If he caught someone staring or their gaze on his face a little too long, he knew they were pitying him. And that was the last thing he wanted.
He knew when he’d stepped into the fire what would happen. But there was no way he couldn’t do it.
Duke would have died otherwise.
Whoever had lit that campfire so close to the old shack had a lot to answer for. Gypsies trespassing no doubt, but as predicted, they were nowhere to be found.
“Are you alright, Monty?” Her sweet voice brought him out of the past and back to the present.
She squeezed his hand and lifted it to her lips.
“Yes, of course,” he said, as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
His biggest concern right now was how he was going to tell his new queen she wouldn’t be sleeping with her husband tonight. Or ever.
Chapter 7
With Petunia by his side, Montague wasn’t quite so distracted by the constant gawking that came his way.
As they made their way around the banquet room, he chatted to people he had avoided for years.
He’d fooled himself into believing he was happy making himself a prisoner on the kingdom property, but now conceded he’d only been fooling himself.
Petunia’s presence gave him a confidence he hadn’t know for many years, and he wondered if that would last.
These were people he’d known all his life, but would he feel so self-confident outside the confines of the castle?
“Your Royal Highnesses. Congratulations,” the Chancellor said, lifting his goblet in a toast.
“Thank you, Chancellor,” Montague said jovially. “It’s certainly been a wonderful day.”
He looked to his new wife, who leaned in and kissed his cheek. His scarred cheek, no less!
The Chancellor grinned.
Montague gazed at her, wondering about her motivation, then realized it was all for show. For their special guests.
She was trying to make it seem as though they were truly in love.
They moved along, and Montague squeezed her hand. “Thank you for making it look as real as possible,” he said quietly.
She smiled at him, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. He was about to speak, but they were interrupted.
“Hello Mayor. Thank you for coming.” He would keep that smile on his face, no matter the circumstances.
He wanted to ask Petunia what was wrong, but the moment had passed. Perhaps later.
Trumpets blared and they were ushered back to the bridal table.
The speeches seemed to go on forever, until it was his turn.
“To my beautiful bride,” he said, raising his goblet for the toast. “Our love has endured since childhood. Here’s to it lasting a lifetime.”
Petunia blushed. The color crept up her neck and face, and although he knew she’d be annoyed, the color suited her.
Their guests all raised their goblets and toasted the young queen.
“I have a surprise for my lovely wife,” he said, indicating for Harrod to approach. “This belonged to my dear mother, and I have always treasured it.”
Petunia gasped and put her hands to her mouth. “Oh no, you mustn’t,” she began.
He ignored her pleas and took both her hands. “I must,” he said. “I want you to have this. Mother would have wanted you to have it too.”
He let go of her hands, and stood behind her, opening the velveteen box Harrod held in his hands.
Montague stared down at the delicate necklace his mother wore on only the most prestigious of occasions.
It was so beautiful, and reminded him so much of her.
“I want you to accept this wedding gift, with all my love,” he said, choking back emotion.
He lifted her hair and fiddled with the clasp until it finally yielded under his ministrations.
He gently let her hair back down, loving the feel of her silky locks, then stared at the precious stones sitting so daintily on her neck.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly. “But you were already beautiful before the necklace.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
As he moved back, Petunia reached up and cupped his cheeks. Her soft skin caressed his skin, and a thrill went down his spine.
He was pliant in her hands, and she pulled him toward her, then gently kissed him on the lips.
The guests began to applaud.
His embarrassment was unparalleled.
He felt the heat creep up his face, but more than that, his lips tingled. The feeling lingered, and he didn’t want it to go away.
What was he going to do? This was meant to be a fake marriage.
At best they would be pleasant to each other, at worst, Petunia could seek an annulment after a few months or a year.
Even if she did, he had fulfilled the extraordinary requirements of his father’s will.
Soon the musicians began to tune their instruments, and he knew it was almost time for the bridal waltz.
Their first dance together.
What would it be like to hold her in his arms? The last time they’d been so close was when he’d picked her up and dumped her back in the saddle.
Even then he’d had feelings for her. Feelings he was unable to follow through with because of her age.
He felt anger working it’s way through his body. Anger at his father for sending her away.
Perhaps he would not have been scarred if she’d still been there.
He shook the thought away. He knew deep in his heart, if he’d not been at the old shack that day, his precious Duke would have died.
More than that, he would have most likely died an agonizing death, with no one there to get him out of the burning stables at the back of the shack.
Vision of the proud horse came into his mind.
His anger slowly dissipated, and he turned his attention to his new bride.
The music had begun, and all eyes were on them. “May I have this dance,” he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.
Taking both her hands in his, he led her to the dance floor, where he put an arm around her dainty waist.
He took her hand and reveled in her touch. The music got louder, and he pulled her closer.
She looked up at him, wisps of hair brushing over her eyes. He let go of her hand for a moment to brush them back, and his breath caught in his throat.
Could he really endure a lifetime of not touching this woman, his wife, of not loving her as a husband should?
She rested her head on his shoulder, and the thoughts that passed through his mind had him rethinking the fake marriage.
But only momentarily.
He’d made an agreement – this was a marriage in name only. He had no intentions of forcing her into a real marriage, one where her husband was a disfigured monster.
He felt her arm go up his back. “I feel safe with you, Monty,” she said softly, then a gentle sigh left her lips.
He stopped dancing. “Why wouldn’t you feel safe?” He stared down into her eyes, and she licked her lips.
“I, I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said awkwardly. “Just that you make me feel safe. A big strong man like you.” She smiled, but again, he didn’t feel her reaction was genuine.
He needed to know what was going on. Had someone harmed his beautiful queen?
He certainly hoped not, but if they had, they’d have him to deal with.
Not the King of Monsilvania, but Montague Gustov, her husband.
Chapter 8
Petunia stared at her reflection, and fingered the diamond necklace Monty had given her.
Harrod would be along shortly to collect it and store it for safe-keeping.
The necklace had belonged to Monty’s precious mother who had treated her as an equal to her royal son.
She remembered well the times she’d spent in the garden. At first she’d had to coerce Monty to leave her and go to his mother. To tend to the beautiful garden she’d created.
After a whi
le, he’d come to realize what a gift it had been, and would go willingly.
Petunia had felt the pangs of jealously at first – her own mother had died when she was very young. At some point, the queen had recognized her emotional state, and invited Petunia to join them.
It was some of the best times of her life, and she totally understood why Monty would often stare out at the garden for hours on end.
If only her own mother had been here today to see her become queen.
Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she refused to allow them freedom.
Monty appeared out of nowhere. “There you are!” He was out of breath. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. I was worried – you just slipped away unnoticed.”
“I needed a break,” she said quietly, and he nodded.
He walked across the huge Royal Suite and joined her. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, his head leaning close to her neck, bare except for the necklace.
She watched in surprise as he hovered close, his lips opened. She saw his reluctance to kiss her, and wondered why.
Petunia reached up and snaked her arm around his head, pulling him closer still. She continued to watch him in the mirror, and saw the confusion cross his face.
She spun around in his arms, and looked up into his face. “Is something wrong, Monty?” she whispered. “We’re married now, you’re allowed to kiss me.”
He pushed her away, running his fingers through his hair.
“I can’t,” he growled. “This is a sham. It’s a fake marriage to ensure I became king.”
He turned his back on her and his shoulders slumped. “I should never had involved you.” He spun around to face her again. “I’m sorry.”
Then he stormed out of the room.
She sat at the dresser, brushing her long blonde hair when Monty reappeared.
She gave him a coy smile, and he walked toward her but stopped short.
“I’ve organized your room,” he said gently. “You’ll be just across from here, so if you need me, you know where to find me.”
“My what?” she said surprised. This should be her room. The king’s room. It’s where you’d expect his queen to sleep.
“Your room,” he said just above a whisper, as though he knew she was displeased with him.
“This is my room!” she blurted out. “You are my husband – I must sleep with you.”
Her eyes stung and she turned away. Why was he doing this to her? Didn’t he love her after all?
She’d known all those years ago he was in love with her. She loved him with all her heart and had done so from almost the moment they’d met.
He’d been a forthright young brat back then.
She recalled the first time her father had let her venture down to the royal stables. Previously he’d made her stay in their cabin for fear the king may sack him for allowing her there.
Monty had come to the stables to go riding, and had been downright rude to her father. Working for the king, Jefferson Grayson was unable to disabuse the young prince, but she certainly could. Much to her father’s dismay.
“How dare you?” she’d asked him pointedly. “You might be a prince, but you’re a rude little…”
“Petunia!” her father had shouted, cutting off what she really wanted to say.
Monty had looked her up and down, a sour look on his face. “No one ever speaks to me like that,” he’d said.
Without warning, his grimace turned to a grin. “Want to come riding with me?”
“Sure,” she’d said, reaching for a saddle.
He shook his head. “Bareback or nothing.”
She remembered the shock she’d felt when she realized he wanted them to ride the same horse.
But she’d liked it, liked the feel of her arms around him, holding on for dear life.
“Petunia.” Monty’s voice split through her memories.
“Why are you doing this,” she asked him softly, then shook her head.
She’d been so certain he loved her, but was now beginning to understand that wasn’t true.
She complied with his request, and let him lead her to her room.
It was a large room. Not as big as the king’s, but not tiny either.
It was sparsely furnished, but contained a large bed with a canopy, a dresser, and a chair. There was a bathroom in a connecting room.
Martha was running a hot bath for her. It was the only consolation on this day of mixed emotions.
Her clothes had been brought here and stored for her. The maid had laid her nightgown on the end of the bed.
She felt suddenly alone.
“That will be all, Martha,” she said when the water was run. “I’ll be fine.”
Martha curtsied then hurried out of the room.
The moment the door closed behind her, alone at last, the tears began to fall.
The question on her lips was why? Why did he banish her like this? Hadn’t he worked out yet how much she loved him?
She climbed into the soothing bath, and stayed there until the water began to turn cold.
Climbing into bed alone was one of the hardest things she’d had to do for a very long time.
Chapter 9
Montague lay staring at the canopy above his bed. It must be close to midnight, and he’d not had a wink of sleep.
He was so torn.
His heart was so full of love for Petunia, but his head told him to save her. If he kept her at arm’s length, then she’d still be able to apply for an annulment.
It wasn’t something other queens or indeed kings had done in the past.
He’d done his homework – he’d checked all the documentation, and it had never happened before. Not ever.
He didn’t dare bring it up with Wilhelm. He could only imagine what he would say.
And Harrod? He would most certainly try to talk him out of it.
Resigned to laying awake all night, he slid out of bed and pulled on his robe.
A warm drink and a snack might help. Cook might not be happy in the morning, but too bad.
He grinned. He did like to stir her up.
When he was a teenager, he’d loved to annoy her. She wasn’t much older than he was, and she stirred him up as well.
If the king had found out, they would have both been in dire trouble.
He opened his bedroom door, then stopped. He heard a strange noise.
Montague wandered up and down the corridor trying to identify it, but gave up when he couldn’t locate the sound.
He shrugged and made his way to the huge kitchen.
“Ooooh!” The shriek scared them both. “Oh, Your Highness,” Cook said, a quiver in her voice. “You gave me such a fright.”
He laughed. “You scared me too. What are you doing up at this hour, Cookie?”
“You haven’t called me that in such a long time, Your Highness.”
Perhaps he hadn’t. “I can’t sleep, so came down for a warm drink.”
“Sit yourself down, and I’ll make you a hot cocoa. Then you can tell Cookie what ails you.” She grinned at him, and so many memories flooded his mind.
Despite his father’s protestations, Montague had spent many hours in this kitchen. The enticing aromas had pulled him in on many an occasion.
Cakes, muffins, and other delicacies. He’d snatch them up the moment they were cool enough to eat. Sometimes when they weren’t.
He looked down at his hands – he still bore some of the scars from the burns he got for being so greedy. And impatient.
After putting the milk on the wood stove to heat, Cookie came over and grabbed his hands. “Scars still there are they? That’s what you get for being greedy.” She laughed and he enjoyed the comradery.
“Those scars are nothing,” he said, pulling his hands away. “These are the ones that cause me grief.”
He pointed to his face and neck.
Cookie gazed into his face. “Haven’t you worked out by now that no one cares about those scars except
you?”
“That’s not true.”
“Listen, Montague,” she said, using the name she’d always called him by, at least when the king wasn’t in earshot. “It’s what’s in here that matters.” She pointed to her heart and stared at him, daring him to disagree.
“I don’t agree,” he said adamantly.
She poured the cocoa and placed it on the table in front of him. “You might have been a bit mischievous, but you’ve always had a good heart. Always been more than willing to help others.” She came around behind him and hugged him.
“Where would Duke be now without you? Can you answer me that?”
He sat silent.
“And what about Miss Petunia? What would have happened to her if you hadn’t insisted she take lessons with you?”
She was dogged if nothing else. “Okay, I get your point,” he said reluctantly.
“Do you?” she asked, her lips pulled into a thin line. “Drink your cocoa. I have plenty of work to do, without you wasting my time,” she said, then grinned.
No one else in the castle would dare talk to him this way, nor would he let them, but Cookie was different.
He thought about her words. Was she right? Was he the only one worrying about his scars?
Petunia said they didn’t bother her, and perhaps that was true. But how would he ever know?
As he returned to his room, Montague heard the elusive sound again. This time he was determined to find the source.
He scoured the corridor again, but couldn’t find it. Finally he listened at the door of Petunia’s room. He opened the door a crack.
His darling Petunia was crying. Was that his fault? Did he cause her to be so upset?
Of course he did. He was nothing but a brute. To upset his new bride so much was dastardly.
His heart hurt.
His plan hadn’t taken her feelings into consideration. It didn’t take his feelings into consideration either.
Were they both destined for a life of misery? He without Petunia, and she without him?
He really hadn’t thought this whole thing through. Perhaps it would have been better to let cousin Conrad take over after all.
Promise Forever: Fairy Tales with a Modern Twist Page 14
