Royal Mistake: The Complete Series

by Ember Casey

  “I know, and I don’t care. It’s a bad idea, Andrew. We both know it.” She won’t look me directly in the eye, and I wonder whether it’s because she’s afraid she’ll lose her nerve otherwise or because she’s simply that repulsed by me.

  “Victoria,” I say softly, gently. I reach out, brushing my fingers against her cheek and tilting her face up so that I might catch her gaze in mine.

  She jerks away from me. “I mean it, Andrew. Not tonight.”

  I withdraw my hand, feeling as if I’ve been stung.

  “You’re still angry with me,” I say.

  “This isn’t about anger. This is about doing the right thing. The smart thing. And that means stopping this...this...whatever this is we’re doing.”

  “Do you want to stop?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I want. If this were about what I want, then we—” She stops abruptly, shaking her head. “This is ridiculous. You’re not an idiot. You know we can’t keep doing this.”

  “Yes, we’ll have to stop eventually, but tonight—”

  “It will always be one more night. On and on until one or both of us can’t go back.” She swallows, her cheeks coloring slightly. “We can’t lie to ourselves forever, Andrew.”

  I frown. “I’m not lying to myself. Or to you.”

  She raises her chin, meeting my eyes again. “And that’s exactly the problem.”

  Before I have the chance to respond, she shuts the door in my face.

  I stand there, stunned, for far too long. Finally, I lift my hand and rap on the door again.

  Silence.

  “Victoria,” I say, knocking once more. “Victoria, please let me in.”

  There’s still no response.

  I almost knock a third time, but then I hear footsteps coming down the corridor. It won’t do to be seen outside Victoria’s chambers, begging her to let me in.

  I shouldn’t be begging at all, I think. What has happened to me, that I find myself outside a woman’s room, desperate for her attention? This is not appropriate behavior for a man in my position.

  I turn and stride quickly down the corridor, trying to put as much distance between myself and her chamber as possible. I run an agitated hand through my hair, trying to calm the tension coursing through my body.

  I shouldn’t have lost my temper at tea. I should have been more patient with my mother and Victoria. Though I’ve made my peace with my mother, I’m still not entirely certain she understands why I must do what I’ve decided to do. My father understands. But my mother... She and Victoria are similar in some ways. There are certain things they cannot—or will not—understand.

  When I make it back to my suite, I throw my nightclothes on the sofa. I thought it wise not to wear them to Victoria’s room, in case I should come across someone in the corridor, so I’m still wearing the clothes I wore all day. I start to unbutton my shirt, then pause. Why am I even going to attempt to sleep? I know that slumber will not come, not when I’m this agitated. Not when Victoria isn’t in my arms.

  I turn and stride right back out through the door.

  In minutes, I am outside the palace, heading across the grounds. I don’t know where I’m going, but perhaps if I exhaust myself, I’ll find a way to sleep later.

  The sky is dark tonight, the moon and stars hidden behind clouds. There’s a crisp chill in the air, one of the first signs of autumn.

  My feet crunch in the gravel as I march down the path. The lights from the palace behind me light the way, but even if they didn’t, small lanterns line the path. This time of night, the outbuildings lie silent and dark.

  Except one.

  I frown when I notice the gymnasium lights are still on. Our groundskeepers aren’t normally so careless. A palace of this size inevitably uses large amounts of energy and resources, but we do whatever we can to operate it responsibly, and we make sure the same attitude is instilled in our staff.

  I march toward the gymnasium. It’s an old building—in my great-grandfather’s time, they’d hold ceremonial tourneys there so young noblemen could show off their skills in arms, but it sees less use these days. As I get closer, though, I realize I hear noise coming from inside. I freeze on the path. Has someone broken into the building?

  Crime rates are very low here in Montovia—certainly we have the occasional petty crime or act of vandalism—but the palace still has security measures in place. And I can’t imagine why anyone would break into a gymnasium, of all places. They should know we don’t keep anything of value in there.

  Probably some teenagers, I think, starting for the door. I’ll scare them off and be done with it.

  When I open the door, though, I don’t find any teenagers. Instead, I see my brother William in the middle of the room, an épée in his hand.

  “Fencing alone?” I call out.

  He looks up at me, smiling. “Just practicing.”

  “Care for a partner?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  I walk over to the wall and select an épée. I grab two chest guards and head masks before walking over to William. He’s the middle sibling in our family, and while most of us take after either our mother or our father, William is somewhere in between. He has the same blue eyes as the rest of us, though.

  “I’m a little out of practice,” I say, handing him a set of practice gear. All of us received fencing lessons as children, but some, like William, took to it better than others. I’m fairly certain Leopold skipped half his lessons.

  “Me, too,” William says, pulling on his chest guard. “But I needed the exercise. And it was getting a little suffocating in the palace.”

  That, I understand. Even a building as large as the palace can feel too small when it comes to my family. And William has just completed his military training—if his experience was anything like mine, it will take some adjusting to get back to normal palace life.

  “Is that why you’re out here at this hour?” I ask.

  “I just have a lot of energy to work off,” he says, smiling. He cocks an eyebrow. “You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  We salute each other, then pull on our face masks. We each step into the en-garde position, épées raised.

  In our childhood lessons, we were forced to comply with certain traditions of the sport, but today, we’re just sparring. We move toward each other, looking for openings.

  While everyone in this family is encouraged to maintain a certain amount of athleticism—and considering our resources, there is no excuse for why we shouldn’t—William has always gone above and beyond. Though he’s the middle child—a good four years younger than I—he was always the fastest of us, the strongest, the one who showed the most proficiency in any sport we played. He’s not as tall as Leopold or I, but his shoulders are broader, and I hear he excelled at his training with the military, receiving the highest marks on his physical assessments.

  I take a stab at him, but he blocks me easily. I am definitely out of practice—but even if I weren’t, I suspect William would still outmatch me.

  “So you know why I am out here tonight,” he says. “But what about you? Why are you out here and not with that pretty reporter you brought here with you?”

  He doesn’t wait for my response. Instead, he strikes, breaking through my defenses and landing a hit on my chest.

  “Point,” he says.

  My jaw tightens as we square off again. Even though I know William is better than I am, I still hate losing. And his question is doing nothing for my mood.

  “Why would I be with Victoria?” I ask him as we move toward each other again.

  “Why not?” he replies. “She’s beautiful. You showed up here together. And—” He tries to dodge my strike, but I’ve managed to distract him. It’s not a very skillful hit, but I manage to touch the point of my épée to his chest.

  “Point to me,” I say.

  William is grinning behind his mask. “Point to you.”

  We start again.

  “Tell m
e you’ve at least thought about her,” William says. “You aren’t a robot.”

  I frown, trying to maintain my concentration on our match. “I don’t see why it should matter to you.” He lunges, but I manage to block him with my épée.

  “Just curious.” He’s still smiling. “Though if you aren’t interested in her, maybe you wouldn’t mind if I—”

  “Absolutely not,” I say, a little too quickly.

  He’s managed to rattle me. The next time he lunges, he hits me again. “Point.”

  My head has started to throb. My exhaustion is catching up with me, and William’s conversation is only drawing my attention back to the one thing I’m trying to forget tonight.

  “I thought that might be your response,” William says, raising his weapon again. “Nothing wrong with having a little fun, Andrew, especially after what you’ve been through. This country won’t come crumbling down around you because you sleep with some reporter.”

  If I had my way, Victoria and I would have slept together back on the plane. And a dozen times since.

  “She’s here to help me with some business,” I say finally. “I don’t want things to get complicated.”

  “Is this the business our parents were arguing about earlier?” he asks.

  “You heard?”

  “I heard them arguing. I didn’t stay to listen.”

  I lunge, but he blocks my épée. I retreat.

  “I’m going to get married,” I say.

  “Really? To whom?”

  “It hasn’t been decided yet. But Victoria is going to help. There will be a public pageant of sorts. It will draw the public’s attention away from...certain unpleasant stories.”

  William seems to consider this. “I’m not surprised our mother dislikes the idea.”

  “It’s the best way to manage my current situation.”

  “I’m not disagreeing. I think it’s a smart idea. Exactly the sort of publicity you need right now.”

  “Glad to have someone on my side besides Father.”

  William shrugs. “Mother thinks with her heart. Father thinks with his head.”

  “And Leopold thinks with his cock.”

  That earns a laugh from William. “There’s a reason our parents work so well as rulers. They balance each other.”

  I lunge at him again, but William is ready for the strike and escapes the point of my épée.

  “Victoria doesn’t understand,” I hear myself say. “She’s agreed to do the story, but she doesn’t like it.”

  “Why not? It will be the story of the year.”

  “You’ll have to ask her.” I block William’s strike then retreat a couple of steps. “She gets upset every time I try to explain that someone in her position couldn’t understand the responsibility I bear. She doesn’t understand why I insist that my bride must be a noblewoman.”

  “Well, you’re the one who has to live with your choice, not her, so you should pick the girl you believe is the best fit. God help you, though. I don’t envy you. I couldn’t do it. Noblewomen are terrible.”

  I frown. “You think so?”

  He grins. “Oh, I’m sure plenty of them are perfectly fine, but in my experience, there are two kinds of noblewomen—entitled little princesses with attitude problems, and those who want to ‘rebel’ against their lot in life. Both types are far too much work. No, give me a commoner any day. They’re much more fun.”

  “But to marry?”

  “Fortunately, I’m in a position where I don’t have to concern myself with such questions. As I said, I don’t envy you, Brother. But I understand why you’re making the decision you are.”

  He strikes out with his épée, and this time, I’m not fast enough to block him. His point hits me on the chest again.

  “Point to me,” he says.

  I lower my weapon. “I think that might be enough for me tonight.”

  “So soon? You thinking about going back to Victoria?”

  I wish I could, but honestly, I still don’t think I’d be very welcome there. Besides, my brother’s words have given me something to think about.

  “Not tonight,” I tell him.

  “Then stay for one more round,” he says, grinning. “We can discuss which noblewomen would make the least insufferable brides.”

  Another night, I would have retreated to my room to think, but I must admit, the exercise seems to be doing wonders for the tension in my body. And William’s cheerful mood is definitely helping things.

  “All right,” I say, lifting my épée again. “One more round.”

  Victoria

  Maybe I shouldn’t have ignored him after he asked to come into my room. It had seemed like the best plan at the moment, though I have to admit I’m regretting it now—especially since he gave up on me so easily.

  Of course he gave up...you’re the one who told him to leave.

  I’m not about to sulk over his disappearing—it was my decision after all, and he had merely agreed. Instead, I walk over and take a seat on the small sofa in my sitting room and pull out the new computer the royal family has so generously provided me. I should try to think about how to start my story—Andrew’s story. We really should have talked this through today, but he’d been such a dick at tea that I hadn’t wanted to see him afterward—and he clearly hadn’t wanted to see a commoner like me until he was tired enough to need me to help him sleep.

  I think about his story for a few moments. There are so many different angles he could choose—so many different ways he can do this. I don’t normally write stories like this—I’ve covered more than my share of celebrity drama over the past five years and more faux-reality than I care to admit. But even when I’ve been assigned to cover some scandal that was started by a publicity agent, it hasn’t been this sort of work-for-hire arrangement that I have with Andrew. Even when I’ve suspected that something was a stunt, I still wrote about the incident as though it was a news story. I’ve never made anything up. I’ve never needed to write fiction.

  Maybe that’s the difference in what’s going on here. There are dozens of celebrity relationships—if you can even call them that—arranged by publicists. It’s all done with a wink and a nod—the reporters know those couples probably aren’t actually dating, but they all put on a good show and we write about it because it’s what the public wants.

  With Andrew—I know. I know the whole thing is a sham and something about being dragged into it the way I was still pisses me off. If he had explained his plan to me before we left Los Angeles, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have agreed to come with him at all.

  But I suppose when we were in Los Angeles he hadn’t really thought of this stupid plan yet—the whole pageant thing was hatched as part of his delirium when we were both so dehydrated we’d almost died. That is the only reasonable explanation for this dumb stunt.

  But there was something else—there is something else going on that he hasn’t told me about yet. Some coming drama or political quagmire that he’s refused to tell me about. The one and only reason we’d had to come to Montovia in the first place. Something he knew was coming and that he knew was going to hurt him in the eyes of the public.

  As much as I want to come up with headlines tonight—or at least possible story angles—I’m having trouble concentrating. And I know it’s useless to go try and sleep alone in the huge bed. It isn’t as though I’m going to get a wink of sleep without Andrew holding me in his arms.

  I really need to do something about that. Maybe I can get Elle to prescribe me a sleeping pill or something—

  My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on my door.

  I try not to hate myself too much for the fluttering that starts in my stomach and moves up into my chest. The almost giddy feeling at knowing he came back for me—that he’s as lost without me as I seem to be without him.

  Pathetic.

  I shake my head, deciding it’s worth ignoring that pitiful part of me that seems to need him, telling myself instead that i
t’s only temporary. As soon as I can land some sleeping pills or something, I’m not going to need him at all.

  I have to clench my jaw to keep from grinning as I walk over to the door. I only crack it open again, thinking I’m going to make him plead a little more before I just let him back in.

  But it isn’t Andrew on the other side. It’s his sister, Sophia.

  She grins. “Hi, Victoria. I know we’ve only met a few times and the last time I saw you was forever ago.” Her smile widens. “And this is a really weird question, but…” Her voice trails off and she presses her lips together, barely covering her smile. “Would you care to go for a walk?”

  My brow furrows. “A...walk?”

  She nods. “Just a short one, I promise. I know it’s late and you’re probably—” She interrupts herself—maybe Andrew told her about our trouble with sleeping after the crash. “There’s something you need to see.”

  “Is this some sort of joke? Because I’m not really in the mood—”

  She shakes her head, interrupting. “I swear, it’s not a joke. I just remember you telling me something when we met a few years ago and then I saw something tonight that I think you might be interested in. That’s all.” The smile returns to her face. “So what do you say? Are you up for a walk?”

  I study her face for a moment. I know Sophia is the family prankster—always ready to lighten the mood with a joke. It might have something to do with her place as the fifth child of the family—or perhaps she’s the way she is because she’s the only girl. But I know her reputation, and something tells me she’s come to make me somehow earn my keep as the butt of one of her pranks.

  I frown. “I’m not sure I’m up to it tonight, Sophia. Maybe another time.” It might be fun at some point to go through this sort of family initiation, but considering the day I’ve had today, I just don’t want to.

  She grins. “Andrew will be there.”

  The butterflies start up again in my stomach at the mention of his name. I almost ask her why she didn’t tell me that in the first place, but then think better of it. Instead, I cover up the smile I can already feel forming on my lips and shake my head, pretending to be exasperated. “Fine.”