The Princess Trap

by Talia Hibbert

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “But she’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Ruben stared up at the figure descending the sweeping staircase. Yes, she fucking was.

  Cherry’s hair was piled high atop her head in a riot of curls, a few sweet, coiled strands escaping. Her eyes were wide and dark and her lips were red. Red as they’d been the day he met her. And just as tempting.

  She wore a gown of crushed silk that swept low across her cleavage, leaving her shoulders bare, and flared out from her waist like something out of a fairytale. But the gown was as red as her lips. With every step, it flashed in the light, black-cherry here and bright scarlet there, a riot of shades from claret to poppy.

  Ruben’s feet carried him through the crowd as if by habit, but he’d never done this, felt this, loved like this, in his whole fucking life. He reached the foot of the staircase and she took the last few steps with a smile on her face, holding out a hand.

  He took it, just as he had the day they’d met, bending low to press a kiss to her skin. And when he rose up, she was looking at him as if he were the only person in the room.

  Someone had announced her, but he’d barely heard it. Now, he noticed that same voice saying something else about them, the affianced couple—but he didn’t bother to listen. He just followed the sound of the orchestra as it swelled into a waltz.

  “Dance with me?” He whispered.

  She smiled, her cheeks plumping and her dimples doing funny things to his insides. “If I must,” she murmured.

  He grinned, forgetting his worry, forgetting his nerves, and pulled her onto the floor.

  “You’re very good at this,” she said, as they settled into the familiar rhythm, his hand a little too tight at her waist. He couldn’t bring himself to let go, though. If he did, she might disappear.

  “So are you,” he replied truthfully. “Magda’s doing, I assume?”

  “Yep. She’s quite a useful woman. She just has terrible taste.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough. At least she listened in the end. You look absolutely stunning.”

  She smiled, her eyes sliding away from his. As if she were shy. But Cherry was never shy. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “Thank you. I was ready to fall apart tonight before I saw you.”

  She arched a brow. “And now?”

  “Now I’m incredibly hard and slightly less nervous.”

  “You’re absolutely awful,” she laughed. “I can’t stand you.”

  “Yeah, you keep saying that. But you didn’t seem to mind when I—“

  “Do not finish that sentence!” Her eyes danced, and her lips tugged up into a reluctant smile. “We’re in public, Ruben.”

  “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll have to save my seduction techniques for later.”

  “Yes,” she said crisply. “I suppose you will.”

  God, he loved this woman.

  Cherry nodded politely at the Archduke of something or other. He was very old, his voice was very reedy, and he was speaking entirely in Danish. But she decided to pretend that he was being utterly charming and completely complimentary. She tended to assume the best of the elderly.

  And there was a positive to the language barrier; it allowed her mind to wander freely.

  Her eyes followed.

  Ruben was just a few metres away, captured in conversation with a couple who looked rather intimidatingly wealthy—diamonds everywhere. Frankly, it was a bit much.

  Cherry rubbed a thumb over the diamonds and sapphires decorating her wedding finger. She was never one for jewellery, but she thought she might wear these particular diamonds for a rather long time.

  At that moment, Ruben turned his head slightly and met her eye. His serious expression flickered, something light and happy taking over. He’d caught her staring. She’d never hear the end of it. He’d be full of utter rubbish about how infatuated she was. Oddly enough, she couldn’t wait for a point far in the future, past this knife-edge of an evening, when everyone was safe and happy and Ruben had nothing better to do than try his best to make her blush.

  She wanted that. She wanted that formless, endless future in her mind, the one where the only certainty was his presence. The rest, she was starting to realise, didn’t really matter.

  “Wow,” she said out loud. “I’m… in love.”

  The Archduke nodded agreeably and said something in Danish.

  “With Ruben,” she told him. “I’m in love with Ruben.”

  The Archduke became very excited at the sound of Ruben’s name, and the pace of his Danish increased exponentially.

  “I’m sorry,” Cherry said, grasping the old man’s hand. “It’s been lovely talking to you, but I think I need some air.” She bowed her head over his knobbly knuckles, hoping that was clear enough.

  It seemed to work; he nodded back, and his Danish slowed down. She caught a single word: prinsesse.

  No, she thought as she wound her way through the crowd. She was something greater than that. She was loved.

  Cherry went looking for a private little room to settle in, just for a while. She needed to catch her breath, control her rampaging thoughts, perhaps order some tea. The realisation that she was in love with her fiancée had left her in need of fortification.

  But she took one wrong turn, and then another, and the looming shadows of the palace, emptier than usual with all the staff focused on the ball, began to feel like a threat.

  Cherry walked very quickly, trying to remind herself that no-one here would hurt her. And that if they did, she had two perfectly good high-heels on her feet, whose stilettos could be shoved up a man’s nose with ease.

  Or a woman’s, she thought darkly, her mind settling on Sophronia.

  She was almost ready to start tearing scraps of silk from her dress and leaving a trail behind her when she heard… something. Something that sounded promisingly human-like. Cherry followed the sound, hoping to come across a search party armed with a map of the palace and a cake or two. Instead she found what appeared to be a music room, the door slightly ajar, moonlight flooding the instruments scattered within its narrow walls.

  Well, narrow for a palace. Pretty decent for anywhere else.

  Cherry frowned and held perfectly still, straining to catch the snatch of sound she’d thought she heard. She couldn’t see anyone in here, and after a moment, she decided she could really hear anyone either.

  But then the sound came again, softer this time. A sort of subdued, choked sound, small and high-pitched.

  Cherry stepped fully into the room and said, “Is someone in here?”

  Silence. But her eyes caught on something she’d missed the first time around. Beneath the piano, a huddled little figure sat on the floor, half-hidden in shadow.

  She moved closer. “I’m a little bit lost. Do you think you could help me?”

  The figure sniffed. It looked up, revealing a familiar pair of wide blue eyes. One of Lydia’s daughters, the eldest. What was her name…?

  “Ella,” Cherry finally recalled. “Hello. Do you know who I am?”

  The girl sniffed loudly, tossing Cherry a disdainful look. “Of course I do. I am not a child.”

  Right. This was the teenage one. Cherry bit back a smile as she moved closer, sinking down to peer beneath the grand piano.

  “What are you doing under there, Ella? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  “This is my piano,” the child said glumly, her accent thick as syrup. “This is my special room. I come here.”

  “Right,” Cherry murmured. “Okay. Fair enough. Well—“

  Outside, the clouds shifted slightly, and the moonlight pouring through the windows grew even stronger. Strong enough for Cherry to see the child’s face. And the imprint of a palm against her cheek.

  Cherry swallowed down the curse she wanted to spit out and kept her smile in place. “Ella,” she said gently. “What happened to your face?”

  The girl turned away. “Nothing,” she sni
ffed.

  “You can tell me,” Cherry said, trying to sound reassuring. Jesus, where was Ruben when you needed him? “I promise you can trust me. I’m engaged to your uncle, and you know you can trust him, right?”

  Ella looked back at Cherry, seeming to mull this over. “Uncle Ruben is kind to my mother.”

  “That’s because he loves her. He loves all of you. And if someone has hurt you, he’d like to know.”

  The girl shook her head. “I am not telling you.”

  Before Cherry could reply, she heard the heavy tread of footsteps along the hall outside. Low voices murmured words she couldn’t understand, but they made Ella’s eyes widen, made her huddle deeper into the shadows.

  Cherry straightened up and pulled out the plush little seat in front of the piano, angling it just so. When she sat, arranging her huge skirts around her, the space under the piano was hidden completely from view.

  Chapter 30

  And just in time. The door opened, revealing a pair of men in the same all-black suit that Hans favoured, clear earpieces curling about their ears.

  They both blinked at the sight of her, clearly confused. The taller man collected himself first, and stepped forward.

  “Miss Neita,” he said, inclining his head. “We are sorry to disturb you.” He didn’t mention how odd it was for her to be sitting in front of a piano with her back to the keys, in the dark, during a ball held in her honour. “We are looking for Princess Ella. She is not in her room, and the king was concerned about her roaming the halls when we have guests.”

  Roaming the halls with the reddened outline of his hand on her face. Yes, he would be concerned about that, wouldn’t he?

  “I haven’t seen any rogue children,” Cherry said sweetly. “But I am glad you found me. I was looking for my fiancé, and I got lost.” She let out a sparkling laugh. “Do you think you have him come here and get me? Put those little earpieces to use?”

  The man shifted slightly. “Miss Neita, we would be happy to accompany you—“

  “Oh, no,” she said blithely. “That’s not necessary. I’d really like to see my fiancé.” She rested her hands against her knees and leant forward, smiling as both men’s eyes flew to her cleavage. “Please?”

  The taller man cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Of course. I’ll—we’ll pass that message on right away. Good evening, Miss Neita.”

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” She smiled sunnily after them. They rushed out of the room as if it were on fire.

  When the door clicked shut behind them, Cherry slid off the little stool and sank onto the floor. She met Ella’s eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, and said, “Was it your father, or was it your aunt?”

  Ella sniffed, swiping a hand over her nose. “Aunt Sophy likes to make trouble,” the child said. “She does not like to feel trouble.”

  Hm. Surprisingly apt.

  “Alright,” Cherry said. “Your father. Would you like to come out from under there?”

  The child shook her head.

  “Has he done this before?”

  Ella hesitated. But then she said, the words tumbling out, “Not like this. But he hurts me sometimes, and worse now. Tonight I asked him, too many times, why I cannot go to the ball. And he lost his temper. So…” She waved helpless at her cheek.

  Cherry nodded. “I see.”

  They were interrupted by more footsteps, and yet again, Cherry swirled into position before the piano.

  But in the end, the subterfuge wasn’t necessary. The door opened to reveal Ruben, his face tight with worry. He fiddled with the light, bathing the room in a low, golden glow. “Cherry? What’s going on?”

  “Well,” she began, trying to keep her voice calm. Before she could go any further, Ella shot out from under the piano and ran across the room, throwing her arms around Ruben’s waist.

  He looked down at her with a frown. “Ella? What are you doing out of bed?”

  Cherry saw the exact moment that Ruben caught sight of his niece’s face.

  Everything about him hardened in an instant. Even as he tried to smooth out his expression, to keep his voice steady and calm, she saw.

  He tipped Ella’s head back with shaking hands and stared at the mark on her cheek. It was even worse in the light. It would almost certainly bruise. The next words he said to her were Danish, incomprehensible to Cherry. She really needed to learn.

  Then he said in English, “Go and sit with Cherry. Stay here. I will come back soon.”

  The child obeyed, and Ruben turned and stalked from the room without another word.

  Cherry stared after him. “What did he say?”

  She wasn’t expecting an answer. But Ella replied with satisfaction in her voice. “He said we’re leaving and we’re never coming back.”

  Ruben shouldered his way through the crowds, all of his focus on the couple at the centre of the room.

  Lydia and Harald might as well be joined at the hip; he hadn’t let her go all night, and he clearly didn’t intend to. Now Ruben knew why. Harald didn’t want his wife to catch wind of the fact that Ella was running around the palace—or, more importantly, why.

  Wouldn’t want a scene in front of all these people, now, would he?

  Ruben relied upon that fact to get him what he needed. He approached his brother with the biggest smile he could muster, dredging up what he imagined a brotherly greeting might sound like. “Harald! If I could borrow my lovely sister-in-law for a moment…”

  Lydia gave him a mutinous glare, shaking her head infinitesimally.

  But Harald didn’t betray even a second of surprise. He grinned back at Ruben as naturally as if they were old friends, as if they really were family instead of just blood. “Of course, little brother! Don’t keep her too long, will you?” He bent to kiss Lydia’s cheek, lingering for a few endless seconds. Then he looked up and met Ruben’s eyes, his own cold, the threat there clear. “You know I hate to be without her.”

  The assembled crowd cooed as if this were the most adorable thing they’d ever heard. Ruben tried not to look as sickened as he felt and swept an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, steering her away.

  “What are you doing?” She muttered under her breath, a smile pinned to her face. “I told you, I cannot—“

  “You will,” Ruben said. “You will.”

  He pulled out his phone as he and Lydia hurried through the halls, sending a quick text to Hans. A signal.

  The reply was swift.

  We’re ready.

  Ruben slid his phone into his pocket as they approached the door to the music room. He turned to Lydia and said, “I can’t take you in here without warning you. Harald—“

  She held up a hand. Sometime over the last few minutes, she’d become cold and remote. Now her gaze was flinty, her jaw hard as stone. She said, “Which one of my daughters is in this room?”

  He met her eyes as he said, “Ella.”

  She swallowed. Nodded. Took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  Cherry and Ella had been sitting side by side on the little piano stool. At the sight of her mother, Ella disentangled herself from Cherry’s voluminous skirts and ran across the room, her tears starting all over again. “I wasn’t supposed to tell,” she sobbed.

  “Shh.” Lydia swept her daughter into her arms, her tiny figure suddenly seeming ten feet tall. “It is good. You must always tell. We talked about this, remember? No matter what anyone says, you must always tell.”

  Ruben left mother and child for a moment, turning to Cherry. Letting her see every inch of his gratitude for the things she’d done tonight.

  She stood, and he pulled her into a hug, giving himself a few blissful seconds to melt into her softness, her sweet, cinnamon scent. She rubbed a soothing hand across his shoulder, and only then did he notice the tension in his muscles, the pounding in his head. Only then did he realise how drained his fury had left him.

  She whispered into his ear, “Everything will be fine. This is the darkest moment. From this p
oint on, everything will be fine.”

  He wished he could believe that. But just hearing the words from her lips gave him strength.

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning back to Lydia. She was watching him over Ella’s head, her gaze hard.

  “Tonight,” he said.

  She nodded. “I should’ve listened to you.”

  “No. Your priority was your daughters, just as it is now. Things have changed. We change with them. Put Ella to bed, and go back to the ballroom.”

  She stiffened. “I can’t—“

  “You have to. Go to him. Smile at him. We will too. Retire early, tonight, and ready the children. Hans will come to get you.”

  She nodded slowly. But then she asked, as if she couldn’t help herself: “Are you sure? Are you sure this will work?”

  “No,” Ruben said. “But I am sure that one way or another, you’re getting out of here tonight. No matter what I have to do.”

  Chapter 31

  Cherry’s dress was gorgeous, but in hindsight, she should’ve chosen something slightly less… dramatic.

  She watched Lydia settle her children into the back of the waiting Hummer. First Ella, then Hilde, who had been carried from the palace asleep in Hans’s arms.

  “Don’t worry,” Demi said, placing a hand on Cherry’s shoulder. She had to reach up to do it, but she still managed to sound like a parent comforting her child. “We’ve planned everything. Nothing will go wrong, inshallah.”

  Cherry exhaled, her breath condensing in the midnight air. “I’d feel a lot better about this if I’d seen you at some point in the last week.”

  “Oh, I was around,” Demi smiled. Her gaze trailed to Hans, as if by habit.

  Cherry managed to spare a smile of her own. “I don’t doubt it.”

  The children settled, Lydia climbed into the car. Ruben appeared, a few familiar members of his guard trailing behind him.

  “We’re ready,” he said. “We’ll go round to the front entrance and slide in with all the cars leaving tonight. He shouldn’t notice we’re gone until we reach the airport.”