“Princess Emilia, please.” The roll of fat beneath Simms’ chin quivers. “We are not at liberty to discuss this matter until she arrives.”
“Screw that.” I push to my feet. “I don’t have any interest in a damn word that viper has to say.”
I hear Lady Morrell gasp, but it’s quickly drowned out by an arctic feminine voice that pierces the room like a thunderclap.
“Sit. Down.”
My muscles tense. With defiant eyes, I turn to meet her — my loving stepmother. Octavia Thorne. Former Duchess of Hightower. Current Queen Consort of Germania.
Her auburn hair is pulled back in an elegant twist, her rail-thin frame ensconced in a demure designer dress. The massive yellow diamond pendant around her throat — one of the famed Lancaster family jewels from the palace vault, no doubt — looks heavy enough to double as a free-weight during a workout.
Hatred boils through me, fast and fierce. No one else on this earth has the ability to inspire such a negative reaction.
“I said,” she snaps, striding into the room on her stilettos. “Sit.”
I don’t move a muscle. “I am not a dog to be commanded.”
“No.” She smiles, and it’s bone-chilling. She comes to a stop less than a foot away from me, her blue eyes so cold they could freeze me on the spot. “You are an irreversible stain on this household, marring our very fabric. Something to be concealed with a brooch or a pin. At least, until the garment can be permanently altered. Until the stain is cut out and discarded like a piece of rubbish.”
My spine stiffens. “Are you threatening me?”
“And why on earth would I need to do that? You’re going to do what I say regardless of your protests.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Oh? How is your friend Mr. Harding faring these days? Still free from criminal charges last I checked, is he not?” Her smile widens. “A state I’d be happy to rectify with a single phone call, I assure you.”
I hold my ground, but a bolt of unease shoots through me at the mention of Owen’s name. It’s not the first time she’s threatened my best friend. Now that Mom’s gone, he’s the closest thing I have to a family.
Or… he used to be.
Searching for a way to control me, Octavia dug into his past and discovered his ties to several anti-monarchist affiliations. Nothing extreme — non-violent protests on our college campus, the occasional political rally — but that doesn’t seem to matter to her. Owen’s become leverage in this unfortunate power struggle we’re locked in; a tool to bring me to heel.
His continued freedom in exchange for my cooperation.
Now, she wields him like a weapon against me whenever I step out of line.
“Shall I make a call?” Her eyes narrow. “Or shall we get down to business?”
My hands curl into fists. I’d like nothing more than to smash one into her face. I don’t trust myself to speak at a reasonable volume, so I say nothing at all.
“You try my patience, girl.”
My teeth clench. “My name. Is not. Girl.”
“Then act like a woman, not a child having a fit.”
Brushing past me, she strides to the head of the table and sinks gracefully into her chair. It takes a moment for me to even out my breathing, to unclench my hands and unlock my knees before I’m able to plunk into my own seat.
Frosty silence fills the small conference room until Simms clears his throat.
“Very well. Now that we are all in attendance, we can address the matter at hand.”
My eyes never shift from Octavia’s. “And that would be? The suspense is simply killing me.”
He ignores my mocking tone. “My queen, would you like to explain or shall I?”
“You may outline our…” She pauses a lethal beat. “Problem.”
My brows arch sardonically. “Your problem? A shot of penicillin should clear that right up, I’d think.”
Her mouth flattens. Hate flashes in her eyes.
I’ll pay for that pithy remark.
Lady Morrell attempts to disguise her bleat of concern with a cough into an embroidered handkerchief. Simms, ever the good soldier, carries on as if nothing happened.
“It’s no secret that public perception is of utmost importance after the recent attacks. Though King Linus is now back at the palace, we are all aware that he is not quite operating with his previous fortitude. He’s missed several key public events. Speeches, ribbon cuttings, military ceremonies, and the like.” Simms shifts nervously. “The people have taken notice of his absence. And after the assassination attempt at his coronation last month, it seems there’s a growing faction of Germanians expressing certain… worries… about the dependability of the Lancaster line.”
My eyes tear from Octavia’s to focus on the pudgy press secretary. “Worries?”
“About what will happen if and when the king’s health begins to deteriorate. About the stability of our country, should the crown change hands sooner than anticipated.”
Ah.
So that’s what this is about. Public support is wavering and they need me to play the part of princess. To bolster political favor until Linus is back at full strength.
Hmmmm…
Seeing an opportunity to loosen the confines of my captivity here at the palace, I sit up straighter in my chair. My mind whirls in hyperdrive as I plot out my next move, but my hands are the picture of casual nonchalance as I fold them slowly on the table in front of me.
“I understand what you’re saying, Simms. What I don’t understand is how it concerns me.”
Simms blinks, seemingly baffled by my indifference. “You are the Crown Princess. The heir apparent. If the people are doubting the strength of your legacy… It could give the anti-monarchists an even stronger foothold! They could convince the Prime Minister to call for a formal referendum.” His voice drops to a horrified whisper, as if he does not dare speak the next words aloud lest someone overhear. “Parliament could call for abolition of the monarchy.”
My brows lift. “Would that truly be so bad? I, for one, have never expressed any interest in ruling. If the people are no longer satisfied with a sovereign, perhaps it’s time to listen to them.”
He splutters. “But— but—”
“You foolish child!” Octavia interjects angrily. “You speak of what you cannot possibly comprehend!”
“I can, actually: I believe it’s called democracy, Octavia. You should Google it.”
“Ah, yes, because that democratic system is working so well for our American allies,” Simms says rather dryly, in an uncharacteristic show of humor. “Just how long until their two-party system devolves into yet another civil war?”
I don’t even have time to respond — Octavia’s anger lashes out like a whip once more. “You would throw away a thousand-year-old legacy on a whim,” she seethes. “And for what? To spite me?”
“Contrary to what you believe, you hold no sway over my decisions.” I force myself to speak in a calm voice, but inside my pulse is thudding twice its normal tempo. I’m playing a dangerous game against a most competent adversary.
Don’t overplay your hand.
Don’t fold too fast.
Feigning composure I don’t feel, I swivel my cool gaze from Simms to Lady Morrell to Octavia. My voice is empty of emotion.
“If I decide to help — and that remains a very big if — what is it that you’d want me to do?”
“Essentially, you will become the face of the royal family. Attending functions in the king’s place, granting royal favor on his behalf, greeting the press and the public if necessary.” Simms’ beady eyes are wide. “Your title as the Crown Princess will not alter. You will simply become more visible. An active participant in all aspects of Lancaster business.”
“Accessible to the common people,” Lady Morrell chimes in. “They sorely need someone to rally behind. Someone young and beautiful, who represents a long and prosperous future for our country.”
A
huff flies from Octavia’s mouth. I’m surprised steam hasn’t started leaking from her ears upon hearing someone refer to me as the young, beautiful salvation of her precious dynasty. Her expression reminds me of the evil queen in Snow White, shaken to her core to learn she is no longer the most attractive woman in the kingdom.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall… who is the most Botoxed of them all…
Let’s just say aging gracefully is not in her skillset.
My lips twist in amusement. I can’t deny I’m actually enjoying myself a bit, watching Octavia squirm. Seeing the tables turn as she’s forced to come to me for help. After all the terrible things she’s done to people I care about, there’s a part of me that would like nothing more than to see this horrid woman brought to her knees.
Maybe that means I’m a bloodthirsty Lancaster after all.
“Princess Emilia…” Lady Morrell wrings her hands. “Without you to unify the nation, I fear the spirit of Germania could be lost forever.”
“I see your predicament,” I murmur, contorting my features into a mask of bemused innocence. “And I do sympathize. But I have a question.”
Simms’ brows lift.
“How exactly am I supposed to unify the nation while I’m confined to the castle grounds?” I ask, leaning in. “How exactly am I supposed to befriend the common people when my own friends have been threatened and blacklisted from all royal residences?”
It’s phrased like a question, but everyone in the room recognizes it as a bargaining chip. Quid pro quo, bitches. You want me to act like a princess for the cameras? Fine. So long as I get something in return.
“Here’s the deal.” I flatten my palms on the table surface. “I’ll be your Lancaster show pony until Linus recuperates… but some things around here are going to have to change.”
“Such as?” Octavia hisses.
“I want to leave this castle whenever I see fit. I will no longer be held here as a prisoner.”
Octavia laughs coldly.
“You know that’s not possible, Your Highness,” Simms explains. “You need proper security until the threats have been neutralized.”
“I’m aware of that. Which is why you’re going to give me my own personal unit of guards. Selected by me, assigned by me, and answering only to me.”
“The King’s Guard is more than capable of protecting you—”
“I’m sure they are. But they don’t follow my orders, do they? No. They follow my father’s.” My eyes narrow. “They block me from leaving this castle. They restrict my phone calls. They screen my mail. They installed a firewall on my laptop that prohibits access to damn near every news outlet and social media platform. They withhold all sorts of information from me about the true threats to the crown, to my life, to this nation…”
“That’s protocol,” Octavia snaps. “Just because you think you’re above the rules doesn’t mean they should change.”
“And yet, if you want my help, change they will. I want autonomy within this prison. Within my own life. That’s non-negotiable.” Sitting my back in my seat, I let my words simmer in the air.
Simms and Octavia trade a loaded glance. I get the sense they’re having some sort of silent debate, weighing whether or not to cave to my demands. I’m sure Octavia makes the final decision, but it’s Simms who answers.
“Very well. We will assist you in creating your… Princess Guard.”
“Perfect.” A victorious grin tugs at my lips. I can’t believe I actually got them to agree. “Now, just one more thing…”
“More?” Octavia’s lip curls. “This is absurd.”
“Do you need my help or not?” My tone is sweeter than pie. “Because I have no problem marching up to the podium and advocating for abolition at the next possible press opportunity.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me as if I’m a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of her favorite pair of Prada heels. “And what is it you want?”
“Owen.”
One red brow arches in question. “Mr. Harding?”
“Yes.” I try not to sound too eager as my heart thunders within my chest. “You will set aside your vendetta against him. Lift his ban on this palace and all other royal properties. And stop attempting to implicate him with baseless charges in unsubstantiated plots against the crown.”
A muscle twitches in her eye. “Fine.”
“Unfortunately, I’m going to need more than your word, Octavia. I’d like an official pardon, signed by Your Royal Majesty the Queen, absolving him of all wrongdoing. Just in case you decide to go back on this agreement. Think of it as… insurance. A get-out-of-the-castle-dungeons-free card.”
Her face is full of barely-leashed rage.
“Well?” I prompt after a minute of silence.
“You’ll get your precious commoner boyfriend and your signed letter.” She practically spits out the words. Her eyes are sharp as blades as they scan my face. “Contingent upon the understanding that you cannot continue your romantic relationship with him.”
There’s a sudden pit in my stomach. “That won’t be a problem, seeing as I don’t have a romantic relationship with him. He’s a friend. Nothing more.”
Her eyes glitter. “Are you sure he’d say the same about you?”
“That’s none of your business, Octavia.”
Her smile is vile. “Actually, Emilia, who you date is very much my business.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, did we not mention? Your new royal duties include courtship.”
“Courtship?” I scoff. “What is this, a Jane Austen novel?”
“This, as you continually fail to recognize, is a monarchy. One of the oldest in recorded history. How on earth we ended up here, with you as the heir to it all…”
I roll my eyes. “Do you have a point?”
“You will agree to be courted by the eligible bachelors of Germania’s aristocracy.” Her chin jerks haughtily. “Suitors specifically selected for their family connections, influence, and titles.”
AKA: their money.
“How romantic,” I drawl.
“Oh, but it is, Your Highness! There’s nothing the people adore more than a good love story to root for.” Lady Morrell smiles through ultra-thin lips. It’s a rather disturbing sight, to be entirely honest — I’m so accustomed to seeing her scowl at me.
“The press will love this,” Simms jumps in excitedly. “As will the treasury. There’s nothing more lucrative than a royal wedding…”
Wedding?!
“Uhh… I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourselves.”
“No such thing as being too prepared.” Simms’ double chin wobbles as he nods his head fervently. “An engagement would certainly generate a lot of positive buzz. Not to mention the tourism boost to our economy. That would garner considerable favor with Parliament. When we considered the potential earnings for Prince Henry and Ava Sterling’s wedding last year, we projected nearly $3 billion in revenue generated directly from the nuptials.”
“That type of publicity simply cannot be bought!” Lady Morrell looks surprisingly animated for such a dour woman. “It will be an affair for the ages.”
Octavia just sits there, joyfully watching me squirm as they plan out my future wedding to a man I’ve never met.
Sweet Christ.
Just when I think I’ve got control of a negotiation, it spirals out of my hands again. I twine my fingers tightly together to keep from flipping the table. My eyes narrow on Octavia. “You don’t actually believe you can force me into a marriage without my consent…”
She shrugs noncommittally. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”
“And if I don’t agree to be led around like your prized breeding mare at auction?”
“Then you don’t get your guards. You don’t get your freedom. You don’t get your letter of pardon. And I will personally ensure that your beloved Mr. Harding is the one to suffer the consequences of your insolence.”
I bite my
lip.
Octavia’s eyes gleam. She knows she’s got me in a corner. “So. Are we in agreement?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, I pause a beat, praying I’m not about to damn myself, and finally nod.
“Excellent!” Simms exclaims.
“So much to do!” Lady Morrell looks suddenly troubled. “You’ll be appearing at the Remembrance Day ceremonies tomorrow to commemorate the opening of the capital’s new military hospital. We’ll need someone to do your hair. And you’ll require an appropriate dress… Perhaps a grey shift paired with a sensible pump…”
“You will, of course, be given scripts for all public appearances. And you will follow them to the word.” Octavia’s voice reverberates with wrath. This negotiation is grating on her last nerve. “Seeing as you cannot be trusted to speak in public without proper guidance.”
“No.”
She stills. “Excuse me?”
“N. O. No.” I smile beatifically. “Which letter did you not understand?”
“But Princess Emilia,” Simms tries to intercede, but I’m done listening.
“No. I won’t be reading any scripts. By all means, you may advise me, debrief me, guide me with fair and balanced council… but my words are my own. My thoughts are my own. My actions are my own. I am not a puppet to be steered by your strings, or an actress to be directed with a set of memorized lines.”
Silence descends.
“Now, if we’re done here…” I rise to my feet and head for the door. Much to my displeasure, Octavia’s voice catches up to me before I can slip out.
“A word of advice, girl — you won’t win at this game. Not against me. I suggest you stop trying. Forfeit now and you might manage to salvage some of your life when this is all over.”
I don’t bother responding.
Stop trying?
Forfeit?
Please.
I let the door close with a resounding bang at my back. My angry strides eat up the hallway; I’m all too eager to put distance between myself and Octavia. Her warning rings in my ears with each step.
You won’t win at this game.
This royal chess match we’re engaged in is complex and confusing. I’m still learning the rules, a lost pawn battling against a lethal queen. Bound to make mistakes along the way.
Torrid Throne: The Forbidden Royals Trilogy, #2 Page 3