Torrid Throne

by Julie Johnson

Are you really dating the Earl of Lund?

  I slow my pace as I move down the line of people, smiling and shaking hands as I go. Occasionally, I pause to ask someone’s name or where they’re from. Most live here in Vasgaard, but some have traveled from the farthest reaches of Germania to spend the upcoming holiday season in the capital city. Places I’ve never heard of, let alone visited.

  Uvendon, Jaarlsburg, Hanton, Saalk.

  Halfway to the waiting limo, I pause to tell a young boy that I approve of his rugby jersey — the Cavaliers are my team as well. His face lights up with glee. I’ve bent low to ask him about his favorite player when a caustic voice cuts through the crowd.

  “Lancaster bitch!”

  The harsh words barely have time to register in my head because a second later, something wet hits my cheek.

  A gob of spit, I realize, horror dawning. Someone’s spit on me.

  “Fuck the crown!” the man yells again, each word suffused with a hatred that stuns me. “You hear me, whore? The monarchy’s days are numbered!”

  My eyes lift to search for the source of the vitriol, but there’s no time — my guards have closed rank around me — Galizia on one side, Riggs on the other. Their hands are on my biceps, steering me away from the scene. I only manage to catch a fleeting glimpse of my assaulter: a bald, middle-aged man I’ve never seen before in my life. His black shirt bears an anti-monarchy symbol I recognize — the lion crest, split in two with a red sword. His dark eyes seem to burn straight through me, even when a fleet of guards surrounds him, guns drawn.

  “Fascists!” The man continues to scream as they pin him to the ground. “Lancaster scum! You’ll fucking pay! You’ll all pay!”

  Numb with shock, I don’t struggle as Riggs practically shoves me into the Rolls Royce. As soon as the door slams shut, we pull away from the curb with a screech of tires loud enough to make me flinch.

  It takes a full minute before my thundering heart slows; another before I realize Simms is seated across from me, his face pale with shock as we speed back toward the palace. Our eyes meet and I recognize my own horror mirrored in his gaze.

  Without a word, he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out an embroidered handkerchief. I stare at it in confusion for a moment.

  His eyes flicker to my cheek. “There’s a bit of…”

  Oh.

  Ignoring the way my fingers shake, I reach out and grasp the cloth. My eyes press closed as I wipe the stranger’s spittle from my cheek. His words replay in my ears on a loop.

  Lancaster bitch!

  Fuck the crown!

  I shake my head, trying to clear the memories.

  “Don’t let him bother you, Princess,” Simms says, sounding rather unsteady. “He was clearly unhinged.”

  I try to feel assured by his words. It’s useless. I can’t shake the new vulnerability that’s gripped like a fist around my heart as we speed around bend after bend, sirens blaring in the distance.

  “He didn’t seem unhinged,” I murmur, remembering the acute hatred in his eyes. “He just seemed… furious.”

  “Dangerous,” Simms corrects.

  “If he actually wanted to hurt me, he could’ve pulled out a knife or a gun. One small move, I’d be dead. But he didn’t.” I shake my head. “I think he just wanted to make a spectacle. To humiliate me, not hurt me.”

  “I urge you not to waste another thought on the matter, Your Highness. The man is already in custody. By the time we’re back at the castle, Bane will have dealt with him.”

  “Dealt with him?” My brows lift. “And how exactly will he deal with him?”

  “That’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

  My mouth opens, then promptly shuts again. I want to object, to insist he tell me more… but I’m not even sure where to start or which questions to ask. And even if I did, Simms probably wouldn’t answer me.

  Always keeping me in the dark.

  Always shielding me from the truth.

  I turn to look out my window, feeling strangely unsettled — and not just because of the residual spit I can still feel drying on my left cheekbone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The door to my suite bursts open without so much as a knock. I turn from my spot on the terrace in time to see Chloe barreling through the doors, her face contorted into a grimace of concern.

  “Dude! What the actual fuck!” She plunks down on the settee beside me and throws her arms around my shoulders in a bone-crushing hug. She’s surprisingly strong for such a thin girl.

  “Hello to you, too,” I say, chuckling lightly as I return her embrace.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She pulls back to peer into my eyes. “Um, maybe because some whack job attacked you today?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “It’s all over the news. Crazed man spits on beloved princess. Country up in arms. They have video footage from the scene and everything. He got you pretty good, from what I could tell.” Her nose wrinkles as she scans my face — presumably for signs of saliva. “You did take a shower afterward, right?”

  I roll my eyes. “Your concern is deeply touching.”

  “Look, I just don’t want you winding up with some weird spit-related STD. This could be a new form of biomedical warfare. You never know.”

  I shake my head, exasperated. “I showered, okay? And I highly doubt the spitter was that sophisticated. He’s probably some disgruntled former Lancaster employee out for revenge or a disenchanted expat with too much time on his hands.”

  “Even so — he never should’ve gotten that close to you. This is exactly why we don’t talk to the peasants, E.”

  “You sound like Marie Antionette.”

  She grins. “Frankly, I think she got a bad rap. She wanted to let them eat cake! Is that so terrible?”

  I elbow her in the side. “I know you’re joking, but it’s still not funny.”

  “Just trying to turn that frown upside down.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “You have been rather down lately, now that I think about it.” Her eyes narrow. “Anything you want to tell me? Anything going on I should be aware of?”

  “Nothing jumps out,” I lie.

  “Mmm. Wait! I know something that’ll cheer you up.” Her eyes twinkle as she reaches into the pocket of her thin maroon sweater and fishes out a handful of pills. There are about ten of them, all different shapes, sizes, and colors. “Pick your poison.”

  “Chloe.”

  “What? Don’t give me that look.”

  “You’re walking around with half a pharmacy in your pocket! Do you even know what those are? What they do?”

  “The little white ones make you chill. The little orange ones make you focus. And the little blue ones…” Her eyebrows waggle. “Well, those won’t do much of anything for you or me, but they certainly come in handy when you’re dating an older man.”

  “Ew.”

  “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, E. Silver foxes are a hell of a lot better between the sheets than college frat boys, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “I think I’ll stick with my own choices, thanks.”

  “If by that you mean celibacy…”

  “Hey! Lay off. I’ve been on three dates this week alone.”

  “You mean the staged suitor appointments Simms set you up on?” She snorts. “Yeah — those don’t count.”

  “Fine,” I mutter, wishing I could steer the subject away from my love life. Unfortunately, I know better — the more I try to avoid talking about it, the harder Chloe will press for details. I sigh. “It’s not like there are many options around here to choose from.” I gesture around the barren courtyard, its snow-covered paths lacking any signs of life — plant or human. “This place is a ghost town.”

  “And when was the last time you called Alden?”

  I press my lips together.

  “Mhmm. I thought as much. I know he’s be
en calling you. Asking to come visit. Why aren’t you letting him?”

  “It’s complicated,” I mutter, Carter’s face flashing through my mind unbidden.

  “He’s hot. You’re hot. He’s single. You’re single.” She shrugs. “Seems pretty simple if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Cranky, cranky! You know, one of these little white pills would do wonders for your disposition.” She waggles her fingers. “Come on, just give it a try.”

  “I’m all set.”

  With a sigh, she pockets the pills again. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

  A breeze kicks up, sending a rush of cool air across the terrace. I shiver and pull my jacket a bit tighter around my body. Chloe, dressed only in a thin sweater, pushes abruptly to her feet.

  “Come on, let’s go in before we freeze to death. I promise not to tease you about the fact that I know nuns with more exciting sex lives.”

  “You know nuns?”

  “My social circles are wide and varied.”

  I roll my eyes as I rise and follow her inside, shutting the glass terrace doors behind us. When I turn, I find her sprawled on my bed — her red hair splayed across the gold duvet, designer heels dangling off the edge as she scrolls through the tablet that controls my suite’s sound, temperature, and light settings.

  “Make yourself at home,” I say, voice wry.

  She taps the tablet screen and music begins to drift through the bluetooth speakers mounted in the ceiling. I recognize the song from my new playlist — ‘Castle’ by Halsey — and can’t help bobbing my head to the beat as I walk to the bed and plop myself down beside her. For a few moments, we listen in silence.

  “Is it because you’re in love with him?” she asks abruptly.

  I glance over, stunned by her question. My heart begins to pound. “What? Who?”

  “You, pushing Alden away. Is it because you’re secretly in love with that guy Owen? Your childhood friend. The one you don’t see anymore.”

  I swallow hard, not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that she’s so off-base. “No. I’m not in love with Owen.”

  “Then why push Alden away? I don’t understand it.”

  "Maybe he’s not my type.”

  “That’s not possible. Have you seen the guy? He’s everyone’s type.”

  “Fine! So he’s hot!” I scoff. “That doesn’t mean I’m required to go out with him, or anyone else for that matter.”

  “Actually…”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know that look. It’s not nothing.”

  “If I tell you, you’ll only get upset.”

  “If you don’t tell me, I promise you’ll be the upset one.” I wait a few beats. “Chloe Florence Thorne!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Leave my middle name out of this!”

  “Then spill.”

  “Fine! Jesus. You really would benefit from popping one of those white pills.” She sits up, sighing dramatically. “I overheard Octavia talking to her new assistant. It sounded like she was…”

  My brows lift. “Yes?”

  “Like she was setting up more dates for you.”

  “More?! I’ve already been on three of her bloody set-ups…” I groan and press my palms into my eyes, as if I might shut out the horror of my own reality. “God, just kill me now. If I have to go out with one more man whose idea of scintillating conversation involves a discussion of winning chess strategies, I’m going to gouge my own eyes out with a salad fork.”

  “I don’t know,” Chloe murmurs. “I think you’d be better off using a spoon. Kind of just pop the eye right out of the socket, you know? Like balling a melon. Way less bloody than a salad fork.”

  “You’ve really thought this through.”

  “I have a lot of free time.” She grins. “What were we talking about, again?”

  “Bad dates.”

  “No, before that.”

  “Alden.”

  “Ah. Right. Don’t worry, you’re safe from my attempts to set you up with him for at least another few days.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s on a snowboarding trip in the Alps with Carter.”

  “Oh.” My stomach flips at the mere mention of that name. A name I no longer allow myself say aloud or even think, because doing so generally leads to puffy eyes and an aching heart.

  “Some other guys from their old boarding school went as well. Remember Westley Egerton, the Baron of Frenberg?”

  I nod, though I’m barely paying attention.

  “Tall. Attractive. You danced with him at your coronation. Is any of this ringing a bell?”

  “Vaguely,” I murmur.

  “Why do you look so weird right now?”

  “I don’t look weird.”

  “You’re all squirmy.”

  “I am not!”

  Chloe squints at me. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice Carter’s been gone all week?”

  Oh, trust me… I noticed. I just figured he wasn’t coming home at night because he’s been sleeping his way through the roster of the women’s National Gymnastics Team… and I decided it was better for my overall mental health not to confirm said suspicion.

  “Hello?” Chloe waves a hand in front of my face. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Sorry.” I force myself to focus. “I guess I didn’t notice he was gone. We don’t cross paths much.”

  “Now that you mention it, he has been gone a lot, lately… I swear, he avoids this castle like the plague. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s got a girlfriend.”

  I go still.

  She snorts as if the idea is ludicrous. “That’ll be the day. There’s a better chance of Octavia voluntarily relinquishing her crown than Carter actually settling down. That man and monogamy do not mix.”

  I attempt a smile, but it feels faint.

  “I mean, I’m no prude. But once, at our cousin Imogen’s wedding, I caught Carter in the coat room with not one, not two, but three bridesmaids. At the same time. The man ensnared an entire bridal party with minimal effort.” She shakes her head. “And that’s nothing compared to—”

  “Enough! I get it.”

  Her mouth snaps closed and her eyes widen as she takes in my expression. “Dude. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” My nostrils flare as I try to regulate my breathing. “I’ve just heard enough about Carter’s sexual exploits to last a lifetime. Okay?”

  She holds her hands up defensively. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it would bother you so much.”

  “It doesn’t,” I retort a bit too emphatically.

  “Clearly.”

  Avoiding her curious stare, I rack my brain for a new topic. “Weren’t we discussing Octavia? And her further plans for my so-called courtship? You never finished telling me the specifics of what you overheard.”

  “It wasn’t much, honestly. Just something about lords and dukes and tea. I would’ve gotten more detail but my eyes have a tendency to glaze over when the conversation turns to finger sandwiches.”

  “Then you’re useless to me.”

  “Not entirely. I did hear one pertinent name before I fell into an Octavia-induced coma.”

  My brows lift. “Well, are you going to make me shake it out of you?”

  “Westgate.”

  “Is that a person?”

  “A place. A house, actually. Which you should know — you’ve been there.”

  I blink slowly. “I have?”

  “Yes. It’s where we picked up Alden and Ava last month, on our way to the funeral. The Sterling’s country manor.”

  I remember the mansion, poised on the edge of a lake in a beautiful region just outside the city limits. I didn’t leave the limousine, but from what I could tell through my tinted window, it was a stunning estate.

  Not that a pretty vista will make my visit there any more tolerable. Being manipulated into dating Germania’s most eligi
ble bachelors isn’t exactly high up on my list of favorite activities. Even if said bachelors look like Alden Sterling.

  “First you, now Octavia… Is there some kind of Thorne family conspiracy to get me to date Alden?”

  “Trust me, the day I plot with my mother instead of against her is the day you’ll be able to catch hypothermia in Hell.” Chloe shrugs her slim shoulders. “Our motives don’t overlap. For instance, I actually want you to be happy.”

  “And Octavia’s motive?”

  “The Sterlings are one of the wealthiest aristocratic households in the country. For that fact alone, the royal family was thrilled when Henry proposed to Ava. But now that he’s in the hospital… it’s only a matter of time before Ava calls off the engagement. She’s not the candlelight vigil type.”

  “But she can’t dump him,” I insist, aghast at the thought. “He’s in a coma, for god’s sake.”

  “Yes. And I’m sure she’s unbelievably pissed he’s had the nerve to hang on this long, ruining her chances at a prosperous match. If he’d died right away, she wouldn’t be in this rather sticky predicament.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “That’s Ava.”

  “My future sister-in-law, if Octavia gets her way.” I snort. “Now it all makes sense. Marrying into that family is just one more way she can torture me.”

  Chloe leans back against a pile of pillows with a sigh. “Maybe. But I’m guessing it has less to do with making your life miserable than it does consolidating the royal family’s wealth. Octavia knows if you marry Alden, all that Sterling money will be at her fingertips.”

  “Wow. How romantic.”

  “Haven’t you heard? Romance is dead.”

  “This from the girl who’s been pushing me to date?”

  “Screw. Not date. There’s a difference.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Chloe, but I’m not the screwing type.”

  “Then you’re missing out.” She shrugs. “Don’t shoot the messenger, but screwing Alden might be the only silver lining to be found when you’re eating cucumber sandwiches with the Sterlings in the countryside. And if you’re going to wind up married to him anyway… you might as well sample the goods…”

  “I honestly can’t even tell if you’re joking anymore.”