A Mummer's Throne by Fred M. White

The white city by the silver stream was grateful for a new sensation. Its pleasure-loving inhabitants had something to watch now. They were ever glad of all that was fresh and bright in romance. And here was a romance sound and sweet to their hand. It might be said that the King of Montenana had awakened one morning to find himself famous. Naturally enough, his arrival in the white city had been duly chronicled, and there the Press had left him. On the face of it, he was no more than a commonplace young man, running a pocket kingdom and seeking for a wife who would put money in his purse and give him a surer foundation on the throne at the same time. One or two of the papers had given a sketch of his life and his personal appearance, and there they left him.

But now it was entirely different. He was a handsome man in the first flush of youth, brave and romantic and of high courage, breaking away from all the conditions of his caste, and actually making love to a popular actress. The same thing had happened before, but never quite under the same conditions. As a rule, there was something distinctly vulgar and commonplace in these intrigues. Usually the actress was past the first flush of her charm, the prince was a middle aged roue, with a tendency to embonpoint. But he of Montenana was decidedly handsome, decidedly untainted; in fact, just the sort of young man calculated to make a fool of himself, and set Europe thrilling from one end to the other with interest and expectation. And again, Nita Reinhardt was young and beautiful. There was not one word against her reputation. She was not the kind of girl to sell herself, even for a robe of ermine trimmed with purple. Here was a love match, if ever there was one, and the one problem which was discussed over dinner tables in cafes and at garden parties was whether the King of Montenana would marry this lady or not. On the whole, the white city gave its Royal visitor the benefit of the doubt. It was known that King Fritz had come there with the old bulldog Rutzstin to look after him. It was whispered that the war-scarred warrior was lying at the point of death in his bedroom; and when the cat's away, the mice will play.