by Pippa Grant
“I did it for Papaya,” I whisper, ignoring that weird squishy warm feeling in my chest at the idea that I have some superpower to make Viktor smile.
Gracie leans over to shoulder-hug me. “Joey would’ve done the same for me.”
“You’re having sex,” Joey says.
I wince.
“You’re not?” Gracie whispers in a shriek so loud, six people—including Manning—turn and look at us.
“The shower wall caved in first,” I mumble.
“So you want to,” Joey clarifies.
“I’m confused, okay?” I hiss. “He was always giving me extra pat-downs and being all I have to make sure His Royal Happypants isn’t endangered by you, when seriously, how important is Manning—no offense, Gracie—in the grand scheme of the world?”
“Yeah, I get that,” Joey says with a nod. “But you still married him.”
Gracie rolls her eyes. “Fate.”
“I’ll be back at Weightless,” I tell Joey. “I’m coming back. Me and Viktor have a deal. He has a year total to get his laws changed so he can stay king and I can come back home. Papaya’s had…some moments…but she’s getting it out of her system. And she starts school next week, so that’ll be good too. Once I’m sure she’s not going to end up pregnant and uneducated and—”
“A drain on society?” Joey suggests dryly, and I wince, because Gracie barely graduated high school, thanks to undiagnosed dyslexia, and ended up pregnant with the baby of a man betrothed to someone else, but she would not have been a drain on society. She was a successful business owner despite her struggles.
But Papaya doesn’t have a learning disability. She has a lack of motivation. And that’s worse.
“She’s so freaking talented. She just needs the opportunity to realize it.” I fuss with my ponytail, because sitting here getting grilled isn’t helping my stress levels, but they’re my best friends, and I probably do owe them the truth.
Even if I would’ve preferred to save it for another eleven months or so.
“How’s Viktor with her?”
I tell them an abbreviated version of the suit of armor incident—and I swear, that’ll be the last time I talk about it, because just imagining those guards pointing guns at Papaya is enough to give me another heart attack—and about the meeting with the duke.
And about how Viktor let me take the lead both times.
And didn’t question my decisions or requests.
Gracie’s grinning when I finish.
Joey isn’t.
“What?” I ask her.
“What happens if Papaya likes Amoria?”
In other worse, what happens if you decide to stay longer than a year?
“We’ll figure that out when the time comes,” I reply. “But one way or another, I will be back.”
Gracie and Joey suddenly split, dodging in opposite directions off their loungers. Before I can utter a word, I get a face full of water.
I leap up, sputtering, and poke Zeus in the breastbone over his ridiculous hockey abs, because that’s about nose-level for me. “What the fuck was that?”
He tucks his bucket under his arm. “You made Joey frown. Against the rules. Do it again, and you’re going in the time-out chair.”
He stalks off after kissing the stuffing out of her.
“Does Viktor kiss you like that?” Gracie whispers.
“No. He’s way shorter than Zeus.”
She giggles with glee. “So he does kiss you.” She flashes a thumbs-up at Manning, who winks at her.
“Oh, stop. Even if we do it, it’ll just be to work off steam because we can’t sleep with anyone else.”
Joey saunters back over to us, but she’s walking a little uneven, like she’s drunk on Zeus’s kiss. “Easier to let me kidnap you both and drop you in a country without an extradition treaty.”
“Those charges were dropped,” I grumble. “And would you please smile so Zeus doesn’t wake me up at 3 AM with another bucket of water to the head? Although I probably deserve it for making him become a peach farmer.”
She smiles.
It’s a terrifying look on Joey, as it always is.
“Or you could just come home,” she says.
“Papaya adopted a llama and she’s been out riding horses three times.”
“Fuck,” she mutters. “Gracie would’ve killed for a llama when she was that age.”
“I would’ve,” Gracie agrees.
Their mama took off when Gracie was a baby, so Joey raised her up even more than I’m raising Papaya now. She gets it.
“How’s the bid going for the university research project?” I ask.
Joey frowns.
I poke her. “Smile,” I hiss.
She fake smiles again. I double check that Zeus is distracted, and find everyone running for cover as he cannonballs into the pool.
“Signed and submitted,” Joey reports. “Now we wait. Bookings are up for the tourist rides though. We’re sold out on three planes for the next month.”
“Whoa.”
She points at a dark-haired guy in the pool. “Our friend Knox is a librarian. Loves romance novels. He and Zeus worked up that story about why you’re gone.”
“What does that have to do with bookings?”
Joey and Gracie share a look. “Nothing,” Gracie says quickly.
I’m suddenly regretting my decision to selectively filter my news since we got to Amoria. “Joey…”
“It was just a cute story about how much Viktor realized he loved you when you tried to save a baby from a runaway balloon,” Gracie tells me.
“There’s more to this story, isn’t there?”
Joey rolls her eyes. “It was disgusting. And I don’t want to know how much Zeus had to pay them to run it. But since the article painted you as the victim of a smear campaign to destroy a woman-owned business who had to flee the country under the protection of a new king, bookings are up, and my last flight was all women who showed up in tiaras and shirts that said Women Should Rule The World, so I don’t care what any of the news articles said.”
“The palace probably will.”
“They’ve already issued a formal statement confirming it.” Gracie smiles with all the cheer of a woman who’s never falsely been accused of being in love.
And I wonder if I shouldn’t be more grateful to Viktor for handling all this, or suspicious about what else I should quit sticking my head in the sand over. “That explains the balloon at that horrible reception that was overrun by polecats. If I have to do many more of these, will you—”
“Send you some cyanide pills so you don’t have to go through with it?” Joey finishes for me. “Always, but I could fly you to some remote African nation and make it look like you fell out of the plane instead of landing safely. With Papaya. Like you both died in some horrific accident so Zeus and I don’t have to adopt her. Not that we wouldn’t. But I’m not sure you’d want Zeus in charge of her.”
We both glance at the pool again. Zeus and Manning are both in it now, spinning Papaya in a circle on her unicorn floatie, making her go so fast she’s probably going to be the second person to puke in five minutes.
“God, I miss you,” I tell Joey.
“Seeing as you’re one of three people in the world who would say that and mean it, I miss you too. I worry about your sanity, but I miss you too.” Her brow wrinkles, and she sighs.
“What?” I ask. “Are you working eighteen hour days again? Quit frowning before Zeus sees.”
“Being the queen of an entire country is kind of a big deal.”
“Psh. I’m still the same old Peach.”
“You have new duties and responsibilities—”
I go rigid as a dead armadillo. “Not this queen.”
“Peach—”
“All this royalty stuff is bullshit, and you think so as much as I do,” I whisper. “Viktor doesn’t need me waving at crowds and kissing babies on the head. Women can have their own jobs and purpose and royal husba
nds. Look at Gracie.”
“Viktor’s the face of a nation,” Joey says quietly. Which is scary, because Joey doesn’t do quiet. “Manning’s fourth in line to a crown and will never wear it.”
“Just because he was born—”
“This royalty stuff? I’ve been studying Stölland. Manning’s country. And the king does a shit-ton for the people. Stuff that matters. Educational projects. Literacy centers. He put pressure on Parliament to pass a bill giving working mothers paid maternity leave, and another bill to fund research into family-friendly workplaces. If Viktor does half as much for Amoria…”
I swallow hard. “I’m sure he will. He’s just getting his feet wet right now.”
“You could too, Peach.”
“Or I can set an example of a woman succeeding in business despite difficult circumstances.” The words feel hollow.
I’m grasping for an argument, and it’s weak as a sapling in a hurricane.
“You know he’s only king because of who his parents are,” I say in one last desperate bid to make my case.
“And because you married him.”
Dammit, I think I just popped a blush. “You know I did that for Papaya. And I think Europe will be good for her. Llamas and horses, remember?”
“All I’m saying is, sometimes there’s merit to kingdoms. He doesn’t have to make a political party happy with his policies. He’s there to serve the people, and Viktor isn’t the kind of guy to take that responsibility lightly. I doubt the Amorian government would’ve gone looking for him if they had a better option already in the country.” She glances over at Gracie, who’s been scary quiet, and then back to me. “If you think you could love him…you should. We’re not easy women to love. You and me, I mean. Scrooge himself would love Gracie. But if you find someone—”
“Aww, look at you going all soft and lovey.” I hook an arm around her neck and pull her in for another hug so she can’t see my face. “I’m so glad Zeus makes you so happy that you’re seeing love everywhere.”
And that’s Thor’s honest truth.
I am glad my best friend is happy. I’m glad Gracie’s happy.
I’m even glad Zeus is happy.
But I’m still not queen material.
I’m just the temporary fix Viktor needs. And he’s the temporary fix Papaya and I need until that idiotic judge signs the final adoption papers.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Because we really couldn’t be less.
Except that little voice inside me that won’t quite let me get away with lying to myself is reminding me it was me who took that first step before the shower wall came crashing down.
And that letting Viktor hold me after Papaya nearly got herself killed in that damn suit of armor was way more comforting than it would’ve been if he really was just a means to an end.
It’s not until four days later, when I’m watching my best friend promise to love and cherish her ogre of a goofball boyfriend, and wishing Viktor could be there with us, that I realize I might have a bigger problem than being temporarily married to a king.
I might actually be starting to fall for him.
25
Viktor
It’s been seven days since Peach and Papaya departed Amoria, and I’m quite upside down in my own skin.
Perhaps the weather has prompted my dark mood.
Or perhaps politics are catching up with me.
Or perhaps there are underlying emotions at welcoming my mum to the palace that should have been her home, where my father should have been the king.
Or perhaps, were I being honest with myself, I could admit that on top of my worry over my mum, I’m quite worried Peach won’t return.
And that I would be quite put out—I daresay even hurt—should she not.
The day Peach is due to arrive home, amidst a terrific bout of what I’m attempting to convince myself is a digestive disturbance due to this morning’s overcooked heart bacon and rubber eggs, and not worry, Leonie alerts me to a complication in my progress toward unseating the Duke of Prievia.
“He’s requested Parliament open an inquiry into the validity of your marriage, Your Majesty,” she reports as I’m attempting to make my way to a lunch meeting with Alexander after my language lessons. Samuel has also departed to tie up some loose ends in Stölland, though we’re all aware he shall return as soon as he is able.
My brother’s marriage is quite solid.
“And what proof would he seek?” I inquire.
“Some would say a pregnancy—”
I stop her with a look that used to be quite effective when I used it against those who attempted to gain unauthorized access to Prince Manning.
Leonie merely shrugs. “An heir on the way would be indisputable.”
“I believe I have a newly-repaired wall which would suggest I’m doing my part,” I say dryly.
Have I any wish to spread salacious gossip?
No.
But I have even less wish to inform Peach we must provide an heir. Especially as I’m not entirely convinced she’s actually returning.
“The other option, Your Majesty, is to proceed with a formal Amorian wedding.”
“Her Majesty is not fond of dresses.”
Leonie grins. “I know. She’s quite refreshingly charming in her own way. But if she truly loves you, she’ll wear one.”
“Would love not dictate accepting one another as we are, without the pomp and circumstance?”
“Only if one is not the king,” she replies pertly.
“That will be all, Leonie.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
I slip into the family wing and find Alexander, Mum, and Eva in our private kitchen, which smells so utterly heavenly, the crooked cabinets and cracked sink fail to raise my blood pressure with the reminder of one more thing that needs repairing.
Alexander is gorging his face with lamb stew and a thick slab of rye bread.
Eva is watching with undisguised amusement. “A man moves into a palace and becomes an animal.”
He lifts both middle fingers before diving back into his lunch.
Eva laughs, dimples popping out of her round cheeks. Two matching dark brown braids hang over her shoulders, with long bangs that don’t fit into her braids tucked behind her ears.
Mum swats Alexander on the arm. “Manners.”
Her gray hair is swept out of her face in a short, curly ponytail, and she has a dusting of flour on the back of her dark sweat pants. I wrap my arms about her and kiss the top of her head. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person in all the world?”
“You just want my lamb soup.”
“And you’re my favorite person in all the world.”
“Kiss-up,” Alexander says through a mouthful of bread. “Oh, dear gods, Mum, we’ve missed you.”
Mum’s blushing as she passes me a plate. “Eat, eat. A king needs his nourishment. Has your bride arrived home yet?”
There’s that indigestion again. “The roads are unpredictable at this hour.”
I join Alexander in making quite a pig of myself—perhaps I’m not suffering from indigestion exactly, as I’m easily able to ingest two bowls myself—while Mum and Eva debate the best colors to use in repainting much of the palace. If your bride agrees, of course, they add every sixth or seventh color and room suggestion.
“I daresay she prefers the look of a castle that has been lived in,” I say when I come up for air. “Alexander is right. Mum, you may never leave us again. By the gods, I’ve missed good food.”
“Doesn’t your Peach cook?” she inquires.
Does she?
I assume she must, though I’ve yet to see her in a kitchen.
“Viktor, I heard the most awful rumor this morning,” Alexander says smoothly, as though he’s not saving me from yet another inquisition about my marriage. “And then I confirmed it for myself. There’s a bill up for debate in Parliament to fund renovations of a small number of private estat
es. Millions of dollars for three of Amoria’s aristocrats.”
“I was informed this morning. I’ve a meeting with the Prime Minister this afternoon.”
He frowns. “You’ll want to tread lightly. If you shut it down, you’ll be accused of wanting to save money to renovate your own palace. If you don’t, you’ll have an uproar from the lower classes demanding to know why you’re wasting their tax dollars on the rich.”
“And if I shut it down, I’ll also be accused of aiming to destroy the aristocracy.”
“Taking aim at the Duke of Prievia was quite the ballsy move.”
“What would you have done?”
“Had the man walked into my home and insulted Samuel and his brother? Quite the same, as I’ve not the stomach for chopping a man into small pieces and feeding his entrails to the goats.”
“That’s disgusting,” Eva interjects.
“’Tis nothing compared to what Viktor and Peach smelled of after their reception at the abbey. Have you been yet? Beautiful building. Gardens too, when there aren’t any polecats and hypocrites about.”
I sigh.
Papaya swore up and down—once she was free of the suit of armor—that she had nothing to do with the polecats. Peach chose to believe her.
I’ve set the royal guards to making quiet inquiries about who in the kingdom might have means to facilitate such an odd attack, but I fear my guards are still in need of more training, and possibly not as loyal as they ought be, which is why I was unable to pointedly direct them to interrogate the Duke of Prievia.
“I intend to tell the Prime Minister I shan’t sign off on any spending bills benefitting any less than the majority of Amorians.”
“Don’t be too hasty. Amoria has a shortage of skilled labor. They should put a bill forth to fund scholarships for trade and apprenticeships instead. Now, now, hear me out. At first, it seems to only benefit those who might go into carpentry or plumbing or wiring, but a greater pool of skilled labor will ultimately result in more construction, more jobs, and more improvements to all of the country.”
And this is why Alexander should have been king.
Country of love, my arse.
I am the king, and I have yet to bring the love back. I’m failing quite spectacularly. But not for long. My meeting with the Prime Minister will be quite unfortunate for him, I dare say. “Brilliant. And until such a bill is put forth, I shall eject anyone from Parliament who indicates a willingness to fund this renovation nonsense in any other way.”
