by Ember Casey
My face lowers slightly toward hers. “Just tell me yes.”
Her lips part. “I—”
Before she can finish that thought, the door swings open behind us.
“Andrew, darling, I’ve been looking for you everywh—oh my God!”
That voice cuts through me like a knife. Instantly, I jump away from Victoria, spinning to find a gaping Lady Clarissa standing in the doorway.
Her eyes dart from me to Victoria, then back to me.
“What is going on here?” she demands. “What the hell is this, Andrew?”
This is bad. Very, very bad. If Lady Clarissa believes there is anything going on between me and Victoria, then all of this is over.
I step toward her, arm outstretched. “Ms. Simpson and I were merely discussing her story—”
“That did not look like you were discussing a story.” Clarissa stabs a finger in the direction of Victoria. “That looked like she was making a move on you.”
At least she believes it was Victoria making the advances and not the other way around, I think. I might still be able to save this and redeem myself in her eyes.
“Clarissa,” I say softly, touching her arm. “Ms. Simpson and I were just speaking. I assure you, she means nothing to me.”
Movement beside me catches my eye, and I turn to see Victoria striding toward the door.
“Victoria!” I call after her.
“I need to go,” she says. “I have a plane to catch.”
A plane? Fuck.
“Victoria!” I call again, but she doesn’t even pause at the door. I start to go after her, but Lady Clarissa’s hand closes around mine.
“What are you doing?” Clarissa demands. “Are you really going to abandon me to go after her?”
“Ms. Simpson is a crucial part of this—”
“And she’ll realize how foolish she’s being soon enough. She’ll probably come groveling back within the hour.”
Somehow, I doubt that. I start to pull away from Clarissa, to run after Victoria anyway, but Clarissa’s grip on my hand tightens almost painfully.
“How long has this been going on?” she demands.
“What?”
“This…whatever this tawdry thing is. How long has that whore been trying to seduce you?” Her eyes narrow. “Or is it the other way around?” She scoffs. “Really, Andrew, I might have expected this of one of your brothers, but you? Taking up with someone of her status?”
“I assure you, Lady Clarissa, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, do I not? I heard that Princess Justine arrived at the palace this morning. That you had breakfast with her.”
I try to pry her fingers off of mine. “You were told from the very beginning that I would be courting several women,” I remind her. “Nothing has changed.”
“On the contrary. Everything has changed.” There’s a sharp, calculating look in her eyes.
“Lady Clarissa, I would request that you unhand me.” I have no intention of hurting her to escape from her grip, but I do not wish to be near this woman a moment longer. In fact, I think I might request that she be escorted out of the palace this very day. If I hurry, I might still be able to catch Victoria before she leaves.
But Clarissa shakes her head. “You are not going to get away with this, Andrew. You’re not going to parade a bunch of women in front of me or sleep with some commoner whore behind my back.”
“I may remind you that I’ve made no commitments to—”
“Then you’ll make one now. Put on this big public show if you want, but you will marry me.”
Her demand is so ridiculous that I actually let out a laugh. “And why the hell would I do that after this behavior?”
Her expression darkens. “Because your father wants it. And because if you refuse, I’ll tell him and the rest of your potential brides that you’ve been sleeping with Ms. Simpson this entire time. While I’m at it, I might as well tell the rest of the world, too. Can you imagine the headlines? Your brothers might get away with such behavior because they’re not going to be king, but I imagine the people of this country will be a lot less forgiving of you.”
My chest is tight. I feel as if she’s dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
“Are you threatening me?” I ask her, my voice hard.
“No. I’m simply ensuring that this all goes exactly as it should. We are going to marry, Andrew. Have your pageant, but I want your promise that at the end of it we will be wed, or I will make sure the entire world sees the truth about you. And about Ms. Simpson. She’ll never find work again once I’m done with her.”
In the back of my mind, a voice is still yelling, You can still catch Victoria if you hurry. You can stop her. You can end this madness once and for all.
But when I look into Lady Clarissa’s eyes, I feel a knot of dread in my belly. She’s not bluffing—I have no doubt she will do exactly as she’s threatened.
“Well?” she says, raising an arched eyebrow. “Do we have a bargain?”
I want to refuse her—I know I should. I’ll be miserable with her as a wife, and she isn’t the sort of queen I imagined for this country. But there is too much at stake. Too much for me to lose right now. Too much for Victoria to lose…
Victoria. It all comes back to her, even when I’ve been trying so hard to emotionally disentangle myself from her. Maybe it’s better this way, letting her go—letting her escape this bloody mess I’ve dragged her into. She deserves better than this. Better than me.
“All right,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Wonderful,” Clarissa says, repositioning my hand on her arm. “Then why don’t you and I go for a walk, darling? I want everyone to see how quickly we’re falling in love.”
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations or incidents are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Ember Casey and Renna Peak
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Edition: March, 2017
Victoria
It’s been eight days since I left the palace in Montovia. Eight nights since I’ve slept.
The sky is only now beginning to brighten from the sun rising behind the nearby hillside. I don’t need to look at the clock to know my replacement at the shit convenience store job I’ve taken will be here soon and I’ll be able to go back to my motel room.
Working at night doesn’t seem to make much of a difference—I don’t sleep any better during the day than I do at night. I even made a trip into town to buy a bunch of pillows, thinking that maybe if I had something in my arms it would be enough. But even stuffing enough pillows under the covers to make it feel like there’s someone else in bed next to me isn’t enough. Every time I close my eyes, I only see Andrew. And every time sleep finds me, some disaster strikes—my plane crashes, I fall from a building, or some animal is chasing me through the forest. After the nightmares wake me, it’s pointless to even try to close my eyes.
Who needs sleep, anyway?
I’m leafing through the latest edition of Celebrity Spark Magazine—my first story about Andrew’s weird bridal pageant is in there. There’s no attribution though—my name is nowhere to be found in this week’s magazine. I guess Andrew was listening to me after all. He never did hear a fucking word I said, but he was listening to that part, at least.
The front door jingles and I don’t look up—it has to be Ray, the guy who works day shift. It’s so rare that anyone comes in here at this hour—at any hour, really—that there’s no reason for me to think it would be anyone else. Considering my aunt and uncle took out the gas pumps several years ago, no one stops here much. If they didn’t own the land a
nd the building, they probably would have gone out of business a long time ago.
I flip another page of the magazine, ignoring the portrait of Lady Clarissa that stares back at me. The person who’s entered walks up to where I stand and slams something on the counter in front of me.
I blink a few times when I see what it is—a medicine bottle. I look up at the man—it doesn’t take me long to recognize it’s Andrew, but he’s wearing sunglasses and a backward baseball cap.
I laugh—it might be the first time I’ve laughed in weeks. “What are you wearing?”
He glances over his shoulder, his expression guarded. “I can’t risk anyone recognizing me.”
My smile widens. “Who would recognize you? There’s no one here.”
He sets his jaw. “I realize that. But one can never know who might come in at any moment. Should someone recognize me, they could easily capture a photograph—”
I interrupt with a roll of my eyes. “Well, Your Highness, I’m willing to bet that even if someone did come in, they’d think you looked a little like Prince Andrew. They wouldn’t think you were Prince Andrew. Because what the hell would Prince Andrew be doing here in this podunk town?” I stare at him. “What are you doing here in this podunk town?”
He pulls off his sunglasses and glances down at the pill bottle on the counter. “These pills do not work.”
“I think you might have me confused with your future sister-in-law.”
He lifts a brow. “Meaning?”
I shake my head. “Meaning, I’m not a doctor. What do I know about your pills?”
“It is the same medication the palace physician gave to you. He said it would help me to sleep. It has not.”
“Well, you didn’t need to come all the way to Oregon to tell me that. We do have telephones, you know. And, as backward as I found Montovia, I expect they probably have other doctors there for second opinions.”
He stares at me. “Are they helping you to sleep?”
“You think I’d be working night shift at my uncle’s convenience store if they were?”
He frowns. “Then you, too, should have sought a second opinion.” He pauses. “Or perhaps you shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”
My stomach twists at the memory of what happened the day I left Montovia. “Sorry, Your Highness. You seemed a little busy for a farewell. And you were pretty clear about how you felt about me that morning, so I didn’t see the point.”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He finally opens his eyes again. “You do not understand what is happening. I need your help.”
“I very much doubt that, Your Highness—”
“And while I have you speaking to me again, I would very much like it if you would stop with the formalities.” He pauses. “Victoria.”
I close the magazine and put it back in the rack next to the register. “How did you even find me? It’s not like I left a forwarding address.”
“No, you did not. Your editor had an address in Oregon as your emergency contact information. It took some doing, but I was finally able to find a phone number yesterday. And when the woman I spoke with—your aunt—confirmed your location, I came straight here.”
I lift a brow. “You flew? Yourself?”
He shakes his head. “No. It was the same craft that took the two of us to Montovia the last time.” He glances at the bottle of pills. “I took two of these before I left. And drank two glasses of brandy afterward. It did nothing.”
I nod. “I think the airplane I was on has permanent indents where my fingers dug into the armrests the entire flight.” I lift a brow. “And I took three before I drank my two glasses of wine.”
He nods. “My flight home would be infinitely more pleasant if you were to join me.”
I shake my head and motion around me. “And leave all this?”
His lips curl up the tiniest bit. “I realize it’s a lot to ask. I’m willing to double your salary.”
“Hm.” I can’t help but smile. “You realize, of course, that doubling zero still makes my salary zero.”
He nods and a small smile finally forms on his lips. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Simpson. I suppose I can offer you quadruple your salary, then.”
I laugh, but my smile falls as soon as I see he’s serious. “I’m not going back to Montovia, Andrew. I’ll be happy to talk to you about writing your stories, but you don’t need me there to do it. You can send me the details and I can write them from here. It isn’t like I have much to do in my off time. And I can write them the way you want. I’ll make everyone care.”
“I need you in Montovia.”
I shake my head. “You do not need me for anything more than writing your dumb story. And I can do that in my sleep.” I frown. “If I slept,” I say under my breath.
“Everything is falling apart. I need you to assist me with several things that can only be dealt with in Montovia.”
“No. You’ve already said I mean nothing to you, Andrew.” I stare at him. “You don’t need me.”
“On the contrary, Ms. Simpson—”
He’s interrupted by another jingling of the front door. Andrew’s eyes widen and he grabs the pill bottle, shoving it into his pocket before he puts his sunglasses back on and turns to pretend he’s looking at the magazine I just put back on the rack.
Ray, the dayshift cashier, lifts a brow. “Everything okay here, Vicky?”
I nod, forcing a smile. I grab my bag before I head out the door—I don’t even give Andrew another glance.
He follows me out and strides up beside me as I walk down the sidewalk. “Vicky?”
“Don’t even think about calling me that. Only a very small number of people are allowed to call me that anymore.” I look over at him. “And no one in my professional life.”
He lifts a brow, but says nothing.
We walk down the block in silence. There’s a small park next to the motel where I’m staying, and I lead us there, finally stopping at a picnic table.
I sit down and motion for Andrew to do the same.
He sits and takes off his sunglasses again. He looks up. “I don’t believe I have ever seen trees so tall.”
I smile. “Redwoods. Tallest trees in the world.”
He gawks at them before he looks back at me. “I thought the redwoods were in California.” His brow furrows. “Are we not still in Oregon?”
I nod. “They grow here, too. The little seedlings we sell in the store say they’ll grow anywhere.”
“Ah.” He smiles. “Then I can purchase the lot of them and grow my own redwood forest in Montovia?”
I shrug. “I suppose.”
He nods. “Then that’s what I shall do. And perhaps these trees will be well suited to Montovia’s climate. Perhaps they’ll grow even larger there than they do here, and we can have a claim of our own to the world’s tallest trees.” He smiles. “And it would be lovely to see my children playing under their canopy in the hot summers.”
“Probably not your children. Probably your…hm. Tenth or fifteenth great grandchildren? They take about four hundred years or so to grow to maturity. These…” I motion to the trees. “These trees are probably all around six or seven hundred years old. So, you know, probably not your children.”
He frowns. “Pity.”
I press my lips into a line. “Why aren’t the trees already growing in Montovia enough for you? The shade they provide isn’t good enough?”
“It isn’t that. We’ve imported many fine things into Montovia to make them our own. Grapes from France that in our climate make the finest wines in the world. Black currants from Asia that we make into the finest jams. Strawberries from—”
“I get it. You want the best of everything. But aren’t the things that are right in front of you worth something, too? Can’t the trees that are already there provide you with world-class shade?”
He frowns. “I see we’re speaking in metaphors again, Victoria.” He sighs and his shoulders drop. “You don
’t understand. My only duty is to my country. To do what is best for its people. If I thought for even a moment that my country would accept—”
“A commoner. If they would accept a commoner…” I shake my head. “Do they not accept your mother, Andrew?”
The line between his brows deepens. “That is a completely different situation. And life has not been easy for my mother—she would be the first to tell you.”
“It must have been hard for you, Andrew. Being raised that way.”
He frowns. “What way?”
“Being told the only reason for your existence is for the people of Montovia. Did your parents even let you play when you were a boy? I mean…” I motion to a nearby swing set. “Did you get to swing? Or slide? Or is a future king too valuable to be allowed to risk his life that way?”
He tilts his head and the look of confusion deepens on his face. “Of course I was allowed to play. That has nothing to do with anything.”
I lift a brow. “Really? You think your life belongs to the Montovian people. Are you so sure they feel the same way? Would they really want their king miserable? Choosing a wife based on their wishes instead of his own?”
He winces. “Of…of course they would want to have a say. The woman I choose will be their queen.”
“But your mother isn’t good enough for them? She isn’t high-born, or whatever you call it.”
“Noble born. And it is a very different thing. My father married for love, not for duty. But he also was not raised to be the crown prince. His childhood was very different from my own.”
“How so?”
He frowns. “I don’t know. He didn’t have the same responsibilities. He didn’t have the same expectations.” He splays his hands on the table in front of him. “You do not understand, Victoria. You’ll never understand because you are not from Montovia.”
I shake my head. “That’s just it, though. I don’t have to be from Montovia to understand. Maybe…maybe I have a little more perspective than you. A little more objectivity.”
