Royal Mistake: The Complete Series

by Ember Casey

  “You’ll do just fine,” I tell her as we head down the corridor. “You don’t have to say a word during the entire audience if you don’t like. The most important thing to remember is that custom dictates you should curtsy when entering and exiting the presence of a visiting monarch. However, since we are now engaged and you are effectively considered an extension of this family, you may do a half-curtsy instead.”

  Her fingers tighten on my arm. “I don’t even know how to do a half-curtsy.”

  “You know what a curtsy is, don’t you?” I say gently. “Traditionally in our culture, when you bow into a curtsy, the top of your head should be below the level of the other person’s shoulders. In a half-curtsy, your head only goes as low as their chin.”

  “Oh.”

  I place my free hand over hers. “You’ll do fine. And as I said before—no one expects you to know all of our customs yet. Even Maximilian normally avoids such pettiness. If he makes any comments about it—if he resorts to nastiness—then we’ll know we have the upper hand. He’s a cunning fellow—and he’s much more dangerous when he’s quiet.” I glance back down at her. “Not that you should let that worry you. I’ll handle him. But we are stronger together.”

  Her eyes fall to the carpet beneath our feet as we walk. For a long time she says nothing, but I can see the wheels turning in her head.

  “Everything will be all right,” I say.

  She looks back up at me. “Stop saying that. You don’t know that.”

  “But I choose to believe it. Because I don’t want to think about the alternative.” I don’t want to know what happens if Maximilian isn’t amenable. If this political situation spins out of control. I don’t want to know what happens if my father dies. Or if I haven’t done enough to win back the trust of the people of Montovia. It’s better not to think of it at all until I must. If I must.

  She squeezes my arm again. “Okay. I think I can get behind this plan. I think.”

  “Sometimes it’s the only option.”

  She looks back up at me. “Your father… I should have asked about him earlier. Is the surgery…?”

  “It’s dangerous, but they think it gives him the best chance. And I trust our doctors completely.” I couldn’t go on otherwise. “They’re to send word the moment he’s out.”

  She nods. “Your father’s strong. And stubborn. I have a feeling he’s not ready to go yet.”

  In spite of myself, I feel one side of my mouth curl up. “No, I suspect he isn’t. He still has quite a few things to lecture me about.”

  My smile fades, though, when I realize we’ve reached our formal receiving chamber. It’s time to face King Maximilian, whether we are ready or not.

  I stop and turn toward Victoria.

  “Remember,” I say softly. “We are a team, you and I. A united front against those who would oppose us.” I lift my hands to her cheeks. “Remember too that I love you. I love you so very much.”

  I lean forward and kiss her, and her lips part beneath mine. My hands slide around to the back of her head. I want to hold her forever. Kiss her until the rest of the world fades away and only we remain.

  But I have responsibilities. And in spite of my newfound sense of freedom, I see no alternative at present. I made this mess—now I must handle it.

  I pull back. “Come,” I say, reaching down and taking her hand. “Let’s face the beast together.”

  She nods—though she looks a touch paler than usual.

  Please let this be the right decision. Parading her in front of Maximilian is risky, but as I’ve told her, I refuse to act as if I’m ashamed of her. On the contrary—I’ve never been prouder.

  I take one final deep breath and push open the doors into the receiving chamber.

  We reserve this room solely for visitors of extremely high status—kings, presidents, and world leaders of all kinds. Most visitors are received in the receiving rooms on the eastern side of the palace, a suite of lavish, ornate rooms with a stunning view of the city below. When we receive ambassadors or dignitaries, our aim is to impress. To give them a royal experience they’ll never forget.

  With our truly important visitors, though, circumstances are usually very different. If a monarch or ruler arrives here, there are usually intense business discussions to be had. To lead them through a big display of luxury would be seen as garish. Instead, the room we keep for meetings such as this is far simpler. While everything here in the palace is of the highest quality, there are far fewer ornaments and decorative items in this chamber. There’s also a large round table in the center of the room, as most meetings here turn into long—sometimes heated—discussions.

  Maximilian is already seated at the table. He doesn’t rise when we enter. If anything, he looks almost bored—at least until you get to his eyes, which are as sharp as a hawk’s.

  If you stood Maximilian and Princess Justine side by side, you’d be hard-pressed to spot the resemblance. Justine has a softness and a kindness about her face, but her father is just the opposite. His features are sharp and angular, from his long, pointed nose to his prominent jaw. He wears his silver hair cut short, and his beard is trimmed to a point just below his chin. His clothes are simple but luxurious, and though I’ve never known him to be a particularly ornate man, today he wears a small gold circlet on his head—no doubt a reminder that he is a king and I, as yet, am not.

  I’m both surprised and unsurprised to find him alone. Part of me expected to see his son here with him, since technically I owe my debt to Prince Reginald. But Reginald has never taken much interest in politics, even when he’s directly or indirectly involved—he’d rather spend his days carousing and taking full advantage of all the money and freedom at his disposal, letting his father handle the more mundane task of actually ruling. And Maximilian is a shrewd ruler, there is no doubt about that. I’m grateful I don’t have to greet Reginald’s smug face, but I’m not looking forward to being alone with the man in front of us.

  I do a half-bow, and beside me, Victoria executes a beautiful half-curtsy.

  “King Maximilian,” I say, lifting my chin. “A pleasure to receive you. I hope you and Reginald have found your accommodations to your liking.”

  He doesn’t say anything. His hard eyes are focused on me, taking me in from top to bottom. After a moment, his gaze shifts to Victoria.

  This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have brought her in here with me. There was no need to subject her to this. But it’s too late now.

  “May I introduce Ms. Victoria Simpson?” I say, refusing to let him intimidate me. “She and I are recently betrothed.”

  Maximilian’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit—but that tiny movement is enough make my stomach tighten.

  Stay strong. Stay in control.

  “Shall we sit?” I ask Victoria.

  I lead her to the chairs opposite Maximilian. After helping her into her seat, I go over to the sideboard, where one of my staff has left a bottle of brandy. Thank God.

  “Something to drink?” I ask Maximilian.

  “No,” he says, his eyes on Victoria.

  I quickly pour glasses for Victoria and myself and carry them back over to the table. I want to get his attention off of her as soon as possible.

  “I apologize that my father isn’t here to receive you,” I say. “As I’m sure you’re aware, he’s indisposed at the moment.” The last thing I want to do is talk about my father’s health with this man, but there’s no point in tiptoeing around the truth. “I am, of course, ready and able to conduct all royal business in his stead.”

  Maximilian’s eyebrow rises. “Oh, I highly doubt that. You aren’t fit to act as king, not when you still make decisions like a spoiled child.”

  My fingers tighten on my glass, but I try not to let my anger show. I raise my brandy slowly to my lips and take a long sip, trying to calm my temper.

  “I am aware that of late I’ve made some decisions of which you do not approve,” I say evenly. “But it is my priority
to make decisions in the best interest of Montovia.”

  His eyes narrow again. “Are you being willfully daft? I hope for Montovia’s sake that you don’t truly believe your recent choices actually benefit this country. If so, your reign will be very interesting.”

  “We are not here to discuss my reign,” I return. “If you have business with me or my family, I request that you get to the point. I have things I must attend to today.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches—he doesn’t like my tone. I need to be more careful—while I’m not afraid to stand up to Maximilian, I also don’t want to start an international incident because I can’t be diplomatic about resolving our differences.

  “You know exactly why I am here,” he says. “You humiliated my country on live television. You made a laughingstock of my daughter.” His eyes flick to Victoria, then back to me. “And you’ve broken our agreement. I’m here for the scepter. But I fear it will take even more than that to make reparations for this breach of trust.”

  “There was no formal agreement,” I say calmly.

  “Is a king’s word worth so little here in Montovia? I was given a promise—a royal wedding in return for the return of the rights to your beloved national symbol. But perhaps the scepter doesn’t mean as much to you as I thought? After your behavior these past few weeks, I’ll admit that I find myself wondering how dedicated you are to this country of yours.”

  My jaw tightens, but I refuse to take the bait.

  “I am open to negotiations,” I say. “I am as eager to settle this matter as you are. But before we proceed, I’d like to make two things clear—first, that I will be marrying Victoria Simpson. And second, that the scepter will remain here in Montovia.” I reach inside my coat and withdraw the pages I copied from Montovia’s founding documents. “According to Section Two point Thirteen, the three national treasures—including the royal scepter—legally belong to the king until the time of succession. Ownership may not be sold or transferred.”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t give a damn about Montovian law,” he says. “And you were not on Montivian soil when you and Reginald made your little bargain. That scepter rightfully belongs to my family now, unless and until we choose to return it to you under the circumstances of our choosing.”

  “Ah, but you see, that’s the issue. The scepter was never rightfully mine. According to Montovian law, it belongs to my father.”

  “You put it up as a stake that night in Prague.”

  “I could have put up the Eiffel Tower or the Pyramids of Giza, but that doesn’t make them mine to stake.” I straighten my shoulders. “I fully admit my error, but we’ll have to make some other arrangement.”

  “And I’m to trust your word after this?”

  My hand tightens on my brandy glass. “It is our only choice going forward. I am willing to compromise on everything but the two points I’ve just mentioned.”

  His eyes are two dark specks of coal. Beside me, Victoria shifts in her seat, and her leg brushes against mine beneath the table. I reach down and place my hand on her thigh, trying to bring both of us a little comfort.

  Maximilian stays silent for a long time, then finally clears his throat.

  “Very well,” he says. “Let’s see if I can take you at your word. In exchange for the debt—debts—you now owe me and my family, I want full land rights to the Amhurst Valley.”

  I stiffen. “You know I can’t grant you that.”

  “You must be willing to compromise somewhere,” he says. “I want that valley. It rightfully belongs to my country. You might humiliate my daughter and go back on your word, but I will never stop fighting for what is rightfully mine.”

  “I can’t give you land any more than I can give you the scepter,” I say. “My father still controls—”

  “Your father is in a hospital bed,” he says. “He may very well be taking his last breaths as we speak. You could be king in a matter of days, and when that happens, I will have what is mine.” He rises from his seat. “You publicly defy me. You refuse to pay your debts. And rather than show any shame for such behavior, you parade your little harlot in front of me when I am a guest in your country. I will not stand for this.” He’s no longer looking at me. Instead, his sharp gaze is locked on Victoria. “I will not be insulted in this manner. If that means going to war, then I am prepared to do so. And I’m prepared to drag you and your little whore down with me.”

  Victoria

  This has gone too far. I don’t know how many times I have to say it to myself to actually start believing it.

  The man sitting across from us is threatening war. War. Because of the choices Andrew has made and continues to make. I don’t know why he can’t see the same thing I do—this whole situation can be fixed with one very simple solution.

  He needs to marry Justine.

  How many times in history have people had to give up the person they love for the betterment of a country? Or the world? I can only imagine the number is staggering, and it doesn’t seem too far-fetched that we need to add our relationship to the nameless mix.

  It seems like such an easy solution—it’s the one Andrew should have chosen as soon as it became apparent he wasn’t going to win this political battle for the royal scepter. He made a mistake that night in Prague—a huge one. And I get that he doesn’t feel like he should have to continue to pay for it for the rest of his life, but sometimes… Sometimes that’s exactly what has to happen.

  Sort of like how I’m going to be paying for his mistake for the rest of my life. Something about the way my stomach is twisting around on itself—the way my heart is doing the exact same thing—tells me I’m never going to get over this. Over Andrew. But I can’t allow a war to start over me. I realize the issues between King Edmund and King Maximilian go beyond my relationship with Andrew, but having him parade me in front of King Max, making his public proclamation on television… It isn’t helping the political situation at all. If anything, it’s made it about a million times worse.

  My gaze is fixed on the glass of brandy Andrew set in front of me a few minutes ago. There’s no way I’m allowing myself to take even a sip—I don’t need alcohol to cloud my judgment on this issue. I know exactly what I need to do.

  I clear my throat. “King Maximilian, would you consider—”

  Andrew’s hand tightens almost painfully on my thigh and he shoots me a sidelong glare. “King Maximilian, I’ll not have you disrespecting a member of my family in such a manner—”

  “Ha,” King Maximilian interrupts. “She’s hardly a member of your family. Nor is she royal or even of noble blood. And don’t think for a moment I haven’t noticed her lack of grace.” He sneers in my direction without actually looking at me. “You could have at least—”

  “Enough.” I grab Andrew by the wrist and remove his hand from my leg. “I…I’ve heard enough.” I stand, smoothing down my dress. “I don’t care if it’s rude for me to address you, King Maximilian. I’m going to do it, anyway. I—”

  “Victoria.” Andrew’s voice is almost a growl. “Sit.”

  My brow rises in response and I shoot him my own glare. “I might be uncultured. Not noble or royal. But I’m hardly a dog, Andrew.”

  King Max snickers.

  I turn my glare to the king. “I’m backing out. Of…of…” I motion toward Andrew. “Of all of it.” I turn my gaze back to Andrew. “I love you. I’ll always love you. But I’m not going to allow you to go to war over this. Over me.”

  Andrew shakes his head. “It’s hardly a matter of only the two of us, Victoria. Our political situation with Maximilian’s country has been simmering for some time. This is merely—”

  “Let the girl speak.” King Max interrupts with a flourishing wave of his arm in my direction. “She’s made more sense in the last sixty seconds than Montovia has in the past sixty years.”

  I press my lips together, looking between the two men. “As I was trying to ask, King Maximilian…” I clear my throat and turn m
y gaze to the older man. “Would you consider putting this entire issue to rest if Andrew were to marry Princess Justine?”

  “She deserves a far better man than this putrid excuse for a prince.” He glares at Andrew for a second before flicking his gaze to me for the briefest moment. He looks back over at Andrew and sneers. “But yes, to avoid sending my citizens to war, I would consider it. And as a token of my appreciation, I would release my family’s interest in the scepter, as previously agreed. But because you have…inconvenienced me and my daughter…” His lip curls up into an even bigger sneer. “As a token of Montovia’s appreciation, you will release your interest in the Amhurst Valley.”

  Andrew’s mouth has fallen open and he’s shaking his head. “First of all, as I said, the rights to the Amhurst Valley are not mine to negotiate. It would take an act by the King of Montovia to enact that into law. It would also only be fair to the citizens that it at least be put to a fair and democratic vote—”

  “I would be amenable to a vote.” King Max’s lips curl into the first genuine smile I’ve seen. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the citizens of the Amhurst Valley have been dissatisfied with their citizenship status in Montovia for the past century. If your country were actually fair—”

  “You…you didn’t allow me to finish.” Andrew almost sounds out of breath. His hand is curled so tightly around his brandy it looks like the glass might shatter at any moment. “I have already asked for Victoria’s hand in marriage. And she has accepted—”

  “I see no ring. There has been no official announcement.” King Max’s smile grows impossibly wide. “So it should be little matter for the two of you to amicably part with little fanfare. I know you made an ass of yourself on television this morning, but that, too, can be easily rectified.”

  Andrew’s head is shaking—almost violently. “No. No, I won’t allow my future to be dictated—”

  “No one is dictating your future, Prince Andrew. You chose your own future when you went to Prague and participated in your little game with my son. A game I’m told you were not invited to. Your brother was the one who had initially been invited.”