Royal Marriage Market

by Heather Lyons

  “I wish you luck,” he tells me. When we hug for the last time, it feels right, because brotherly, warm hugs are perfect for friends.

  chapter 59

  christian

  It goes against every fiber of my being to let Elsa board a jet with Greta, but not myself, yet I know it must be done.

  I can’t fight Elsa’s battles any more than she can fight mine.

  Parker and Charlotte snuck Kim out of the hotel, with Mat publicly departing before disappearing in Paris. No note was left—Mat feared that if he even mentioned Kim by name, her family would immediately be targeted. It was best to leave without word, and with as little trace as possible. They flew directly to Scotland to marry, but beyond that, Elsa and I remain in the dark.

  “It will be safer that way,” Mat reasoned. “Elsa may truthfully claim plausible deniability.”

  I took him aside, questioning whether or not Elsa would become a target of the Chambérys’ wrath. He was adamant she would not—for it she were, and word were to get out, it would ruin any future chances for the family to find their way back to power.

  Even still, a conversation between Elsa, Parker, Charlotte, and myself occurred. Bodyguards for the woman I love would be put on alert; precautions would be taken to ensure her continued safety. That night, when the Chambérys realized Mat would not report back, as required, a flurry of calls was made to the police, Interpol, and even Elsa. I was forced to retreat to the suite I’d rented for Parker, uneasy over leaving her behind to face their ire, but for once, the press did us a favor.

  Photographs came forth, proving he left the hotel earlier in the afternoon, alive and with a smile upon his face.

  Elsa was promptly summoned home, not even an hour after word of Mat’s disappearance reached the palace. Greta reappeared, carrying multiple shopping bags from the most exclusive shops from Champs Elysées, and before we could even take a breath, she had Elsa packed and a car summoned.

  Our time was over, and I wasn’t even able to accompany her to the airfield.

  It bloody hurts like hell, knowing she and I are now separated by more than just distance, but by uncertainty and countries, too. Neither of us is required to marry another at the moment, but it does not mean the path before us has cleared. There are conversations that must take place, ones crucial to both of our futures. She must confront her family and then help them find a way out of the mess they’ve made. I respect the hell out of her for that. The Hereditary Princess of Vattenguldia will do what’s best for her country.

  As for me . . . I must finish what I’ve started and ensure the safety and comfort of my brother and father. There are decisions to be made, weighted ones that can’t be easily chosen no matter how much we might wish otherwise.

  That bridge we hope to cross is not an easy one.

  chapter 60

  Elsa

  Vattenguldia’s premier newspaper slaps down before me, rattling my cup of tea at the breakfast table. A picture of Mat and myself, inside the restaurant in Paris, stares balefully up at me. Neither of us appears remotely happy to be there, which makes perfect sense considering we weren’t.

  Princess Elsa Miserable In Paris, screams the headline. Too bad they didn’t see me an hour after that picture was taken, when I was anything but miserable in the back of a limo.

  Another newspaper slaps down upon the former. Prince Mathieu Missing After Cozy Rendezvous With Princess Elsa. A third is added to the pile: Distraught Princess Elsa Rushes Home In Wake Of Lover’s Disappearance.

  One of my mother’s long fingers snaps against the newsprint. “This is a public nightmare!”

  “How delightfully ironic, this coming from you of all people.” My voice is downright arctic as I coolly look up at my mother.

  A sound of startled displeasure rattles out of my father from the other end of the table. His brow is a series of deep valleys as he stares at me from over the edge of his paper.

  I fold my hands across my lap. Straighten my back and hold my head up high. I am the Hereditary Crown Princess of Vattenguldia. I can and will do this. I requested both their presences at breakfast just so we could have this talk.

  “I know what you did.” I motion for my mother to sit down. And then, ensuring eye contact is made with my father, “What you’ve both done. And I am here to tell you today that I refuse to allow you to barter away both my and Isabelle’s lives and happiness to cover up your mismanagement of taxpayer funds.”

  All the color and fire goes right out of my mother as she drops into a chair.

  “Ponzi schemes are so tacky, Mother. So is losing roughly five million euros the public expected to be used wisely.” From beneath the table, I pluck a folder I brought with me that contains everything Josef, Charlotte, and Parker discovered about my mother’s poor investments. “Tell me. How much did the Chambérys promise you in return for my hand? Or even the Grand Duchess? Together, was it enough to ensure no one ever knows about what has been done?”

  Her Serene Highness Sofia of Vattenguldia is, for the first time in a long time, rendered completely speechless.

  “How dare you speak to your Princess like that!”

  My heart skips a terrified beat as I meet my father’s eyes. My mother’s face may be white, but Prince Gustav’s is red with fury.

  “I would think that you, of all people, would be equally outraged by what has occurred,” I tell my sovereign. “As a member of the ruling Vasa family, I am appalled at how money, earned by our hard-working citizens, was so foolishly thrown away in a time where much of the world is in economic crisis.”

  “You forget your place,” he snaps.

  How wrong he is. “I am beholden to this great country, and its welfare is at the forefront of my mind as I consider this situation. As Vattenguldia’s future sovereign, I will not allow myself to be used to cover up something so atrocious.”

  The newspaper in the Prince’s hands is folded neatly and placed next to his plate. Lips thinning, there’s anger in his eyes, but there’s something more than that, too.

  I dare to hope it is pride.

  Shock gives way to quiet tears from my mother. “You do not understand,” she whispers. “The press will crucify us. There may be calls for the dissolution of the crown.”

  “Almost guaranteed.” My tone softens, but only by a bit. “That said, I am willing to work with you to find a solution to replace the funds, but I refuse to become the bargaining chip you hoped for. Consider which is the greater sin to our citizens . . . to those who trust us. The revelations that beloved monarchs sold off their daughters for money, and one fled to escape such a fate? Or that you confess your mistakes, do your best to explain them, and promise to do everything within your power to regain Vattenguldia’s trust by rectifying the situation?”

  The silence in the room is painful. Part of me wishes to shout at them, to ask why the second option was not considered, why Isabelle and I were so easy to use as their way through this mess.

  But I do not. A massive row would not solve anything right now. Neither parent is thinking clearly. I am the Hereditary Princess, and I damn well better act like it.

  My country needs me, and I will be here for them, even if their current sovereigns are not.

  “There is plenty of art and many antiques in storage that could be discretely auctioned off—or better yet, given to the country’s museums in lieu of payment. Perhaps this is the impetus for our family to look at our place in Vattenguldian society, and determine how we may streamline the monarchy’s costs.”

  My father stares at me for several long moments that nearly snap my spine clean in half. But then he nods and reclaims his paper.

  The next day, I enter His Highness’ office upon request. Bittner is in there, working alongside my father. “You asked to see me, Father?”

  Bittner excuses himself. I think, after what went down yesterday at breakfast, he knows better than to stick around for more Elsa bombshells.

  �
��Before we get into it again, Elsa, I wonder if you’ve heard from your sister?” my father asks.

  It is the first time one of my parents have thought to ask this. “In a roundabout way, yes. She is the one who cracked the reason behind why you were so keen for us to attend the Summit this year. Or rather, she and her new husband did.”

  He’s just as taken back as I was by this piece of news. “I was under the impression that fellow wasn’t too bright.”

  “Apparently, he is smarter than any of us gave him credit for.”

  Isabelle, too.

  His Serene Highness is quiet for a long moment. “I am relieved to hear she contacted you.”

  “Actually, she didn’t. She called somebody else who relayed the information to me.”

  His thick eyebrows go up. “And just who might that be?”

  I slide into the antique chair across from his desk. “Prince Christian from Aiboland.”

  Surprise flickers across his face. “But I thought she wasn’t keen on him. She said he was boring as all sod, and begged me not to marry her to somebody who would make her life miserable.”

  Oh Isabelle. If my sister were here, I’d hug her until she couldn’t breathe. “They were not suited for one another, that much is true. And, just to be clear, he is not boring in the least.” I gather my courage, even though uncertainty looms before me. “She contacted him, though, as she is aware of the extent of our feelings toward one another, and rightly assumed he would inform me of what she suspected.”

  Yet another parent is rendered speechless.

  “Yesterday, I indicated my willingness to help weather the storm bearing down upon the Vasas. I will even be there at the press conference with you Bittner has scheduled for tomorrow. All I ask is that you are open to what I am about to discuss, and that you might find it within your heart to show me that the prince and father I have long admired is still here.”

  His wince is painfully visible, as is the regret that lines his face.

  “You planned to marry me off to a deposed prince in hopes of earning yourself a pretty euro—”

  Regret or no, my name is a warning from his lips.

  I continue, nonetheless. “For many, that would be unforgiveable.”

  He does not apologize, nor did I expect him to.

  “And yet,” I say, “I am still here, asking for your help.”

  His lips purse, and many long seconds stretch between us. Finally, he murmurs, “Consider me intrigued.”

  “The man I have fallen in love with—the one who is in love with me—is a Hereditary Grand Duke, set to inherit his country’s throne.”

  As my statement soaks in, steepled fingers tap thoughtfully against my father’s chin. “Is the Grand Duchess of Aiboland aware of this relationship?”

  “If she is not yet, she will be shortly.” Or so Christian claimed when we departed. As he has never given me any reason to doubt him yet, this will not be the time in which I begin to do so.

  My father’s chair creaks as he leans forward. “You want to know if such a union is feasible.”

  “Yes.”

  He grunts. “And to think you found the Chambéry situation . . . unsavory.” His fingers drift back to his desk, lighting tapping out a pattern. “You say you love him?”

  “Yes.”

  A notepad is claimed, alongside a pen. Glasses settle once more across his nose. I wait patiently as ink flows across the parchment, wishing I had the nerve to lean over and read his words.

  When he is done, the pen is placed in a neat parallel line to his notes. “I expect you at the conference.”

  It is as good as I’m going to get right now. We have a long road toward recovery of trust within our family, and there is much to be done to help ensure the Vasa legacy isn’t completely destroyed in the annals of Vattenguldian history. But right now, I am content enough to trust—or at least hope—sound advice is forthcoming, and to accept that maybe, just maybe, my parents and I can work through this and rebuild our family’s reputation together.

  chapter 61

  christian

  The tarmac in Vattenguldia is cold and slick, the sky dark. It’s been three chaotic months since I last saw Elsa in person.

  Her principality was in an uproar when Prince Gustav announced the misappropriations of taxpayer funds to the crown. To say things have been going well for them would be entirely dishonest, because calls for the abolition of the monarchy swiftly surfaced in a country typically proud of their heritage. While formal apologies have been offered, and promises for restitutions issued, Gustav never cowered or made excuses so many other sovereigns I know might have been tempted to fall back on, nor were scapegoats utilized. While I still believe what he tried to do to both of his daughters is abominable, I can’t help but feel a bit of newly developed admiration toward him, too.

  He owned up to his mistakes and is willing to pay the price to rectify the situation.

  Elsa stepped up alongside her father, working tirelessly with Parliament and the people to help resolve the situation. And I am bloody proud of her for doing so, because through it all, she has kept her cool and proved to Vattenguldia why, if they decide to keep the monarchy, they are in good hands for the future.

  When I returned to Aiboland after my trip to Paris, I discovered that Lukas wasn’t joking when he claimed the She-Wolf would lock me down. She and I raged together for days—weeks, even. I’d had it. Once I had word from my brother that all the money I requested be transferred into out-of-country accounts she could never touch, guaranteeing my father and brother financial solubility if push came to shove, I let the Grand Duchess of Aiboland know exactly what I think of her, her lifestyle, how she screwed up both her sons’ childhoods, and how she pretty much destroyed my father’s life. She threatened to remove me from the line of inheritance and I calmly dared her to.

  “If you think I give a flying fuck about what you think of me,” I told her one rainy afternoon, “be prepared for a lifetime of disappointment.” I picked up a newspaper from her desk, one whose headline screamed about the dwindling importance of monarchies in the world alongside Vattenguldia’s scandal. I threw it just off to the side of her. “I’m done being your Prince Perfect.”

  And then the first call from Gustav came in. And then many more subsequent calls over the following weeks, followed by further calls from his associates in the Monarch Council. I was—and still am—wary as all hell toward their intentions, but it is a start.

  So here I am, my heart in my throat as I make my way toward the waiting town car. Gustav’s personal secretary waits for me, the door already open. As I slide onto the rich, black leather seats, I receive a text from Charlotte, alongside a picture of Elsa holding Dickie. The lad’s mouth is open wide, his fists tight as he bellows silently from my screen. I can’t help but laugh at the look on Elsa’s face.

  “May I inquire as to how your flight was, Your Highness?” Bittner asks from the front seat.

  “Uneventful.” I send Charlotte a quick text in response, and then one to Parker who stayed behind in order to help Lukas deal with lingering affairs I’m bypassing. “And much shorter than it was to California back in April.”

  He chuckles politely, and we resume the rest of the drive in silence.

  Minutes later, a pink palace trimmed in white comes into view. It’s no Hearst Castle, but it’s charming in its own regard. The Vasas have ruled over this landmark for nearly four hundred years, and despite current tribulations, I have a sneaky suspicion their lineage will continue to do so for some time. Gustav and Sofia may not be winning any popularity polls, but Elsa sure is.

  Once we pull around the drive, I find Prince Gustav waiting by the side entrance. After I exit the car, the embattled prince clasps my shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Christian.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  He does not take offense that I declined to offer the same greeting in return. Instead, he says smoothly, “I t
rust that everything is in order?”

  I squelch the urge to laugh bitterly. But that’s not fair. I’m here, and that is what counts. “As much as it can be, sir.”

  Several staff members collect my luggage from the car.

  “The Grand Duchess can be difficult at times,” Prince Gustav says as we head into the palace. “I would like to say she’ll come around, but you and I both know the chances of that are not the kind we ought to be betting on.”

  And yet, I am at peace with that nowadays. “Change isn’t always the easiest,” I admit.

  But sometimes, it’s exactly what’s needed.

  “What’s that?” He motions to the box I hold within my hands.

  “A fulfillment of a promise I made your daughter,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t press further. “I had several calls with the Monarch Council this week,” he says. “I wish I could give either of you answers and solutions right now, but . . .”

  “But tradition wins out.”

  His smile is tight. “As you just said, change isn’t the easiest. In lives such as ours, tradition is often law. That said, many in the MC are not entirely unsympathetic with your plight. Discussions will be had, Christian. Beyond that, I cannot guarantee anything further, at least at this moment.” A hand claps my shoulder once more. “Except to assure you that Elsa has my support.” Distance crowds his eyes, as he no doubt reflects upon his piss poor choices over the last year when it comes to that daughter—or the other one his actions forced away.

  Change is definitely not the easiest.

  chapter 62

  Elsa

  When the smell of burned butter wafts out of the pan, I throw the wooden spoon across the length of the room. Despite Charlotte’s insistences, cooking is not a useful tool for relaxation.