by Zoey Oliver
“Then that’s settled,” Mr. Kingston says with an enthusiastic nod. “Finley is an excellent choice. Don’t you agree?”
I look down and stare at a spot on the rug, a piece of white fuzz dotting the otherwise impeccably clean oriental pattern. “Sure.”
“You should tell Mr. Prescott as soon as possible, then. We can arrange for a meeting this evening, if you’d like.” Sir Eldridge suggests.
“Okay.” I don’t recognize my own voice.
“And then you should announce the engagement later this week,” he continues, “to give as much time as possible to get the wedding planned — it should be fitting to your station, you see — and then get the paperwork and all the affairs in order.”
“Okay.”
Concern finally shines through in Sir Eldridge’s further promptings. “I know it comes as a bit of a shock, this news, but it’s a very good turn of events. The best outcome one could hope for, really.”
“You’ll have to pardon my lack of excitement. I’m not feeling very well right now.”
“Oh, of course,” Sir Eldridge says. He peers at me. “Do you need us to summon anyone? Or get you anything?”
“No. I just need to lie down. Please excuse me.”
I wobble a bit as I stand up before finding my bearings. I leave as quickly as I can without waiting for their reply. I make it out to the hallway without collapsing, but my knees keep threatening to buckle, and my whole body feels like it weighs several tons, and the air is thick, like I’m swimming through water.
I push myself to keep going. I just need to make it to my room. Then I can crawl under the covers and die. I don’t know what will kill me first — my broken heart, bleeding openly in my chest over the evidence against Henry, the depressing news that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with Finley, or the fact that my confidence is completely shattered, as if an earthquake has ripped through me.
Either way, I know I’m done for.
Chapter Eighteen
HENRY
When I reach the top of the steps, Stephen, the royal guard accompanying me, checks around the corner and radios to another security staff member positioned at the other end of the North Wing. “All clear, sir.”
“Thank you, Stephen, that will be all,” I say and proceed to Abi’s suite as he disappears back down the stairs.
Abi’s suite is the first door, set back at an angle due to the Victorian design of the North Wing, which was added to the palace about 140 years ago, when the style was reaching its height of popularity across the world.
I knock quietly and bounce on the balls of my feet as I wait. Three days I’ve been without Abi, except for quick exchanges and brief, stolen kisses between my trips. It hasn’t been the same, sleeping alone in my bed without her warmth and softness for company. I need her in my arms tonight. I need to rock her body with pleasure and hear her sweet voice cry out in ecstasy, and then watch her fall asleep beside me, so beautiful.
The door opens a crack, and someone peeks out — Emily? — and then closes again quickly. A moment later, the door swings open and Spencer steps out, with Emily right behind him, who pulls the door shut behind her.
I look warily at Spencer, wondering how to play this, how to explain why I’m at his little sister’s door. Should I just invent a lie? Say I was looking for him?
Spencer crosses his arms. “You shouldn’t be here, Henry.”
“I, uh—”
“Save it. I know what’s been going on. I just heard the whole god-awful story. But it’s over.”
I cock my head. I hadn’t planned to go to lock horns with Spencer over this, and I don’t know how he found out, but the moment is here, and I’m not backing down. “I don’t think that’s your call to make.”
He nods, arms still crossed. “You’re right, it’s not. It’s hers,” he says, jerking a thumb toward the door. “And she made it.”
I look at Emily, who is staring at me with a stony expression. “What’s going on here?”
She looks away, her face drawn tight. “He’s right, Your Highness. Abi said she doesn’t want to see you anymore.”
“Bullshit. I don’t know what you two are trying to pull, but if Abigail doesn’t want to see me, she can tell me herself.” I move toward the door, but Emily steps in front of me, stretching her arm across the doorway.
“Don’t,” she pleads. “You’ve done enough. Leave her be.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
She gives me an icy stare. “You know exactly what it means.”
“No, I really don’t.”
Spencer puts his hand on my shoulder. “You need to go.”
I knock his hand off me. “I’m not going anywhere without talking to Abigail.”
“What part of this don’t you understand? Look, have your fun, okay? Just not with my goddamn sister.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Do you think I’m fucking stupid? What, did you sprout feelings all of a sudden? I don’t fucking buy it. I know you. I know how you operate, because I do the same damn thing — but I don’t fuck with your family, Henry.”
“I’m not playing games with her, I swear.”
Spencer rubs his face and sighs. When he looks back at me, his eyes are full of fury. “Don’t you get it? She’s getting married, Henry. Married. So, whatever this is, whether you started it, or she did, it was a game — a stupid, reckless game. And now, Abigail’s a fucking mess over it, thanks to you.”
“What? What did I do?”
Spencer laughs bitterly. “You were just being you, Henry. That’s all. I just never thought you’d stoop this low, though, to go after my own sister.”
“I need to talk to Abi,” I insist, my hands clenching into fists. “I don’t know what the fuck happened, but if I can just talk to her, I’m sure it can be sorted out.”
Emily shakes her head firmly. “No. I’m sorry, Your Grace, but she gave me explicit instructions to not let you in.”
“I don’t believe that.” I cross my arms and plant my feet. I’m not going anywhere until Abi tells me herself.
“Your Highness, look at me, please,” Emily implores, her voice strained.
I shift my gaze to her. She looks utterly distraught, and a sinking feeling creeps over me.
She takes a deep breath, exhaling dejectedly. “I’m telling you the truth. And I need you to hear this, for her sake, okay? Abi doesn’t want to see you — not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”
I stagger backward, my heart beating erratically in my chest. The look in Emily’s eyes — the deep well of anger and sadness, it’s genuine. Something has happened to Abigail, something terrible… and it’s somehow ruined everything.
I lean against the wall, feeling dizzy. “I don’t understand…”
“Please, Sir. If you actually care about her at all, just… just leave her alone. That’s the best thing you can do for her.”
“Come on,” Spencer says. “Let’s go.”
He clears his throat, but I don’t move. Instead, I stare at Abi’s door, willing her to open it, to pop out and yell, “Gotcha!”
I say a silent prayer. A plea for this to turn out to be a horrible joke. But the door doesn’t open, and Emily’s sniffling quietly now, sagging against the frame of the door as she looks at me with a mixture of disgust and pity.
“Fine,” I say quietly, resigned. “I’ll go.”
Spencer trails me back around the corner, his eyes trained on me intently as I press the door to the elevator. No point in sneaking about on the stairs anymore. As the elevator lights tick through the numbers to Abi’s floor, I pull my phone out and type a quick message to Pierre:
‘No detail needed the rest of the evening.’
I turn back to look at Spencer. His hard gaze softens a bit as we stare at each other.
“I hate that it came to this, Henry.”
“Me, too.” I lower my eyes to the floor, truly ashamed for perhaps the first time in my life, and this time I’m
not even sure what I’ve done, but I know it’s my fault. I’ve wrecked too many things. Karma has finally caught up with me, and hurt Abigail in the process.
“Can I ask you something, as an old friend? Why Abigail? Why mess with her, out of all the women falling at your feet? Was it just for bragging rights?” he asks. “Or to piss me off?”
I shake my head. “No.”
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. I stand still a moment longer, thinking about Spencer’s question.
“Then what? Just tell me the goddamn truth, Henry. You owe me that much.”
“She’s the one,” I say quietly.
“What?”
I step into the elevator. Spencer is still staring. “Are you fucking with me?”
I exhale, the air leaving my body like a deflating balloon. “I didn’t realize it at first, but I know now.”
Spencer steps forward, his head cocked at me suspiciously. I stare back, my expression flat. A heavy weight is plummeting through me, pulling on every muscle in my body like a tide of gravity flooding in.
The doors slide shut, blocking out Spencer’s questioning expression, and the elevator descends, leaving me completely alone with the maddening, raw emotions welling up in my gut.
I’m sitting on a bench under an ancient, sprawling oak tree at the edge of the East Lawn. The palace is mostly dark now and the grounds are quiet. I’ve brought along a bottle of brandy, grabbed it without thinking from the counter in the chef’s kitchen as I stumbled through the rear of the palace, desperate to get out of the building, desperate for fresh air and solitude.
But the crisp fall air hasn’t helped, nor has the brandy. A third of the bottle is gone, and I don’t feel a fucking bit better. I rub the soft petal between my fingers then look at my hand, trying to remember what I’m holding. Right. A honeysuckle blossom from the half dozen bouquets I ordered while I was away. The ones I had imported and brought to my suite for Abi — a special surprise awaiting her tonight, a way of saying how much I’ve missed her company these past few days.
All the vases are smashed against the walls now.
“Licking your wounds, Henry?”
I look up at the sound of a familiar voice calling to me from the distance, an unwelcome intrusion into my quiet retreat. Fucking Finley. Great. I look up at the Heavens with despair and anger. This, too? Kicking me while I’m down?
“Get lost, Finley,” I call back. “Go choke on your own dick.”
Instead of leaving, Finley saunters over to me. “I assume from the look of things over here that you’ve heard the news?”
“And if I haven’t? I assume you’re going to tell me, given that fake, smug-as-shit look you’re trying to impress me with right now,” I spit the words at him and tip the bottle of brandy up for another chug. I don’t even taste its citrusy sweetness now; it might as well be water, but it’s still not numbing the crushing pain in my chest, nor quieting the relentless clamor of thoughts in my head.
“Oh, it’s real.” He sighs, like he’s already bored of talking to me, and pretends to absent-mindedly pluck leaves off a low-hanging branch of the tree I’m sitting under, crushing them between his fingers.
“Spit it out, Finley.”
He smirks at me but doesn’t reply right away, just stands there gloating. He’s really pissing me off now, with this phony swagger of his.
“What do you want, asshole?”
“I’m so glad I get to witness you learning this news,” he says, practically giddy. “Abi’s chosen me.”
“The fuck she has.”
He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and the smug grin goes from just annoying to hideously intolerable. “Oh, I assure you, it’s true. I just came from meeting with Abigail and her parents.”
I jump to my feet, knocking the bottle of brandy to the ground. “You’re a fucking liar. I was just at her suite.”
He laughs, his voice filled with a sickening triumph. “Oh, I know. We heard you out in the hallway, causing a scene. I know it’s crushing your fragile ego right now, Henry. But she’s mine.”
“I won’t believe it until I hear it from her.”
He clicks his tongue and sighs happily. “Well, you won’t have to wait long — we’re announcing it tomorrow before the garden concert.”
I lean my hand against the tree to steady myself. It can’t be. She wouldn’t really go through with this, would she? And Finley? Of all the men clamoring after her, there’s no way she’d pick fucking Finley Prescott.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you two keep sneaking off to cop a feel,” Finley sneers. “But I don’t give a shit about that, because I know she’s mine in all the ways it counts — her hand in marriage, her family estate, her virginity — it’s all mine for the taking.”
“What?”
He looks at me, and then his head tilts to the side, and glee fills his eyes. “You didn’t know about the chastity clause, did you?” He throws his head back with laughter and claps his hands together. “Oh my God, that’s fucking perfect!”
“What the hell are you going on about Finley?”
“All the messing around you’ve been doing? It wasn’t ever going to lead anywhere. That’s why your sorry attempts at seducing her haven’t bothered me a bit. See, we’ve got a little agreement — she’s sworn to remain a virgin until her wedding night. She’s all mine. I’ve made sure of it.”
“Bullshit,” I growl. “There’s no such agreement. That’s not true.”
“Ah, but you know it isn’t, don’t you?” He taps a finger to the side of his head and looks at me with mock pity. “Poor Henry, always two steps behind me.”
“Fuck you, Finley.”
His white teeth flash brightly in a snide grin. “From the look on your face, things are finally starting to click into place. That’s right, she’s been saving that tight cunt all for me.” He cups the front of his pants and tugs. “I’ll let you know how it feels.”
My hands tighten into fists, and the muscles of my legs tense. “Don’t talk about her that way.”
“Our wedding night, it’s gonna be so good. She’ll get her little virgin cunt pounded real nice.” He makes an obscene gesture with his hips and hands, jiggling his groin back and forth in the air. “I have a nice stock of pills to make sure I can ram that pussy wide for hours, Henry, hours. When that loosens up, I can just flip her over.”
“Shut the fuck up, Finley.”
“You can picture it, right? I’m gonna slide balls deep into that bitch and pound her until she can’t remember what your face looks like. She’ll spend the rest of her life on her knees, or maybe with her ass up in the air, pleasing my cock however I want. I’ll own her.”
“The hell you will,” I growl, stepping forward.
I land my fist squarely in Finley’s gut. He lets out a sharp wheeze and doubles over. I don’t hesitate, landing a blow to the back of his neck while thrusting my knee upward, smashing into his face. Then three swift punches to the side of his ribs. I hope I’ve shattered them into dust.
He staggers backward, one hand wrapped around his chest, the other clutching his nose. Blood is dripping through his fingers. “Eat shit, Henry,” he gasps.
“If you lay a single fucking finger on Abi ever again, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life regretting it. In fact, don’t even utter her name.”
After a moment he straights up, heaving for breath. His eyes burn with indignation, and he spits out a mouthful of blood.
He points at me, his hand shaking angrily. “Just for that, I’m gonna send you some videos of her gagging on my cock. I’m gonna make your sweet little pet my dirty, filthy whore.”
Fury seeps into every cell of my body like an all-consuming black poison. I want to utterly destroy him.
“Those are some big words, Finley. Let’s see if you can back them up.” I wave my fingers at him, beckoning him over. “Come on, bitch boy. Show me how much of a man you are.”
He lunges f
orward, both arms swinging at me wildly. His blows land across my shoulders as I duck and spin around out of his clumsy embrace, grabbing his right arm in the process, twisting it painfully. He cries out and swings at me with his other arm, but I block his punch and send my elbow smashing into his windpipe.
Finley gurgles and claws at my neck and my hair, trying to get hold of me. I twist, driving a hard blow deep into the left side of his chest. He coughs and shakes his head, throwing an arm toward me, but I shift out of the way, and he stumbles from the momentum of the missed punch.
He staggers a few feet, and I smash my right fist into his face as hard as I can and drive an uppercut into his jaw with my left. He wobbles backward, arms flailing at me wildly.
Swiveling on the ball of my left foot, I bring my right leg up with blinding speed and deliver a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. His knees buckle, and I’m on top of him instantly, jamming my knee into his groin as I tackle him.
When the royal guards finally pull me off him, my hands are covered in blood, and Finley is unconscious.
Chapter Nineteen
ABIGAIL
“I don’t think anyone is going to be looking at my feet tonight,” I say to Emily as a short brunette lady attacks the bottom of my feet, rubbing them vigorously with a large emery board. She’s already whittled half of my toenails off with a metal nail file. “Is this really necessary?”
“Your mother’s orders were for the full treatment, head to toe. If you think I’m arguing with that woman, you’re crazy,” Emily says from a chair in the corner of the spa, giving me a look. “So be quiet and enjoy being pampered.”
“I wish I could enjoy it,” I say sullenly. Over the past month, I’ve fallen farther and farther down the rabbit hole into a hellish cartoon mockery of my life.
