The Prince's Bride (Part 2)

by J. J. McAvoy

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Follow J.J. McAvoy

  This book is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be sold, shared, or given away. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE PRINCE’S BRIDE: PART 2

  Copyright © 2020 by J.J. McAvoy

  ASIN:B089GY39QV

  Cover design by J.J. McAvoy

  Editing by Stephie Walls, Jo-Anne Joseph & Colleen Snibson

  eBook design by Inkstain Design Studio

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  DEAR READER:

  This is a work of fiction, and even though the truth is often stranger, I must tell you that almost all of the characters, names, places, titles, and incidents are real in every universe but the one you are currently reading this in. I hope you enjoy it regardless. So, with love, I welcome you to my imagination.

  —J.J. McAVOY

  Chapter 1

  “It’s a girl!” Augusta and her husband screamed as the pink smoke machines began to suffocate us, and pink confetti came down like unicorn vomit.

  And no, that wasn’t just me being negative or facetious. They had two decorative unicorn heads hanging over the sides of their brand-new mansion, spewing pink confetti out onto the crowd. Why? I did not know. When you have a third of 25.9 billion dollars, you can get mystical animals to vomit whatever you want. Maybe when the girl was born, they would have a pegasus flying over us with tears of gold coins.

  That would be new. I snickered at the thought. Augusta always loved to be new and different. If she wasn’t home, she was in New York or Paris or London. Name the place, and Augusta was there, ready for the best photo and parading her life for all of social media to see. She was living the dream.

  Rich.

  Happily married to a handsome man.

  And now, pregnant.

  Our relationship over the last few months had only gotten slightly better. I wasn’t turning a blind eye to her flaws as I once had. I saw her clearly. I knew what she was willing to do to get her inheritance. I could see how badly she wanted to show me she was living the dream life, to prove she was somehow better. I still did not know why she was so competitive. I was not trying to race her for anything, and I was not trying to be better than her. In fact, out of the two of us, she seemed to be the more fortunate one. I had no desire nor cared to prove anything to her or anyone else anymore. I just wanted to be happy now.

  And I was ninety-nine percent happy for her. I really was, but there was that one percent. That ugly, jealous, bitter, scared, and unhappy one percent that I never wanted to show anyone. That dark part of my mind that sat back on a lounge chair with a dirty martini in one hand and Audrey Hepburn cigarette holder in the other, judging everyone viciously and saying the word darling a lot. I would be the Grinch at Christmas—and not the cartoon Grinch, the Jim Carrey Grinch at the very beginning of the movie. Oh, I would be Miss Hannigan, the evil, hot mess of a lady who ran the orphanage where Annie lived. No. I got it now. I would be Maleficent; nothing said over exaggerated, misplaced anger was better than a half-dragon, half-witch cursing a little girl to death for not being invited to her party.

  I could definitely pull that off with my Angelina Jolie’s cheekbones, a dirty martini in one hand. It actually makes more sense than that magical stuff.

  “Odette? Odette?”

  “Huh?” I looked around to find who was calling me and taking me out of my mental spiral.

  It was, of course, Augusta standing there with a crown of roses on her head and an all-white, body-hugging gown that showed off her baby bump, calling me in front of everyone. She waved me forward.

  I haven’t had enough drinks for this. I needed to get out of that one percent frame of mind. Smiling, I walked up to where Augusta and Malik, dressed in white, stood.

  “Throughout my life, my big sister has always had my back. She’s loved me and took care of me more than anyone else I know. Sorry, Mom,” she said and winked at Yvonne, who just shook her head, but the smile on her face was real. “Which is why I could think of no one else to be the godmother of our child.”

  Everyone started to clap. Like, just because someone wanted you to be their kid’s godparent, you had to accept. What if I didn’t want to?

  The ninety-nine percent, Odette. Get back to the ninety-nine percent! My mind screamed at me.

  “I bet the little girl will be just as much of a handful as her mother,” I teased, hugging her.

  “That’s why you have to be the no-nonsense aunt so I can be the fun mom.” She squeezed me back.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Congratulations,” I said and nodded at Malik. “I am happy for you both. Are you sure you didn’t want a boy to throw a football with?”

  “I can teach her how to throw footballs too. She’ll be the first female in the NFL when I’m done with her,” he said proudly.

  “Why in the world would you want that?” Augusta questioned in horror. “All those big men just throwing her onto the ground.”

  He turned to the side, showing her a fake run. “That’s why we have to work on her legs from the jump. Whoosh. Whoosh. She’ll be the female Flash. No one is touching her.”

  “I will show you, Flash.”

  I said nothing, watching as they showed everyone their love. It made me think of—

  Do not think about him.

  But the moment I thought that it was too late. By trying not to think about him, I did think about him and how it had been over six months since I had heard from him or seen him—at least seen him in front of me. I had watched as he and his family walked behind his brother’s casket. Every once in a while—that was a lie. Often, when I was home alone in bed, I looked up pictures of him in the news. When he first left, I truly believed he would call me the moment he got the chance. I was so sure my mother was wrong that I started taking Ersovian lessons. Then the days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months.

  And I realized I was an idiot. Why the hell would he come for me?

  He had known me for such a little while.

  He was going to be a king one day. Hell, not even one day. The news said he would be crowned king at the end of this year as his father was abdicating. His mother was now regent, and I was sure there were other rich women in his country he could marry. Women more fit to be his queen. And my goal was to be happy for him, glad that he wasn’t suffering. I was going to hold my head high and not be bitter or hurt by it. It was a fun,
and silly time we had together, something I may one day tell my kids or niece about. I would laugh and say, “Did you know I once dated the King of Ersovia?” Of course, they would never believe me, but it was a good story.

  I was moving on.

  I was going to be a better person.

  I wanted to be a happier person.

  I was over him.

  That’s a lie, the voice in my head said, and I hated that voice. It made my eyes well up and made me feel stupid and pathetic. I didn’t know him that well. I barely spent time with him at all...yet, I cared so freaking much it still hurt.

  Was this normal?

  It couldn’t be.

  What happened to the saying, Out of sight, out of mind?

  Ugh! I had to stop thinking about him! I needed to let go. Cut the thread. Rip the bandage. Move on!

  And the first step to doing that was divorce. However, for some stupid reason, I had to have the consent of the other party.

  This was going to suck. I didn’t want to travel to Ersovia.

  That’s a lie.

  I had no other way of contacting him.

  My mother had been in contact with Arthur before, but after his death, she had no way to contact Gale, either. And I had to hand it to Gale’s brother; he was very efficient. The same night my mother called him to complain about keeping the marriage a secret, he had transferred the amount of she requested, which told me how important it was for him to keep our marriage a secret. It was the only thing he’d asked of me the night before he died. He welcomed me into the family and asked me to keep this secret, so I would. No matter what.

  However, that did not mean I had to stay married. I needed Gale to get the divorce papers signed, and the only way to get to Gale was to go to Ersovia. It wasn’t like I could run up to the palace gates and demand to see the Adelaar. However, it wasn’t impossible. That was one of the great things about being an internet heiress—even if it was in name only.

  Etheus and Etheus Technologies had seventy-one offices in fifty-two countries. One of them was in Ersovia. The royals were always going to some sort of event or charity. I knew I would be able to use my name and influence to at least get me at the same function as them when I was there. It was not the most in-depth plan, but it could work. The only thing was it made me feel so...desperate. I felt like I was chasing after him, and I hated that feeling. It was like trying to get someone to like you.

  “Augusta. Augusta.” I got her attention.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “What. Why?”

  “I have a flight to catch, remember?” I said to her.

  “Oh, right. Where are you going?” She rubbed her stomach.

  “Europe, for musical stuff, and I have to get going if I do not want to be late,” I lied to her.

  Malik stepped forward. “I can drop you at the airport—”

  “It’s fine. You can’t possibly leave your baby shower,” I replied and gave Augusta a small hug before heading toward the door.

  However, Augusta followed me all along the way. “Odette, I’ve been worried about you lately. You haven’t been yourself ever since you found out I got married.”

  “Augusta.” I groaned. I loved how she thought everything was about her sometimes. “I promise it has nothing at all to do with you.”

  “You aren’t even a little bit jealous? Well, that is disappointing.” She pouted jokingly.

  “Yep, I’m totally jealous. My heart is turning blacker as we speak.”

  “Good.” She laughed.

  Rolling my eyes, I walked over to her, giving her another hug. “I will call you when I can. Until then,”—I bent over to talk to her belly—”please feel free to kick your mom all you like, sweetheart!”

  “Hey!” She shoved me and looked down at her stomach. “Do not listen to her! Mom trumps Godmother.”

  “Then I am the fun aunt, for sure.” I winked, rising back up. “Go back to your party. Enjoy yourself. Okay? I’m good.”

  “If you ever need to talk—”

  “I know. I know.”

  When I got inside my car, the very first thing I did was take a deep breath. I found that I had to do that often now. It was like I was drowning all the time and could only come up briefly before being dragged back down.

  There had been a Ruegg in the palace guard for the last 287 years. My father was a palace guard, and before him, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, his father before him, and so on. Some families pass down businesses; my family passed down the Code of Honor. It was a ninety-seven-page book that never changed. Of course, every monarch had their personal wishes, instructions, and habits we must also know. But the Code of Honor was always the foundation. It was our northern star, our guiding light, and the first thing in that book was a reminder.

  You are not the sovereign’s friend.

  You are not the sovereign’s friend.

  They were free to think of us as such if they chose, but we, the guard, could never have that same impression. We lived to protect them by any means necessary. Even our own lives. We did not give advice unless asked, and even when we were, we had to remind them it was not our place to offer our opinion. It was the most important thing to remember because when we started to see royals as our friends instead of our sovereigns, it was easy to wonder why they ruled instead of us. It was easier to see them as equals, and they certainly were not.

  The rest of Europe may have given in to the experiment that was democracy; however, Ersovia was different. Not because we did not want a voice or were not aware of the dangers of bad monarchs. We knew those dangers and did our best to safeguard ourselves from that. We chose the monarchy because somehow, some way, the Monterey’s always made the people believe in them. They always managed to come back and bring us all to a greater moment of glory. All through our history and the memories of our family, through wars, sickness, and tragedy, they overcame.

  Somehow, they overcame. So, we believed in them.

  I believed in them.

  But it was getting harder for me. The stories I had heard from Father and his father about their times in these great halls felt so far away now. The glory of the House of Monterey seemed to have dimmed since Prince Arthur’s death. Everywhere felt cold. Cold and angry.

  “Get out!”

  Crash!

  I watched as the young maid—well, she looked at least Wolfgang’s age—with blue eyes and dark hair came rushing out. She adjusted the collar of her uniform quickly. She jumped up when she saw me, startled as if she had not expected to see me here even though I was the one who had opened the door for her to enter the study, to begin with.

  “Iskandar!” He shouted from inside.

  Ignoring her, I walked inside, noticing the food the maid had brought in sprawled out on the floor. He sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes.

  “Adelaar,” I answered.

  “Did you let that maid inside even though I ordered to be left alone?”

  “Only at the queen’s direction.”

  He sighed, looking up at me. The dark circles around his eyes seemed never to fade at this point. “Where the hell is Wolfgang?”

  Before I could answer, the man in question rushed back into the room. “Adelaar!”

  His blond hair was messy, and his face flushed. Where in the hell had he been?

  “Where have you been?”

  “Princess Eliza called—”

  “Are you Princess Eliza’s secretary or mine?”

  His eyes widened. “Sir, technically, I am hers now.”

  He was right. He was far too inexperienced to be the personal secretary to the Adelaar, and he had been reassigned to Princess Eliza. But he still checked in with the Adelaar because, well, the Adelaar wanted him to.

  “Right.” The prince sighed, again rubbing the side of his temple. “And I dismissed Balduin and Ambrose for an hour to get some sleep. From now on, Iskandar, I do not care what the queen says. I do not want any maids in here. Wolfgang,
inform Ambrose I want the maid who just left dismissed immediately. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Wolfgang and I both replied.

  “You may go,” he stated, rising from the chair and moving back behind the desk, burying himself behind paperwork.

  Wolfgang stepped out first, and I closed the door behind me.

  “I will call a butler for the tray. What happened?” Wolfgang asked.

  “Based on her demeanor on exiting and his attitude, I can only assume she tried to rise above her station and was caught.”

  His eyes widened, and he leaned in so close I could smell the rosewater in his hair. “You mean she tried to seduce him?”

  “Take advantage,” I corrected because that was the only correct way to state it. “And should I see her ever again, I will—just handle her before I do.”

  As if the man did not have enough to worry about. Now he could not even rest? I should have followed her inside, but it escaped me to think she would do something so foolish. What happened to the rigorous training of the palace’s help? Had they all forgotten their duties too? Were we all just in a free-for-all of madness now?

  “You are upset,” Wolfgang whispered.

  “I am fine. Go and inform Ambrose. Also, why were you here instead of with the princess?”

  “The princess wanted me to ask if she could get permission to spend time at the Countess of Goscutan’s home for the spring festivals.” He frowned, looking at the door. “I did not even get a chance to ask.”

  “It would be best to wait.”

  “How long is everyone in this palace supposed to keep mourning?”

  “Until the Adelaar or king says otherwise. We are their hands, their protection, and their aid, not their mouths or brain. We do as we are told and wait.” How long that wait would be, I was not sure.

  I did not know if anything could help ease the pain and anger in the Adelaar now. The lack of sleep he was getting was already unhelpful. But it was not my job to tell him what to do.

  I could only stand guard, follow directions, and wait.

  And for the first time in my life, that was much harder to do than anything else because I remembered the old Prince Galahad, and though he was immature and spoiled, he seemed able to navigate the world with ease. But this prince...he was sinking.