Emerging from her bath she found Aunt Liz ready with a riding habit, “for your first lesson.”

“Am I going to learn to ride?”

“Those are my instructions.”

So Randolph gave orders over her head and relayed them to her via a third person. Dottie reckoned you didn't have to be a queen to be annoyed at that. But it was hard to stay cross when the snugly fitting habit showed off her trim figure and neat behind. She was admiring herself in the mirror when Randolph's voice said, “You are one of those rare women who can wear tight pants.”

“I can, can't I?” she said gleefully. This was no time for false modesty.

His own riding pants were also snug-fitting, confirming what she'd only suspected before, that his hips were narrow, and his stomach flat. His long legs, the thighs heavy with muscles, might have been created for such a garb. He was standing in his shirtsleeves, leaning against the wall, smiling like a man without a care in the world. But who could tell? she thought, remembering Bertha's words.

“Why riding?” she asked.

“Riding is a social grace, like dancing. When a foreign head of state visits you, you dance with him, and ride with him.”

“Then I'll need dancing lessons as well.”

“Yes, I heard about last night. I gather you managed very well.”

“Didn't you see me fumbling around? You were there with Sophie.”

“Yes, I was there with Sophie. Is there any reason why I should not have been?”

His eyes had lost their warmth and become as bleak and chilly as a moorland fog. For a moment she had a glimpse of a hostility that was all the more alarming for being usually hidden.

He seemed to realize that he'd given himself away for he recovered at once, and smiled. “Forgive me. I'm just not used to having my actions questioned.”

“But I didn't question your actions,” she said indignantly. “I merely mentioned having noticed you. There was no need to get fired up.”

“True. I'm a little oversensitive. I apologize if I offended you.”

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?”