by Casey Lane
“Fascinating,” Charles said.
Only then did he recall that his friend was present; he turned to find him still looking over his shoulder.
“So, do you want to explain to me why I, who can tell the last time you fucked, shat, or scratched your balls, know nothing of that gorgeous woman you’ve met?”
Oh dear, Charles was on one. Knowing that keeping his mouth shut would just aggravate the situation and force his friend to hire spies and investigators, he relented, explaining the extent of their interactions.
“So,” he concluded, “I’ve seen her a dozen times at most. And yes, I find her attractive.” Obviously. “But we both know where my personal taste has led me before.”
“Indeed.”
“Besides,” Finn added, “she has a child. That makes her highly unsuitable.”
Charles nodded absentmindedly agreeing, before announcing.
“Well, Finnley, I’ve changed my mind, old man. I’ll find you a wife.”
Chapter 5
Gillian had never been as ecstatic; to be entirely honest, Anya didn’t think she remembered anything that had ever excited her as much as the letter they’d received.
Dear Gillian,
It read, directly addressed to her daughter.
It is our infinite pleasure to invite you, along with every boy and girl of Fairtown under the age of eight, to the Winter Ball held at the Royal Palace Saturday fortnight.
You will find that your teacher has already been notified, and shall accompany your class. Should your parent or guardian wish to attend, they are welcome.
The dress code is quite formal, and you’ll find attached a gift card redeemable at any boutique of your choosing,
All the best,
F.
It was so adorable, perfect from start to finish. Anya knew a publicity stunt when she saw one, but that didn’t change the fact that their King had made her little angel, along with every other girl of the capital, feel like a princess.
Anya did her best, but she couldn’t give her this – luxury, and frippery, and dreams. She found tears in her eyes as she reread the missive.
Damn. She wasn’t one to pay a lot of attention to politics if she could help it, but she knew from the bottom of her heart that from now on, whenever their King’s judgment was questioned, she’d remember what he did and give him the benefit of the doubt.
Yes, she was a total sucker for it, but the guy was turning her little girl into a princess for an afternoon.
They made it to a reasonably priced shop uptown, only to find that the gift card covered just about anything Gil wanted and more.
There and then, Anya got her mobile phone out and rang the contact details on top of the letter.
A deep, masculine voice responded in a tone that wasn’t quite professional.
“Yes?”
“I… My name is Anya, Anya Dawson.”
Immediately, the gruffiness disappeared from his tone.
“Oh, right. And how could I help you, Mrs. Dawson.”
“Just Anya,” she amended. Mrs. Dawson was the judgmental mother who hadn’t wanted her unmarried daughter to give birth to a child. “I’m the mother of one of the children invited to the Winter Ball. I’d like to attend.” Then, she amended, “I’d like to help, too, if there’s anything I can do.”
“Well, Anya,” the man replied, sounding amused, “We’re quite well organized at the palace. But I’m confident another supervisor wouldn’t go amiss.”
She chuckled, “Yes, I can imagine – your King must be insane to invite a thousand munchkins in a place full of valuable, probably breakable posh stuff.”
Then, she shut her mouth before he changed his mind and asked her to stay away from their refined society.
“Perfect. I’ll put you down as a volunteer and send some details, if you wouldn’t mind giving me your address. You and your child would be welcome to stay overnight, as you’re likely to be tired by the end of it.”
She was about to refuse the offer – she didn’t live all that far from the palace, although it might as well have been in another universe. But then, she thought of Gil’s delight if she got to spend the night there.
“Thank you,” she replied, giving her address, before turning to her little girl who came out of the changing room in the cutest dress there ever was. No pink for Gillian; she wasn’t silly. With her red curls, she wisely chose to wear layers and layers of green fluff. “Guess where we’ll have a sleepover, Mini Me?”
Finn had always given Charles a lot of power; ruling a kingdom was a taxing affair and if the man he trusted above everyone else had to stop and wait for his consent on every little matter, he would have spent twice as much time reviewing endless piles of paperwork.
After the last two weeks, to say that he wished he’d held his friend on a tight leash, was an understatement.
Charles invited women to join them for dinner, drinks, or whatever they were up to every damn day. There were at least two or three at once. By the end of the night, Charles selected one – always the most unbearable of the lot – and made sure she was shown to the guest room.
Which meant that every single night for the last week, he laid in his bed, unable to sleep, because of all the snoring.
To be fair, though, Charles had good taste. The women were all pleasing to look at and entertaining to speak to, but Finn just wanted to be left alone.
The next Saturday, he snapped.
“No more. No more dinners, no more parties, no more women. I’ve had enough. You’ve tried and failed. I’ll just name a damn successor and live my days alone, in peace.”
Yes, it was quite a pathetic speech, but he had enough of feeling like loving him was such an impossibility.
What was wrong with him? Before the whole thing, he’d believed he was reasonably pleasing to look at, and good at conversation, too.
Charles, damn him, seemed amused.
“Fine. I can’t cancel today, but I swear it’s the last party. Then, I’ll leave you alone.”
Chapter 6
Damn blood pacts. He was going to send Charles’ ass right into the dungeons.
To be entirely frank, his friend had struck gold, as usual.
Finn liked to do his best to please his people but he generally strove to improve their overall finances and wellbeing; what Charles had come up with, that party for kids, was pure genius. It made every subject feel valued, the parents had stopped to congratulate and thank him left, right and center.
Finn did his best to give credit where it was due, explaining that his advisor had done it all by himself – that he, in fact, hadn’t been notified until he’d been forced to get into his formal habit, ushered to his ballroom and been greeted by hundreds of little kids dressed up like gentlemen and ladies around his ballroom.
It was adorable, and his heart melted, although at the back of his mind, Finn had to admit recognizing some envy.
None of those children were his flesh and blood. He didn’t think he’d realized how much he wanted to be a father, for himself, not for the kingdom, until that moment.
But then, he’d lifted his head and seen her.
She was standing in a corner, smiling, and looking across the room at her little girl. Anya wore a long blue dress, simple and probably cheap, with long sleeves and a boat neckline that didn’t show anything, but Finn would have sworn he’d never seen such a beautiful sight.
In her shapeless work clothes, she’d been noticeable – now, her dress hugging her curves, she was nothing short of a vision; he’d seen a goddess or two and neither compared.
“Really?” Finn growled, turning to a smiling Charles.
From his righteous, satisfied expression, he was definitely guilty of meddling, and proud of it, too.
“Yes, really. I’ve introduced you to twelve delightful, wonderful women who aren’t for you, so hopefully, you’ll see the difference if this one is.”
“That damn pea said the women you chose were unsuitable.�
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“For you,” he repeated stubbornly. “Remember, magic? Mal might seem gruff and all, but she’s not going to let you pick anyone you won’t be happy with.”
He thought of his godmother and wondered what the heck Charles was on about.
“Are we speaking of the same Maleficent? The one who looks like she enjoys the hearts of virgins for breakfast?”
“She’s a little crazy around the edges,” Charles admitted with a fond smile, “but give her some credit. She’s been as helpful as she could.”
Finn stared numbly, and not only because his friend was right.
“You like her.”
Charles shrugged.
“So? She’s gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous.”
The drop dead part was right.
“Anyway, enough about me. You like this girl, and the only reason why you haven’t made your move is because she isn’t rich or noble.”
Well, that painted a rather grim picture of his character. To be entirely honest, though, it wasn’t only that.
“And because she already has a child, of course,” Charles added, proving that he probably could read his mind. “I thought it was damn time you pulled your head out of your ass and saw things as the rest of the world sees them. I get that you’re a king and all, but the fact is, no one cares about those things anymore. Hell, your subjects will love you for picking an underdog.”
“Watch your mouth,” he warned him, displeased.
Anya was no underdog, dammit. She was just a normal woman who did her best with the crappy cards life had thrown at her.
Shit.
Considering the humongous smirk on Charles’ face, that was exactly what he’d meant to show him.
“What do I do now?” he asked, at a loss.
This wasn’t his usual motto. There was a child involved, and the woman had never even looked interested in him.
He was just a normal guy, for once, and he had to try to charm a normal girl.
That sounded harder than quantum physics.
“Go, speak to the girl. See if you hit it off. I’ve had a bed added for her little girl in the guest room upstairs. She’ll sleep, or she won’t. At least, you won’t spend the next few years wondering what if I hadn’t been a self-important fool.”
Finn opened his mouth, intending to protest to all of those accusations, but Charles cut him off again.
“Look at it this way: your taste is abysmally atrocious and you have, of your own judgment, decided she was unsuitable. That ought to be encouraging. And if this isn’t enough, let that damn pea do the talking.”
Chapter 7
Anya was pretty sure she was more impressed than her little girl; she’d ohhhed and ahhhhed a little at the chandeliers, the high ceilings carved or painted, the sculptures of all important people she didn’t know the name of, before finding a group of friends and proceeding to start a game of hide and seek. Anya was still stuck in the ohhh and ahhh stage.
She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live somewhere like this; the ballroom alone could have comfortably fit every flat on her block.
Anya’s eyes trailed the group of children she was supposed to watch, grateful that Gil was amongst them. A very handsome and elegant man with hair cropped short, and a stunning green and gold uniform – the colors of the crown – had met her when she’d arrived, strangely recognizing her on sight.
“Anya, am I right?”
He’d introduced himself as Charles Henry Delaware, to her shock. Even she, who turned the TV on to channels that didn’t feature cartoons about once a year, knew who he was: the first advisor to the King. Damn, they took this event pretty seriously if he was in charge!
He was strangely approachable, nice even. He told her she might as well keep an eye on her own daughter and her class – although their teacher was there, kids had a knack for disappearing when they felt like it.
“But you should also relax, have fun. There’s plenty of grown-ups here, and we have a battalion on stand-by just in case the games of Policemen and Thieves get out of hand.”
On that note, he’d called to a waiter and entrusted a flute of delicious bubbly in her hands, before guiding her to the ballroom.
Even in the cheap knock off dress, Anya felt a little bit like a fairy had tapped her shoulder with a wand and transformed her into an elegant lady who belonged there, thanks to the politician’s welcome.
She was still half wondering if this was just a dream, when a voice pulled her off her reverie.
A voice she recognized, although hearing it there, and not in the takeout shop, was weird and confusing.
She turned and her jaw hit the floor.
It was him, her Friday Stranger, and at the same time, it wasn’t. Because this man, with his long dark hair falling around his shoulders, the heavy brocaded long coat, and the freaking crown was no stranger.
He was her King.
Holy freaking meatballs, her stranger was her King. How had she not caught on sooner. How?
Feeling incredibly foolish and irritated, she glared at his amused smirk; he’d seen the light bulb finally turn on in her brain, and it entertained him.
Dick.
He lifted an eyebrow. Oops. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“You could have given me a head’s up,” she muttered, wondering what madness had possessed her mouth.
She needed to get it under control before it landed her in jail.
“I could have,” he acknowledged. “But I liked being treated normally for once.”
She nodded, understanding.
“I see your girl is much better,” he noted, turning to Gillian and smiling.
“Yes, her cold only lasted a couple of days. She perked up as soon as she got the letter about this party. I can’t thank you enough, this is incredible.”
The King looked uncomfortable, looking away, before admitting, “I’d love to take the credit for this, but it’s all on my advisor. Charles is the one behind a good half of my great ideas.”
Anya was completely taken aback; not by what he’d said – she’d figured that most of “his” decisions were proposed, voted, and approved by his council, but it was surprising that he would just admit to it.
He wanted the credit to go where it was due and it said an awful lot about him.
Anya suddenly regretted paying so little attention to politics. Her mother was the mayor of her old town, she professed to support her people, but the way she’d treated Anya had told her all she needed to know about politicians. She’d stopped listening to their campaigns full of good intentions and false promises the minute she’d been thrown on the streets.
But there she was, in front of the most powerful man in their Kingdom, and he was genuine, unpretentious, and modest. It all but blew her mind.
“So, what’s with the fries and sandwich? Can’t you get that here?”
King Finnley Price laughed good humoredly.
“Sure, I could. Except it would come in tiny little bites and the ketchup would be made by the chef; he’d add some complicated salad to make it a balanced meal, too.”
He grimaced and pretended to wretch to express what he thought of that.
“Jeez. You’re practically deprived.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve half a mind to keep you here,” he said jokingly, his eyes flashing with something that made her squirm a little.
But it was all in her imagination of course; he wasn’t flirting. Kings didn’t flirt with the likes of her – right?
“I’ll drop my résumé in,” she replied. “I’ll add that I can guarantee at least five hundred calories in any meal I make.”
“If that was the case, I doubt you’d look like this.”
His dark, smoldering eyes quickly roamed over her frame, taking her in from head to toes, and she blushed like there was no tomorrow, while finally admitting that yes, her freaking King was actually flirting. With her.
She ought to recognize it, half of the men she met tried to d
o the same, assuming that a single mother was desperate enough to jump in bed with anyone.
Her smile disappeared and she looked away, self-consciously. She wasn’t that kind of woman – never had been, never would be. This wasn’t the example she intended to set for her daughter.
“What’s the matter?” the King asked, catching her change of mood.
“I…”
How could she formulate it without offending her freaking sovereign?
Then, her chin lifted and she strengthened her spine, deciding that his role didn’t matter.
“You’re flirting. A lot of men flirt with me, sir, thinking that single, female and young mean easy. I’m not interested.”
There, she’d said it, consequences be damned. He could throw her out of his palace if he wished now; she half expected him to.
Instead, his eyes flashed brighter yet, and he took two steps, getting closer to her, right into her personal space.
She just couldn’t remember how the whole breathing thing was supposed to work for a minute.
“You’re not interested in me?” he asked, a soft whisper she barely heard. He bent down towards her ear and added, “I’m sorry I must have read you wrong. You looked like I… affected you.”
Her skin, her heart, her very soul was on fire, but she proudly stood her ground.
“I’m not interested in being anyone’s shag, your highness.”
He took a step back, and chuckled.
“Good.”
Chapter 8
She was perfection. Now, thanks to Charles, he’d crossed a line, taking steps that changed her from one ludicrous fantasy to one clear prospect, and he hated his friend for it.
Because she was hours away from taking the test, and if she failed…
Disappointment didn’t begin to cover what he would feel. Betrayal. Despair. He wanted her so much that he was half tempted to curse the damn test, and ignore Maleficent’s opinion, whatever it would be.
