Her Highness, Princess Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 2)

by Serena Akeroyd

  God help his children.

  It was no wonder Arabella had turned out colder than a frozen ready meal.

  “Perry’s a good woman.”

  “Arabella was a better one.”

  George held his tongue. “That I can’t argue,” he said quietly, proud of the play on words which neither confirmed nor denied Ferdinand’s intent. “But Perry isn’t to be compared. She has to make her own place for herself.”

  “That’s naïve. Everyone will compare, and when she falls short, that will humiliate the DeSauviers.” He ran a finger over the lip of his cut glass tumbler. “I wonder if Edward is prepared for that. Even Arabella, with all her training, often felt the pressure of her position.”

  Perry was nervous, George knew. She felt overwhelmed. But that was because this was new to her.

  Maybe it was hubris on his part to think once the ring was on her finger, she’d settle down. With him, Edward, and Xavier at her back, surely she’d find her feet?

  “Is there a reason you wished to speak to me today?” he asked, rather than comment on that.

  After a session, it was tradition for the government to gather in the club located within the same grounds as the House of Parliament.

  As with the session, a DeSauvier maintained a presence here too.

  Unfortunately for him, that meant staying here until the rest of the politicians had disappeared off into the ether—which couldn’t come a moment too soon, as far as he was concerned.

  “Georgiana is of an age now,” Ferdinand remarked softly, and George’s eyes widened.

  The man couldn’t mean…?

  “How fast they grow up,” was all George said, his tone faint with the surprise he felt.

  “Indeed. She’s twenty-four, and recently home from finishing school. She’s expressed a desire to meet you.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m certain I shall make her acquaintance once more at Edward’s wedding. You’ll be attending?”

  Ferdinand nodded. “Yes. But I’m certain she’d like to meet with you before then.” His smile turned into a sneer. “I’m sure you know how it is with daughters. A man must accommodate their every whim.”

  George almost snorted at that. If Ferdinand’s daughters dared have any whim, that characteristic was soon weeded out.

  “As you can imagine, my schedule is rather full at the moment. I’ll be certain to pass on Georgiana’s request to my social secretary.”

  Jesus. The man was only trying to palm his daughter off on George—another daughter on the royals! The bastard had gall, he’d give him that.

  But George and Georgiana?

  Even if he’d been in the market for a wife, two Georges in any house was one too many.

  Ferdinand bowed his head, but from the steely glint in his eye, George could tell he wasn’t pleased.

  “Tell your father I asked after him,” he said as he got to his feet.

  One thing that could be said for him was that once he’d made his point, he didn’t hang around. And the fact that he headed off after a curt nod told George that his main intent was to push Georgiana on him.

  Shuddering at the very idea because if she was anything like her sister, then George’s cock would drop off from frostbite, he watched as the Prime Minister approached.

  Of course he had to deal with both of them today.

  His sitting here was simply a formality. Even when his father was in state, it didn’t mean any politicians approached him. Naturally, he had to deal with the PM and L’Argeneaux—the father-in-law from hell.

  Talk about rotten luck.

  “De Montfort,” George said briskly when the prime minister gestured at the seat Ferdinand had left moments before.

  “Your Highness,” he replied as he settled into the club chair. “I wished to speak with you in regard to your duties, now that you’re back home for good.”

  George stiffened. “My duties will be ascertained by the royal household.”

  “But Parliament has some say in that. Unless you’d like me to quote the letter of the law, of which I’m quite capable, you’ll listen.”

  George stared at him. “I’ll gladly listen, but my acting upon whatever it is you have to say isn’t guaranteed.”

  “Spoken like a true DeSauvier. I wondered if America had softened that self-righteousness, but it would seem not even the Land of the Free can wreak such miracles.” His top lip curled. “More’s the pity.”

  “The US and Veronia may have two different kinds of government, but we’re both a democracy.”

  “Ours is one that’s chained to an outdated rule. How can progress be made when we’re forced to cede to tradition?”

  George scoffed at that, even as he was unsurprised by De Montfort’s stance—his dislike of the royal family and royalty in general was well-known.

  That he and his party had been voted into power at all had spoken of a turn in the tide towards the old guard of the nation.

  A response, George wholeheartedly believed, that had been triggered by Edward’s marriage to Arabella.

  The public might not have been in the know of all the power plays that went down in the House of Parliament. However, they weren’t so blind not to see that with a man like Ferdinand married to the Crown Prince, his spider-like presence would begin to shadow the family’s movements.

  Now Arabella was dead, the ties cut. Once Edward was wed to a liberal American, next year when the election rolled around, George fully expected another party to win. De Montfort was far too conservative for the average Veronian.

  “You try to wield the term ‘tradition’ as though your own opinions are not old-fashioned. Father’s interest in prison reform is in line with the Scandinavian preference of rehabilitation over punishment. That makes him a modern thinker. Ahead of the times.

  “You, on the other hand, want to punish, regardless of the statistics on how often our prisoners reoffend. Who’s the one with their feet firmly fixed in the past?” he chided.

  “It’s short-sighted to think that just because the king wants it, his people do too,” De Montfort retorted, his back up now he’d been called out.

  George shrugged. “Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn’t. The king will be around a lot longer than you or I, Luc. Maybe you should have realized that before you took your seat of office.”

  De Montfort’s mouth tightened, but in the face of George’s argument, there was little left to say.

  The office of king was timeless. The man holding the title was bound to the chains of time, but the title itself wasn’t.

  Edward was formed in their father’s image. They had similar ideals, similar goals for the shape they wanted the country to be in…

  If anyone could outlast such a dynasty, it wasn’t George, and it certainly wasn’t de Montfort.

  The Prime Minister leaned forward, and pressing his elbows to his knees, asked, “What did L’Argeneaux want?”

  Edward’s ex-father-in-law and the Prime Minister were a part of different political parties. Though De Montfort was conservative, L’Argeneaux was considered almost a radical. A bare hairbreadth away from nationalism… which, in George’s opinion, was too damn close to fascism.

  The last thing they needed was a goddamn Nazi in Parliament.

  “By the sounds of it, he wants to marry me off to his youngest daughter.”

  De Montfort’s eyes widened, and George knew he’d surprised the man with his candor.

  Cocking a brow at that, the Prime Minster murmured, “Why on Earth would he do that?”

  “The ties that bind, I guess.” He shrugged. “What better way to make sure those ties are like concrete? Marriage is the only way.”

  “I’ll assume you’ll need to discuss this with the King?”

  George, unable to help himself, snorted. “No. There’ll be no discussion. And you can tell L’Argeneaux himself that, too,” he declared, knowing that by proffering the words, De Montfort would hold his tongue.

  That was the nature of politics.
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  Whatever you didn’t want discussed would soon spread around the party like chlamydia. What you didn’t care about being under discussion was boring as fuck and as safe as a nun’s chastity.

  “You changed during your time in the States.”

  “Had to,” George replied, hearing and disliking the musing note in the other man’s tone. “Part of growing up, I suppose. The Americans don’t really care if I’m a Prince or a pauper. We’re all equal there.”

  “Bullshit. Like your title didn’t open doors.”

  “Oh, it opened the doors, but they didn’t stay open for long if I didn’t swiftly prove myself.”

  De Montfort’s disbelief was evident in the cynical twist to his lips, but he didn’t further his argument. Instead, he asked, “Your father told me you wish to get involved with the country’s finances. Was that true?”

  The truth was he didn’t have much of a goddamn say in the matter. But that was something he wasn’t willing to disclose. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  De Montfort narrowed his eyes. “I need to be kept in the loop on this, Your Highness.”

  “I’m well aware of that. As it stands, I haven’t decided what I’ll be doing with myself now that I’m back.” His smile wasn’t exactly warm when he continued, “I might even decide to be a layabout. Just to fulfill your expectations of the idle rich Royal.”

  The politician’s mouth tightened. “I see you haven’t grown up enough not to be childish. This is no laughing matter.”

  “Do you see me laughing?” he retorted silkily. “I’m not laughing at all. But I won’t be pressured into a position I don’t want. I’d prefer to go private before working for some middling governmental department you deign to stick me in.”

  De Montfort frowned. “You’re aware that will sow dissension? If the public see you go private, they’ll assume my government and the DeSauviers aren’t…”

  “In sync?” He cocked a brow. “I wonder how they’d figure that out?”

  De Montfort glowered at him. “What do you want?”

  George’s top lip quirked in amusement. De Montfort knew he was on the way out: his policies weren’t liberal enough for Veronia’s current general population. If George was a gambling man, which he wasn’t—outside of playing the markets—he’d have bet his fortune that De Montfort would lose next year’s election and the socialist party would be in power.

  If he wanted his party to retain any seats in Parliament, it was best for De Montfort to cozy up to the Royal Family rather than alienate them.

  “Like I said, I haven’t decided yet. But once I know, I’ll be sure to pass the message on.”

  De Montfort’s jaw clenched, a sight that made George smile with good humor—he did so like pissing the right people off.

  The Prime Minister got to his feet and without another murmur, disappeared.

  The break in protocol didn’t go unnoticed. As he wasn’t Crown Prince, it wasn’t required that everyone bow or curtsey when they left his presence, but it was still tradition that they use his title.

  It was a petty piece of tradition that hadn’t died a death. Though it didn’t bother him, the impolite behavior caused titters of interest which George weathered with a bland smile.

  Rubbing his chin, he wondered what Xavier, Edward and Perry were up to, and more than that, he hoped they were having a damn sight more fun than he was.

  Chapter Six

  “I really don’t care.”

  George heaved out an aggrieved sigh. “You have to care. It’s your wedding cake. Also, this stuff is supposed to be more important to you than it is to us.”

  Xavier snorted as he absorbed the sight of George, surrounded by cake samples, lace swabs, and various other items of wedding regalia. When he took in the room at a glance, there were also cards, different styles of ribbon, and pictures of hairstyles in a large folder.

  “I didn’t take you for a wedding planner,” Xavier murmured as he stepped into the room.

  Satisfaction filled him at the sight of Perry cuddled into the sofa in his favorite sitting room. She wore an overlarge rugby jersey that she must have purloined from George’s wardrobe, and those weird yoga pants that looked oddly like jeans. She was barefoot, her hair was in a high ponytail, and her nose was buried in a book that, after peering at the title, he saw had nothing to do with weddings, royal or otherwise, and everything to do with water conservation.

  Considering that she’d come to Veronia in the first place to help with their severe water shortages, it could almost be considered fitting.

  Well, it would be, if George didn’t look like the bride in this scenario and she the groom.

  “I’m not a wedding planner but Perry won’t make any decisions,” George grumbled.

  “I told you already, I don’t care.” She hummed under her breath as she stole a piece of cake from a plate George had propped on a sofa cushion to her side. “Although, the banana cake is really nice.”

  “And totally untraditional, of course,” Xavier declared, delighted by how difficult she was being.

  Well, difficult wasn’t the word. Not really. She wasn’t purposefully being a pain. But her disinterest would soon make George blow his top—always an amusing sight to behold.

  “We can’t have banana cake at the wedding, Perry,” George groaned. “I don’t know why they even included that in the taste testers.”

  She scowled at the page in her book. “Why can’t we? It’s my wedding, isn’t it? The one thing I’m interested in, and you’re not going to let me have it.” She huffed. “That sounds about right.”

  For a second, his cousin looked pole-axed, then he closed his eyes. “If you want the banana cake, then I guess we can say it’s an American tradition.”

  She hooted at that, deigning for the first time to look up from her book. “I want to be around to watch you sell that. Somehow, I think Cassandra Whitings might smell a rat. Living in New York will do that to a girl.”

  George waved a hand. “Cass won’t snitch.”

  “How backward is Veronia if you can pitch them that lie?” Perry asked herself the question more than them, Xavier thought. But before they could reply, she asked, “You’re old friends with Cass, aren’t you? All of you, I mean.”

  Xavier nodded as he took a seat beside her. Lifting an arm, he slung it behind her shoulders, and smiled when she snuggled into his side. She was a tactile little thing, and he, Xavier noted with quiet astonishment, was equally as tactile when it came to her.

  “She’s an old friend. And we went to school with Marcus.”

  “Does she know about how you and Edward like to share, George?”

  His cousin snorted. “No. Of course not. If anyone knew, it would be Marcus, but I doubt he does.” George shot Xavier a look. “Although I was surprised to realize you knew, Xav. Do you think Marcus is in the dark?”

  He pondered it a second, then nodded. “I only knew because of how reckless Edward was back then. Marcus wasn’t totally clueless, but Cass was giving him the runaround in those days, and his family was having problems with their debts. Remember?”

  George pulled a face. “I do. Shitty times all ‘round, really.” He forked up some cake, and pulled another face. “God, I didn’t think I could get sick of cake, but I am now.”

  “Let’s go for the banana cake, then,” Perry said mulishly. When he scowled at her, she huffed, and changed the subject. “Why did Cassie look sad the night of the ball?”

  Xavier pursed his lips. “You caught that, too?”

  George looked up from a display of wedding invitations to ask, “She looked sad?”

  “Yes,” Perry retorted with an eye roll. “She did. Twice. When you mentioned her husband.”

  “It’s weird too, because I called Marcus a week ago. He never mentioned the family was returning to Veronia.”

  George frowned. “You don’t think their marriage is in trouble?”

  Xavier scoffed. “No. Not Marcus and Cass. They were always like two pe
as in a pod.”

  “Things change,” Perry pointed out softly.

  “They do, but not Cass and Marcus. I swear, they’re one of the only love matches in our circle. Everyone else, if they’re married at all, has gone for the money. But Marcus’s father lost the family fortune in the stock market crash ten years ago, and Cass never minded. If anything, she supported Marcus throughout that time, and it was bloody hard, too.”

  “God, I remember that. When they had to sell Larenza House?” George winced at the memory. “And they wouldn’t let anyone help them either, would they?”

  “Bloody pride. Marcus and his father were too alike in that regard.”

  “You’d have helped shore them up?” Perry asked, eyes wide.

  “To keep the house in their family? Of course. It’s not like we couldn’t afford it,” Xavier said dismissively. “But they wouldn’t even contemplate the notion. Their pride definitely came before the fall.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Yes. It is. And now, we have some idiot pop stars living in a noble house that had been, until that point, in the family for close to half a millennium. Marcus’ family is as old as ours, and they were our first standard bearers back in the day when Napoleon was threatening our borders.”

  She blinked. “It’s insane that you’re all linked to this, I don’t know, strange interconnected universe. Where history and the present seem to collide.”

  George cocked a brow. “That’s a weird way of putting it.”

  “No weirder than hearing you talk about Napoleon on a personal level,” she said wryly. “Let me guess, one of the DeSauviers was friendly with him at one point?”

  Xavier grinned. “How do you think we kept him out of our land?”

  “Exactly! That’s my point.” She blew out a breath. “Your family is walking, talking history. It’s kind of overwhelming.”

  “Your family soon, love,” George pointed out.

  “Is there a reason you’ve camped out in my sitting room?” Xavier asked, smirking at the tableau before him when Perry began fidgeting beside him, her discomfort evident to everyone with eyes. Well, save for George. “Not that I mind, but… you have plenty to go at in the castle.”