Forbidden Prince

by Zoey Oliver

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I remember where it is.”

  “Very well, enjoy the rest of your evening.” He bows and retreats just as quickly as he arrived.

  “Well, hell,” I hiss to Emily.

  She gives me a wary look. “What do you think they want?”

  I throw my hands up. “Who knows. Maybe the Historical Council discovered another letter from that old bastard, and Sir Eldridge just can’t wait until morning to present a two-hour speech about it.”

  She purses her lips. “That sounds about right. Would you like me to go?”

  I glance at my tea cup, wishing I had something strong to spike it with so I could gulp it down quickly, an antidote to survive one of Sir Eldridge’s never-ending speeches. “No, no. I know you’re tired — go have some rest.”

  Emily squinches her mouth sideways. “Thanks. I am ready for some peace and quiet, so I’ll go back to the suite if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. I’ll be there as soon as I’m done with this nonsense.”

  “Oh?” She looks at me in surprise. “No hot date with Henry tonight?”

  I smile and lean close to Emily. “He said he would come by when he’s done with his festival duties for the evening.”

  “Ah, good,” she says, grinning happily. “I’ll keep the door to my side of the suite shut tight then. And wear the earplugs. You two get rather frisky, don’t you?” she whispers.

  “What!” My cheeks flush instantly. I’m mortified at the idea that anyone has overheard us, and doubly embarrassed that we might have interrupted Emily’s sleep.

  Emily bursts into laughter at my horrified expression. “It’s okay, Abi! I wish I had someone worth making a racket with.”

  I jab an elbow into her side. “You’re terrible! Maybe I’ll just smother you with a pillow when I get to the room, and then you won’t have to worry about any noise, hmm?”

  She wipes tears away from her eyes, still giggling. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, but that face! Oh my God, you are so modest sometimes, it just kills me.”

  I fight back a laugh and give her a deadpan look. “I’m leaving now. And when I’m done with this meeting, I’m going to find a very immodestly large, heavy pillow.”

  I clear my throat. “Gentleman.”

  Sir Eldridge and Mr. Kingston glance up from their conversation. They’ve had their heads bowed together whispering furiously for several minutes.

  “Can we keep this brief? I have company waiting for me.”

  I’m seated in a wingback chair in the small library on the second floor, which houses an impressive collection of first editions and rare books dating back to the sixteenth century. There’s a small fireplace to my right and a marble coffee table between myself and the advisors. After greeting me they took their seats opposite me and resumed a private conversation amongst themselves, the length of which is now boarding on downright rude.

  “Yes, of course, sorry my Lady,” Mr. Kingston says, settling back into his chair, and Sir Eldridge does the same.

  “What is this about?” I ask.

  Mr. Kingston glances at Sir Eldridge, and an unspoken exchange takes place. The senior advisor nods agreeably and turns to look at me as Mr. Kingston leans forward, elbows on his knees.

  “I’m just going to lay this out straight, if you don’t mind, Lady Strathmore,” Mr. Kingston says.

  “Please do,” I implore. “Just cut to the chase and tell me what needs said so we can all get on with our evening.”

  “As you wish.” He clasps his hands together loudly. “The situation is as such — we have recently discovered two important pieces of information, and we’d like to share our thoughts about these things with you.”

  “Certainly,” I nod. “Please proceed.”

  “Now, it would behoove us to warn you that the first matter is of a personal nature, so I hope you’ll permit us to speak frankly, since there’s no delicate way to approach this.”

  My stomach clenches a bit, but I grip the armrests of the chair and straighten my back. “Okay. Go on.”

  “It’s come to our attention that you are involved with His Royal Highness, Prince Henry.”

  My mouth drops open, and my heart freezes in my chest.

  Sir Eldridge holds up a hand. “It’s okay, my Lady.”

  The hell it is. I stare at the two advisors in panic.

  “What’s discussed here will go no further than this room,” the senior advisor says. “We have not shared this bit of information with your parents, and we have no intention to.”

  I swallow hard and take a deep breath, struggling to regain my composure. “What does Prince Henry have to do with anything? And how would it be any of your business, even if it were true?”

  They exchange a glance again, and I take another deep breath to hold back the barrage of profanity I’d like to yell right now. What the hell are you looking at each other for? Just say it, dammit!

  Mr. Kingston speaks. “It’s an unfortunate situation, and normally we would have no cause whatsoever to get involved with your, um, romantic, uh, activities, but we are in the middle of quite an unusual situation here, aren’t we? We are sworn to look out for the best interests of your family and the estate as a whole. Any involvement with His Grace puts things in jeopardy, as you can surely understand.”

  I give them both a long stare. “How so?”

  They shift uncomfortably and glance at one another again. An almost imperceptible nod of agreement passes between them.

  “The chastity clause of the agreement, my Lady,” Sir Eldridge says, turning back to me. “You cannot afford to tempt fate, as it were. It would be a terribly unfortunate turn of events to arrive at your wedding day, with all of this sordid mess nearly behind you, only to be found in breach of the agreement because you are no longer a maiden, so to speak.”

  I snort loudly, not caring if it’s impolite and unladylike of me. They think my worries will be over once I’m married off? It might bring security and stability to my family, but my troubles will just be beginning. I’m the one who will have to live with a man I don’t love and watch my dreams evaporate before my eyes.

  “I am well aware that I must remain a virgin,” I say slowly and as firmly as I can muster without yelling. “I am not a helpless dimwit with no self-control.”

  “Of course, of course,” Sir Eldridge says, lowering his voice in an obvious attempt to be soothing, but it just comes off as patronizing to my ears. “But be that as it may, there is another concern.”

  “Which is?” I’m on the verge of standing up and walking out of this ridiculous meeting.

  “Prince Henry is, well, he’s a very powerful man with nearly unlimited wealth, and yes, he’s from an illustrious family,” Sir Eldridge says. “But, regrettably, he has a rather notorious wild streak. And he’s had a lot of, um, bad press surrounding him.

  “He’s not to be trusted, unfortunately, my Lady,” Mr. Kingston adds.

  “Again, I am not a naïve imbecile.” The words leave me like steel darts aimed at their heads. “I know of his reputation. I’ve read the papers, I’ve heard the stories. How is any of it relevant to the agreement?”

  “If anyone else discovers this tryst is taking place between the two of you, it will throw quite a bad light on you, my Lady, however unfair that might be. And it’s likely to cause some, if not all, the suitors to withdraw from consideration.”

  I sigh. “Really? This is what you brought me here for? To admonish me for having the first bit of fun I’ve had in years?”

  “That wasn’t our intention. We simply—”

  “Well, that’s what’s happened, isn’t it?” I lean forward, at the end of my patience. “Gentleman, I’m a grown woman. If I’m capable enough to decide to take on the challenge of meeting this agreement’s demands — which will upend my entire life, I might add — then I am also most certainly capable of deciding how I spend my free time and who I spend it with.”

  Fury is rising in
my chest. How dare they scold me!

  “And I’m definitely entitled to enjoy myself,” I continue, the indignation pouring out me like hot steam, “while I still can, in whichever ways I deem appropriate, regardless of whether either of you or anyone else approves of my choice of company.”

  The advisors grow silent and look at me for a long moment, then at each other. Sir Eldridge sighs heavily and gestures at the coffee table. Mr. Kingston picks up a folder from the marble table and stands up, reaching it out to me.

  I stare at him coolly as I take the folder.

  “We were hoping not to have to show you this,” Sir Eldridge says, his voice distressed. “But, if you are not planning to dissolve your relationship with the Prince, then you need to know this.”

  My hands are trembling as I open the folder, partly from anger and partly from the apprehensive expressions of the advisors, as if they’ve handed me a live rattlesnake. Inside the folder is a small stack of photographs. The top picture is of Henry and a woman I don’t recognize, sitting on an elegant couch together, his hand on her leg, her arm wrapped around his. Her wavy red hair is spilling across his shoulder, and they’re laughing at something off camera.

  “What is this?” I look up at the advisors.

  Mr. Kingston clears his throat and shifts awkwardly in his chair, crossing and then uncrossing his legs. “Pictures of the Prince and the company he’s been keeping lately, my Lady,” he finally says.

  I slide the top picture off the pile and look at the next one. Henry and a pretty blonde woman, kissing. The palace stables are visible in the background.

  I shake my head. “Current company? No, you’re wrong. These must be old pictures.”

  “I’m so sorry, my Lady,” Sir Eldridge says, looking at me with sorrow, “but they are not. When we learned of your interest in His Grace, Mr. Kingston had one of the investigators follow him, from a distance and very discreetly, of course. We didn’t want to alert his security staff to our surveillance.”

  I pull a third picture out of the stack. Henry and the same blonde woman, this time in front of a window. I recognize the fancy arch of the window, and the unusual angle of the stone façade — the West Wing of the palace, occupied almost entirely by the Prince’s private residence. The woman is half undressed, and Henrys hands are on her waist. I notice a small, bright red splash of color in the very corner of the photograph, something on the outer wall of the palace.

  “This can’t be,” I say, but my stomach is twisting into knots, and my heart is slowly sinking into a dark abyss.

  “Again, we’re so sorry to have to share this with you, but it’s our belief that His Highness is simply looking to collect, um… well, to be the first to claim the prize, so to speak.”

  “What?” I look up, confused.

  “There are certain men who, um, collect that sort of thing. They like to be the first through the gate, if you see what I mean.”

  “It’s — it’s not like that,” I stutter, my mind running through all the times I’ve silently prayed for him to take me. He’s had ample opportunity to push me into something, but he hasn’t.

  “Perhaps not yet. He might be trying to charm you, to coax you into letting him have his way with you. But of course, that would spoil everything you’ve worked towards so far with this situation.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that, so I just lower my eyes back to the folder. I skim through the remaining pictures. I don’t want to believe it. But the evidence is undeniable. There he is in living color, caught on camera with no less than four different women, looking just like the Henry waiting for me upstairs — short, tousled hairstyle, fresh, clean-shaven face. Not the Henry from the photos and videos that have been splashed all over the news, with his formerly chin-length wavy locks and the shadow of three-day stubble across his face.

  I rifle through the pictures again until I find the one with the stables. I stare at the background. Yellow, red, and orange — autumn leaves are on the ground in the photo. Just like they are outside, right now. I shuffle through the images until I find the one of his window, obviously taken with a telephoto lens from a far distance. That red splash of color — it’s one of the Grand Harvest Festival flags adorning the exterior of the palace, flapping gently in the breeze outside as I sit here.

  My whole body shudders with pain, and I snap the folder shut as tears well in my eyes. I toss it on the marble table with revulsion.

  “Is that all? Are we finished here?” I ask quietly, blinking quickly to overcome the sting of tears biting at my eyes.

  “There is one more matter.”

  “Talk fast, please.” I rest my forehead in my hands and avoid their gaze. I am such an idiot. I am just as naïve as they think I am. I can’t believe I let myself get swept away with Henry. And somehow convinced myself I was special, that I was different than all the women before me. That he’d really turned over a new leaf. The thoughts are running through my head so fast, so painfully loud and angry, that I miss what Sir Eldridge says. I only catch Finley’s name.

  I look up at them, my eyes surely red and watery, my nose puffy from sniffling, but I no longer care. They know who I am. They know me better than I know myself. Why hide it? They’ve known for weeks I’m a gullible idiot, fueled by my reckless hormones and silly, juvenile romantic notions.

  “What did you say?” I ask sluggishly, a bone-weary tiredness settling across me. I’m tired of it all — of them, of this whole situation, of this palace, of everything.

  The advisors look at each other again, perhaps out of horror at me dissolving into a mess before their eyes, ugly crying right here in the middle of this library, or perhaps at surprise over my reaction to this news, heartbreak over a man who goes through women like children go through a bag of candy.

  “Oh, for God’s sake — stop looking at each other and just tell me!” I shout, all my manners gone, all my patience evaporated.

  I just want to get out of this room, as soon as possible. It’s getting smaller and more cramped the longer I sit here, the walls closing in, just squeezing the shame and embarrassment and heartache out of every pore in my body.

  Sir Eldridge clears his throat. “I said, Mr. Crofts with the Historical Council has finally identified the current representative of Master Goutley’s agreement, just this evening in fact. It’s Finley Prescott.”

  My mouth falls open. “What?”

  “Mr. Prescott. You know who we’re speaking of, right? The gentleman on your list of suitors?”

  I nod, blinking slowly, feeling as if I’ve stepped into a Salvador Dali painting and time is unwinding on itself, reality slanting so far sideways I can barely keep myself upright. “Yes.”

  “It’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” Mr. Kingston says, scooting to the edge of his seat. “I mean, what a fortunate turn of events.”

  I stare blankly at the advisors. Mr. Kingston’s words are jumbling together in my head. “I’m sorry, what does that mean?”

  “Well, it makes things just very simple, doesn’t it?” he says, grinning broadly. “Finley Prescott is one of your suitors, and as it turns out, he’s also the heir to this agreement. This is a lovely solution to your situation.”

  I breathe shallowly, a dullness setting in. Their voices are strangely muted and the colors of the room, even the flames dancing in the fireplace, are less vivid than I remember when I first came in.

  I look at Mr. Kingston for a long while. His face is distorted, and his grin looks like a cartoon drawing someone slapped over his real mouth. I realize I missed what he said. “What is the solution?”

  “This makes your choice easy. You won’t need to continue the courtship period any longer. You can announce your engagement, and we can get straight on with the wedding plans.”

  “It does make the most sense, my Lady,” Sir Eldridge adds. “What Mr. Kingston hasn’t mentioned is the downside of this news.”

  “Which is?” I’m not sure if they’re being confusingly vague or if my bra
in has simply stopped working under the weight of despair I’m feeling, but very little is making sense to me right now.

  “The possible complications it could cause were you to choose otherwise, my Lady,” the senior advisor explains. “Such as how disagreeable Finley might become if he’s rejected as a suitor.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not saying he would, but there’s always the chance he could somehow delay verification that you’ve upheld the agreement, or he could challenge it in the court just to drag things out. So, the most sensible things, from all angles, is to simply choose Mr. Prescott.”

  “I see,” I say flatly.

  Sir Eldridge’s excitement seems to be rising. “The upside of this arrangement would not matter if your children default on the contract.”

  A silent shudder runs through me. My children. My children with Finley Prescott. Acid turns in my stomach.

  “Since if there is a default, you see,” he continues, “everything — the estate, the title, any assets — it would stay in the family, it would just technically belong to your husband instead of yourself.”

  “And my parents and Spencer?” I ask coldly.

  Sir Eldridge’s smile falters. “Well, my Lady, we’ve made inquiries, and—”

  A jolt runs through me. “You’ve what?”

  “—and Mr. Prescott would be quite happy to take the Strathmore name. He’ll be good as a second son. Especially if Spencer never settles down.”

  The fight goes out of me. I lay my forehead in the palm of one hand. Of course, he would take my family name. Insta-nobility — and everything that goes with it.

  “Have you enjoyed getting to know him so far?” Mr. Kingston asks cautiously.

  I shrug quietly. I don’t know how I feel about anything right now. And given how overly trusting I’ve been of Henry, I clearly shouldn’t trust my judgment, anyway.

  He tries a different approach. “Are there any other suitors that you like better?”

  I shake my head with a deflated sigh. I don’t like any of them, not really. Henry stole my heart that very first night, when he swept me into his arms on the dance floor and then surprised me with his talents on the balcony. Truth be told, he’s had my heart since I was that gangly teenager with frizzy hair and a stick figure for a body. And he’s the reason I dated so infrequently in college — I inevitably compared every man I met to Henry, and found them all lacking.