Royal Arrangement #2

by Renna Peak

  I spin around. Reginald and Lady Clarissa are standing in the doorway. Clarissa looks almost disgusted by the scene in front of her, but Reginald has that familiar, infuriating smirk on his face. God only knows why he finds this so damn amusing.

  I twist, looking back at Justine. She’s frantically trying to smooth out her dress, refusing to look at me or her brother.

  “It’s rude to interrupt people on a date,” I say to Reginald, straightening my shoulders. “And you’ve done it twice in one evening.”

  Reginald laughs. “You’re accusing us of being rude? That’s rich. We simply noticed the ballroom lights were on and decided to investigate. You can never be too cautious, what with the sort of rabble they let into this palace these days.” He shakes his head at me. “Believe me—the last thing I wanted was to catch my sister in some sort of explicit embrace.” He pretends to gag.

  Rage builds in my chest. “If it disgusts you so much, you’re welcome to leave.”

  “Me?” He barks another laugh. “Oh, Your Highness, I think you’re forgetting whose palace this is.”

  “It’s your father’s, last time I checked. And since he was the one who organized my marriage to Justine, I think it’s safe to say I’m welcome here.”

  “For now, maybe.” He shrugs. “But my father won’t live forever. And when I’m king, I’ll make sure disgusting filth like you never sets foot in this palace again.”

  My hands curl into fists. “Who says you’re going to be king? If Justine—”

  “Produces four male heirs… Yes, yes, I know the law. But let’s be realists here. The chances of that happening before Father dies are quite slim.” His eyes narrow. “Even if you two start going at it in the middle of one of our formal ballrooms like some depraved little—”

  I start toward him, no longer able to control my temper. But I only make it a couple of steps before I feel someone grab my arm—Justine.

  “Come on,” she says to me. “We don’t need to listen to this.”

  She practically drags me toward the door. My entire body is rigid, ready and eager to turn back and pound Reginald in the face.

  “Good luck,” he calls after us. “I heard through the grapevine that you two can’t go five minutes without arguing with each other. Have fun producing those four heirs when you can barely speak to each other.”

  The muscles in my arm tense, and I nearly rip myself away from Justine, but she tightens her grip.

  “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” she hisses at me. “Ignore him.”

  “We can’t let him talk to us like that. He’ll just—”

  “He’ll continue to be a jerk, no matter what we say or do. Believe me, I grew up with the man. I know how this ends.”

  “With him getting away with it.”

  It’s not a question, but she nods anyway. “He’ll get away with it for now. But it’s better than the alternative—if you attack him, you’ll just earn my father’s wrath. And that won’t make anything easier.”

  I look down at her. The sadness has returned to her eyes, and it makes some of the anger in my chest dissolve. I want to pull her into my arms again, to tell her I’ll protect her from her brother and father, but I know the words would ring false.

  “We can’t let him become king, Justine,” I say softly.

  She looks sharply up at me. “Is this some twisted way of trying to get into my bed? Because that’s not going to happen. What happened… What happened back there was a mistake. We just got caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again.”

  I frown. “That wasn’t a mistake—”

  “It was. I can’t afford to…” She releases my arm abruptly, as if she suddenly can’t stand to be touching me. “Look. I’m not going to sleep with you just to pop out some heirs. If…if I have children, I want it to be for the right reasons.”

  “Keeping your evil brother from becoming king seems like a pretty good reason to me.”

  “He’s not evil. He’s just…selfish. And misguided. You can’t imagine what it was like growing up with our parents. And Reginald got it far worse than I did.” She fidgets with the ends of her hair. “Either way, I don’t intend to have children just to spite him. I’m not even sure I want to be queen.”

  That’s news to me—Justine strikes me as exactly the sort of woman who strives to use her influence to enact change. But perhaps I have it all wrong—after all, I still hardly know her, in spite of the fact that her tongue was in my mouth only a few moments ago.

  I don’t care what you say, Princess. What happened back there was not a mistake—and we both know it.

  I speak slowly, carefully, feeling for exactly the right words. “Whether you become queen or not, it’s unacceptable for your brother to speak to you the way he did back there. And I refuse to stand by and listen to him do it.”

  We’ve reached the suite, and Justine doesn’t say a word as she opens the door. Once we’re inside, though, she looks around as if she doesn’t know quite what to do with herself.

  “I… I’ll see if they can prepare another bedroom for tonight,” she says after a moment. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I ask her. “Especially after what your brother said? People are already talking about us arguing. Suddenly switching to separate bedrooms is definitely not going to quiet any rumors.”

  “It doesn’t matter what they say.”

  “Doesn’t it, though? You may not be willing to start having children, but do you really want to give your brother that sort of ammunition against us?”

  She’s quiet for a very long time.

  I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “If it makes you feel any better, we can put a wall of pillows down the center of the bed. But I promise you, Princess, you can trust me.”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” she says. “I don’t trust you. Or anyone, really.” She looks up at me. “One night. But only because I’m exhausted. We’ll figure out a better plan in the morning.”

  Justine

  After that kiss, I probably would have allowed William to have his way with me. A wall of pillows down the center of the bed is going to do little to stop me from remembering how it felt to be in his arms.

  Perhaps this has all been a childish misunderstanding. As I pull on my pajamas, I can’t help but think that perhaps I’ve been a bit harsh in my opinion of William. Certainly, he and my father decided upon my future without my knowledge or consent. But unlike my father, William seems to have made his decisions based on something larger than himself.

  Of course, with all this talk of me being queen… Perhaps he does have some sort of designs on being a ruler of Rosvalia someday. He has to know I have no such desire. He can’t really think me so eager to rule a country such as this one.

  It isn’t as though I wouldn’t take on the role if it was required of me. But I’ve long known my father would prefer Reginald to take his place as king when the time arrives—my place as heir to the throne has been little more than a joke, both among my family and the people of Rosvalia.

  I can’t imagine bearing children for the sole reason of becoming queen. And who knows how many I would have to have before I bear the required four male heirs? Ten? Twenty? We certainly can’t all be as lucky as Queen Penelope, bearing four males right away. I’ve heard many times how lucky Montovia is to have their four males. It’s an odd tradition, and one many Rosvalians believe should be overturned—but my parents aren’t among them.

  To be honest, it isn’t something I’ve even considered. I’d hoped I’d marry for love, not for duty, though that dream has certainly ended now…

  I leave the bathroom and walk over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. William isn’t here—maybe he did decide to sleep on the sofa again. I decide not to worry about it. Clearly, I cannot control myself around the man. I’m certainly not aroused by our constant arguing, but he seems to be. I’m not even sure what it is about him that I find so…stimulating
. It’s probably just the isolation in the palace. That, and the fact that it’s been too long since I’ve had someone show the slightest bit of attention to me. Well, aside from William’s eldest brother, but that was short lived and never amounted to much.

  William opens the closet door from the inside, stepping into the bedroom in only his pajama bottoms. I can’t help but admire him—I would be lying if I said he didn’t have a nice body. He’s muscular—it’s obvious that his fencing workouts have had an effect.

  He catches me looking at him, and he grins. “Like what you see, Princess? Not that you didn’t see it all last night.”

  My cheeks burn again at the words. I’m still not sure what came over me last night—I don’t recall ever behaving so badly in my life.

  Instead of responding, I slide under the covers, pulling them up to my neck.

  He walks around to the other side of the bed and slides in. It’s a large bed—I can’t even feel the warmth of his body from this far away.

  William pulls some of the pillows from the head of the bed and begins to place them between the two of us. I want to tell him it isn’t necessary—I don’t tend to move around much in my sleep, and I’m sure I can keep to my side of the bed—but I let him go about his business, arranging the wall of pillows he desires.

  He must think me vile or something, as when he’s done, there must be at least ten pillows between the two of us. He pulls off the light on his nightstand. “Good night, Princess.”

  I sigh. “Good night.”

  “No Your Highness?” He chuckles from behind the wall.

  I don’t respond. I turn away from the wall, pulling my blankets up as far as I can without smothering myself.

  “We must have something in common. Other than dancing, that is.”

  “I thought you wanted to sleep.”

  He chuckles again. “I’m finding it difficult to sleep here. Do you have that problem? Not being able to sleep in a new place?”

  “No. I sleep fine wherever I am.” I don’t want to share it with him, but I had some of the best sleep in my life while I was in Montovia. I can’t help but think what a shame it is that I’ll likely never visit there again.

  “Hm. I thought perhaps that might be something we had in common. What about food? What is your favorite food?”

  “I don’t know. Why does this matter? I thought we were going to sleep—”

  “Common ground. We must have it. Everyone has something in common.”

  “I highly doubt that every person on this planet has something in common with every other—”

  “Well, we’re all people. That is something.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. And that is why I’m asking you. Well, that and the fact that I want to know.”

  “Want to know what, exactly?”

  “Everything. You’re my wife, and you said so yourself earlier—I hardly know you. And you hardly know me. And even though we have a wall between us at the moment—you know, both literally and figuratively—we have to start somewhere don’t we?”

  “We actually don’t…” I don’t want to tell him that this is all for naught. I already let it slip that there are only three months left in this marriage, assuming my father keeps to his promises. I don’t need to know anything more about him than I already do. It will keep things far simpler for us if we know as little about the other as possible.

  “Shall we play another game?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Princess, I promise I won’t ask things of you that you don’t want to answer. And if I do… Well, at least for tonight, you may tell me it isn’t a question you want to answer. Does that sound fair?”

  “It sounds like you’re doing the same thing you’ve been doing.” I pause, but he doesn’t say anything. “Why do you care so much?”

  “Because you’re my wife—”

  “Besides that. You didn’t care enough in the three weeks of our engagement to come to speak to me once—”

  “You were very busy with the wedding plans—”

  “Our mothers were busy with the wedding plans. I sat alone in my room in your palace on most of those days. You did nothing to attempt to get to know me then. So I fail to understand why now that there are rings on our fingers and a marriage contract in place you suddenly find it so urgent to get to know me.”

  He’s silent for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

  “If I believed you, I don’t think we’d be lying here now—”

  “No, we’d be doing things in this bed other than lying, for certain—”

  “That wasn’t what I mean.”

  He pauses before he speaks again. “I know. I know that isn’t what you meant. I’m not certain how I can make it up to you, but I’m trying—”

  “You’re doing a shit job of it, Your Highness.”

  “I am also aware of that, Princess, though I must say, you are not making things easy for me.”

  Something wrenches in my stomach again. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was guilt. Perhaps I have been making life too difficult for him in Rosvalia. It couldn’t have been easy, giving up the life he knew there for…this. I’ve wanted to get the hell out of Rosvalia for as long as I can remember, and now I’ve dragged him here with me.

  “Ask your question, Your Highness.”

  “You didn’t ask how the game works, Princess.” He chuckles. “I ask you a question, and if you choose not to answer—”

  “Here is how the game is going to work, Your Highness. You may ask your question. If I choose not to answer, I’m not going to answer. I’m also not going to participate in some dare or have to answer two more of your inane questions. The only rules I will agree to participate under are… I’ll answer your questions if I want to answer. And if I don’t… I don’t.”

  “That seems…fair—”

  “You may participate yourself under the same rules. Or not. I don’t really care.”

  “Well, Princess, I’m just glad you’re agreeing to participate. So…do you want to ask the first question or answer?”

  “My favorite food is chocolate ice cream. Preferably with chocolate sauce on top.”

  “Do you have a favorite place to acquire such desserts—?”

  “It’s my turn to ask a question, Your Highness.”

  He laughs. “Too true. My mistake, Princess. Ask your question. Ask anything.”

  I pause for a moment—I haven’t really thought much about what I might want to know about William. I hadn’t thought I would let our relationship get even this far. “How many women have there been?”

  “How many…what?”

  “Women. In your past.”

  “Oh. Straight to the point there, Princess. I gave you an easy one—”

  “You’ve been asking me similar questions since you stole my journal—”

  “Something I’m quite sorry I allowed you to witness—”

  “But not something you’re sorry you did. Did you also read your sister’s diaries growing up?”

  He sighs. “I did, but that is a second question. Do I get to ask another of you now?”

  “No. I want an answer to the first.”

  He sighs again. “Are we talking about actual relationships? Or…?”

  My cheeks burn again, and I’m glad it’s dark and that he can’t see me. Of course he would have had flings. I’m almost sorry I asked the question now—I’m not sure I want to know the answer. “True…relationships. Of more than a few weeks.” Even by that definition, I wouldn’t make Andrew’s list, though we did little more than talk during my time in Montovia.

  “Ah. True relationships…let’s see. Six…no, seven. Seven true relationships. Of course, that does not count the young women I dated in kindergarten. I believe I may have had seven relationships that year alone.”

  I can’t help but smile at thinking of him courting the girls in his kindergarten classes, and I’m gl
ad again that it’s dark and that he can’t see me enjoying this game. “I believe it is your turn for a question, Your Highness.”

  “Yes. Hm. Are you amenable to answering my earlier question? The gentleman’s name—?”

  “No.”

  He chuckles. “I thought not.” He pauses. “All right. Then I’ll ask you the same question. How many men have there been in your life? True relationships. Aside from me, of course.”

  I’m certain that the skin from my neck up is likely beet red. But he is my husband, at least for the moment, and that is fact whether I like it or not. I suppose I could pass on his question, but what is the point? He’ll find out sooner or later.

  “One.”

  “One?”

  “One. The man you read about in my journals.”

  “Surely there were men—boys—when you were finishing school—”

  “No. There were none.”

  “Only…one?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. Only one.”

  William

  Only one.

  Finally getting a straight answer out of her should settle my mind, but instead, it only raises more questions. If the man who inspired all that poetry was the only man…he’s much more important than I initially realized. Infinitely more important.

  “But…only one…?” I hear myself say. It’s more to myself than to her, but she answers anyway.

  “Yes. I’ve said it four times already.”

  I hear her stir on the other side of the wall of pillows. Her answer explains so much, but it makes the need to know the man’s name even more unbearable. I try to ignore the burn of jealousy in my gut, but it’s impossible.

  “And you won’t tell me his name?” I ask her quietly. “This one man?”

  She moves again, and when she speaks, her voice is quieter, as if she’s facing away from me now.

  “This game was a bad idea,” she says. “I think I’m just going to go to sleep.”

  “But it’s your turn,” I protest. “You get to ask a question of me now.”