Washed Up Royal

by Karr, Kim

  “What were you thinking coming here?” he barks.

  I lift my heavy lids and see he’s back beside me. “I was thinking I had to fix the mess you got me into before Parliament returns, and I had to do it away from the public eye.”

  “By running away and pretending to be someone you’re not?”

  “That’s not exactly true.”

  “No? Because it looks to me like you’re shucking your duty to play around on the beach.”

  When all I do is look at him, his lips thin, and when I don’t answer, he scowls. We stare at each other like this for the longest time until I give in. “If you must know,” I say, “I’ve been searching for an acceptable husband and I found one.”

  Or I had found one.

  His laughter rings in my ears. “Here, in America, you must joking?”

  With all his expertise, he hasn’t bothered to look past his upturned nose to figure out royal bloodlines run farther than second position princes, and I’m not about to tell him. “No, I’m not.”

  The door creaks open but no one steps in. Uncle Isaac narrows his stare as if just waiting for the execution, of Rachel, I fear, but when no one comes in, he simply goes on. “You’re wasting your time. I already told you the law. Parliament will never accept anyone who isn’t of royal blood.”

  “Why do you even care?” I ask him, realizing I’m way too weak for arguments, especially against someone as cunning as my uncle. I also fear I’ll give him way too much information at the same time.

  “Because you’re my sister’s daughter and I promised her I’d take care of you.”

  Whatever pain medicine is in my IV has me feeling light-headed and speaking before thinking. “Like you took care of my father?”

  “Don’t start that again,” he warns.

  “Then admit the truth.”

  “About what?” he asks tightly.

  “You and I both know he didn’t die of natural causes, and if you hadn’t had him cremated before the autopsy, I could have proven it.”

  “Proven what?”

  “That you were giving him something that made him sick and then it eventually killed him.”

  When my uncle goes quiet, I glare at him.

  “Admit it.”

  “Enough,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “This nonsense of yours is over. Done. You’re coming home immediately.”

  For a hot second I consider the option. But then I remember the look of shock and horror on Ava’s face just moments ago when she walked in and saw my uncle. She knew right away what a monster he is. So, I shake my head. “I’m doing no such thing, and I’d like you to leave, now.”

  “You can’t be serious?” he barks. “You need me to get you out of this mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Now, come back to Alexandria and I will find you a suitable husband.”

  Determination and willpower have me shaking my head. “So I can forever be indebted to you. No thank you. I’d rather lose the crown than accept your help.”

  Those crude eyes of his narrow. “This isn’t a game you want to play with me, Victoria, you will lose.”

  No.

  No.

  No.

  “What? Are you going to challenge my bloodline? Oh, wait, you’ve already done that, and the DNA test proved I’m my father’s daughter.”

  His gaze shifts to the window. “You will never be able to ascend to the throne without my help.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, uncle, I’ll be back in Alexandria before Parliament convenes and I’ll be ready take my rightful place. Until then, I don’t want to see you again.”

  Those dark eyes dart back to mine. “Fine, dig your own grave, and I’ll have fun burying you.”

  Tears are hot in my eyes but I refuse to shed them. “You really are a criminal.”

  A smugness comes over him and he leans down close to me. “Oh, my dear niece, I can assure you whatever it is you think you know, you will never be able to prove it. You see, I follow the rules when they matter.” He motions around the room. “Clearly, it’s you who doesn’t.”

  Somehow I’d sat up again and this time when I lay back, I feel like the thin pillows do nothing to stop me from falling. I cross my arms. “I’m going to be fine.”

  There’s another long pause. “Keep living in that dream world of yours Victoria, you’re going to need it when you have nothing left.”

  Fear has me hoping he’s wrong. Hope. Damn that word. “Leave. Just get out of here.”

  And much to my surprise, he does, without another word.

  WHAT’S YOUR NUMBER?

  The Casanovia Conquest

  Breaking News

  A ROYAL NO-NO

  By Ian Wesley

  Prince Maximus Montgomery put his royal crown jewels on display in Monte Carlo last night…getting completely naked during a game of strip poker with a table full of women.

  One of the guests snapped a photo of His Royal Highness fully nude and blowing a kiss to the camera.

  No names of who the women are he was playing cards with him…or if any of them got the Prince’s unlisted phone number.

  King Winston must not be happy. A rep from the Casanovia Palace tells us, “We have no comment to make at this time.”

  Nicely put.

  RESTRAINT IS KEY

  It takes all of my willpower not to storm into her hospital room and punch that asshole uncle of hers in the face.

  But after the shit I already stirred up, I make myself refrain from any more acts of violence.

  “How is she?” Truman asks anxiously when I walk into the waiting room. “Has she woken up yet?”

  I shake his hand and then put an arm around Elizabeth, who wears the same worried expression as her brother. “She woke earlier but wasn’t really conscious. However, she’s woken again and she sounds fine.”

  “Sounds?”

  People are milling around, so I lower my voice. “I haven’t gone in to see her yet. Her uncle is in there and I don’t want to make a scene here.”

  Agreeing, he nods.

  “Well, do you think I can go in?” Elizabeth asks.

  “Not sure. Let me check with the nurse,” I tell her.

  She leans closer. “By the way, Julius took care of Prince Rainer’s public outburst.”

  “How?” I ask, lowering my voice.

  “I guess everyone signed non-disclosure forms before meeting with Victoria, and what he did by reporting the incident was a direct violation, so Julius called his lawyer, who slapped a countersuit on Rainer. I’m pretty sure he’ll keep his mouth shut now.”

  Impressed, I nod my head. “Tell him thank you for me.”

  “I will.”

  Truman pats his sister on the back. “Well done.”

  She rolls her eyes at him.

  “Hey, Adrien, can I talk to you, alone,” Truman asks, running a hand over his stubbled jaw.

  Elizabeth huffs and takes a seat in the chair. “I’m not going anywhere. Take it outside if you want privacy.”

  Truman jerks his head toward the door and we walk down the corridor and out into the night.

  “Hey man,” he says after we clear the entrance, “I don’t think that black SUV was a paparazzo.”

  The look on his face put me on immediate guard. “What makes you say that?”

  “The detective you asked me to send checked it out and he said there was no camera equipment or anything in the car. Doubt a paparazzo could have grabbed all his shit and ran from an accident without being noticed.”

  “Fuck.”

  “You really think it was the same one you saw at the marina?”

  “How many SUVs with blacked-out windows like that have you seen around here this summer? Everyone has sports cars or Range Rovers for fuck’s sake.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Jesus,” I whisper. “Then who the hell is following her?”

  Truman gets an uncomfortable look on his face and then glances at his arm back at me, and then at his arm
again.

  “What is it?”

  His gaze darts toward the parking lot as if scanning it. “What if it wasn’t her the car was following?”

  Strolling down the sidewalk, I run a hand over my jaw. “Me? You think they were following me?”

  He looks over my way. “Or us. Don’t you think it’s strange that I lose control of my brakes on the track remarkably close to the same time you experience a boating incident?”

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Emotion whips around me, a frenzied chaos of energy that crackles through the air like an electric shock. Slowly, I glance up. “Rutherford,” I hiss, and not in question.

  “He’s my first thought.”

  “I don’t know, Truman.”

  “Think about it. He knows you and I are the only ones aware that while the King was on his deathbed, he forged his father’s signature on the bill allowing legalized gambling in Eastwood. And that after he ascended to the throne, he bribed Parliament to allow him to buy up properties in foreclosure dirt cheap. Properties that he put in foreclosure by calling in debt he had loaned out.”

  “We were eighteen at the time, Truman. He was twenty-one, and we have no proof of anything, so why get paranoid enough now to try to kill us? I mean fuck, the three of us were once best friends?”

  “I don’t know. And I’m not even saying it’s true, but I think it’s time he becomes aware of the video I have, just in case.”

  “You sure you want to do that?”

  “I need to, or we might be dead very soon.”

  “Then we do it together, okay?”

  He shakes his head. “I filmed him. I have to be the one to do it.”

  “No way,” I tell him. “It’s always been you and me, and it stays that way.”

  Finally, he nods in agreement. “Fine. But it has to be soon, though.”

  “Give me a couple of days and we’ll go.”

  “And Adrien,” he says, “I’m sorry for putting shit in your head like I did last night. You do what you have to do, and as for Rutherford, we’ll find another way to stop him.”

  “Another way to stop him from campaigning for legalized gambling so he can push his holding companies down everyone’s throat and take a percentage to fill his own pockets? I know we’re powerful, but we’re not superhuman.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess you’re right about that.”

  Night clings to the sky like a blackened shroud. Oppressive and hot. And so fucking loud. “And don’t be sorry. You didn’t make me do anything. I left because I was wound up like a fucking kite and I needed some space.”

  The sidewalk ends and the blacktop reminds me of just how landlocked we are. “So, what are your plans?”

  Chewing at my lip, I lean my shoulders back against the brick wall and crane my head to peer up. “I honestly don’t know.”

  Truman kicks the concrete with his foot. “Not that my opinion matters or that I know shit about relationships, but do you see her as more than a business arrangement with benefits?”

  When a black chauffeured car drives past us, I know who’s inside, and I feel my gut twist into a thousand knots. That man wants to hurt Tori. No, he wants to hurt Princess Victoria, and I won’t allow it. Feeling like I want to crawl out of my own skin, I glance toward Truman, “Yeah, yeah I do.”

  “Then I think you have your answer.”

  A lump grows in my throat, and that strange feeling I get whenever I think about her is back in full force—a weight I wasn’t able to decipher until I got the call about her last night.

  Yes, he’s right.

  I know my answer.

  Then again, I had that very same answer from the moment she looked my way with those summer blue eyes and that sweet caramel mouth weeks ago.

  TROUBLE

  The Casanovia Conquest

  Breaking News

  A Spanking Perhaps

  By Ian Wesley

  Prince Maximus Napoleon Montgomery has been summoned back to the Palace and not only for his brother’s wedding.

  Although no official statement has been given, we are told his father and step-mother, the King and Queen, are about to put their foot down on the Prince’s post-breakup wild behavior.

  In the world of Royalty that typically means he’ll be sent away until his image can be rebuffed.

  My bet is he’s going to the States after his brother ties the knot.

  A little town called Newport to be exact.

  And poor chap, summer is almost over.

  HISTORY LESSONS

  Ava smudges some lipstick on my mouth and I sigh. “All the makeup in the world isn’t going to hide the bruising on my face, but hopefully it will heal quickly.”

  “It looks better, though,” she assures me, handing me the Converse she brought for me to wear from home.

  Adrien is still in Newport and roaming the hospital, I’ve been told. I’m anxious and nervous to speak with him.

  Things have changed. My offer to make him King isn’t valid, and I have to allow him the chance to bow out.

  We started as a fling. A one-night stand. What blossomed is more, certainly, but is it enough for him to accept the substandard role I have to offer?

  I can’t bear the thought he might consider himself a washed up royal, like the evil Prince Rainer called him.

  Until Adrien is ready to discuss matters, though, I don’t have a choice but to wait. The good news is I’ve been discharged and I’m dressed and ready to go. I’m just waiting for the doctor to come in and sign the orders, so I can officially leave. Or Ava Smart can.

  God, do I owe her.

  Rachel lowers her phone and glances up at Ava and me. “There has only been one exception to the rule of two people who weren’t born in the same noble country becoming joint sovereigns of that noble country.”

  “Who were they?” I ask, pulling my leg up on the bed to tie my shoe.

  “William III and Mary II.”

  I don’t recall them from my history lessons at all. “In what year?”

  “They jointly ruled England from 1689 until Mary’s death in 1694.”

  “Wow, that was a long time ago,” Ava whistles.

  “Go on,” I tell Rachel, switching feet to tie my other shoe.

  Bringing the phone close to her face again, Rachel reads to Ava and me. “During the war with France, William tried to improve his position by marrying his first cousin, the daughter of the Duke of York.”

  I hang both feet off the bed and raise my mouth to my hand at the same time. “Oh, my.”

  “His cousin?” Ava says as if repulsed.

  Rachel nods. “Yes, William believed marrying Mary would increase his chances of taking over the monarchy, which it must have since he did.” She stops and looks over at us. “There were many political reasons behind their ascent to the throne, but the important thing is they ruled jointly and both were not of English descent.”

  So engrossed, Ava is now reading the screen over Rachel’s shoulder. “They had three stillborn children.”

  When she makes a shooing motion with her hands, Rachel gets off the bed. “Let’s focus on what’s important, shall we?”

  The door opens and I eagerly look up expecting to see the doctor here to set me free, but instead, I find Adrien’s smoldering blue eyes staring back me, and my heart starts to thunder in my chest.

  “Hey,” he says with a smile that lights me up from the inside. “You’re up and dressed.”

  That same tension that always burns between us is even more palpable, denser and deeper. It pulls at me, makes me want what I might not be able to have.

  Him.

  Pushing that aside for now, in order to embrace him while I have him, I say, “Hi,” and twist a piece of hair behind my ear, feeling shy, like I did the night I met him.

  Adrien is dressed in black from head to toe, and his hair appears messier, darker, his scruff harsher.

  Yet so incredibly hot.

  My nipples puc
ker beneath the tank top Ava brought me and my thighs clench in my jeans at the sight of him.

  At six-feet-three, and nearly two hundred pounds, he is all man. His black jeans hang low on his narrow hips and black t-shirt shows off his bulging biceps. But what I want more than anything is to feel his rough, calloused hands on me. All over me.

  Rachel clears her throat. “If you’ll excuse us, my sister and I are going to find Elizabeth. She went down to the cafeteria to grab some tea more than twenty minutes ago and hasn’t returned. She must have gotten lost.”

  “Or ran into a hottie doctor along the way,” Ava winks.

  “Probably more likely met up with her brother,” Adrien tells her, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

  Ava frowns at him. “Let a girl dream.”

  “Well, we’ll find her,” Rachel assures everyone as if we are worried.

  I give her a nod. “I’ll be here, waiting for the doctor to release me.”

  “We’ll return to get you when he does.”

  “I’ll get her back to the Montgomery compound,” Adrien tells her.

  I shake my head no, uncertain if he will want to after we talk.

  He glares at Rachel. “I’ll make sure she gets home safely. You don’t have to worry about it.”

  She shoots me a look of apology. “We’ll tell William on our way out,” Rachel tells me as she grabs Ava’s arm and they both practically scurry out of the room.

  As soon as they’re gone, Adrien steps forward. My stomach is clutching and so is my heart.

  Sitting beside me on the bed, he offers me his hand. That hand I want on me so desperately but not sure I should take. I look at it with both dread and anticipation.

  Is he going to end things?

  Am I?

  “I love you.” My words slip out at the same time I slide my fingers into his. “And I want this work, but I can’t—”

  He grips my fingers tightly and his touch is electric. Everything becomes him. Him. Him. Just him. “Shut up,” he tells me, putting a finger to my lips. “And let me talk.”