17. Cole

"And this suit will be for your afternoon engagement with the president's spouse."

Sandy was tapping at his tablet while the royal tailor pinned the hem of Henri's pants. My mate mouthed, "Help me," and I asked Sandy if we could take a break.

He hesitated and agreed, saying, "Just five minutes, sir. You leave early tomorrow morning.

Sandy and the tailor scuttled out of the room, and when the door closed, I took Henri in my arms. "Almost done."

"Not true. We haven't started. You heard what he said. We're outta here in the morning." He pulled a thread from his jacket and felt the fabric between his fingers. "This material is excellent quality. I can't complain about that." He eyed himself in the mirror. "Tell me about the president and his husband."

I opened the file Sandy had given me. He'd emailed it, but I preferred a hard copy that I could scribble on. Going over the points in the document, I reminded Henri that the president did not come from a privileged background but had been given a scholarship to college and worked as a lawyer before going into politics. I admired someone whose success was due to his own drive, hard work, with a bit of luck thrown in.

Unlike me who'd always been handed everything.

We went back and forth over the man's details and his husband's and the talking points Sandy had listed. We were representing our country and couldn't cause a diplomatic incident by saying something inappropriate.

While Henri was my husband and mate, his role wasn't equal to mine, and I would always be ahead of him, the first ushered into a room, first to shake hands, first to be seated. He would have to get used to that sadly.

Sandy bustled the tailor into the room, and they finished the fittings. Sandy had a spreadsheet of outfits, where and when they were to be worn, including the accessories, even the socks.

We spent the rest of the day in our suite before the next five days would be full-on with little time to rest.

On a government plane the following morning, we ate breakfast before having to get dressed for the meet-and-greet at the airport. Henri peered out the window as we descended through the clouds and bumped along the runway.

"At least I don't have to give a speech, unlike you."

This wasn't the moment to inform him he would have to do just that in the future, but not on this trip. I was hoping to ease him into it, accompanying him to functions and sitting beside him the first time he stood up before an audience.

I remembered my first speech, a nerve-wracking experience, and I'd been preparing for it my entire life. I was fifteen and Father stood at my side, tension rippling off him when I stumbled over a word.

The plane taxied to its assigned position close to a long red carpet, and stairs were rolled to the door. I held my hand out to Henri, and he took it, his palm damp.

"I'll be with you the whole time."

"And five steps ahead of me," he grumbled as he patted his hair. He made an exaggerated grin. "Nothing in my teeth?"

I stood at the open doorway and observed the troops in formation on the tarmac, waiting for me to inspect them. It was a pointless exercise. It was doing something for the sake of doing it. It didn't achieve anything. Much like a king or queen and a royal family.

I always wondered what would happen if I said one soldier had dirty boots or someone's hair wasn't short enough. Would our countries go to war?

Henri and I were determined we weren't just going to cut ribbons and shake hands. We wanted to make a difference, and in between the fixed smiles and polite questions, we intended to make a difference in people's lives. We'd debated different ideas every night but weren't any closer to figuring out a possible first project.

I strode down the stairs. Henri was behind me. I didn't need shifter senses to know he was there. The thumping of his feet on the metal stairs signaled he was two steps behind. We were met by the prime minister and his husband. We shook hands, and I introduced Henri. Polite conversation followed with questions about our flight and sending best wishes to my father.

I inspected the troops, keeping my eyes straight ahead and not searching for a smudge or a crease.

The day unfolded with us meeting the president, photos, and lunch before Henri and I went to our hotel to change clothes. We visited a school, and we both enjoyed reading stories to them and listening to them singing. More photos and inspecting projects the kids were working on before we were back in the car.

"Whatever project we come up with, it has to involve kids." Henri peered at the new city through the spotless window. "They're the only genuine people we've met today." He toed off his shoes and wiggled his toes. "Don't suppose we can call in sick tonight."

"Sorry, love. No can do."

When the driver opened the door, there was a crowd of people outside the hotel cheering.

"Is that for us?" Henri asked as he hid behind me.

"I think so. Smile and wave." I took his arm, and we posed at the hotel entrance, allowing photographers and the public to take pics, before escaping inside.

Dinner that evening was long, with ten courses, each one interspersed with a speech and toast. Henri was sitting opposite me, and he sent me many "How much longer?" looks.

Back in the hotel and finally in bed, Henri yawned and said, "Please tell me when you're king, the job will involve more significant activities than raising a glass to someone who once did something."

I couldn't. It would take an age to change diplomacy, but we could leave our mark on the world.

"Cole? Your silence tells me more than any words."