The Royal Runaway

by Lindsay Emory

  “Your Highness,” he said with a courtly nod of his head.

  “I’m surprised you still call me that.”

  Anders straightened and looked me in the eye. “Your titles won’t be stripped. Europe is full of hereditary princesses with no formal role.”

  The idea irked me. It was going to take me a while to get used to it. But in the meantime . . .

  “I thought you should know that my ex-fiancé will not be fulfilling the terms of your agreement.”

  Anders cast a quick glance at Nick, who was standing a scant six feet away as totally normal bodyguards do. He tilted his head. “You know what’s in the papers they wanted to sell me?”

  “Yes.” I had to smile. “I have them. My security guard, however, the one who negotiated with you? She’s currently detained by law enforcement. And my ex-fiancé soon will be. So they won’t be bringing you a thumb drive.”

  Anders’s smile faded at the realization that all his big plans for a republic were now somewhat weaker. “I know, I’m disappointed, too,” I said. “I really don’t think they deserve all that money.”

  Although his displeasure was evident, he still said, “I’m sure you’ll understand why I sought them. For some principles, no price is too high.”

  “I agree with that,” I continued. “I’ve always admired your principles. Your commitment to Drieden’s poor and to its children is particularly inspirational.”

  His lips turned up slightly. “I appreciate the royal approval, even if I have never sought it.”

  I put my hands in the deep pockets of the black cargo pants that Nick had “loaned” me. They were far more comfortable than anything I’d worn during the previous occasions I’d addressed a member of Parliament.

  “I know you haven’t,” I said. “And truthfully, I wasn’t speaking on behalf of the Crown. I’m not sure what my grandmother’s opinion of you is, beyond, well, her dislike of your attempts to abolish her job, evict her, and demolish her entire way of life.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be even less popular after I succeed. Mark my words, I will expose your family’s misdeeds one day.”

  “About that—”

  “Is that why you called me here, today? Did you think you would be able to talk me out of this?” Anders let out a dry bark of a laugh. “Driedeners have had enough of the corruption of the House of Laurent. The monarchy will be abolished. History will not be denied its inevitable conclusion, Your Highness.”

  “Yet you still use my title.”

  Anders was imperturbable. He shrugged. “Habits. Manners. I’m an old man. And besides, what else should I call you?”

  I saw concern in Nick’s glance out of the corner of my eye. But I could handle myself.

  “You could call me partner.”

  Anders stared.

  “The papers that Christian promised you would probably help you bring down the monarchy. But what of your other concerns? The issues you fight for in Parliament? Job training. The environment. Early education. Nutrition programs. Even though you’re trying to destroy my family’s entire way of life, surely you must care—at least a little—about the people.”

  “Those causes will benefit automatically because the government will no longer have to support you and your family.”

  “True.” I folded my arms, confident in what I was about to explain. “But they could benefit more if the Driedish government kept its oil revenues.”

  He smiled. “And what would a princess know about such things?”

  I was really tired of men assuming I didn’t know anything.

  “Let me explain it in simple terms. The majority of the Driedish pipelines go through Perpetua’s waters, not to mention the drilling sites that are located in Perpetua’s territory.”

  “I don’t see what that has—”

  “I know, it’s practically forgotten history. You may not have learned in primary school that Perpetua is a separate legal entity from the country of Drieden. Its ownership was granted directly to the House of Laurent by the Holy Roman Empire. Any oil between Perpetua and Drieden goes right through my grandmother’s hands.”

  Anders’s smile faded and he was listening carefully now.

  “The House of Laurent will continue to control Perpetua and its oil revenue, no matter what the Driedish Parliament does. Any act of aggression on the territory will be dealt with swiftly by the EU and NATO. I’m sure that the United Kingdom, France, and Norway will not approve of Driedish forces taking oil fields by force. You know that never ends well in history. We could bicker and go to international court over this, but in the meantime, Queen Aurelia will renegotiate contracts with the oil companies, ones with extremely beneficial terms. Geopolitics being what they are, the United States government won’t much like any tampering with those contracts, either. So yes, you’ll leave my grandmother without a crown, but you’ll also leave Drieden without forty percent of its revenue.”

  “You would hold your own people hostage? For a crown? A title?” Anders’s voice was dramatic and deep, but I could see he was taking me very seriously. I wondered what Nick was thinking, but I had to keep my focus on Anders.

  “Pierre, I already told you I was tempted to give you the Perpetua documents. I agree that the course of history is plain. We are now living in a democratic age.”

  “What do you want?” Once again, I saw his craftiness. He had made many deals and compromises over the years, and even though I respected him and his service to our country—even if he was a traitor to the Crown—I would not underestimate him.

  “You will postpone the vote for a period of five years, and promise to keep private any papers that purport to show your allegations of corruption. In exchange for a portion of Perpetua’s oil revenues.”

  “A portion?” Anders scoffed. “Your own bodyguard told me that your grandmother has stolen billions from her people and you want to give us a crumb from your table. Your offer is unconscionable.”

  “You haven’t heard my offer.”

  He paused before asking, “What is it?”

  I had him. For the right number, I could get him to agree to sell his principles and secure the future of my family.

  There was just one problem.

  “I have to talk to Aurelia.”

  Anders threw up his hands. Dramatics, part of the bargaining process. We both knew he had a losing hand. I couldn’t be distracted by his faux frustration.

  “It won’t be a crumb,” I promised. “But we won’t give you carte blanche, either.”

  “So there will be strings.”

  “Feel free to refuse at any time. You can walk away right now with nothing. Or you can work with me and receive considerably more.”

  He set his jaw stubbornly. He wouldn’t walk away from a good deal, but I couldn’t push him too far, either.

  Anders took his leave and I was filled with a potent urgency, as if I were an arrow on a bow and the string had just been pulled back as far as it could go. I swung around to share my jubilation with Nick, only to find him . . .

  Gone.

  forty-one

  BEFORE I COULD NEGOTIATE WITH anybody else, I had to get the full rundown on what had happened while I’d been tied up in the deadliest pink room ever designed. Since Nick had so rudely run off, I ordered Max to take me to the next person who could educate me.

  In a nondescript apartment building, my former security officer was being held behind several fortified steel doors and multiple layers of bulletproof glass.

  I should have felt vindicated. In control. But what I thought was that Tamar looked tired. Rightfully so, perhaps, as she had been leading a double life for over a year.

  She also looked beaten. Humiliated. Betrayed. I could sympathize with all of those emotions.

  “You set me up,” she said with a curled lip.

  I pulled up a chair and talked to her through a vent in the bulletproof glass. “I’m afraid so.”

  Tamar started pacing, her eyes blazing. “Christian just left m
e here to rot, didn’t he?”

  “Christian is an asshole,” I said, because that seemed to sum it up nicely. And then, because I was dying to know: “Did you ever knock him around a little? Maybe punch him in the face, just to show him you were in charge?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Of course not. We loved each other. When Anders made his offer, we dreamt of a beautiful future together. And then . . .”

  “You killed too many people?” I suggested.

  “I suppose it all went wrong when I stopped him from marrying you.” She frowned. “I should have let him.”

  “We’ll agree to disagree on that one,” I said drily.

  “What happens now?” she asked, her voice resigned.

  I explained what I knew: She was being held on charges of murder and kidnapping. She would also be charged with plotting to overthrow the government and her assault on poor Hugh, who had been found in his apartment completely spaced out, the victim of drugs that Tamar had been slipping into his chicken soup—presumably to keep him away from me and Nick while she followed our trail at the palace.

  Before I left, I asked her one more time if anyone else knew about the connection between Magdalena Energy, the Queen, and Drieden. She shook her head sadly. “Only me and Christian and Anders. The rest are all dead.”

  It was so horrific that my next steps became much easier.

  • • •

  HERE, IN THE PALACE LIBRARY, I laid it all out for the Queen. Once again, it seemed appropriate that we meet here, in the set of rooms where Prince Wilhelm had negotiated the 1709 commercial treaties between the Layzerne province and the capital district. If Sybil were here, maybe she could identify the feng shui energy that made this particular corner of the palace so conducive to compromise.

  At least, I hoped there would be a compromise. Gran had not agreed to any part of my plan. Yet.

  There was nothing in writing. No papers or contracts between the parties would be signed. The success of my scheme would depend on the honor of the persons involved.

  On the one hand, there was Pierre Anders, a dedicated Driedish political leader for the past thirty years.

  On the other hand, there was my grandmother, the Queen. A monarch who had reigned over a thousand-year dynasty for the better part of a century.

  And then there was me, awkwardly balancing on the treacherous tightrope between duty to family and duty to justice.

  Wiser people than me would probably argue that I was coming down on the wrong side—of history, ethics, patriotism—take your pick. Some would probably delightedly point out my selfishness in this whole plot. How it conveniently gave me security, safety, and stability.

  Well. No one ever said I was stupid.

  Neither did my grandmother, after she heard my offer.

  “You want to be queen,” she summarized, a mix of challenge and pride in her eyes.

  I nodded. It would be redundant to point out that it was literally what I was born to do.

  “Do you think you’re prepared for it?” she asked, surely looking for an angle to approach the negotiations.

  But there would not be negotiations. Not on this, not today.

  “No, I am not prepared for it,” I said brusquely. “That is why we’ll set the date for your abdication to coincide with your Jubilee. Next summer, we’ll celebrate your forty years and my coronation two weeks after. We’ll leave all the flags and bunting up. It’s a good use of public funds to not have to redecorate the streets.”

  Gran’s nose wrinkled delicately. “Will I toss you the scepter like a baton in a race?”

  “Not in those shoes.” I indicated the three-inch heels she still enjoyed.

  She only lifted an eyebrow. “You’re trying to placate the Liberals by getting rid of me, but that strategy will never work. Anders and his ilk don’t just hate me—they hate everything we represent. They will never give up tearing this family apart and burning everything we’ve built to the ground.”

  I could have pointed out that perhaps it wasn’t the princes and queens of Drieden who had worked to build everything, that perhaps common Driedeners had played an essential role in the development of this country, but I had learned a lot about political manipulation at the hands of a master.

  “If we don’t placate Anders,” I said, “he will expose your deeds with Magdalena Energy and the House of Laurent will truly be over.”

  There was only one way the House of Laurent would survive. “You will announce your intention to abdicate and name me as the heir, as is your right under Driedish law.”

  “And you think that will keep the Liberals in line.”

  “Anders wants to see you punished. He also wants a share of Magdalena’s profits. I intend to funnel some of that back into the country. It’s only right.”

  Gran thought about what I had said before replying, “Your father will be pleased, at least. He never wanted to be king.”

  “No, he didn’t,” I agreed. My father’s participation in this scheme was the least problematic portion. “And I am ready to take my place and do what needs to be done.”

  Gran stood there, silently assessing me for another moment. If she fought me, the death warrant on the Driedish monarchy would be signed—by its own queen.

  “For the record, everything I did was for this family, and none of it was illegal,” she finally said. “Perpetua belongs to the House of Laurent by law.”

  What she said was true. From my research, Perpetua was a relic of another time, where monarchs could and did rule absolutely and own lands outright. The fact that she had failed to clarify these legalities to Driedish officials during the negotiation of drilling and pipeline contracts wasn’t illegal. The fact that the multinational oil companies hadn’t objected to doing business with a presumed Driedish holding and had sent payments to Magdalena Energy wasn’t improper under the laws, either.

  “Just because it was legal doesn’t mean it was right,” I pointed out.

  Gran smiled slightly and waved a hand at the gilded ceilings and walls. “Once upon a time, women just like us decided what was legal and what was right. We are true queens, Theodora. Born to lead.”

  A chill went down my spine at my grandmother’s words, words of the last queen I would ever bow to.

  “Yes, we are.”

  • • •

  ONE WEEK LATER, I WAS back in the library, reviewing which books I might need to study in my preparations to become queen. A shadow moved. I whirled around and there was the second Fraser-Campbell brother who had abandoned me this year.

  Nick, handsome as a devil in his black security guard suit.

  Nick, who hadn’t bothered to contact me since he’d disappeared from the garden while I spoke with Pierre Anders.

  Nick, whom I had tried very hard not think about.

  “How did you get in here?” I demanded, all princess again.

  “I’m still on staff. Technically.”

  He stepped out of the shadow, into the light of the small brass lamp that graced my desk.

  “I read in the newspapers that Anders withdrew the vote regarding the monarchy. Did you make your deal, then?” The harshness in his voice set me on edge. I hadn’t heard that hostility since I first escaped with him down the Comtesse River. When he hadn’t wanted me around.

  I nodded. “The monarchy is safe.”

  I had informed Anders that I would be replacing Queen Aurelia on the Driedish throne. He wasn’t thrilled by any replacement, but when I had agreed to generously fund the Princess Theodora Trust, which would automatically distribute money to Anders’s pet projects, as Pierre Anders was its principal trustee, he suddenly believed that it was in the best interests of the nation that he keep both the existence of Magdalena Energy and the technicalities of who owned Perpetua under wraps, too.

  Anders got his money. Millions of euros would be spent on poor and disadvantaged Driedeners, on science and culture and education. And it would all be in my name.

  It wasn’t my ego. It was ins
urance. It was both a guarantee that Anders wouldn’t renege and a buffer for the royal legacy.

  I could have explained it all to Nick, but at this moment he was looking at me with a distant edge, and I was still angry that he had left without a word.

  “Why did you leave me at the park?”

  His green eyes were guarded. “You were taken care of.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” I wanted you there.

  A flash of something crossed his face—sympathy? I couldn’t bear it. And I certainly couldn’t tell him the truth.

  I needed you there.

  “I thought we were partners.” Now my ego was talking. It couldn’t be helped. I was a woman and a princess. Some things were too ingrained to argue with.

  “I left you in that park because I saw a princess taking care of herself, fighting for her country. One who didn’t need a man like me to be her partner.”

  A man like him. He was being ridiculous. “You’re a duke.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You could claim the title if you wanted it.”

  He dismissed that with a lazy shrug.

  I continued to lay out my case. “You’re a highly trained special forces officer.”

  “And?”

  “You’re a fucking spy, Nick. I’m sure you could figure out a way to be here.” With me. “If you wanted to.”

  “I’m not Christian.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I won’t be anyone’s boy toy.”

  My laugh was brittle and loud. As if anyone could keep Nick Fraser-Campbell as her plaything.

  “I’m not meant for the spotlight. Or for cages,” he said, gesturing at the centuries-old painted ceiling above us. “No matter how pretty.” He stepped in front of me and pulled me to him. “Neither are you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I know you’ll run. You always do.” Nick’s eyes glinted. “You aren’t meant for cages, either,” he said, a dark promise in his words.

  I trailed my fingers along the leather spines of the history books I’d been studying. “One man’s cage is another woman’s duty.”

  “One and the same, Princess.”