by Fawn Bailey
It would be hard to imagine that he hadn’t. Thorn was a world-renowned businessman, after all.
He stared at me blankly without providing an answer, and I sighed, a barely audible sign of my exasperation.
He was such a hard man to read, and he seemed intent on making this conversation even more difficult than it had to be. But I decided to fight my own nerves and get some information out of him. After all, I deserved to know what was going to happen next.
Before I could ask a single question, the man looked out of the window and began talking himself.
“Luxuria is a little old-fashioned, you’ll find. You might be surprised by our traditions, but we love them. We’ve been following them for centuries.”
“I heard about that,” I offered as way of making conversation, but he didn’t say another word. I cursed myself inwardly for backing myself up into a corner yet again, forcing the next question from my lips. “Can you tell me about the selection process?”
“You will find out everything soon enough,” he replied, never taking his eyes off the scenery outside the window. “But the gist of it is this – you and twelve other women will be competing for the Prince’s attention. It is a tradition that has been followed in Luxuria for over five centuries. There are usually twelve women.”
“I was wondering about that,” I said. “It seems such an odd number to have thirteen. You know, it’s always thought of as an unlucky number.”
“It is,” he replied. “But as you know, the Prince insisted on adding a thirteenth woman to the selection.”
“Who?” I wondered out loud, and he laughed at me, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.
“I’m sure you can figure it out.”
I blushed yet again once the realization hit me, eliciting an amused smirk from the man in the opposite seat.
Has Olivier really gone against his own country’s tradition to include me in the selection process?
The thought filled me with butterflies. I knew there had been something special between us. This only confirmed that Olivier felt it too, and it made me so excited.
But don’t forget why you’re here, I reminded myself. The money is just as important as Olivier himself.
“If you’ll look outside now,” the man said, motioning toward the window. “You’ll be able to admire the landscape of Luxuria.”
I followed his gaze to the lovely countryside that surrounded us. It was a mixture of France and Italy, beautiful in the autumn glory of the day. The leaves were changing already, painting the forests in enchanting golden and ruby colors. It was breathtaking and made me gasp as we drove down the winding road. The man seemed pleased at my reaction, glancing at me for a beat too long before looking back at the sprawling forests outside the window.
“Do a lot of tourists visit Luxuria?” I wondered aloud, and the man shook his head.
“We only accept a small number of them each year. We protect our country from the riff-raff.”
I blushed, feeling almost attacked. I was English but having lived in the States for the past few years, I felt a little offended by his statement.
“Your English is so perfect,” I added. “But the official language of Luxuria is French, isn’t it?”
“Correct,” he nodded. “Although a lot of people are bilingual and speak Italian as well. Mostly everyone speaks English, though. It is taught in our schools from an early age.”
“So, you are a native, too?” I asked, but his sharp cool gaze reminded me I didn’t get to ask as many questions as I would have liked. I looked away, hating myself for blushing a third time. “I’m sorry, I’m just curious about Luxuria… I did some of my own research, but I would love to learn more from a local.”
“And you will,” he replied. “Soon enough.”
His words seemed cryptic.
The rest of the ride was spent in silence, but I didn’t mind much, focusing my attention on the glorious landscape on the other side of the window.
Luxuria was scenic and stunningly beautiful. I didn’t see anything out of order – not even a piece of litter on the ground. We drove through little towns that I’d seen on images when I did some research on the country. Every sight out of the window seemed perfect for a photo op, and I couldn’t get over the beauty of this tiny country I hadn’t even known existed a year ago.
I felt like Cinderella being delivered to the royal ball in that beautiful car. It was much better than a pumpkin carriage… but I was no princess, after all. My mother’s words still rang out in my head every time. For now, I was just pretending… but soon enough, my dreams of being a princess would come true.
My eyes turned to my hands at the thought of everything I’d been through. The things I’d put up with, just because I thought they’d mean financial security, not just for myself, but for my family, too.
I’d hidden it from Rose and Thorn for a long time. They assumed I had no ties to my family back at home. My father, who had mercifully passed away a year prior with alcohol poisoning, was out of the picture, but I still had a mother and three siblings to think of.
That’s why it was so important that I won over Olivier. Though I had no doubt the other contestants would be stunning, adorned with royal titles and an impressive scholarly background, I had one advantage.
Prince Olivier had taken my virginity in a night filled with lust and passion six months ago, and I knew I’d made an impact on him just like he had done to me.
My hands smoothed down the Fendi plissé dress clinging to my body. It went so well with the nude Louboutins I was wearing. I almost felt like I wasn’t myself. As if I was playing a role in a film.
It was hard not to feel like a fraud when I was used to tattered hand-me-downs and scraps from a table that was more often empty than full. The designer clothes could hide where I came from, but they didn’t stop me from feeling like I was on a film set.
Well, if I am really an actress, the selection is the role of a lifetime.
“We’re almost there.”
The man’s voice woke me up from my thoughts, and I looked out the window again.
The winding road led up to the most glorious building.
It stood in the distance, reminding me of a fairytale castle. It was built in a combination of white and red brick and had a beautiful blue roof, with towers rising from the main building. The entire building stood on a small hill, surrounded by a sprawling property with a brook running around the castle. It was truly magnificent, and I couldn’t help the huff of breath that escaped my lips in admiration.
“Stunning, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” I said. “Pictures don’t do her justice.”
“A beautiful thing is always meant to be appreciated in person,” he muttered, and when I looked at him, he was looking into my eyes.
“I’m sorry to be so forward,” I said, fighting off the blush from my cheeks and twisting my hands in my lap. “But you never introduced yourself.”
We came to a stop in front of the castle, and for a second, I was convinced he wasn’t going to answer me. But he kept looking, and finally, his reply came, hitting me like a brick.
“I’m Prince Olivier’s brother,” he said.
“I thought he was an only child?” I asked, my eyebrows shooting up.
His expression darkened.
“I’m a bastard,” he replied, shocking me with the honesty of his statement. “You can call me Bruno.”
“O-Okay,” I stuttered, trying not to convey my surprise and failing miserably.
“We’re here,” he said next, and the car door opened to an incredible view of Luxuria’s winter court.
Bruno stepped out first, offering me his hand and grinning that wicked smile I’d come to know all too well.
“Welcome to Luxuria, Amber Jonathan.”
2
Olivier
4 years ago
I stood before the double doors, knowing full well what awaited me on the other side.
My life was about to
change forever. I would no longer be the carefree young man who partied too hard and drank too much, indulging in every luxury my thick wallet could pay for. I was about to come face-to-face with my future.
The doors opened, and a woman emerged. She was petite but held herself in a regal way. Her hair used to be naturally blonde but had grayed completely during the last few months. Now, she relied on a hairdresser who charged four figures to keep her looking as perfect as she always had. Her face was streaked with tears, tired from the months of hardships we’d endured during my father’s illness.
Still, nothing could take away from her beauty.
My mother was a classically built woman with an aristocratic nose, a high forehead, and a beauty that would be as enchanting in antique times as it was now. I knew it had been the first thing my father noticed about her.
“My son.”
I looked at my mother’s face, trying hard to hide my feelings as she approached me and took my face in her hands. I looked anywhere but into her eyes, knowing that if I did, I would break down.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I know how you feel. But you will regret this if you don’t muster up the courage. Come, my son. It’s time to say goodbye.”
She took my hand and gently led me to the intricately carved, heavy oak door, but she didn’t enter. I gave her a questioning look, and she responded with a sad smile.
“This is as far as I can go,” she said gently. “I’ve already said my goodbyes, Olivier. Now it’s your turn. Go on, my son. There’s not much time left.”
I nodded, watching as two servants silently opened the heavy doors without a single creak. It was silent inside, silent and dark.
The faint sound of a cough made me hyper-aware of the atmosphere in the room. The thick purple velvet curtains were drawn, and it was dark. The room I had known so well had become my father’s prison.
In the past few weeks, my parents’ bedroom had been stripped of everything. My mother left first, since father slept so fitfully now and kept waking her up. The stack of tomes on the rich mahogany side table was replaced by boxes of pills with frightening names. And worst of all, the view was nixed thanks to the heavy eggplant-colored curtains. It was such a shame. I always thought the sight of his kingdom sprawled right outside his bedroom window made my father a stronger, braver man.
It smelled like death, and I hated being in there. But I had to do this. I owed it to my father to say goodbye one last time.
Too nervous to look at the man in the bed, I walked over to the French doors leading out into the balcony and pulled the curtains open. Amber-colored light filled the room. The sun was setting. The end of another day awaited, perhaps the end of more than just daylight.
It was the end of a kingdom.
“Olivier?”
I turned around, blinking away the trace of tears in my eyes. I couldn’t help it. The sight of him filled me with words unspoken, my throat too constricted to let them out into the open. I feared I’d never be able to tell him how I truly felt.
“I’m here, Father.”
I approached him with slow steps, stopping next to his intricately carved cherrywood bed. I took his hand in mine, noticing how frail he looked but not saying anything about it. He knew he was dying, everyone did. It would be no use for me to deny it now.
“Thank you for… coming,” Dad managed to get out. “I know you were abroad… I’m glad you took the time to come and visit me, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Nonsense,” I muttered, the weight of staying away for so long making me feel smaller than I was. Mother hadn’t told him I’d been around, just too much of a coward to come and see him. “Of course, I would come… How could I not?”
An uncomfortable silence lay upon the room and I struggled to breathe in the stuffy air. My eyes went to my father’s, and for the first time in years, I allowed myself to look at him the way I should have from the start.
He looked like an old man.
My father had looked youthful and handsome his whole life, but now, both his age and his illness had caught up with him. His hands were covered in liver spots, his skin sagging. He’d had a full head of hair, but it was gone now, lost to the treacherous illness that was about to claim his life, too.
“I’m so sorry, Father.”
I tried to convey just how heartbroken I was with those few words, though knew nothing I could say or do would ever be enough. I’d been a bad son. A bad example. All my father had ever wanted was to have a worthy heir, and I’d let him down every step of the way.
“Don’t be,” he said hoarsely, putting his hand on mine. “None of us knew this would happen.”
It was true.
When he was diagnosed with cancer six months ago, we’d been told it was treatable. He’d started chemotherapy right away, but didn’t respond to it well, and soon enough, he was given a terminal diagnosis.
That was when I put my life on hold to return to Luxuria. To say goodbye to my father. He had mere weeks left when I arrived but was deteriorating quickly, and it took me three full days to muster up the courage to see him. Only when the doctor told me it was now or never did I pluck up the courage to visit.
I was a coward. But worse than the knowledge of that was that I knew my father thought so, too.
I knew my father had been disappointed in me, his heir, too many times to count. And if I was being completely honest with myself, I’d been dreading this conversation.
The throne would be my mother’s after my father passed away, but as per Luxuria’s tradition, I would inherit the kingdom once I married. I knew my parents already thought it strange that I was still single, but I was enjoying the bachelor life too much to settle down.
Lavish parties, drugs, booze and women were my kryptonite. I let myself be pulled into the dark underworld of my rich friends, drinking away the worries that nagged at me when I was sober. It was a way of putting it all off. I only realized it one night, lying in my own bed, two women tangled around my naked body and an empty bottle of Macallan dripping its last precious drops on the Oriental carpet on the polished hardwood floor.
Things needed to change.
However, with my father’s looming death, everything would change. I would be expected to step up, find a wife. And there were so many traditions for me to honor along the way.
After a few moments of silence, my father spoke again. I could tell how much effort it took for him to talk, and I squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him that everything would be okay.
“I don’t want to be the horrible old man who asks for things on his death bed,” he managed. “But it looks like I don’t have a choice.”
I stared at him, the numbness I felt at the thought of losing him spreading through my body. It was too soon, with so much left unsaid. And yet now, when my last chance to speak to him arrived, I found myself tongue-tied around my father.
“My son,” he went on. “I know you’ve had your doubts about the royal life you’ve been born into. I want you to know, you are free to marry whoever you want. I know your mother will try to meddle… But rest assured the choice is only yours.”
“Thank you.” I was grateful, and I squeezed his hand again to show him how much it meant to me. His knuckles felt sharp under my fingers. He was so fragile now. So much different to the strong, powerful leader I remembered.
“I do want you to honor Luxuria’s traditions,” he went on. “There are so many rich, incredible rituals in our history. I want them to survive for generations, and I want you to teach your children the same things I have taught you. To always honor your past.”
“Of course, Father.”
“Especially with the selection process,” he went on. “You know I chose your mother. I want you to choose your wife in the same way I did.”
“I will,” I promised him. “Anything you want.”
“And I also have something for you.”
He pointed to the nightstand after realizing he was too weak to get it him
self. I paled at the thought of truly losing him. Of my father being gone forever. But I didn’t have a choice in the matter. The cancer was going to claim him soon, and nobody could do a thing about it.
“I wanted you to have it,” he said weakly as I picked up the item off the nightstand, weighing it in my hands.
“You will get so many things once I die,” my father said. “You will get the crown… my scepter… I wanted you to have something else.”
I weighed his signet ring in my hand, fighting back the urge to scream bloody murder.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fucking fair that I was twenty-four years old and about to lose the man who had raised me. The man who had taught me everything I knew, and who’d brought me up to be an honorable man despite my best efforts to be anything but.
He’d stopped wearing the ring months ago, when it became too big to fit his fingers. After the initial few adjustments when we thought he was still getting better, he finally accepted that it would keep getting smaller and smaller until he died.
“I can’t take this,” I managed. “You know what the tradition says, Father.”
“I don’t want to be buried with it,” he said stubbornly. “Of course, you could have a new ring made. After all, it is tradition… But you will inherit so many royal items. So many things that should mean something. But really, this ring is the one thing that matters.”
I stared at the metal circle in my hands, the signet embossed with our herald.
“I sealed all my documents with it,” Dad said. “Love letters to your mother… Even your birth certificate. This ring has been with me since I became King, and I want it to be the same for you, son.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Something bloomed inside my chest. A feeling of pride that he’d picked me to inherit the ring, not his bastard son Bruno, whom I’d always thought of as his favorite.
“Put it on,” Dad insisted, and my fingers shook as I slipped the ring on my finger.
I looked down at my father’s ashen face, surprised to see a proud smile pulling the corners of his lips upward. I hadn’t seen him smile like that in so long. For a second, I almost managed to forget about his illness.