The Wrong Prince

by C. K. Brooke

  She was hugged and coddled, prodded and scolded, and Cook even cried for joy. Lucie embraced the old woman, who had nourished her since the day she outgrew a wet nurse. Yet, she wished they would stop treating her like a child. She was twenty summers old. If only they knew the woman she was…and had been, for a time.

  Her father was out riding, she was told, but a messenger was dispatched to alert him of his daughter’s return. With the promise of a merry reunion, the maids herded Lucie up to her quarters for a much-needed bath. She had no strength to argue, but conformed to their will, begging her tired legs to rise with each step. They led her to the vanity, where they rolled up her sleeves and began massaging balm into her chapped hands as the others drew her bath.

  “Don’t know what you was thinking, venturin’ out on an exploit like that,” chided Anabel, although she swatted a tear from her eye. “Had us all pinched up in knots, worryin’ after ye.”

  Another maid, Moira, embraced her a second time. “We’re so happy you’re safe. It was utterly foolish, what you did.” She lifted the silver brush from the table, and raked it through Lucie’s hair. “But very brave.” She smiled.

  “Aye, you must love the prince,” crowed Susan.

  Lucie bowed her head, watching the iron manacle still fastened around her wrist. In her weariness, she was inundated with memories of Geo dancing with her at the inn, teaching her to swim in the cavern’s placid pools, kissing her with the plentitude of his affection when they sat bound in the dungeon, believing themselves condemned to their last hours.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I do love the prince.”

  BELLS COULD BE HEARD FROM the manor and all throughout the surrounding villages, drifting above the peaked rooftops and chapel steeples. The late summer heat settled into the atmosphere, promising another sweltering morning for the royal wedding. In spite of the day’s pending event, Backshore seemed remarkably quiet, an anticipatory hush settling among the servants as they prepared the bride for the ceremony during the last moments she would call the manor home.

  Lucie had not returned to the Straussens’ castle since the evening she’d arrived from Llewes, and had not seen or heard from the princes, either. Since her excursion, she’d been closely monitored—although on more than one occasion, she’d gone to the pavilion to check whether Geo might have left her a note. It was how they had always communicated in the past. But the moons had come and gone with no word from him. Lucie had hoped something might have changed. But then, why would it?

  It was time to accept the course of her future. By the close of the morning, she was to exchange vows with Dmitri Straussen, and forever hold her peace. She had considered everything from running away to refusing, but would not disgrace her father and the royal family. Neither would she endanger Geo. She was a woman grown, and childish behavior was behind her. Life demanded maturity and sacrifice. Lucie would not cower, but meet her fate with grace. She had no other option.

  Resigned, she stood tall before the gold-rimmed mirror in her dressing room as the seamstress made final adjustments to the bridal gown, and her maids carefully clipped a veil into her hair. She stared emptily into the reflection of the stoic bride swathed in pale pink tulle, a chiffon mantilla ornamenting her long hair.

  “You look radiant,” whispered the seamstress, stepping back to examine her handiwork. “I can tell you’re nervous, but you worry needlessly. You will make a fine princess.”

  Lucie nodded, but could not bring herself to smile.

  Her father and grandmother had already departed. The guests were convening at the wedding site, which would take place outdoors, where the Reveal Banquet had been. Lucie climbed into the carriage with her ladies-in-waiting, careful not to crease or else rumple the fine fabric she wore, and rode to the castle in silence.

  She watched the lake drift past, and blotted her damp palms on her gown. It was bad enough exchanging vows with a man she didn’t love, but she hadn’t even permitted her mind to wander to the details of the wedding night—until then. Her heart rattled fretfully as she wondered if she would really be required to share her new husband’s bed. Perhaps she could manufacture some excuse to avoid it? Still, she would have to succumb, eventually…and when she did, would he realize her virginity was not intact? How would she explain then?

  “Breathe easy.” The maid beside her patted her arm. “‘Tis common that a bride should be anxious before her wedding. But you’ve nothing to fear. Everything will go perfectly as planned.”

  That’s exactly the problem, thought Lucie. She massaged the empty space at her left wrist. A locksmith had since visited Backshore to release her from the iron manacle she’d worn home from Wintersea. Very soon, the same wrist would be wrapped in another binding chain—a nuptial bracelet, branding her as wife of the Crown Prince, and as such, forever forbidden from his brother. Lucie nearly preferred the manacle.

  They arrived through an exclusive entrance, where she would remain hidden from the wedding party until summoned for the ceremony. In a small, clean room overlooking the gardens and lawn packed with gathering guests, Lucie waited, growing nauseated. Despite the number of times the maids asked her to sit, she only paced before the open windows, rubbing the moisture from her hands.

  Finally, at the turn of the next hour, a duo of knights arrived to escort her down. Lucie took their elbows. She watched her shoes as they descended a short succession of stairs and stepped out onto the grass, where violins whined and the guests fell into a pregnant hush, but for a few whispers and sighs of delight to spot the anticipated bride.

  The knights bowed, and Lucie was left alone to approach her groom. He stood before the onlookers beside an officiating priest, with a painfully familiar figure stationed behind him. Off to the side stood the king and queen, with Lucie’s father.

  Freshly shed flower petals lay in her path as she treaded them reluctantly to reach her destination. Among the staring crowd, Lucie recognized her mother’s relations, and even the dark faces of her father’s cousins, who had sailed all the way from Heppestoni to attend the event. Although she dreaded the moments to come and the vows she would be required to repeat to Dmitri—in the presence of Geo, no less—at least she wasn’t alone. Her family was present to support her.

  She spotted her grandmother seated in front. The old woman flashed her a watery smile, and Lucie finally grinned back, slowing before the Crown Prince. Mustering her courage, she raised her chin to look at him. The first emotion to strike her was a frivolous sense of amused relief; he wasn’t wearing those hideous spectacles! She absorbed his features without them. He didn’t much resemble his brother, but wasn’t bad-looking. Regardless, she was doomed to marry a stranger.

  She didn’t look at Geo—she couldn’t. Lucie felt the weight of his presence behind the groom, and wondered if he was watching her. There was no way she could bear his face. She returned her gaze to her delicate shoes and suppressed a panicked urge to beg Geo to say something, anything, to step forth and cause a scene, overturning the whole ceremony. Alas, how selfish of her to entertain such a cruel fantasy.

  The priest began with a traditional blessing, and the audience circled their brows in a gesture of holiness. The holy man then commanded Lucie and Dmitri to join hands and cross their wrists. Lucie had barely grazed the Crown Prince’s trembling fingers when a breathless voice ejected: “Wait—I object!”

  Lucie’s head shot up, pulse thumping in amazement. The voice had not belonged to Geo. And neither was it male.

  STUPID, STUPID, STUPID, PAVOLA WARD had chided herself, stomping all the way across the foreign castle grounds, and at last, onto the decorated lawn, where the lavish ceremony was taking place. She should’ve been disgusted by her desperation, appalled at her own audacity. As it was, she only hoped she wasn’t too late. She had already long since abandoned all reason, and had made it this far.

  Her eyes flew down the length of the festooned aisle to th
e betrothed couple. The sight of their entwined hands stirred indignation within her. Had the priest declared them one already?

  At the sound of her protest, heads turned. A crew of knights immediately encircled her before she’d even the chance to reach the assemblage. She had no choice but to halt in place, although she was bursting to catapult herself from their obstruction and hurl herself upon the groom at the head of the crowd.

  People began to murmur. But a familiar voice rose above them—a voice that had haunted her for moons. Regardless of the hot sun, Pavi shivered as Dmitri Straussen issued an order to his men, “Stand down! Please, let her speak.”

  The knights stepped away, leaving Pavola and the Crown Prince of Tybiria gazing at one another down the long aisle. Her heart positively flung to her throat as she lifted each foot in a determined march forward. She barely noticed the figure draped in pale pink beside him, or the severe, confused stares of the Tybirian king and queen.

  She rested her eyes upon the officiator, an austere-looking priest garbed in robes of black. “I am the King of Llewes’s legal ward,” she proclaimed. “And under the Mid-Ages Halvean Laws of Conquest, Chapter Twelve, Section B, any wards or concubines of a king defeated become property of him who conquered. So, you see,” she appealed, “I belong to Prince Dmitri before this woman does.”

  Her defense was rubbish, she knew. A joke; she was grasping at straws. But she had to say something. After what had transpired between her and Mit during his time at Wintersea, and all of the promises and plans they had made together, she couldn’t allow him to marry another without first uncovering the truth for herself. Had Mit been authentic, after all? Could he possibly have loved her?

  Chatter arose among the guests. Pavi noticed that the bride appeared politely stunned. She was sorry for interrupting the woman’s day—Luccia had been kind enough to her. It wasn’t personal; but Pavi simply could no longer endure the torment of another second yearning after Mit, and wondering what might have happened, had she only possessed the nerve to do exactly what she stood there doing.

  The priest cleared his throat. “Young lady, it is no longer the Mid-Ages. Furthermore, a ward is an entirely separate entity from a spouse. You are no more eligible to be the Crown Prince’s bride than the king’s dog is to be his queen. Pardon the analogy, Your Majesty,” he apologized to the queen.

  The King of Tybiria lifted a hand. “Guards,” he barked. “Escort this young woman from the premises, and see that she does not return.”

  “No,” cried Mit, lunging forward. “You will not send her away!”

  Pavi’s pulse skipped as his father gave him an outraged look. “And why the devil not?” demanded the king.

  “Because I belong to her.” At the Crown Prince’s declaration, the audience at large drew a breath. Dmitri’s sapphire eyes connected with Pavi’s, and she trembled, her heart melting to a puddle in her chest. “My heart, my spirit, mind and being,” he professed softly, “are hers.”

  “Dmitri!” The queen broke from her husband’s arm. “Who is this girl? What is going on?”

  “Get back here, Emaxandra,” muttered the king to his wife. He turned to the priest. “Continue the ceremony.”

  With uncertainty, the old man opened his mouth to issue his next line. But no one heard the words, for the other prince, Dmitri’s brother, jerked forth. “I object, as well.”

  “So do I,” announced the bride, much to Pavi’s surprise, raising a bare, golden arm over her veiled head.

  GEO IGNORED THE GASPING ATTENDANTS and disregarded his mother’s stupefied gape. He addressed only his father. “I cannot stand by,” he declared heavily, “and watch my brother wed a woman he does not love.” He took Lucie’s hand in his own. “The woman I love.”

  The bride looked up at him, astonishment wrought across her beautiful face.

  His father had clearly heard enough. “Pause the ceremony,” he growled, gripping Geo by the shoulder. “Dmitri,” he beckoned his eldest. “You too, Miss Camerlane,” he added. To Geo’s surprise, he also commanded Lucie’s father and elderly grandmother to accompany him and the queen to an adjacent courtyard. At the king’s behest, they vacated their positions, leaving the guests outright gabbing in their wake.

  Once in privacy, King Marco rounded on the youths, looking painfully perplexed. “All right, now. Just what in hell is going on? Have you any idea the sacrifices we’ve made, the strings we had to pull to allow you two to be together?” He pointed between Dmitri and Lucie.

  Dmitri looked bewildered. “But, Father…. Why?”

  Geo was wondering the same as Lucie’s father, the Baron of Backshore, examined his daughter. “Lucie, weren’t you and the prince…involved?”

  “We orchestrated this entire arrangement,” supplied the queen, exasperated, “because the servants had been gossiping for moons about an affair between the prince and the baron’s daughter! Surely, there were higher-ranking ladies, even foreign princesses, to choose from.” She frowned. “But we forewent all of them so that the pair of you could save face, avoid scandal, and have a chance to be happy together!”

  Geo groaned in disbelief, and dropped his brow into his hands. Where could he even begin?

  Before he could say a word, Dmitri exploded in indignation. “What are you people talking about?” he cried. “I’d never seen this woman before in my life, until the evening you decided I would marry her! You believe the absurd rumors a few batty servants toss around?”

  Geo glanced at him. “Dmitri.”

  “What do you fancy me? Some philanderer, sneaking about, seducing unwed maidens in my spare time? What sort of womanizing, pleasure-seeking worm d’you reckon—?”

  “Dmitri.” Geo stood on his brother’s foot, and the man, though heated, relented.

  Lucie emitted a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I’m afraid there’s been a dire misunderstanding.”

  “You mean to say,” the baron scrutinized her, “you weren’t having an affair with the prince?”

  “Nay, it’s true; I was having an affair.” Her voice cracked with the gravity of the confession. “But not with Prince Dmitri! You had the wrong prince. It’s Georome I love.”

  Geo’s parents turned to one another, their faces faltering.

  Lucie’s grandmother narrowed her milky eyes at the baron. “I told you, Winston, you fool.”

  The baron was startled. “How would you know anything?”

  “Lucie would never go for a mild fellow like the Crown Prince,” the old woman snapped. “No disrespect, Your Highness,” she added, bobbing her head at Dmitri. Her eyes gleamed mischievously at her granddaughter. “If she’s anything like her mother was, she likes them dark and dangerous.”

  At that moment, footfalls interrupted them. The group looked up to see the priest encroaching upon their intervention. “Your Majesty,” he spoke under his voice, sounding apprehensive, “I’m terribly sorry, but the guests are waiting, and some are growing rather unruly.”

  The king appeared on the verge of collapse.

  “Father, look,” Geo petitioned him. “Lucie’s and our families are all present this morning, and we’ve everything prepared for a wedding. We shouldn’t waste it. Why not marry me to Lucie instead?”

  His mother shook her head. “But this is supposed to be Dmitri’s wedding!”

  “I am one hundred percent in support of his proposal,” said Dmitri. “If, of course, Miss Camerlane approves.”

  “I approve,” the woman volunteered at once.

  The old priest stared at the king. “Sire, the guests….”

  Geo’s father twitched. “Damn it all!” he bellowed, turning his back on his sons. “What a disaster.” He removed his coronet to wipe the perspiration from his bald crown, and replaced it with a tremendous sigh. “And yet…perhaps Georome is right. We have promised Tybiria a royal wedding, and a royal wedding they shall have. Lor
d Camerlane, what say you?”

  The baron stroked Lucie’s veil. “My daughter has always had my blessing to love whom she will. I am only sorry I wasn’t forthright with her about that, much sooner.”

  “Father.” Lucie’s eyes shone as she stepped into his embrace. He patted her on the back before releasing her. Overjoyed, she then clung to Geo’s side.

  “Right.” The king adjusted his cape. “Then I sanction the change.”

  Geo’s heart soared.

  “YOUR HIGHNESS—MIT!”

  “Pavola,” Dmitri breathed, emerging from the courtyard with his and Luccia’s families. The girl did not hesitate, but flew into his arms. Dmitri squeezed her. How he’d missed her! In turn, she held him with remarkable force, refusing to let go. He prayed she never would.

  “I made it all the way up the boarding ramp on a ship to Häffstrom when I realized I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.” She pulled back far enough to gaze into his eyes. “I love you, Dmitri Straussen. Books aren’t enough. I would rather spend the rest of my days memorizing your face, your voice, than any old theorem.”

  The man brought his mouth over hers, not caring that the priest and his parents passed by at that moment. The most precious thing in all the world was in his arms, and he didn’t mind who saw.

  She suddenly relinquished him. “Oh! And I finished your novel—it was brilliant! Over all the odds, they triumphed! And Aquila was reunited with his wife, and Gustave got to marry the woman he loved…!”

  “Pavi.” Dmitri laughed, tracing a finger down her cheek. Was it really her, there with him in Tybiria? He felt her skin, even warmer and softer than he recalled. She was more real than she’d ever been, outside of the gloomy tower, freely before him to touch and embrace, with strands of auburn in her hair he’d never noticed before, bright beneath the morning sunlight. “I’m so glad you liked it. Yours is the only opinion that counts.”