Wild Heir (Fated Royals Book 4)

by Nikolai Andrew

  “The answer is still no.”

  “Think on it.”

  I let out a low growl. One thing that had made my father successful was his uncanny ability to refuse to take no for an answer until his opponent gave in. He could keep it up for years.

  “Fine,” I said, “but I won’t change my mind.”

  “All I ask is that you give it some thought.”

  “I’m leaving now.”

  He nodded. “Very well. Heading back to the Hellborn cottage? Or do you have other plans for the evening?”

  When I’d arrived back two weeks ago, my father urged me to stay here at the estate as he usually did on my visits home, but for years I’d preferred my own space. Our family had a cottage that suited me well, on the back border of the land we owned here in the valley, but I’d not let on that after the first couple nights back, I was in fact no longer staying there.

  I’d procured much grander accommodations.

  “No. I’ve been staying at the Bellemore Manor.”

  “Really?” His eyes twinkled as he raised a brow. “I heard Lord Barrington had put himself in a tough spot.”

  “Yes. I helped him find his way out. Let’s leave it at that.”

  He smiled. I could have let him know the details of what had happened, but my father respected my private nature and left it for me to share the parts and pieces of my life as I wished.

  When the time came, I’d let him know Lord Barrington lost his estate to me in a card game set up to allow him to settle a gambling debt that had grown to epic proportions. Over the years we’d gambled in all manner of cards and other games. Both on my trips back here and other gambling establishments in the kingdom. He’d lost to me so many times, he couldn’t think clearly. Pride and ego driving him which only served to make him more careless.

  I didn’t feel a bit sorry for him. Taking one of his four manor homes that he’s acquired in his own devious fashion was just tit for tat in my book.

  “If only your brother found independence as seductive as you.”

  “He is your problem,” I said, and with that turned away, heading out of the house and into the moonlit winter darkness.

  My horse was waiting in the stables, fed and watered ready for the ride ahead. It was no short distance back to the Bellemore Estate, and in the snow and ice it would require greater care to get there.

  Unlike a lot of the men I’d grown up around, who treated their horses as if they were disposable, there was no way I would risk Vela’s life just to get home a little faster. But that wasn’t where I was heading.

  Not yet at least.

  Chapter 6

  Vasile

  Saint Theodora’s School was mostly dark as I rode hard down the long, snowy driveway. In the moonlight, I saw two pairs of carriage wheel tracks—one approaching, and one departing, which I guessed had to be from her father dropping her off. I fucking hoped so, anyway. But it didn’t matter, really.

  If she wasn’t here, my next stop would be her family estate.

  Whatever it took.

  Scanning the lit windows for any sign of her, I dismounted and wrapped Vela’s reins to a fence post under a thick covering of trees, keeping her out of the wind.

  “I’ll be back soon, girl.” I patted her shoulder and reached in the satchel on the back of my saddle and pulled out two apples.

  I held one to her lips until she chomped the entire thing into her mouth, spraying juice onto my gloved hand then left another on the ground within reach.

  It was cold as hell outside. Winters in Praque can last for nearly the whole year, with some of the higher peaks perpetually snow-capped. But it’s the low-lying land that tends to become impassable in the darkest depths of the year, with snow drifts and avalanches a regular occurrence.

  Being away in warmer climes with my uncle had left me somewhat unused to that sort of cold, but right then I didn’t care. I barely felt it. Every fiber inside my body was burning up to see her. To get one fucking glimpse of those royal green eyes and the swell of her tits which had my cock nearly bursting from the front of my thick trousers.

  But window after window yielded no sign of her. I ran my hand through my hair and spun on the toe of my boot, thinking it through as I pulled the lapels of my jacket together at my throat, the night temperatures dropping further as the wind picked up and the tips of my ears numbed.

  A noise to my right drew my attention—the sound of uneven footsteps. The sound of my blood rushing in my ears and the hard thump of my heart made it difficult to concentrate. The mere thought that Valeria could be close had my senses on alert, my near frozen dick saved only by the constant pulse of hot blood that called for what it felt already belonged to us.

  Peering into the darkness, I saw the shape of a man, half staggering through the snow. He wore thick boots but his jacket was unfastened. The glint of a bottle of vodka caught the moonlight as staggered in an awkward circle, humming happily up at the moon.

  As he raised his face to the silver light, I saw the glazed eyes, the thick lines around his mouth and deep in the flesh of his forehead. From the weathered look of his face, life had ridden him harder than most.

  With my gaze, I traced his footsteps backwards, and there I saw the dim rectangular glow of light in a small window. The moonlight showing a small shack down the path and I caught the scent of wood smoke.

  Groundskeeper, more than likely.

  I set forward and in a few long strides I was within arm’s length of him and he staggered back when he saw me. He dropped his nearly empty bottle into the snow, where it landed with a powdery thump.

  “You know who I am?” I said, getting in close enough to scare him a bit.

  He blinked a few times in the moonlight. “No, sir.”

  “Vasile Greengallow,” I said, nearly shouting into the wind.

  And he inhaled, sharp and scared.

  “You know my name?” I said.

  “Yes, yes, sir. I do.”

  Truth be told, he’d have to be a fucking half-wit hermit not to know the Greengallow name. We had our hands in most things in this territory, legal, partly legal, and everything in between.

  I eyed the bottle of vodka sticking out of the snow. It was our label—a business we’d purchased first as a front but then turned straight. Or my father had, anyway. I’d been off doing more important and definitely more legal things.

  “If you tell me where I can find Princess Valeria Valentine, I’ll send you a year’s supply of that.” I glanced at the bottle.

  There was a flicker of temptation in his deep-set eyes, yet he hesitated. “Sir, I… I really should not…”

  “Yes,” I said, stepping into him. “You really fucking should.”

  He blinked off his drunkenness as best he could.

  His faded blue eyes glimmered in the cold moonlight. Now that my vision had adjusted to the darkness, I saw he wasn’t just old.

  He was ancient.

  He’d probably been here since he was my age or younger. Dutiful protector and all that shit. Appealing to a different side of him would work better. And quicker.

  “She’s in trouble. And I’m here to warn her.”

  His look of tipsy confusion transformed into a dead-serious stare. “What sort of trouble?”

  The worst fucking sort you can imagine.

  “Big trouble, old man. Trust me. The less you know, the better.”

  He rubbed his reddish cheeks with his crooked fingers, the sound of his phlegmy cough punctuated by a faraway wolf’s howl.

  Christ, what a place to live this was—the wilderness of Praque was always calling, always encroaching. Always reminding us that no matter how powerful we thought we were as humans, we were just visitors here.

  “She’s on the third floor, west wing,” he said. “The corner room. Toward the moon.”

  Now we were fucking talking. I stepped back a little and extended my hand to his to thank him.

  “I was never here, we clear?” I asked, as I turned to
go.

  “Yes, Mr. Greengallow,” he said with a respectful nod.

  “A delivery will be on your doorstep within days. Water my horse for me as well will you? You will have my gratitude.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good man,” I finished as a gust of prickling, frigid air burned my skin and I took off toward the building, still unsure of exactly what the fuck I was about to do.

  Chapter 7

  Valeria

  On the ride back to Saint Theodora’s, my shocked horror had given way to an all-encompassing fury.

  All the way back, my father fussed and fumed about my obvious eagerness to leave the Greengallows—and to come back here, of all places. He would have rather had me at home, where I could be kept under guard in case I decided to flee the country, but he reluctantly allowed me to stay one last night in my dorm room more than likely trying to ease his own guilt.

  “I’ll be here to collect you tomorrow evening, Valeria,” he told me. “Please make sure you’ve said your goodbyes by then. I won’t be made to wait.”

  “Father, there’s no need, I’ll be closer for the wedding if I’m here than at home.”

  He simply tsked. “No. There are too many things that we’ll need to get ready the following day. It’s bad enough that I’m bringing you here now, I won’t risk us not being ready in time on the day of your wedding.”

  As soon as we arrived, I left our carriage without so much as a goodbye to my father, and hurried up to my room, grateful that it was late and I didn’t encounter anyone as I stomped through the halls to my room.

  Inside, I paced, fuming. Digging my fingernails into my clenched palms, I walked the length of my room again and again. My nearly five years here at school made my small room feel more like home than where I grew up.

  There were faded dried bunches of lavender and wild roses hanging upside down in one corner bringing back memories of the short but wonderful warm days where we walked and did our reading in the gardens. My pillowcases, embroidered with moons, stars, clouds…how I’d wanted to know the secrets of the heavens.

  I ran a finger over the stack of astronomy and adventure books I’d collected and read until the pages were worn and the book bindings barely held them together. My teachers here encouraged my wild dreams of studying the heavens, the movement of the earth as well as faraway exotic places…all things usually only spoken about if you were a man.

  Over the years, I’d read about sultans and long horse races across the desert. Mysterious ways that ancient tribes used the stars to know where they were, where they were going. How they used the position of the sun, moon and stars to tell what time of the day or night it was.

  Oh, the dreams I’d had here. The nights of laying in my bed, planning and making up stories of how it would be to discover how to map distances and locations by the heavens alone. So many secrets held in the night sky and the bright light of the day.

  I’d thought maybe someday I’d live near the southern border where the sun was warm most of the year and there was an ocean that my mother said was the color of a brilliant sapphire.

  And how I’d always wanted a family. A husband taken as a partner instead of a trade.

  Love.

  How I’d dreamed of love. Because, I believed it too was written in the stars.

  Yes, I was angry with my father, with this situation, with those horrible Greengallows, and most of all with myself.

  Especially with myself. Maybe if I had stood up for myself when I had the chance; had I said no before any of this had gone so far, then perhaps, just maybe, I wouldn’t be facing a marriage to such a monster.

  Inhaling hard, I flung open the window in the corner, letting in the frigid night air. The sharp coldness made my eyes water, but I looked up into the night sky. The moonlight showing the white clouds as they drifted over my much-loved stars.

  Thinking.

  Thinking.

  Cold enough, I closed the window and turned, continuing my pacing, then paused halfway across the rug, unclasping and releasing the ribbons on the front of my dress. I slipped my shoulders and arms free, and let it fall in a sad, silky pile.

  I gave it an ungrateful kick, which only made me angrier at myself. Anger was understandable, but the idea of being spoiled and petulant on top of it was not okay.

  With teeth clenched, I carefully gathered up my dress and hung it on its old satin hanger in my wardrobe, took off my petticoats and underclothes, then slipped on a nightdress, not bothering with anything underneath, feeling reckless and defiant, and kept on pacing.

  What I needed, I knew, was a plan. Marrying that insufferable, dangerous man was not an option. Not at all. But how in the world was I going to get myself and my family out of this mess?

  The door opened, and in walked my roommate, Natasha. I watched her cross the room to her bed, expecting her to say something to me, but she didn’t. It didn’t even seem as if she’d noticed me.

  “Natasha?”

  She startled, her breathing quick as she turned, her hand going to her throat. Her eyes were watery, though whether with tears or some sickness I couldn’t tell.

  It was hardly surprising if she was suffering. It had been less than three months since her parents had both died when a wheel came off their carriage, sending them tumbling down a sharp cliff into the frigid sea below. She came from a wealthy family, and she wanted for nothing, but she had loved her parents, especially her mother, dearly. She hadn’t been the same, and while I had tried to comfort her as much as I could, she had grown a little more distant, particularly of late. “Valeria, I wasn’t...”

  “It’s alright. Is something the matter?”

  “What?” She glanced down at the floor before continuing. “No. Of course not. Nothing is the matter. I wasn’t expecting you to be here, that’s all. Your wedding is the day after tomorrow. Why wasn’t the door locked?”

  I snorted a humorless laugh on a shrug. “I forgot. And you surely needn’t remind me of my pending nuptials. The horror of it all.”

  “You don’t want to be married?” She looked up, her hand going to her wrist, rubbing at it. She seemed distracted, like she’d rather be somewhere else.

  “You know I don’t Natasha.” I said, confused. “I’ve told you that more times than I can count.” I shook my head, unsure why my best friend couldn’t remember the hours we’d spent discussing my predicament.

  Her eyes were blank, and instead of any acknowledgment of what I’d said, she replied, “You mustn’t run away, Valeria. Promise me you won’t run away.”

  She’d grown so thin over the months since the tragedy. Her skin pale, nearly gray, with dark circles under her hazel eyes. But, whenever I tried to talk to her about what had happened, it only upset her more, so I’d taken to leaving things be, hoping she would return to her old self in time.

  I huffed, shaking my head. “Where would I run to?”

  “You mustn’t. Petre Greengallow… He... I mean, he would...” She opened her palms, as if expecting me to know what she meant. And the worst of it was, now that I’d met him, I did know exactly what she meant.

  “I know,” I said, letting out a deep sigh. “He’s not a good man. He’d hurt my family. Probably kill my father.”

  She turned away, pulling a small pouch from beneath her mattress and gave me a wary glance then moved back to the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m…” She stammered, giving me a tight smile. “Studying. In the library for my Latin exam. You know I horrible at Latin.”

  “Well, stay. I’ll help you…” I wanted so much to be with her. To have that safe place to cry and vent about what was about to happen in my life.

  “No.” She snapped. “I need to learn it on my own. Just promise me you won’t run away,” she said, turning putting her hand on the handle of the door. “Please, Valeria.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t. When will you be back?” I crossed to her, trying to put my arms around her for a hug, but s
he shrugged away, shaking her head.

  “I have to go. Lock the door behind me,” she said, and a moment later the room was empty once again, just me and the knowledge that I was alone.

  I did as she asked, wondering why she seemed so nervous. I found myself annoyed she couldn’t be bothered to be with her best friend at such a time.

  In the room next to mine, I heard one of the other girls who boarded cough softly in her sleep. It was little Anna, tough as nails but always sickly.

  Staring at the wall that adjoined her room, I thought about her, and how she’d told me all about her mysterious and fabulous aunt, who lived a life of luxury, moving freely from royal house to royal house around the world.

  Anna said she was beautiful, interesting, and excellent company, so everybody was always glad to have her visit. She was unmarried, she had no children, and she did just as she pleased. She reminded me of a consort…a geisha in a way, except she was free. Desired, yet aloof. Which sounded pretty fantastic to me.

  Especially right now.

  Staring at myself in the mirror above my dresser, I wondered if maybe I could pull off a similar sort of life. I was pretty—at least enough, I thought.

  I had my mother’s hair, wavy and layered in warm variants of light brown and golden streaks. I had my father’s eyes, the green of Prequean royalty he’d always said. I was full in my bosom and hips, very attractively so, from what others suggested.

  I was somewhat sure I was at least somewhat interesting. I hoped. I could fence, I could ride, I could read tarot, knew the stars, played chess, and made my own clothes. I could bake bread and even helped raise the chickens here at school; I could read a little French and sing somewhat in tune.

  My marks in my classes were always at the top of the scale. And I could even put a grown man into a fairly respectable choke hold. I was rather proud of that one, I had to admit.