LITMIR.BIZ

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      Lili pressed the toggle to roll down the window. “Prin-cess,” cautioned Mrs. Grundy, but Lili went ahead anyway and thrust her face into the wind, not caring a whit that she would probably be mistaken for a Pomeranian with its head hanging out the car window. Her hair fluttered against her cheeks and forehead, just like the little flags at the front of the car. Wonderful!

      Bright sun, the rush of wind, the smell of blacktop and hot brick and—

      Rodger tugged her back inside. The occupants of the car stared at her, smiles wavering. Nell had actually stopped talking. So it hadn’t been the wind in Lili’s ears drowning her out. Good, she thought. Good. I don’t want to be a jewel, refined and polished to perfection. There was nothing more boring than perfection.

      An immense sea of cars shining in the sun caught Lili’s eye. “Oh,” she cried, “I want to shop there.” The limo had passed through town and was cruising along a busy boulevard. Cars surrounded a building that looked like a cement bunker. A plasticky sign in primary colors—so American—read: Salemart.

      “But that’s the Salemart,” the mayor said, aghast. “It’s cheap and tacky.”

      Lili beamed. “Perfect.” She wanted a pair of flip-flops, a T-shirt with a silly slogan and one of those fluorescent-colored beverage concoctions that was so giant, it looked as if you’d stuck your straw in a bucket.

      The limo was slowing to turn into a glade of green so emerald it made Lili squint and miss what the discreet signpost read. A mass of trees shimmered against the blue and white of the sky. The razor-edged curve of lawn was as plush as carpeting. She would dance on it in her bare feet, given the chance….

      Suddenly there were people everywhere, scattered across the tarmac road, parting to make way for the limo, then moving in to surround them as they cruised to a stop. A red-and-white striped tent was set up on the lawn, against the backdrop of shade trees. There was also the museum building, but Lili didn’t have time to look at it. She was smoothing and rebuttoning, preparing herself for display.

      Showtime.

      “This is it! The Princess Adelaide and Horace P. Applewhite Memorial Museum,” the mayor announced proudly, before Rodger extended an arm and pulled her out of the car, along with the town’s car repair-shop owner, Rockford Spotsky, who hadn’t said a word the entire trip, only stared bug-eyed at Lili until she’d wanted to hand him a magnifying glass.

      Mrs. Grundy pulled a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of her woolen traveling suit and dabbed at a spot on Lili’s cheek. “Now, remember, my girl. You are representing not only the royal family, but your country, as well.”

      Suddenly Lili was nervous. “Are there reporters? Cameras?” What if she tripped or stammered or peed in her fancy silk drawers the way she had when she was six and invited to take part in the Assumption Day pageant?

      “There are always cameras.”

      Not always, thought Lili. She’d escaped on occasion, sometimes tagging along after Annie and Natalia and sometimes completely on her own. Brief, memorable occasions.

      With a murmur of reassurance, Mrs. Grundy left the car.

      Lili looked out her window. So many smiling faces, soon to be focused exclusively on her. You’d think she’d be accustomed to the attention, but it seemed there was benefit in being the youngest of three sisters after all. Or demurring to the powerful presence of her father.

      You wanted this, Princess, she said silently.

      Rodger opened her door.

      No, I wanted peanut butter.

      Mayor Cornelia Applewhite stood nearby, ready and waiting. “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you…”

      The polite applause began as soon as Lili emerged from the limo. “…Her Serene Highness, Princess Liliane of Grunberg.”

      Lili stood. Shutters clicked. Flashbulbs popped. The applause grew, peppered with “oohs” and “aahs” as if she were an especially impressive roadside attraction.

      She gave a friendly wave to acknowledge the cheers, but her smile felt awkward and fake. Then she saw Simon Tremayne, standing beside the silent, staring Spotsky, and a warmth spread inside her. Only inside. Her silk drawers were safe…for now.

      A child came forward to present her with flowers. Lili spoke to the girl, thanking her by name, then straightened and lifted the extravagant bouquet of sweet freesia to her face. She took a deep breath, momentarily losing herself in the scent.

      Her lips parted with a sigh of pleasure. She dropped her nose into the fresh blossoms for a second, even deeper whiff, then popped back up, startled by a strange sensation. Something was buzzing inside her mouth, bumping against the back of her throat.

      She’d inhaled a bee.

      Lili motioned frantically to Amelia, her eyes bulging. Should she keep her mouth closed? Should she spit? Was it better to swallow? Could she swallow a bee even if she wanted to?

      A sharp sting on her tongue settled the question.

      With a howl of pain, Lili’s mouth opened wide.

      And the bee flew out.

      2

      “AM AW WIDE,” the princess said.

      “She’s all right,” Mrs. Grundy translated.

      “I’b nod awwergick.”

      “She’s not allergic.”

      “Got that one,” Simon said. He’d hustled Lili into the museum to tend to her, leaving the mayor outside to marshal her forces and continue the tea party without the guest of honor. Lili had insisted, smiling a brave smile even though there were tears in her eyes.

      “Here we are,” said Edward Ebelard, who was an RN at the Blue Cloud Medical Clinic and had accompanied them to Simon’s office. He held up an ice pack made from a plastic bag and two pounds of ice chips taken out of the soft-drink machine in the museum snack bar. “Stick out your tongue, dearie.” Edward was thirty, six-three, two-fifty, bearded; to compensate, he spoke like a nurse of the old school.

      Lili stared up at the towering RN with big dark eyes. She looked at Simon. He shot her a thumbs-up. She gave a watery hitch of her chest, then squeezed her eyes shut and stuck out her tongue. The tip was fiery red and swollen to twice its normal size. Or at least what Simon assumed to be its normal size.

      Edward tsk-tsked as he peered at the tongue, poking it with a pencil he’d liberated from the holder on Simon’s desk. He plopped the ice pack on Lili’s tongue.

      Her head wobbled under the sudden weight. “There we are. That will soon take the swelling down, Princess. We’ll be better in no time.”

      Mrs. Grundy grabbed the bag of ice and applied it more gingerly to the princess’s tongue. Lili whimpered softly.

      “Is that all you can do?” Simon asked the RN.

      Edward shrugged. “Yes. Unless she wants to go to the clinic for a shot. But you really only need that if you’re allergic.”

      Lili waved a hand, the lower half of her face obscured by the lumpy bag of ice. “No shaw. No shaw.”

      “No shot,” Simon and Grundy said in unison.

      “She’s not awwergick,” Simon added. The princess crinkled her eyes at him.

      “It will be sore for a few hours, but there should be no lasting effect,” Edward said as Simon showed him out. “I could stay, just in case. I’d be happy to. It’s not every day I have a princess for a patient.”

      “I’ll handle it from here.” Simon shook Edward’s hand. “Thanks for all your help.” He lowered his voice, imagining the lewd spin the tabloid reporters could put on a story about the princess’s red, naked, swollen

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