Page 42 of Royally Drawn (Resplendent Royals #3)

In Sketches

KEIR

T ime was a curse. I had so little of it with Ingrid. Whenever I could, I flew to her. I played horse show boyfriend by day. We were happy. I felt whole when I woke up next to her in the morning. When we were apart, she was ever-present, too. I always rang her. Hearing her answer with “Allo?” always made me smile, but it wasn’t the same as having her in my bed or trying to teach her not to burn something as simple as pasta. She was so sweet and warm and present on days we were together. Things were lonely without her.

I wasn’t the only one noticing Ingrid, either. She’d made quite the splash. In eventing, she was a rising star. Her bravery and continued persistence paid off. Cici said she’d make the next Olympics if she and her horse stayed healthy. I believed it. She then caught the eye of Tatler editors.

The front cover was Ingrid in a ballgown, resting on a chez-lounge, looking at the camera with a slight, cheeky smile. They’d taken the photo in Parker’s library in Devon. The headline read, “Ingrid Has Arrived.” She had. Her gaze seared through the page. And despite this beautiful picture, I thought she was most attractive when she lay around in next to nothing sketching, looking relaxed and happy. She was just her .

“Go on, read the damn thing.”

My aunt smiled, embarrassing me over breakfast as she watched my reaction to her receiving the latest copy of Tatler . We got everything—primarily newspapers. We were at Balmoral, all having breakfast on a rainy morning. Duncan snickered, and I glared at him, picking it up. I flipped through it, finding her article in the centre. She was on horseback in Parker’s family home.

“She’s… in the house… on a horse. How did they even manage that?” I asked.

“What?” My Uncle George, Aunt Natalie’s twin brother, looked up from his paper. “A horse in the house. Sounds like something Mummy would have done.”

“On marble? It should be fine.” Aunt Natalie looked over.

“He’s a well-behaved horse,” Nate said.

“He’s downright tranquil, but don’t let him fall asleep on your shoulder. He drools, and his head weighs about fifty stone,” I said.

I read through the article. They asked her about her career, her growing up in Neandia, and what she thought of the UK. She explained her tastes in fashion, her love of tall boots—something I found incredibly sexy—and her obsession with art. It was standard fare.

“The camera loves her,” Aunt Kiersten noted. “She’s gorgeous.”

I said nothing. Of course , Ingrid was gorgeous, but I wouldn’t go on about it.

Duncan picked up the magazine.

“It is a huge horse. Why are small women always on large horses?”

Win snickered. Mamma glared at him. I fully expected a dick joke, but he dropped it.

“Oh, well, they ask her what she likes to draw. She confirms her horses.”

“This is not a surprise, Duncan,” I sighed. “The entire thing is just navel-gazing bullshit because she’s now an It Girl. She did it because Astrid wanted her to. She was dying to see the place photographed after their renovations to the library. ”

“Oh, I’m not done,” Duncan said. He read on, quoting her now: “I suppose the other thing I draw endlessly these days is pictures of my boyfriend. It’s sad and incredibly typical, but I cannot help but do so. Also, sometimes dogs. I always love to sketch dogs.”

“You’re put in the same category as dogs,” Ollie howled with laughter.

“She didn’t say that!” I protested.

“Oh, it gets better,” Duncan said. I lurched over the table to grab the magazine back, but he held it out of reach.

“Sit down. This is just getting good!” Betty snickered, looking over his shoulder.

Inside, I died. Duncan was not that creative. I suspected he was reading the copy on the page.

“And who is the lucky man? We don’t see you out with anyone?” He read the interviewer’s question in a surprisingly feminine voice.

“She doesn’t go out,” I sighed. “She’s busy with her horses.”

“Shh!” Aunt Natalie said. “I am dying to hear the rest of this!”

“Is everyone enjoying my suffering?” I groaned.

“Yes,” the rest of the family answered in unison.

“Well, I won’t say much,” Duncan tried to match her tone ridiculously. “But he’s lovely and always supports me. Kraken adores him.”

I was mortified , but I knew she was being honest.

“And how does he put up with royal life? Does he struggle with that?”

The more Duncan read, the more I wanted to die.

Betty pulled the magazine from his hand. “She says he does not struggle and is very used to it. We ask if he has a name. She refuses. Then, she says, ‘He’s British. That’s all I will say.’”

By now, Duncan and my brothers howled with laughter, thinking my pain was utterly ridiculous.

“You all can fuck off,” I said.

“That’s a not-so-blind item,” Aunt Natalie said. “Everyone is about to be up your arse, Keir. She is downright cheeky.”

“Cheeky girls are good,” Georgie said. “But they cause chaos. You cannot be too careful.”

“She didn’t say he was a prince. And, anyway, we’re an entire basketball team of princes. Even if she had, the possibilities are endless,” I said.

“Just you wait,” Duncan said. “The press will be all over you. Don’t show weakness.”

“Weakness?” Leah scoffed. “Yes, God forbid he show her he cares.”

It wasn’t the same for Leah as it was for me. It never would be. Duncan and I were one and two—eligible bachelors expected to continue royal work. We’d marry women, making them duchesses. Inasmuch, we abided by royal rules of dating. That was to say, one never dated, never confirmed they were dating, and always just kept on walking. Ingrid knew this, but she’d floated it. She knew better and still did it.