The queen has a cold, p.1
The Queen Has a Cold, page 1
The Queen Has a Cold
Synopsis
Remy, the heir to the throne of the tiny nation of Montamant, is finally free of their royal chains as they start graduate school in Boston. No one here knows Remy is royalty or intersex. It’s the break Remy has been looking for—until they meet Sam, the sassy lesbian across the hall. Sam doesn’t tolerate Remy’s snobbery and won’t let anything distract her from getting a PhD in gender studies. But Sam understands Remy in ways no one else ever has, and Remy pushes Sam to see beyond her books.
As things are starting to heat up between them, Remy is summoned home. The queen has a cold and can’t perform her royal duties. There’s just one problem: the people of Montamant haven’t seen Remy since puberty and the changes might mean Remy’s not the princess they expect. When Remy asks Sam to come with them, it might be the chance they both need to conquer their fears and find true love.
Content advisory: This book contains instances of misgendering and references to medical procedures.
Praise for The Holiday Detour
“The Holiday Detour had me with its opening scene and it didn’t let go until its very end. Jane Kolven knows the importance of a hook and uses it most effectively…This book showcases her ability to use dialog effectively and masterfully. She can create tension and drive the plot forward in the most amusing and engrossing ways…I would encourage anyone who loves fun, quirky romances to read The Holiday Detour. It’s a highly entertaining and completely satisfying read.”—Lesbian Book Blog
“Kolven has a keen eye for what makes a narrative work and, just as importantly, she handles everything with a light touch. There were several points while reading this book that I actually smiled or laughed out loud.”—Medium.com
“This is a bit of a madcap connection story…It’s a little mish-mash of Planes, Trains and Automobiles meets a rom-com and it’s sweet and silly by turns. Dana runs hot and cold, which makes her less appealing than Charlie, but they do figure out that they are a match. I liked that they did ‘get’ one another, and their futures have enough flexibility to accommodate a new/first relationship.”—V’s Reads
The Queen Has a Cold
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The Queen Has a Cold
© 2021 By Jane Kolven. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-879-1
This Electronic Original Is Published By
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: April 2021
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design by Tammy Seidick
eBook Design by Toni Whitaker
By the Author
The Holiday Detour
The Queen Has a Cold
Acknowledgments
This book was possible because of the generosity of intersex activists who share their experiences and campaign against medical intervention for intersex kids. I’m especially appreciative of Hans Lindahl for serving as a consultant on this manuscript in its first stages. I’m grateful to Pidgeon Pagonis, Cary Costello, and Georgiann Davis for everything I’ve learned from conversations with them and from their public work. Thanks to Hanlon McGregor and Jordan Rosenberg for serving as sensitivity readers between drafts, and my editor, Cindy Cresap, for always remaining diligent and thoughtful in her work.
For TJ, my unwavering friend and cheerleader, and for intersex kids everywhere
Prologue
Her Majesty Queen Clotilde, fifty-seventh monarch of Montamant, widow of the late King Georges, twice named “Most Fashionable European Royal” by Femme Dynamique magazine, globetrotter and diplomat, recipient of seven honorary degrees, did something that Sunday morning no one could remember her doing before.
The queen sneezed.
In Her Majesty’s rooms, her trusted confidant and capable assistant, Madame Pouvoir, immediately produced a tissue, and to her professional credit, her eyes only widened for a second. It was enough for Marie-Claire, the chambermaid who had been laying out Her Majesty’s outfit, to see and give a similarly surprised gasp. But discretion reigned in the palace. Marie-Claire caught herself and turned her attention back to her wardrobe selection: a pair of green suede L.K. Bennett pointed-toe pumps and a yellow wool shift from Akris.
Madame Pouvoir resumed her recitation of the day’s activities. “After lunch, you have an appearance at the annual meeting of the cheesemakers’ association, which will include a tasting of this year’s releases, and we have some remarks for you to—”
“Haaaa-choooo!”
It was not a petite sneeze. It was not the delicate sound of someone with money and power and staff to do things like sneeze for her. It was full-bodied, followed by the sound of an elephant trumpeting as Her Majesty blew her nose.
This time Madame Pouvoir made no attempt to hide her concern. “All right, Your Majesty,” she declared, snapping her leather portfolio closed, “you’re going back to bed.”
“I am not!” Queen Clotilde pulled her silk robe tighter across her chest. “There is a lot to do today, and it is not your job to decide what I can and cannot do.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Waaaa-shooo!” This time the queen’s sneeze sprayed all over her robe, and she scrambled for the bedside tissue box to mop up the mess.
Madame Pouvoir dutifully helped and tossed the used tissues in the garbage without fuss. She reached into the pocket of her gray wool blazer and produced a small bottle of hand sanitizer, which she squirted onto the queen’s hands and then her own.
“Your Majesty, respectfully, I think you should return to bed. The octocentennial is on Saturday. You need to be well rested for it.”
“Thank you, Madame. I had completely forgotten the founding of the monarchy over which I rule.”
They stared at each other, two iron-willed, intelligent women in their fifties, neither capable of backing down.
Unaware of the growing tension, Marie-Claire approached the bed and gave a miniscule curtsy. “Your Majesty, your clothes are ready. Do you want to carry a bag today?”
Madame Pouvoir shot her a killer glare. “The queen will not be needing those clothes today.”
“Yes, I will.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Pouvoir, do I have to remind you which one of us wears the crown?”
“You’re sick.”
“Sick!” Her Majesty laughed, but it turned into a cough. “I am not sick. I am never sick. In the twenty years since my coronation, I have never…once…been sick.” A final cough punctuated her sentence, mocking its intention. She sighed. “Actually, I do feel a little hot. I might sit down for a moment.” She sank to the bed and nestled into the mountain of pillows. She shut her eyes. “Will you wake me in twenty minutes?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Madame Pouvoir gestured to Marie-Claire, and they crept out of the bedroom and pulled the heavy double doors shut behind them.
“I thought you said she had breakfast with the bishop,” Marie-Claire said.
Pouvoir shook her head. “She’s not having breakfast today. Or cheese. Let’s hope she’s better by this weekend, or else we might have to call you-know-who.”
Marie-Claire gasped. “Madame, no!”
“If Her Majesty remains ill, there will be no alternative!”
“In that case, we must make sure Her Majesty gets better!”
Madame Pouvoir gave one solemn nod of her head. “I will have the kitchen send up some tea and soup. And let’s have the bishop say some prayers.”
Chapter One
Remy found a parking space not too far from the entrance to the building and sauntered to the electronic card reader that granted access to the back stairwell and elevator bank. They held their card up to the reader, but the red indicator light didn’t change to green. They waved the card, but nothing happened. They removed it, tried again, and still nothing. Remy was locked out.
They sighed and trekked through the alley that led to the street entrance. The main lobby door was also secured, so Remy knocked on the glass and held their ID up for the security guard inside. The guard buzzed them in.
“Name and purpose of visit?” The guard sounded bored as he clicked a pen open to take down Remy’s information.
“I’m supposed to move in today, but my card isn’t working.”
The guard made a gimme-gimme hand gesture, and Remy passed their card over the desk. The guard inspected the front and back suspiciously, leaving Remy to wonder if there was a lucrative market for fake university IDs. Satisfied with whatever he saw, the guard rose from his chair and went to a machine on the back counter of his workstation.
“Did you pay your tuition bill?” he asked as he swiped the card in the machine.
“Of course!”
“Did you leave a check or pay online? If you paid by check, they might not have gotten it processed yet. It can take up to three days, and it won’t post to your account until it’s processed. If it’s not posted to your account, your account will still show it’s past due, and your card will be deactivated.”
“I paid my entire semester tuition weeks ago,” Remy informed him. The bill had come to Pierre’s house because Remy didn’t want their mother to see it. Pierre had waited two days before remembering to give it to them, which had enraged Remy. They didn’t want anything to get in the way of this plan. They’d paid the bill in full that night, just to be safe.
The guard didn’t seem impressed by Remy’s financial solvency. “You put this next to a cell phone? It gets demagnetized that way.”
“No. I only got it an hour ago.”
Whatever the guard had intended to learn from the machine failed. He returned to his chair and sat down, causing it to let out a whoosh of air under his weight. “Let’s look you up in the system.”
“Thank you.”
Remy watched impatiently as the guard used two index fingers to type their information. One of the things Pierre had reminded them when they’d set off on this adventure to graduate school was to be patient and kind, especially to those with less education and privilege. Although it was funny advice from someone as snobby as him, Remy tried to heed it. But sometimes it was hard.
“Looks like you’re in Room 312.”
The guard could have asked them that. Remy was carrying the confirmation letter with their apartment assignment. “I know.”
“I’m not sure what the problem is. Should be working.”
Remy fought the impulse to bang a fist on the counter. “But it’s not.”
The guard placed his palms on the desk and used them to hoist himself up. He unclipped a tangle of keys from his belt. “You parked out front?”
“In the rear parking lot.”
Wordlessly, the guard started to walk toward the back door. It took Remy a moment to realize they were supposed to follow, but as they nearly caught up, the guard turned around and went back to the desk. Uncertain if they were needed, Remy turned and followed. The guard leaned over the counter and produced a small standing sign that read “Back Soon.” He placed the sign on the countertop, then pushed past Remy wordlessly. Remy again trailed him to the back door.
The guard inserted a metal key in the back door and opened it. He tapped a door opener in place with the toe of his scuffed black shoe. “Bring your stuff in, and then I’ll unlock your room. Can’t leave this unlocked for too long.”
“Bring my stuff in?” Remy looked at the sparse gray cement and cinderblock hallway. “How do I do that?”
“There’s a cart over there.”
Remy bit their lip. “I’m supposed to take my luggage out of the car and bring it in myself?”
“That’s usually how they do it.” The guard turned and shuffled in the direction of the front desk.
Remy put their hands on their hips. It wasn’t that they had brought too many bags. Only five. They’d assumed they would go shopping or order things online to fill the small apartment. They would round out their wardrobe once they’d seen what the other students were wearing and had a better idea of how to blend in. It wasn’t even that much of a shock that they were expected to transport their own belongings. Not that they’d thought about the logistics in advance, but if they had, they probably could have guessed the school didn’t have porters. No, it wasn’t the shock that frustrated them so much as how hard it was to do everything in the United States. Harder, more time consuming, and much sweatier.
“You chose this,” they reminded themselves as they opened the trunk of the car they’d bought two days earlier. They’d anticipated that trying to hire a car service for every errand and outing would be a pain. At home Remy had been taught how to drive at age eighteen but never actually allowed to do it. Owning a car now meant freedom.
They were still sulking over the five suitcases they’d crammed into the trunk when a rusted maroon hatchback came sputtering into the parking lot and took the only remaining space in the back row. Out of the car climbed a lanky young woman with long blond hair, a tanned complexion, and deep red lipstick. She was too attractive to be driving such a shoddy automobile. She paid no attention to Remy on her way to the door, but she gave a small “hmm” of surprise when she saw it was already open. She went inside, and a moment later emerged with a cart with a small flatbed, which she pushed to her car.
Taking their cue from her, Remy went inside to find another cart. There weren’t any.
“Hey!” they called across the parking lot. “That’s the only cart!”
The young woman hoisted a giant blue plastic tub out of the back of the car and plopped it onto the cart, which she expertly kept steady with a foot. “Yeah, there’s only one. Sorry, guess you’ll have to wait a minute.”
“I was using that!”
She made a face. “It was sitting in the hall.”
“Yes, but I was in the process of taking my bags out.”
By this time, the woman had added another tub to the cart. She shrugged and reached for a beat-up checkered suitcase, which she loaded, along with a table lamp. She slammed the hatchback shut and slowly wheeled her load past Remy.
“You’re going to abandon me?”
“How is your stuff my responsibility?” she asked.
“Can we at least share? We’re both going inside, yes?”
She pursed her red lips together, displeased, though Remy wasn’t fazed. They stared back. After a tense moment, she maneuvered the cart in a giant donut and pushed it toward Remy’s car. She wasn’t able to stop it in time, and the edge of one of her cheap tubs collided with the rear bumper, nicking the silver paint. “Oops.” She didn’t sound very sorry.
Since the car was brand new, Remy was vexed, but a few American dollars getting the paint fixed wasn’t presently as much of a concern as getting their belongings inside and concluding the exchange with the attractive but unpleasant fellow graduate student.
They took the first Louis Vuitton suitcase out of the trunk and placed it on the rear of the cart, where there was still a little room. Their five bags weren’t going to fit unless she moved some of her belongings or they put a suitcase on top of her tubs, but they didn’t want to push the issue. They reached for another suitcase, but it was heavier than it looked, and it banged against the bottom lip of the cart, sending the lamp tumbling to the pavement. Its glass base shattered.
“Hey! I just bought that at Target!”
“It was an accident,” Remy said with a shrug. “What’s ‘at target’?”
She scowled as she picked up the remains of the lamp. “What do you mean, ‘what’s at Target?’ I just said this lamp was.”
“I know, but…” It wasn’t worth trying to get clarification. “I’ll buy you a replacement when we’re done here.”
“You will?” She turned her face toward Remy. Her eyes were outlined in black, which made their greenish-brown color glow. Her mascara was long and dramatic, and the overall effect with her ruby lips was the image of a model going out on the town. Although her impeccable makeup clashed with her cheaply made jeans and plain pink T-shirt, Remy envied her freedom to wear so much of it in public. They wondered how she had learned to apply it so well. Had she spent time watching video tutorials online from the secrecy of her bedroom? Or had she learned from a mother or older sister out in the open?
“I like your eye makeup.”
The woman blinked a few times, her lashes opening and closing like dark butterflies. “Thanks. You still owe me a lamp.”
“Yes, of course. Can we bring my bags inside first? The guard was mean about my card not working.”
“Why doesn’t your card work?” She moved between the cart and the trunk and reached for one of Remy’s remaining suitcases. When she hauled it out, her thin arms showed tight muscle underneath her tanned skin. “Did your loan check not come in yet? I think they can give you an emergency loan to cover the tuition bill to keep your card active until the money comes in. It’s kind of weird, since it’s money from the school to pay the school, but it’ll tide you over.”
