The Princess Trap

by Talia Hibbert

  With a nod, Demi stepped forward and slid into the passenger seat. Hans walked round to the other side of the car, leaving Cherry alone with her prince.

  Prince no longer, after tonight.

  Ruben reached out to her. “Let’s go.”

  She put her hand in his. And that was when it all fell apart.

  “How sweet,” Harald said.

  His voice rang out through the darkness. And then the floodlights drowned Ruben in their bright, white glow, blinding him for a second. He squeezed Cherry’s hand, and felt her squeeze back.

  Then he turned around to face his brother.

  Harald stood at the entrance to the basement garage they’d parked in front of. He was flanked by a dozen members of the royal guard, dressed in Hans’s all-black uniform. They shared his intimidatingly blank expressions too, but theirs were made truly terrifying by the dead look in their eyes.

  “You have your boys, little brother.” Harald held up his hands, indicating the men behind him.“And I have mine.”

  Ruben steeled himself. Calculated all the possibilities in his mind. His brother’s men were armed, but they couldn’t get away with any real damage, could they? Harald wouldn’t risk the complications.

  Of course, if he did, Lydia and the girls would be safe. They were already in the car, an official royal vehicle, bulletproof.

  But Cherry was right here.

  “Harald,” Ruben said, his voice low. “We can discuss this sensibly, can’t we?”

  “Discuss what?” Harald hissed. “You kidnapping my wife? My heirs?”

  “I’m just taking the girls on a trip. They don’t want to see you right now.” Ruben gentled his tone. “You understand, Ella’s in shock. Lydia’s—“

  “Do you think I’m an idiot?” Harald’s eyes bulged as he spat out the words, fury blooming red beneath his pale skin. He stepped forwards, across the tarmac, his hand’s fisted at his sides. He was still wearing the gold-braided dress uniform he preferred for formal engagements, military medals pinned to his chest. None of which he’d earned.

  But then, he hadn’t had the chance to. By the time he came of age, the throne was essentially his.

  “If you take her,” Harald said, “she’ll never come back.” For a moment, Ruben thought that his brother might actually miss his wife. But then Harald cried out, his voice ragged with panic, “What will people think of me?”

  Cherry’s voice rang out before Ruben could even open his mouth. “They’ll suspect what we already know. That you are a weak, pathetic man who hits his own children—“

  Ruben pulled her closer to him, cutting off her words, angling his own body in front of hers. “Stop,” he whispered tightly. “You don’t know what he’s going to do.”

  “I don’t care,” she hissed. “The girls are in the car. Tell Hans to leave. He won’t follow them with all those people as witnesses.” Even now, just to the east of the palace’s jutting wing, they could hear the chatter and laughter of guests, the engines starting as people piled into their cars and limousines. It would take seconds to reach the safety of the crowd, if Hans put his foot down.

  Which would leave Cherry here to face his brother’s wrath, and Ruben with nothing but his bare hands to protect them both. All his life he had stormed into situations based on nothing but instinct, passion, sheer bloody-mindedness. He couldn’t do that anymore.

  “Harald,” he shouted across the tarmac. “You must realise you’ve gone too far. This is ridiculous. I’ll take the girls home with me, just for a while, and it’ll all blow over. Be reasonable, will you?”

  His brother scowled at that, as Ruben had expected. “You presume to dictate to me? You, the son of a gutter-born whore!” He spat out the familiar words, his voice rising as he got into the swing of things. Ruben didn’t bother to listen. He knew the gist. Your very existence is a stain on the great history of this proud nation, your mother the seductress destroyed our lives, blah blah fucking blah.

  As his brother ranted and raved, throwing out the words that had once torn Ruben apart, Ruben turned his head slightly to catch Cherry’s eye. He kept his lips as still as he could, and murmured under his breath, “Phone in my pocket.”

  Cherry looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. But evidently she decided to trust him anyway, because her hand slid into his left pocket and then his right, her movements hidden by her skirts. She found the phone and looked up at him, widening her eyes in question. What now?

  “Are you listening to me?” Harald roared, tearing at the sash across his waist, his neatly slicked-back hair falling over his sweaty brow.

  Ruben said, “Kathryn.”

  “What?” Harald hissed.

  “I said, yes. I’m listening.” He squeezed Cherry’s hand. Hard. Hoped she got the message. “But I think it’s time you listened, Harald.” He took a deep breath. Prayed to every god he could think of that somehow, this would work. And then he began.

  “When our parents died, you and Sophronia and I, we were all alone together. We should have been a comfort to each other. And I realise that you hated my mother. That you were angry with our father for throwing everything away for a love you couldn’t understand. I get it. I really fucking do. But you didn’t have to take that out on me, Harald. I was just a child, and you did your best to break me. In body and in spirit. Do you know how fucked up I was, the day I left this place? How long it took me to stop hating myself? Too long.

  “But I got better. I figured out how to be myself, instead of someone else’s punching bag. And I swore that no matter what you did, no matter how much I despised you, I would never give up the one thing you swore I didn’t deserve. I would never let you push me out of this family.

  “But you know what? This place is poison. The family fucking name, the royal fucking household, is poison. I keep waiting for you to change the way I have, for you to become a better person, but that’s never going to happen, is it? Because this isn’t about our parents, and this isn’t about who I am or anything I’ve done. This is about you. You’re the problem. You can’t stop hurting people. You hurt Lydia, who loves you—I have no idea why, but she does. So fucking much. Or at least, she did. But you couldn’t stop with her. You hit your own fucking kid, Harald. Ella is thirteen years old. She’s your daughter.

  “What kind of so-called king preys on his own family that way? You’re so obsessed with titles and power, and what everybody thinks… What would you do if the man you really are was exposed to the world? What would you do?”

  Harald stood before them, his face twisted into a sneer. “Very philosophical, Ruben. I’m utterly shamed. So embarrassed. Now get my wife out of that fucking car, before one of my boys loses control of his weapon and shoots your darling fiancée.”

  Cherry brought a hand down on Ruben’s shoulder even as he started to react, his vision blurring, his world a haze of red. She dug her nails into his flesh, hard. “Stop,” she whispered. And then she pushed the phone into his hand.

  He looked down at the screen, and relief flooded through him.

  There was a little red light blinking in the left corner, next to the words: LIVE STREAM.

  Ruben faced the king with a smile, holding the phone up between them.

  “Well, would you look at that,” he called. “It seems everyone does know.”

  “Know what?” Harald demanded.

  “Who you really are.” Ruben tossed the phone across the tarmac, watching as his brother snatched it out of the air and looked at the screen.

  The way his eyes widened, frantic and afraid, was almost the sweetest sight of Ruben’s life.

  Almost.

  “Tell me,” Ruben said. “Can you see how many people are listening right now?”

  Harald looked up, his face slack. “The number… the number keeps changing.”

  “Ah, that means people are still watching. I’m not great with social media, but I think that video stays up for the next 24 hours. Plus, you know, it’s still—“

  Hara
ld threw the phone against the tarmac. He released an unearthly scream, stamping on the device again and again, his movements vicious and brutal.

  The men standing behind him began to mutter amongst themselves, watching him warily, as if wondering whether they should take action. When he threw himself to his knees and began punching the phone, smashing his fists against the ground, Ruben backed away, towards the waiting car.

  “Go,” he said to Cherry, keeping his eyes on Harald.

  “But—“

  “I’m coming. But I’m not about to turn my back on him. Go.”

  To his relief she went. He heard the swish of her skirts as she stuffed them through the car door. And then, with halting, backwards steps, he reached the car himself.

  Cherry’s hands guided him in. He didn’t tear his eyes from his brother, a ragged mess screaming at shards of glass and plastic on the ground.

  Not until Cherry shut the door and shouted, “Hans!”

  The engine roared. And just like that, they were away.

  Chapter 32

  “Agathe!” Cherry couldn’t hold back her grin as she caught sight of the old woman, sitting patiently at the back of Ruben’s jet. There was a familiar, plastic pet carrier in her lap. “You bought Whiskey!”

  “Hello, min kære. Of course I did! And look at you, so beautiful this evening.”

  Cherry patted awkwardly at her hair. The mountain of enormous hair grips that had been used to pin it into place were mostly gone. It sprang out around her head like a cloud. “Thanks, Agathe.”

  “You are welcome.” The old woman’s tired face lit up as Lydia appeared, leading Ella onto the plane. Ruben followed behind, Hilde in his arms. That child could truly sleep through anything. Cherry was rather impressed. “Children,” Agathe whispered happily. “How wonderful! We will have an excellent time.”

  “Right...” It occurred to Cherry that she had no idea where they were going. A private jet and a hell of a lot of money were one thing, but she didn’t even know if Agathe had a passport. Unless Helgmøre was part of the European Union. How did that work, again? Free movement, or something like that?

  Demi would know, for sure. Cherry scouted the narrow space for her friend’s reassuring presence and found… nothing. There was Lydia, strapping the sleeping Hilde into a seat, and Ruben having a very intense talk with Ella, but no sign of Demi.

  Well, there weren’t many places to hide on a plane. “One second, Agathe,” she murmured. “I just need to ask Demetria something…” With a smile, Cherry headed for the front of the jet.

  When she pushed aside the flight deck’s thick, cream curtain, the first thing she saw was Demi, head bowed, standing before the cockpit’s myriad controls. Then she looked down and saw Hans kneeling at Demi’s feet.

  The bodyguard’s massive arms were wrapped around Demi’s waist, his face buried against her stomach. Demetria ran a soothing hand over his golden hair. “It’s okay,” she was whispering. “I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. Hans, you have to get up.”

  Cherry slowly slid the curtain back into place.

  “What are you grinning at?”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Ruben’s voice. “Quiet,” she hissed, tugging him away from the cockpit. Usually, when she tried to move him around, he had the grace to pretend it was working. This time, though, he wouldn’t budge.

  Cherry watched in horror as, with a teasing smile on his face, he reached for the curtain.

  “Ruben, don’t—”

  Too late. Oops.

  Hans and Demi leapt apart, and Cherry stifled a sigh. Oh, dear.

  Ruben was staring at the pair as if he’d caught them practicing a satanic ritual. He spluttered uselessly for a second before choking out, “What on earth is going on?”

  “Nothing,” said Demi.

  At precisely the same time, Hans said, “We’re getting married.”

  Even Cherry coughed at that, but it was a pleased sort of cough. She’d been worried that the pair might never pull their heads out of their arses and get on with things. Clearly, she’d worried needlessly.

  Demi kicked Hans in the shin with a gasp of outrage. “You are the bane of my existence.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Will you shut up?”

  “Quiet!” Ruben demanded. Apparently, he’d regained his senses. The look of utter astonishment he’d worn just seconds ago was nowhere to be seen. He pinned a hard look on his best friend. “Are you marrying her or not?”

  “Yes,” Hans insisted.

  Ruben looked to Demetria. “Did he ask you?”

  She nodded mutely.

  “Properly?”

  “Um… Yes?”

  “And you agreed.”

  Demi slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Will you stop? This is very embarrassing.”

  Ruben’s face softened slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Hans snorted. “Charming.”

  “Shut up. I wasn’t talking to you.”

  Demi intervened before a real argument could break out. “Yes, I agreed,” she said firmly. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. We’re all fine! Now if you could just go away, Ruben, that would be wonderful.” With those words, she strode towards the entryway and tugged the curtain back into place. Right in front of her boss’s face.

  Ruben blinked. For a moment, he looked slightly shell-shocked. But then his lips spread into a grin. He turned to Cherry with a look of elation of his face. “They’re getting married!”

  “Yes,” she replied, biting back a smile. “It would appear so.”

  “I had no idea,” he said. “God, he’s my best friend and I had no idea. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me! I’m going to wring his bloody neck…” He trailed off with a frown. “You don’t seem surprised. Why aren’t you surprised?”

  Cherry rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Put it down to my razor-sharp instincts, or something.”

  Ruben shook his head. His face softened, and suddenly, the narrow space between the cockpit and the rest of the jet seemed even smaller than before. His hands settled at her waist, his eyes raking over her face as if he’d never seen her before. “Cherry,” he whispered.

  She looked up at him, hypnotised. “Yes?”

  He kissed her. Hard.

  There was no delicacy, just desperation. And yet, it was still tender. Still loving. Still everything she needed.

  By the time he let her go, they were both panting. He grinned at her, looking impossibly, painfully young. He said, “I love you so fucking much.” Then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again.

  Cherry forgot herself for a moment. It was quite difficult to concentrate when his tongue was caressing hers, his lips achingly gentle. But eventually, she pulled herself away, her cheeks burning.

  “Stop that,” she murmured. “Agathe’s looking!”

  “I highly doubt she’s looking.”

  “She’s in the room!”

  “We’re not in a room, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, bugger off. I love you too. Where are we going, by the way?”

  A smile spread over his face, slow and sure and utterly gorgeous. “What did you just say?”

  “Where are we going? Also, who’s flying the plane? Because, no offence, but—“

  He slid a hand into her hair. “You said you loved me.”

  “Well…” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Don’t make a big thing of it.”

  “You, Cherry Neita, are the most baffling person I’ve ever met,” he laughed. But he pulled her in for yet another kiss, and this time, she didn’t stop him.

  Epilogue

  Magz: Can you hear anything?

  Cherry looked warily towards the living room door. Her father’s study was just down the hall. Certainly close enough to hear him cussing Ruben out. And yet…

  Cherry: Nothing. Quiet as a mouse.

  Magz: What’s mum doing?

  Petra Neita was sitting in the corner
of the living room on her favourite sofa, crocheting. What she was crocheting, Cherry had no idea, but the fact that she was doing it at all seemed… vaguely ominous.

  Cherry: She’s crocheting

  Magz: Since when does mum crochet?

  Cherry: Apparently Ms Jeanne from next door has started a club. They all choose something to crochet and spend a month putting it together. And then they go to Ms Jeanne’s house and get wasted and try on each other’s shitty hats. Or something.

  Magz: Okay, but is she talking to you?

  Cherry: No. She’s crocheting.

  Magz: I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

  Cherry wasn’t either. She’d never brought a boy home. Her sister had never brought a girl home. They had no point of reference for this sort of thing.

  Magz: I hope dad doesn’t bite his head off.

  Magz: But, all things considered, I think he might.

  Because the video they’d recorded in icy terror had turned into a scandal that shook the world—or at least most of western Europe. When the recording of Ruben’s speech and Harald’s guilt reached her parent’s living room via BBC news, Cherry had received a rather concerned phone call from dear old Mum and Dad.

  If concerned meant suspicious, furious, and demanding an explanation.

  So she’d come clean. About everything. It had just come pouring out, really.

  But that was—what, three months ago, now? Things had settled down a little since then.

  Ruben was learning to cope with the media speculation, along with the lasting effects of his upbringing. And this time, he was doing so with professional help. Apparently he, Ella and Lydia had made a pact: if they talked to someone, he would too.

  Cherry thought it was going rather well.

  Cherry herself had spent the past months organising Hans and Demi’s upcoming wedding, and that was going well too. Although, Demi was being very uncooperative about the dress. What she had against silk trains, Cherry would never know.

  And, in between all that, Cherry had made regular visits home. Just to reassure her parents that she was A-okay and not… you know, trapped in a false engagement with a foreign prince to pay for her sister’s degree, or anything like that.