The Prince’s Bride (Part 1)

by J. J. McAvoy

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter8

  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

  Follow J.J. McAvoy

  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

  PS: It is a bit of a slow burn.

  Chapter 1

  OCTOBER 29

  There is a secret amongst us nobles that we all know but never dare to say. It may have been the oldest, unspeakable yet obvious truth in all of Europe. It was the lie of nobility. But who among high society would be daft enough to admit that we were no better or worse, no more lord or ladylike than the masses? That a title did not bring with it class, wit, or morality...I am, of course, that daft for I am confessing this truth, this known secret to paper. Though what can anyone do to stop me?

  In this modern era, a title did not even bring the two things it always had: power and respect. Royalty now was nothing more than a spectacle, and our duty was to entertain, and to entertain, one needed wealth. One needed wealth to ensure power and respect. Money made the aristocracy go round. The older the money, the better the ride. Nothing came much older than this family—the House of Monterey. The problem with old things, however, was their tendency to die. The problem with dying, especially when that death was not quick, was the will to survive no matter how futile it may be.

  Nothing fought death more than a monarchy.

  “Gale, are you listening to us?”

  “I’m trying my very best not to, Mother,” I replied as I wrote, bracing myself for my father’s bellowing voice to lecture me into an early grave.

  “You are not a boy anymore, Gale—”

  “Mother, Father, he is kidding,” my brother cut in before our father could go any further. “He is listening more than he wants you all to know. It is only by acknowledging him that he will stop paying attention.”

  Glancing up from my journal, I met their desperate eyes. My father stood like a puffed-up penguin in his dark suit by the fireplace, and beside him, sitting in her chair like the oil painting behind her, was my mother. Her white face seemed to pale with each passing second; the stress was getting to her. Both of them only held back their reprimands and anger at me for the sake of my elder brother. The only one uninterested—and allowed to be so—was my younger sister. She sat sprawled on the couch in her ripped jeans and oversized checkered sweater, nodding her red head to whatever depressing music she was listening to.

  “Hello, brother. Welcome to the conversation; I am truly sorry to interrupt your writing. We were all merely discussing the future of our family.” The polite sarcasm dripped heavily as he set Persephone—the King Charles spaniel his wife had reduced him to babysitting while she was in Paris—onto a plush handmade, goose-feather pillow.

  “Oh, were you?” I asked with the same tone. “And here I thought you were all deliberating on how to sacrifice my happiness for your own gain. Forgive me; carry on.”

  “Gale, my dear, we would never want you to be unhappy,” my mother declared.

  “Unless my unhappiness can ensure we remain a great and fabulously wealthy monarchy, of course, then what is a little unhappiness?”

  “I have had enough of your selfishness!” my father hollered, his face already turning red from anger.

  “My selfishness?” I called back. “It was not I who made bad investments! It was not I who caused our current distress, which cannot be as bad as you all make it seem. Yet it is I you are all trying to force to marry! If I am selfish for refusing, then you are selfish for asking!”

  “Galahad Fitzhugh Cornelius Ed—”

  “Present, Father, no need to call my whole name!” I cut in only to hear a slight snort of laughter from my sister. Apparently, she wasn’t listening to music at all.

  “Enough!” The old man truly stomped his foot, and I would have laughed if I were not amazed. “You will marry whomever this family deems fit, or so help me I will...I will...disown you and banish you from this nation!”

  “I’m still a citizen, Father. As king, you can banish me from the monarchy, but under the constitution, you need parliament to get me out of the nation.”

  “Good to know we did not waste money on law school for you. But tell me, oh wise son of mine, with your history, do you think they will object?” For the first time since this conversation had started, the slight humor in his voice was evident. His eyes narrowed on me, and his head lifted high as if he’d already won.

  Looking away from him, I turned to my sister, who I could always trust to help me drive our parents mad. “Eliza, did you hear that? He’s going to banish me. Whatever am I going to do?”

  She pulled out one earbud and looked back to me in all seriousness. “There is only one thing you can do, and that’s to sell your body.”

  I gasped, dramatically crossing my arms over my chest. “The horror.”

  She snorted, and I broke out into laughter.

  “I have had it! You ungrateful little man-child,” he called out to me. “I cannot reason with him!” he snapped at my mother, already marching to the door. “You two talk some sense into the fool. I fear I might kill him.”

  “Love you, too, Father!”

  Slam.

  Persephone whimpered at the sound.

  I looked back at Eliza’s wide eyes. “Was it something I said?”

  “Must you always be difficult, Gale? Do you think we would ask this of you if it were not important? Do you think we enjoy being in this current state of affairs?” my mother tried to yell, but whenever she was upset, her voice quivered more and boomed less. “You are nearly twenty-seven years old. At what point to do you plan to become an upstanding, supportive member of this family?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up her hand, stopping me. “No! No more of your unamusing commentary. You’ve said enough for one morning. And you!” Her sharp eyes whipped to Eliza, who was her carbon copy in almost every way—from their long, red hair to their blue eyes and large feet. “Since you want to help your brother so much, why don’t we find someone for you instead?”

  “Mother!”

  “That is a much better idea. Why don’t you all try that first and get back to me later.”

  “Shut up, Gale!” Eliza yelled, throwing one of the divan pillows at my head. “What kind of older brother are you?”

  “The disowned and banished type?” I replied, catching the pillow.

  “I see we have spoiled you all too much. Why is it so hard for you to be serious? Of all the things you could joke about, you chose this.” My mother sighed, shaking her head before walking toward the doors.

  “Wait, Mother. Were you serious about me?” Eliza shot up, but our dear, sweet mother just gave her a calm look and then promptly left the room. Eliza’s head spun back to me, her red hair whipping over her shoulder. “What was that look? Why did I get a look? I thought
we were sacrificing you!”

  “Oh, so it is okay when it is me, but not you?”

  “Exactly!” She huffed, rising from her chair, looking to our brother, who was pretending to sleep. “Arty, do something!”

  “Why would I do that? With you both about to be disowned, I can finally enjoy the peace and quiet I’ve always wanted.”

  I snickered. “Will you redecorate when we are gone?”

  “I actually like the décor—”

  “You both are the worst brothers!” Eliza snapped at us.

  “That is a bit harsh, is it not, Arty?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “And factually inaccurate. Emperor Commodus sent one hundred men to execute his sister, Lucilla. Compared to that, we are angels.”

  “Now that you mention it, I do see a halo above your head, brother.”

  “Ugh! Whatever! I’m leaving.” She stomped her foot and marched out the door.

  “If you need help with wedding invites—”

  Slam.

  Once again, Persephone grumbled in protest as she dashed to Arty’s feet like a tiny child, and of course, he picked her up. “Do not mind the silly humans, Persephone. They are all grumpy today.”

  “Should we be leaping for joy at what just happened?” I asked, and though I did not want to even seriously entertain any of this, I still needed to ask. “Are they truly serious with this, Arty? An arranged marriage in this day and age?”

  He sighed, setting the dog on her feet. “Are you forgetting I also had an arranged marriage?”

  “That does not count! You’ve been in love with Sophia since you were, like, twelve.” Though everyone knew Sophia could not stand him when we were kids. He was shy, quiet, lanky, and possessed a severe case of foot-in-mouth syndrome whenever it came to socializing with those of the opposite sex. It was so severe that I still cringed when I thought about how he used to be.

  “It counts because God knows I wouldn’t have been able to ask her out.” He smirked, walking up toward the windows to stare out at the moon.

  There were a dozen jokes I could have made to tease him about those days. However, this wasn’t the time to reminisce about the past. My future was on the line.

  “Arranged or not, you knew about her and loved her well before you married her. We may be ‘royals,’ but that doesn’t mean we have to act like it’s eighteen hundred, Arty. It is not normal to throw two strangers into marriage and let them figure it out for money.”

  “That might actually be the most normal thing in the world.” He snickered, reaching into his suit pocket and taking out the red package of mints. “Everyone marries for either love or fortune. More often than not, it is fortune under the guise of love. People convince themselves they love someone because it is in their best interest to do so. But the truth is, love often does not survive under poverty.”

  “And fortune cannot withstand a lack of love,” I added, outstretching my hand for some of the mints on his desk.

  He frowned and shared only one before tossing a few into his mouth. “Then what will you have us do, Gale?” he questioned. “Dismiss the help and staff? Liquidate assets? What are you willing to give up to the state first?”

  “Arty, it cannot be that bad! What mistakes could you of all people have made? You’ve been running the family affairs like a general for years now. If we have to make adjustments, we make adjustments—”

  He turned from the window to me. “Father is ill, Gale.”

  All of me froze.

  I wasn’t sure if my heart was beating faster or slower, but I was certain it was no longer regular. I stared into the blue-green eyes of my brother, the same eyes I had, the Monterey eyes.

  “What?” was the only word I could utter.

  He, however, calmly walked over and lifted my journal from the desktop. “I thought you had stop journaling after Grandfather died. However, to all of our surprise, you followed his instructions and made it a point of habit to write down at least one thing every day. I have, but for some reason, I am not constant.”

  “Arty, enough about the journal. What—”

  “Father called journaling monotonous and never bothered with it. But I now wish he had. Maybe Grandfather was right. The secret to avoiding ‘the family curse’ might be in writing.” He mocked the words the family curse because neither he nor I believed in it and truly hated the outlandish old man from the seventeenth century who had made a fortune writing about our royal family.

  That’s not important now!

  “What you are trying to tell me is—”

  “Father has early-onset dementia, Gale.”

  “How long?” I whispered, hoping he was wrong.

  However, Arty merely nodded, placing my journal back in front of me. “Long enough for him to nearly bankrupt the monarchy,” Arty nearly sneered.

  “Bankrupt? Do you hear yourself, Arty? Our family is worth millions. How the hell does one man burn all of that?”

  He just kept shaking his head. “I thought I had it under control. I took over the accounts, but he’d go back and give loans in such stupid schemes... I can’t even begin to explain it, Gale. It is not as if we are going to just lose everything at once or even in months. Of course, we will always have the money we gain from the sovereignty tax. We have enough to coast for a while. But eventually, we may need to give up estates, lands, and the moment we begin...”

  “They will call it the death of our monarchy.”

  The press would hound us, claim that it was the curse of Monterey, and we were coming to an end. The people would fear they would need to support us, which meant more taxes. The people of Ersovia loved us, but I was not sure they did that much. If the taxes led to anger, that could lead to calls for abolishment.

  Such a mess.

  My chest felt tight. My fingers ached with a sensation I could not describe. Gripping my chair, I looked up at him. My brother, his face now grim and pale, had bags under his eyes, appearing almost out of nowhere. His shoulders slumped forward as he stared, transfixed by nothing in particular on the desk.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He told me not to. No one but Mother, Doctor Schulz, and I know,” Arty whispered. “I wanted to tell you. But then part of me thought he’d overcome it like he’s overcome everything before. He’s king. He’s held up Ersovia without fail. How could he not win? How could he be sick, I thought? Everything I know, I learned from him. I watched him give his life to this family and country. It is his pride and joy that we are who we are. So, how could I tell him it was he who caused our problems? All that hard work, shattering in his own hands? It would crush him.”

  This was one of the things I found insufferable about being a monarch; with each generation, the pressure grew. No one wished to be the king that lost the kingdom. No one wanted to be the last royal family. It was too heavy a burden, and I had always done my best to avoid any and everything that could burden my life any more than it already was. For nearly twenty-seven years, I had been free to do whatever and go wherever I pleased...within reason.And I knew such a thing was only possible because my father and brother held the world on their shoulders for us. But now that my father was ill, Arty couldn’t possibly do anything more.

  I could hear my grandfather’s voice in the back of mind, saying with his deep vibrato, What did I tell you? The further you try to run from your duty, the narrower the path becomes.

  I could finally hear my heart beating. It was loud and painful, begging me to do the right thing, the selfless thing.

  I really did not want to listen, though.

  “I will seriously consider it.” I sighed, hanging my head. “Whoever is it that they wish me to marry.”

  “Whomever? Even Lady Maeve Cudmore?”

  “Oh, dear God!” I cringed, my skin crawling.

  “I’m merely joking,” he had the audacity to say, a small smile on his face. Though the rest of him still looked weighed down.

  “This is not the time for jokes. I am at the
edge of my sanity right now. I cannot take it,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples. “Who is it? Actually, on second thought, don’t tell me. Just get me drunk and hold me up at the altar should there be no other way.”

  “First, I do not know if that would be legally binding, so let us not do that. Secondly, what would it take for you to move past the point of consideration?”

  I knew he wanted me just to say yes. Part of me knew, for the sake of my family and the crown, I had to, but the words just would not leave my lips. “I do not know. Surely, I could meet the woman a few times. It would be good for us not to be complete strangers. What do you know about her?”

  “I barely know anything in truth, other than her fortune and name, that is.”

  My eyebrow raised at that. “You know nothing of her? How? What family is she from? Maybe I’ve already heard of her?”

  “I doubt it. She’s not Ersovian.”

  “German, then?”

  He shook his head. “Wrong direction. Go west.”

  “French?” That wouldn’t be the worst.

  “Keep going west.”

  I paused. “How far west am I going?”

  “North America.”

  For the love of Christ! “An American? Bloody brilliant. It’s always been my desire to be a complete and utter cliché. Everyone knows the only reason a noble marries an American heiress is if they are in need of money. I might as well tattoo the words gold digger on my forehead.”

  “If the prince of England can marry an American, so can you, Gale,” he stated.

  “This isn’t England, and she wasn’t an heiress.”

  “And the difference is?”

  “American culture and American wealth culture are completely different.”

  “Now you are being a snob,” he replied, but he did not say I was wrong.

  “Fine. Is she a Hilton or something? Do you know her name?”

  “Odette Wyntor, co-heir of Etheus.”

  “Etheus?” I knew that company. “But isn’t the family that founded Etheus—”

  “Black,” he finished for me and nodded. “Yes, they are. Is that a problem for you all of a sudden?”

  “No.” I ignored the last part of his comment. “However, with the current political climate as it is, and people as they are, why the bloody hell would they agree? What do they get out of a title that means nothing?”