by Fawn Bailey
“It looks good on you,” he managed.
I could tell he was on the verge of tears himself, and I fought my own emotions off. I couldn’t show him how much I was hurting now. I needed to be strong. To stay standing through this whole ordeal and replace my father on the throne once the time came.
“There are more things I could tell you,” he went on. “But I fear we don’t have the time. I do believe I’ve raised you to be a good king, and more importantly, a good person. When I leave this world…”
“Dad…”
“No,” he insisted, raising a weak hand to stop me from going on. “When I leave this world, I will do so confidently, knowing that I have left a capable heir to the kingdom, and an even better man to a woman who is out there just for you, Olivier.”
“Thank you,” I managed. “You don’t know how much it means to me. That you still love me, trust me, that you still believe in me after all this time. After I’ve let you down so many times.”
“You haven’t,” he said, squeezing my hand again. “Everyone makes foolish decisions, Olivier. You’re still so young. Please, don’t rush into anything. Love will find you, and one day, you will make an incredible ruler to Luxuria. I have faith in you, my son.”
A massive weight rolled off my shoulders.
I was half-expecting him to say he’d chosen his other son as the heir to the kingdom. On one hand, it would have been a relief… but on the other, I would feel ashamed beyond belief.
“Oh, I never doubted you,” Dad said with a weak smile. “I knew you needed the time to come around. And I don’t blame you for not being here when I found out I was sick.”
I was rendered speechless. He was such a kind, good man, and I had a lot to learn from him still. But I would have to make do with what he’d taught me before this fateful moment.
I leaned down next to him to whisper in his ear, “I hope one day I can be half the man you are.”
When I pulled back, we both had tears in our eyes, and my father chuckled, dabbing at his eyes – dark brown, a mirror image of mine – with a handkerchief.
“One last thing,” he said. His breathing was so labored now he started coughing, and pain twisted my stomach into a million knots. I couldn’t bear to hear him hurting like that. “Promise me one more thing, okay, Olivier?”
“Of course,” I said softly.
“Never start smoking,” he said, and I grinned at him. With his last vestige of power, he motioned to the nightstand again. “Open that drawer, would you?”
I did as he asked, revealing a hidden packet of Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes and the Berluti lighter he always used. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, shaking my head as I took the cigarettes out.
“Go on,” my father encouraged me, “One last smoke.”
I hesitated before withdrawing a dark brown cigarette, placing it between his paper-dry lips and lighting it for him. He took a long huff of the smoke, grinning weakly at me.
“That’s the stuff that would make a dead man come back to life,” he muttered.
“You’re not dead yet,” I said, the words heavy and harsh on my tongue. I touched his cheek gently, and he exhaled. “You’re still here.”
“Not for long,” he said shakily, giving me an apologetic smile as I removed the cigarette from his lips. He was wheezing. “I’ve done my best to be a good father, Olivier. I know you will do the same with your children. I love you, my son.”
His eyelids grew heavy and my grip on his hand tightened. But it was too late. He was already slipping away, and this time I knew it was to a place darker than just the land of sleep.
“Sleep well, Father,” I whispered, bowing to him for the very last time.
There was no answer.
I made my way to the door leading outside, my hands forming fists at my sides, when there was the faintest of whispers, the sound of my name being called one last time. I turned to face my father.
Was there something left unsaid?
“Prince Olivier?”
I turned in the direction of the voice, snapping back to the present. I’d let the past pull me away again, but now, it was time to pave the path that led to my future.
My butler stood in the room behind me, and I realized I hadn’t even heard him walk inside.
“They’re ready for you, Your Highness,” he said, bowing and stepping aside.
I took a deep breath and followed him downstairs.
The game was beginning.
3
Amber
The few hours after I climbed out of the car passed in a blur. I was escorted into the castle by a maid who wore a mysterious smile and didn’t say very much at all. I hadn’t even had enough time to admire the stunning castle. Instead, I was ushered into the foyer, an elegant hall with marble floors, and up the impressive staircase onto the first floor.
I barely got the chance to drink in the splendor and glory of the winter castle. It was kitted out in luxurious, expensive fabric, chandeliers that looked like they belonged in an opera house, and works of art even I, the layman, recognized. I didn’t dare wonder out loud whether they were real or not. I had a feeling the truth would make my mouth gape open in shock.
The maid, who introduced herself as Fleur, showed me the west wing and explained all the competing girls would be living there. I had used the time during the tour of the west wing to get a good impression of her. She was pretty in a doll-like way. Her eyes were large, clear and blue. Her lips were full and pouty, and she had the palest skin that looked almost translucent, with the smatterings of freckles over her skin giving her an ethereal beauty and offsetting her chocolate-brown hair.
If all the women in Europe look like this, I am in deep trouble.
While we were walking around, I caught glimpses of young women snickering and walking around in pairs.
My competition! I thought to myself, biting my bottom lip. Hell, it was better than nothing, and better than my poor nails.
My heart sped up at the thought of having to compete for Prince Olivier. I didn’t want to do it. A selfish part of me wanted him to send traditions to hell and just pick me. But here I was nonetheless, with twelve other women competing for the Prince’s heart. In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to turn down the offer. I would do anything to have him back… and I would do even more for his hefty wallet.
Fleur explained there was a common dressing room as well as a powder room, where all of us were supposed to get ready. Our introductions would happen that evening at seven p.m. in the royal ballroom.
I felt shivers going down my spine as I nodded my understanding to the maid.
“You will be ready at six,” she told me. “We won’t wait for anyone, and we don’t tolerate any disobedience.”
“Of course,” I smiled politely. She seemed pleased by this and hesitated before taking a step forward and motioning for me to come closer.
I leaned in and she whispered in my ear, “I think you’re more beautiful than any of the other women here. And I know you’re Olivier’s first choice.”
“Thank you,” I managed, finding it hard to hide my surprise. “Are you… close with Olivier?”
Sudden images of Olivier with Fleur appeared in my mind. She was beautiful, thin and tall where I was curvy and petite. Even in her maid uniform, she was unforgettably lovely.
And after all, I was nothing more than a girl from the wrong side of the tracks… just like her.
Maybe Olivier has a type.
“No, not really,” she admitted, and I stared at her, trying to find the trace of a lie in her face and coming up empty. “It’s just a rumor around the castle. You are the thirteenth girl, aren’t you?”
I hesitated before grinning. “I suppose I am.”
She nodded with a conspiratorial smile before retreating. She gave me one last look over her shoulder and left me in my room where my luggage was already waiting. I finally let myself exhale the breath I’d been holding in since I stepped into the castle.
It was like something out of a magazine – deluxe fabrics and opulent decorations. It screamed of money and taste, a beautiful testament to the decorator as well as the Luxurian royal family.
The room was decorated in tones of plum, rich cream and champagne with golden accents. The centerpiece was an enormous bed with a frame made from beautiful white wood, overlaid with gold leaf. It was decked out in huge purple pillows with pearls embroidered into the fabric, and a matching duvet. A chandelier hung above the bed, adorned with a golden rosette and even more plum silk creating a gorgeous effect on the ceiling. A curled futon stood in front of the bed, and opposite of it, there was an oversized vanity with a plush champagne-colored velvet chair in front. The room screamed of money and good taste, and I was gaping as I took a good look at everything.
From the light fixtures to the marble tub in the en-suite rose-marble bathroom, it was spectacular. We’d been strictly forbidden from bringing cameras or phones, but it made me wish I could snap a few pictures, so I could show them to Rose afterward.
My fingertips touched the brocade on the bedframe, and my eyes admired the view of the royal gardens outside the window. This was like something out of a fairytale, something I’d never expected to happen to me, a simple dancer from London.
I realized six p.m. wasn’t so far away anymore, and the thought of seeing all the other girls as I got ready made me worry. What would I be competing against? I had no doubt the women were beautiful, intelligent and with a pedigree to match their family fortune.
But who am I? I thought to myself, feeling bitter. Someone no one even cares about. A little nobody from Westminster. No money, no fancy name, and not a very pretty face to match. Why would Prince Olivier pick me?
But he already had… At that party Rose and Thorn had thrown in my honor, he’d had eyes only for me. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him since then, mind and soul consumed with the need to be back in his arms.
Sometimes I tried to pretend I was only doing this for the money, but the more I tried to convince myself, the more I realized how far from the truth it was.
I wanted Olivier. Not so much for his wallet, but for everything he was that made my stomach flutter with butterflies at the mere thought of him.
The introductions that night meant I wouldn’t just come face to face with my competitors, but with Olivier as well. That fact made me nervous, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging on the corners of my lips.
I pulled out dress after dress from my suitcases. The dress code for the event suggested château getaway fashion, which sounded vague and ridiculous to me, but which the other girls would surely understand. But Thorn had been nice enough to splurge on a whole new wardrobe for me, and now I had outfits that made me look truly beautiful.
Fleur explained the event would be semi-formal but made a note of dressing to please the prince. As I was going through my clothes, I tried to keep that in mind. What would Olivier like to see me in?
Remembering the night we met, I knew I was barely wearing anything… but I needed to be dressed up for this occasion. Yet I wanted to make an impression on him. After all, it had been six months since we’d last seen one another.
I pulled out dress after dress, and the heels that went with them. Unable to settle on one, I put a few of the outfits on my bed and stared at them, hoping a magic answer would appear.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. My eyebrows shot up, wondering who it could be. Perhaps just a maid? Maybe Fleur had forgotten to tell me something.
I walked over to the door, opening it wide and staring into the face of a gorgeous, tall blonde.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
I knew instantly who she was. I could recognize my own competition, and fuck, it was competition alright.
The girl was stunning, with classical features that reminded me of a renaissance sculpture. Her hair was long and pin-straight, the color so light it was almost white. Her eyes were a dazzling gray and she held herself in a regal way that made me assume she was royalty.
“Hello,” she replied. “You’re the American?”
“English,” I corrected her, glancing behind her at the hallway. “Do you all know each other?”
“Mostly,” the blonde shrugged. “You are Amber Jonathan?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“Freya,” she responded. “From the royal court of Bardland.”
She held her hand out at an awkward angle and when I realized she thought I would kiss it, I let out a snort. She didn’t like that, raising her eyebrows and glaring at me from the bridge of her perfect nose.
“You Americans have no respect,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Wear the pink one. It will look great with your hair.”
She turned to leave, leaving me standing there aghast. I shut the door behind her, too shocked to make a move just yet.
But there was something she’d made me realize.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to wear that pink dress.
“Princess Freya of Bardland!”
She made her way past the rest of us waiting behind the plush scarlet curtain, shoving me on purpose and making me stumble. I yelped, and she smirked at me as she left me behind.
I reached down while she made her exit, realizing she’d ripped my dress.
I’d chosen so carefully – a beautiful Valentino bordeaux red satin dress with diamanté chain straps that clung to my body tightly. It was sleeveless, with thin bejeweled straps and a slightly curved neckline that draped down to my ass in the back. I’d paired it with Prada crystal-embellished black pumps in the same satin material, which gave me an extra four inches of height. I’d straightened my hair, letting it fall down my back smoothly. My makeup was minimal, with a flick of black eyeliner on my eyes. Polished 18-karat gold hoop earrings completed the look, giving it a timeless feel.
It was a daring yet classic outfit, but I was glad I’d picked it, especially after seeing what the other women were wearing. It seemed like we’d all chosen our very best for the selection in Luxuria.
I knew there was only one girl ahead of me in the line, and after a moment’s thought, I looked down at my dress, the glaring rip revealing inches of my thigh. I didn’t hesitate. I gripped the fabric and flinched as I ripped the dress higher, eliciting a gasp from the girl standing next to me.
“Your dress!” she cried out.
“Don’t worry,” I smiled at her. “It’ll be fine.”
She gave me a worried look just as the announcer called out, “Zara Patel, of the Patel family of hoteliers.”
I watched her step through the curtain, smiling as she descended the stairway. It would be my turn next, and I chewed my bottom lip nervously while the announcer told the audience about Zara.
Her family was obviously well-to-do and needed no introduction, but Zara was also successful in her own right, having a degree from Oxford University.
Shame made me hang my head. What would the announcer say about me? I didn’t have a fancy background, and the thought of all my dirty secrets being aired for everyone to see made me worry even more. I felt like a failure in that ripped dress. It was just like me – pretending to be something I was so obviously not. I’d always be the poor little church mouse pretending to understand the world of the elite.
I watched Zara descend the marble stairs just as my name was called.
“Amber Jonathan of London!” the announcer said, and I walked out, holding my breath and my head high as a maid pulled the velvet curtains open.
The announcer went silent and the light blinded me for a second. I shielded my eyes until they adjusted to the sharp lighting.
I took a step forward, feeling my dress open in a revealing spot up my thigh. The crowd gasped, and I knew my trick had worked. I’d added a slit to my dress that revealed my
pale skin, the curve of my body making me sway my hips as I took the stairs.
My heels were staggeringly tall, but I had all the confidence in the world as I walked down the stairs.
Suddenly I wasn’t Amber Jonathan. I was a girl worthy of Olivier, a girl that could match up to the others. No longer the thirteenth girl, the outcast. I deserved to be there, goddammit.
I remembered the way the announcer had spoken about Zara and Freya before her. Now, when it was my turn, she was silent. There was nothing to say about me. I was the outcast in a sea of royals, rich bitches and spoiled heiresses.
But I held my head high through it all, and as I descended the stairs, I searched the sea of faces below me for a familiar sight. There were so many people, decked out in expensive clothes and stone-cold faces. But finally, my eyes settled on him.
Olivier sat on a throne opposite of the stairs, flanked by a woman who must have been his mother. My path led me to stand before them, and I curtsied in front of them as I’d been instructed to.
I’d forgotten just how handsome he was. His golden hair was cropped, but still allowed his curls to form, adorning his head in a way that made him irresistibly handsome. His golden eyes shone like the collar that would soon be placed around my throat as part of Luxuria’s tradition. Olivier wore a navy suit, and a crown was perched on top of his head, smaller than the Queen’s, but still important.
He was a dream come to life. The prince I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl. I’d barely had time to glance at the Queen, too consumed by watching Olivier.
A woman approached me, and I knew what was coming next as my eyes connected with the Prince’s, burning passion igniting me from deep inside.
The woman placed a beautiful beaten gold collar around my throat, locking it in place. The collar had thirteen empty slots, little indentations in the metal, where I’d been told precious stones would be inserted – one for every time Olivier picked me. The end goal, of course, was to have all thirteen stones in the collar. I would wear it until the end of the selection, and I had every intention of being a married woman by the end of it.