by Madison Faye
Was I ready for tonight? Not really, but here we were.
“The bourbon’s good, at least.”
I snorted at my brother. As if the King of Avlion was going to be serving cheap shit. I hadn’t caught the label, but I had no doubt the bourbon we were drinking was nothing short of priceless — collector’s vintages, or a private label or something. The truth was, neither of us were ready for tonight. It’d been a hell of year, and that was putting it lightly. Twelve months ago, our father had finally lost his battle with cancer. Fuckin’ cancer — the fight even a guy as much a fighter as him couldn’t win. A few months after that, we’d had to step up hard in order to squash a power-grab for the throne from within the advisor’s council.
Marland laws being what they are, our parents had ruled together — equal power as both king and queen. My parents had been loved as king and queen. People loved their love story, loved the way they ruled, and loved the way they’d been “of the people.” But of course there’d always been those who hated my father for not being “royal by blood,” and for “soiling” the bloodline.
Fucking idiots.
But some of those people had been on the royal council. With our father’s death, my mother took over as full regent and these dickwads had decided to act. Mom was a strong damn woman, but the internal betrayal hit her when she was still grieving and when she wasn’t expecting it. Caspian and I had stepped in and squashed that real quick. But shit, it takes a lot out of you to physically and legally defend your mother’s claim to her titles from some idiots waving arcane, ancient laws on “birthrights.”
So, first a death, then fighting for our own legacy. And then, there’d been Emilia. The betrayal that cut the deepest.
Twins are close. I know you’ve probably heard that, but let me tell you, it’s truer than you know. Caspian and I thought the same thoughts most of the time. We liked the same music, read the same books, and wanted the same things.
Including women.
When we were younger, it’d driven wedges between us. Back when we were teens, we’d squabbled over it more than once, when both of us had crushes on the same girl from school, or when some pretty young thing fell for both of us. We’d fought physically on more than a few occasions, before finally, something had clicked.
Why, when we shared everything in life, were we fighting over which one of us got the girl?
After that, things got a lot easier, and a lot more fun. And not to be vain, but we got it. I mean, we were fabulously wealthy, young royalty. We were blonde, blue-eyed, and handsome — the beauty from our mother and the brawn of our mechanic father.
And we came as a package deal — believe me when I say there weren’t a whole lot of girls that said no to that.
And I won’t lie, we’d had our fun. But as time went on, we got bored of it. We got tired of the meaningless. We started wanting something more. But “more” was something that was harder to share. Sharing just sex for an evening or two with the two of us was one thing. But asking a girl to share her heart with both of us? Well, yeah, good luck with that. We’d tried, once or twice, and it’d been disastrous. The girl either couldn’t wrap her head around having more than just something dirty and physical with two guys, or if she was looking for more, it certainly wasn’t with two men. No, that sent them running.
Until Emilia, better known as the Duchess of Ames.
Emilia had started as a fling. We’d met her at some function, drinks had been drunk, and one thing led to another, which led to us tearing her clothes off and taking her together in the back of her limousine. But the fling had continued. It’d just kept going, until it wasn’t so much fling as it was relationship. And for a while, we thought we’d found it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the closest thing to perfect we’d found yet. She wanted us both — all of us. She wanted the physical, and she also seemed to want the emotional too.
We got close, she got deep, and then, the knife got us in the back, and we never saw it coming.
We never did know if it was something she’d planned or if she’d just woke up one day deciding to stab us. But whatever the cause, one day she was our girlfriend, and the next, her lawyers were contacting ours with settlement agreement for her to keep quiet about the “sordid royal scandal” she’d been “forced to participate” in.
Yeah, fuck.
There’d been words, and shouting, and fury. And she’d sat there the whole time, quietly looking away as Caspian and I roared across the lawyer’s table at her. In the end, we’d paid, of course. It wasn’t worth dragging our mother’s name and our father’s legacy through the mud for. Hell if I knew why the fuck a duchess needed cash, but we paid and she didn’t go to the press.
Caspian was still sure it was something we said, or something that happened outside of us that pushed her into that corner. Me? I just thought she was a heartless bitch.
So that's where we were coming in here tonight. The wounds of that mess were still real, even though it’d been six months. After that, Cas and I had stepped the fuck back from seeing anyone, in any capacity. We stopped going out, stopped seeing girls at all. Cause fuck that. It wasn’t worth it, even if it meant celibacy.
But tonight wasn’t “going out.” Tonight’s suitors’ ball was more than going to a club or something. It was a royal necessity, really. We needed to be seen actively looking for brides. Hell, it’s not like the populace of Marland exactly knew about our tendency to “share.” So that’s why we were at the ball that evening — to at least make a show of looking for something real. After all, Mom wasn’t going to be queen forever. And no one really knew what to do about twin first-born heirs where the throne was concerned, but the rules about us being married before either of us could become King still stood.
“Look, we don’t have to stay for the whole thing. Just long enough to make sure Logan and Magnus don’t do something fucking stupid like go after one of King Lucian’s daughters.”
I snorted, killing the rest of my drink.
The ball was for all sorts of single princes, princesses, dukes, duchesses, and all manner of young royalty. But the real belles of the ball were of course Lucian’s own three daughters — Isla, Imogen, and Ilana, the three virgin princesses of Avlion. Okay, it's not like they’d been advertised as virgins, but there were rumors about them never dating.
Prince Logan of Torsund and Prince Magnus of Zale had been our best friends for, well, since forever, even if those two were wild cards when it came to acting as they should in public. Mags because of his proclivities for fucking anything and everything with a pair of tits, regardless of them being appropriate or not, and Logan because of his curse.
And I don’t care what anyone else said, I believed my friend about that one.
Four years ago, Logan had been our friendly, outgoing, life-of-the-party buddy. Then he’d been cursed by some sort of witch or sorceress or whatever, who he’d mistaken for some girl at a club looking for something fun and fleeting for just a night. I know, magic is bullshit and all that, but fuck, I knew what I’d seen. He’d been Logan the one day, carefree and laughing, and then something altogether different the next day, after that night.
He’d become the “beast” people called him in whispers now. And magic or not, it meant he was moody, prone to anger, and pretty unpredictable these days.
So basically, it was going to be Caspian and my job to make sure neither of our friends got themselves thrown into the royal prison tonight, or worse.
“So have you guys found your Barbie Dolls for the evening?”
I rolled my eyes as Magnus came up behind us, chuckling with a groan as I killed the last of my drink.
Magnus, and Logan for that matter too, had taken to calling Cas and me “Ken dolls” years ago, on account of our blue eyes, blond hair, and I guess “good guy” appeal, even if the two of them knew damn well we weren’t exactly the good boys the press always seemed to think we were. But the name stuck, hence asking about “Barbie.”
Dick.<
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“You gonna try and behave yourself tonight?” Cas muttered.
Mags grinned, snagging two champagnes off the tray of a passing waiter and knocking one back in two gulps.
“That answer your question?” I said evenly to my brother, who grinned.
“Look, Mags, we’re all here to have fun, and I know you haven’t been yourself recently, but try and rein it—”
I frowned. Magnus wasn’t even looking at us at all, and I followed his stare to a gorgeous redhead in green and gold standing across the ballroom.
“Mags.” I frowned. “Magnus.”
It was like he’d tuned us out as he knocked back the rest of his second champagne, pushed the glass into my hands, and strode purposefully towards the girl.
“Oh tonight’s going to be fun, isn’t it,” Caspian muttered dryly.
I laughed, clapping my brother on the back. “Did you even see where Logan went off to?”
“Nope.”
“Fantastic.”
“I vote for a refill.”
I chuckled as I followed Caspian over to another bar, grinning as I watched him toss another insane amount of money on the bar for our free drinks before turning and handing me mine.
“To finding our true love,” he muttered sarcastically.
After all, that was the reason for coming to a suitors’ ball. Just the same, it felt like bitter irony at that point.
“To finding our soulmate—”
The words froze in my mouth as I raised my glass to his. Actually, the whole fucking world froze. Because just then, standing in the doorway to the ballroom, the sounds of the string quartet and the crowds washing over us, my eyes locked onto her.
And everything else just sort of faded away.
She wasn’t real. She couldn’t be. Blonde, willowy, her blue sequined gown trailing behind her as she swirled and smiling at a few other girls in regal looking gowns. She was talking to the redhead, actually, and Magnus, before she turned along with another fair-skinned girl with black hair and a silvery white dress and moved away, leaving the poor redhead to Magnus’s clutches. I followed the blonde though, gritting my teeth as the light caught her big blue eyes, sparkling under the chandeliers, and her smile sent butterflies crashing through me.
Holy. Shit.
“Cade.”
I heard my brother but couldn’t respond, my eyes just locked onto her.
“Dude.”
I blinked as he shook me, shaking my head and turning to him.
He frowned. “The fuck was that?”
“Cas.”
He heard the tone in my voice and shut his mouth.
I didn’t say a thing, I just turned back to her, and this time, his eyes followed mine.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered.
I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“Who the hell is—”
We both froze as we watched King Lucian himself step forward, beaming at this gorgeous creature and then placing an arm around her and hugging her close.
Oh, shit.
“That, dear brother,” I said slowly, putting the pieces together. “That is King Lucian’s daughter, Princess Ilana Morningstar of Avlion.”
Caspian whistled lowly.
“Well, this is going to be a problem.”
This was going to be a big problem.
Because I knew right there that the same lightning I’d just felt had hit Caspian too. She’d caught us up like a damn spell, and with one look, I knew were both thinking the same thing.
She was it. She was everything. There was no denying it. We’d given up on finding the one thing we were looking for, but there in that ballroom, just when we’d least expected it, she’d found us.
Something told me, King Lucian’s virgin, oldest daughter, was completely off the table when it came to being shared by the two of us.
Well, except I had no idea how wrong I was.
Chapter 3
Ilana
“We shouldn’t have just left her alone with him, you know,” Adele muttered under her breath as my father left us to go mingle with some other dignitaries.
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I turned back to her. She was talking about leaving Imogen with Prince Magnus back there, after he’d come striding over and zeroed right in on her. Yes, the man had a reputation as long as his — well, as long as that other bit of reputation, if the tabloids were to be believed. And if we’d been anywhere but our father’s palace, surrounded by people, and guards, and all that, then no, of course I wouldn't have left my younger sister alone with him.
“Imogen’s a big girl, she can handle herself.”
“It’s him handling her we should be worried about,” Adele muttered.
I laughed, my jaw dropping. “Wow, Adele Snow! Where’s this sassy version of you coming from?”
Adele, our cousin by way of our father’s brother, the king of Berne, was usually much more reserved than she’d been since she’d arrived earlier in the afternoon to attend the ball that night. She was usually softer and quieter, but tonight, she’d been edgy, and sharp-tongued about all sorts of stuff.
“Sorry.” She looked down, sighing.
“No, it’s fine,” I smiled, putting an arm around her “You okay, though?”
“Yeah,” she made a face. “Just stuff with Mallory.”
I made a stink face at her, which made her laugh.
Neither of us liked her stepmother, the new queen of Berne. After all, Kathryn, Adele’s mother, had been loved by everyone who met her. Kind, gracious, regal and just so freaking classy all the time. A car accident had claimed her almost ten years ago, though, and a few years after that, Lorne, her father, had met and quickly married Mallory.
…We’d called her the “wicked stepmother” ever since we were little girls, and the name fit like a glove.
Mallory was everything Kathryn hadn’t been — cold, cruel, vindictive, vain, and full of petty jealousy and insecurity. She’d married a king to be queen, but she’d been quite firm from the start that she hadn’t done so to be someone’s mother. As sweet as our cousin was, Mallory had zero interest in her. That was, until she’d gotten older, and started turning into the beautiful young woman she was today. At that point, Mallory had gone from total disinterest to keen meanness towards her.
It sucked, and I knew everyone saw it. But my uncle Lorne was under her spell, it seemed.
“Sorry, Adele,” I gave her a harder squeeze.
She waved me off, smiling. “Eh, it’s fine.”
“Well you look freaking amazing tonight, if that helps”
She grinned. “It does, thanks.”
“Would some bubbly help even more?”
“Definitely.”
I laughed as I linked my arm through hers and steered us towards the bar. Tonight was looking better already. Was I going to find my prince charming tonight? Nope. But I was going to drink champagne with my favorite cousin, listen to some classical ballroom dancing music, and try not to worry about the fact that I was only twenty-one and already somewhat jaded with the idea of love.
“Oh, shit.”
My arm suddenly jerked as Adele stopped short in her tracks. I turned to see her face pale, which was saying something considering the usual tone of her alabaster skin.
I frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I— yeah, it’s fine.”
Her head whirled back to me for a second from wherever she’d been looking. “Actually, I need to go.”
I shook my head. "Wait, what?”
I followed her eyes across the room, and I froze as I saw the dark-haired, bearded, ruggedly handsome man in all black staring right at her from across the ballroom.
“Um, someone you know?”
Adele said nothing, her chest quietly rising and falling.
“Adele?”
She shook her head, turning back to me. “Uh, yeah, no. I mean, I’m not sure.”
I raised a brow at her. “You know you’re not making any sense, right? Are
you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I just need to go, now.”
“I’ll come with—”
“No, Ilana,” she gave me a quick look. “I'll catch up with you later, okay?”
She slipped away, scurrying out of the ballroom. And then I was alone, shoulders slumping and my fun night of blowing this whole thing off with Adele withering under the hard gaze of the mystery guy from across the room.
Wonderful. First Isla, then Imogen, and now Adele. Which meant now I was alone to wander this dumb ball. It was definitely time to get some champagne.
“It's a sad day when a princess as beautiful as yourself finds reason to frown.”
The voice teased over me like silk and whiskey, sending a shiver down my whole body. I swallowed, feeling my head swim slightly under the sheer manliness of that voice before I turned.
My heart flip-flopped.
I’d been positive I wasn’t going to find my prince charming that night. Fate had decided to step in with a sense of humor by sending me two Charmings.
Literally.
At first I thought I was seeing double, until I focused on the two gorgeous, staggeringly handsome men dressed in crisp tuxedos standing in front of me.
Of course, I knew of the Charming brothers of Marland, but I’d never met them. And of course, they were handsome in pictures in tabloids and on news websites.
Tabloids and websites had not done them justice.
Because here in the flesh, both of them standing right in front of me with two sets of piercing blue eyes lancing right into me, their presence enveloped me. And yes, I’d known they were good-looking guys, but up close, a foot away from them?
They were freaking gorgeous.
The identical men were built like linebackers — broad shoulders, and muscled arms and chests that filled out their tuxedos. Strong jaws, split by two slightly cocky, and for lack of a better term, charming grins, and two pairs of intensely melting blue eyes.
“Um, hi,” I said, cringing a little at how lame a response it was.
