was a darling. That was official. Her oddities were no more than charming eccentricity, only to be expected in one who'd been reared “with wider horizons than royalty normally enjoys.”

Even Randolph raised a smile at that. He was delighted at the way people were determined to see the best in her, even though the facts behind the headlines sometimes made him tear his hair.

He hadn't, for instance, been amused when Dottie vanished again, and turned up in the kitchen, chatting happily with the cooks and eating ice cream “like a greedy child,” as he caustically put it.

“Well, I tucked in because I was sure you were going to arrive any minute and spoil the party,” Dottie told him, adding gloomily, “And you did.”

She didn't mention the fun she'd had reducing Fritz, the head chef, to jelly. But Fritz invented a new ice cream which became known as The Dottie Special, despite horrified attempts by the palace old guard to quell the name.

Dottie fell on it with delight, even ordering it for breakfast one morning, and sending down a note with the empty dishes saying. Dear Fritz, terrific as always. How about doing one with peaches? Ever yours, HRH, Dottie.

Somehow the story got into the papers and vastly increased her popularity, which might, or might not, have been the intention of the person who leaked it.

Messages of congratulations began to flood in from governments and royal houses, including one from Prince Harold of Korburg, that made Randolph snort with disgust.

He had an air of tension these days, the reason for which everybody guessed, although it was spoken only in whispers. Dottie's acceptance as the true heir had finally broken the patience of the Bekendorf family. Sophie's father had stormed in to see Randolph and finally broken the engagement. The Bekendorfs did not marry nobodies.

Hearing the story, Dottie winced, imagining what that cruel barb must have done to a man of Randolph's pride.

“Don't believe the lurid tales,” Aunt Liz advised. “Randolph's valet is married to my maid, and I can tell you that Randolph did not knock the man to the floor, nor did he make a noble speech about true love conquering all, which is the other version doing the rounds. He merely observed that he had already freed Sophie from all obligation to him, and asked Bekendorf to leave.”