Royal Mistake #5

by Renna Peak

  As much as I hate to rely on anyone for a favor—much less my brother—in this case, I fear it’s necessary. I suppose there is a chance that I can use my political power to procure some favors—or at least something to eat and fare to Vienna—but I’d prefer not to be seen begging, especially after drawing so much attention by leaping from that train. At least William knows how to be discreet.

  William, thankfully, answers my call. And he sounds more than a little amused by our predicament. I suspect the main reason he agrees to come meet us is that he wants to watch this play out. The bastard.

  Still, as much as I’d like to be angry with him—or frustrated at finding myself essentially stranded and helpless—there’s something more pressing on my mind.

  As I hang the phone back up, I glance over at Victoria. She has her back to me as she looks out at the city around us. Salzburg is truly an enchanting place—nearly as beautiful as Montovia—and under different circumstances, I would have liked to bring her here and show her around. In fact, there are many places in this world I would have liked to show her, if she weren’t so insistent that she needs to return to America as quickly as possible.

  I don’t care what she says about being friends, I think. I felt the way she kissed me and touched me. Saw the way she looked at me. No matter what her lips say, her body shows me the truth.

  But if she won’t admit that truth to herself, where does that leave us?

  Truly, I cannot blame her for pulling away—after some of the things she has endured in her lifetime, it’s a wonder she can have a relationship with anyone at all. My God, the woman’s own family was murdered. And then she was abandoned by the man she loved at the time when she needed him the most. After everything I’ve put her through these last few weeks, I shouldn’t be surprised that she wants to run away from me. This woman needs stability, not more chaos.

  I want to give that to her. But it isn’t enough to simply tell her so—I can see that. I must show her. She’s frightened and uncertain, and every time I try to tell her how I truly feel, it only seems to push her further away. If she insists that we can only be friends, then I’ll stop trying to tell her otherwise. But I’ll show her, little by little, that I can be the man she needs me to be.

  A little breeze has picked up, and it flutters through her hair, sweeping the strands around her shoulders. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as her.

  As if she senses me watching her, she slowly turns, looking back over her shoulder at me.

  “He’ll be here about two o’clock,” I tell her. “We’ll meet him at the station. He could be here a little sooner if he took one of my family’s planes, but that might draw too much attention.”

  She nods, smiling slightly. “I think I can survive until then.”

  And I can survive as long as she’s by my side. I step forward until I’m standing next to her but not touching. I won’t push her too hard. Won’t scare her.

  “Would you like to explore a little?” I ask her. “Even if we don’t have any money, there’s still plenty to see.”

  “I’d like that,” she says. “I should probably see as much as I can while I’m here.”

  I don’t miss the words she leaves unsaid: Because soon I won’t be here. Soon I’ll be back in America.

  I point down a street. “I believe there are some lovely gardens that way.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Lead the way.”

  I want to take her hand in mine, but I don’t. I need to wait for her to come to me. We start down the street together, walking slowly through the crowds of people. It’s a crisp, beautiful day, and though it isn’t the height of the tourist season, there are still plenty of visitors milling about the streets, studying maps or taking photographs of themselves. Up ahead of us, we can just catch sight of the Hohensalzburg Fortress looming over us on the mountain rising above the city.

  Since I can’t speak of my feelings at present, I scramble to think of another topic of conversation.

  “Are you a fan of Mozart?” I ask her. “He was born here, and there are several sites associated with him in the city.”

  She gives a half-smile. “I hate to admit it, but I don’t listen to much classical music. I’m not exactly what you call cultured.”

  “There is more to culture than classical music,” I say. “What sort of music do you prefer?”

  She shrugs, smiling. “Classic rock. Some pop. I can even get into country music now and again.” Her eyes gleam with amusement as she looks up at me. “You guys probably don’t get much American country music over here.”

  “Not much,” I admit. “But I’ve heard a few songs.” None that I can remember at present, though, so I decide to change the subject.

  “Do you enjoy history?” I ask her. “Because there’s a church just around—”

  She cuts me off with a laugh.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she says, still smiling.

  I frown. “Do what?”

  “Play tour guide. We’re allowed to just walk and enjoy each other’s company, you know.”

  “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

  She doesn’t respond. When I look over at her again, her smile has dropped and she looks lost in thought.

  I want to ask her what she’s thinking. Ask her if there is anything I might say to change her mind about any of this. But before I have the chance, she glances back up at me again.

  “You don’t have to pretend that everything is all right,” she says softly. “It’s okay to admit that it isn’t.”

  I look forward again. “If things aren’t all right, you work on them until they are.”

  “And if you can’t fix them?”

  I don’t answer. I lead her around a crowd of French-speaking tourists and continue down the street.

  It’s Victoria who speaks again first. “When I leave here, I want to know that you’re going to be all right, Andrew.”

  “Because that’s what friends do?” I ask, keeping my voice flat.

  “Yes.”

  I stop in the middle of the street and turn back to her. “I’m fine, Victoria. I promise.”

  She shakes her head. “You almost jumped off the palace—”

  “But I didn’t. I didn’t jump. And that’s what’s important, isn’t it?” I stop, suddenly realizing we’re in the middle of the street and that anyone could overhear me.

  I take her by the arm and pull her into a nearby alley, out of earshot of the wandering crowds. Only then do I speak again.

  “I’ll admit that I hit a low point,” I say. “That I thought about jumping. But I didn’t. And facing that decision has made everything so much clearer.” I stare down at her. “Are you telling me that after everything you’ve endured in your life, you’ve never had a moment where you considered ending it all? Can you honestly say that?”

  The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret them—even before I see her expression shift. A moment ago, her eyes were filled with concern. Now they’re filled with a deep sort of sadness, a kind that I suspect is older and deeper than I will ever know.

  She turns her face away. “I never got as far as standing on top of a building, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “But you understand how someone might get to that point. And how they might find the strength to turn aside.”

  Slowly, she turns back to look at me again. “What do you want me to do? Ignore what you almost did because I’ve had some shitty things happen to me, too?”

  “No. But I want you to look me in the eyes and see the truth when I say that I’ve realized there are other choices in my life. Choices I hadn’t dared to entertain before.”

  Her eyes drop to her feet. “What happens if I choose something different than you?”

  I resist the urge to take her hand in mine.

  “I would never presume to make your choices for you,” I say slowly. “But I hope you realize that there are other choices for you, too.”

  Her face lifts, her eyes m
eeting mine again. Maybe I’m actually getting through to her. Maybe she’s starting to understand.

  Her fingers brush against mine, and I turn my hands, letting her grab them.

  “I have to go home,” she says softly.

  “You don’t have to do anything.”

  “It’s the right decision. For myself…” She squeezes my hands. “And for you.”

  Oh, I soundly disagree. But I know she’ll only argue if I tell her so.

  “Neither of us has to make any decisions this very moment,” I tell her. “Except, perhaps, where we should go while we wait for William.”

  She almost manages to smile again. “Lead the way.”

  Her fingers are still laced with mine, and I don’t pull my hand away as we step back out into the street.

  Right now, just holding her hand is enough. Even if we’re only doing it because she’s convinced herself that it’s something friends do.

  It’s risky to have any sort of physical contact with her in public—most of the world doesn’t know yet that I’ve called off my farce of a pageant—but I don’t let myself think of that. Let them judge me.

  We only make it a couple of blocks before I hear a young, excited voice coming from behind me.

  “Your Highness! Your Highness!”

  I hear the Montovian accent even before I turn and recognize Tobias, one of the children from the Montovian City Academy running toward me.

  “Your Highness!” he says breathlessly as he stops in front of me. “I didn’t know you’d be here, too! My mother said it wasn’t you, but I knew it was you. My mother is over there. We’re on holiday. Are you on holiday, too? If I were the prince I’d take all of the holidays to everywhere!” He nearly falls over—from lack of oxygen, I suspect—but I catch him by the shoulder.

  “Easy, there,” I say. “It’s good to see you, Tobias. No, I’m not here on holiday. But I’d like to come back for a longer stay soon.” With Victoria, if I have any say in the matter.

  I glance over at her, and she’s hiding a smile behind her hand. Tobias finally notices her, too.

  “Who’s this?” he asks. “Is she a lady? Am I supposed to bow? My mother says I should always bow before you, even though I told her you don’t make us bow while we’re at school. I don’t like bowing. It looks silly.”

  “I think bowing is silly, too,” I say. “And this is Victoria.”

  Victoria bends over and holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Tobias.”

  He takes her hand, his nose wrinkling in confusion. “You’re not Montovian. Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Los Angeles. In America.”

  “That’s where Hollywood is!” Tobias says excitedly. “Have you ever been in a movie?”

  “Not yet,” she replies, stifling a laugh.

  “Tobias!” comes a shout from down the block. “Tobias, where are you?”

  I straighten, frowning. “Is that your mother?” I look down at him. “Did you run off without telling her?”

  He looks shamefaced. “I told her it was you and she didn’t believe me. So when she was looking at her phone I decided to come see you by myself.”

  “We should probably go let her know that you’re all right,” I say. I look over at Victoria. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course,” she says warmly.

  I put my hand gently on Tobias’s shoulder and lead him back down the block. I’ve met his mother once before at the academy, and I recognize her as we approach.

  Her eyes light up with relief when she sees her son.

  “Tobias!” she says, relief warring with anger in her voice. “How many times have I told you not to run off like that?”

  “I told you it was him!” Tobias says, grabbing my shirt and tugging me forward with him. “See? I told you.”

  His mother’s gaze rises to me, and the joy at seeing her son returned instantly slides off her face. I expect to see shock in her eyes, but instead, her gaze hardens.

  “Come here now, Tobias,” she snaps.

  Tobias looks confused. “It’s Prince Andrew. I told you it was him.”

  “I know who he is,” she says, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward her. “But he’s no prince of mine.”

  I stiffen. No citizen of Montovia has ever reacted like this before—not to my face, at least.

  “Is something wrong, ma’am?” I ask her. “Forgive me about Tobias. I didn’t realize he’d run after me.”

  “This has nothing to do with Tobias,” she says, her voice cold. “I know what you did.”

  My stomach twists. “What I did?”

  “You lost our royal symbol. In a gambling match. And lied to us about it all this time.”

  My blood runs cold. She knows. How does she know?

  “When your plane went down and we all thought you were dead, we were heartbroken,” she goes on. “We couldn’t believe you’d do such a thing, that our honorable crown prince could chose to end his life. But you’re not the man we thought you were, are you? How many other secrets have you been hiding?” Her eyes snap to Victoria. “Like who is this woman? Aren’t you supposed to be getting married? All these years we all thought you were so good and noble. Now I don’t know who you are.”

  The world is spinning around me. I stumble back a step. Then another.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “I’m afraid I must be on my way.” I have to figure out how she knows this.

  Victoria is right on my heels as I hurry down the street, back toward the train station. I’m trying to piece everything together.

  “He must have told the press,” I mutter, almost to myself. “Justine must have told her father I wouldn’t be marrying her and he leaked the news to the press. He’s trying to force my hand.” How far has this story spread? How do I stop it? I knew the people of Montovia would be upset when they heard I’d lost the scepter, but I never expected vitriol like this.

  When we reach the train station again, I go straight for the newsstand. Most of the magazines on display are monthly or weekly publications, but then my eyes fall to a stack of newspapers. My face stares back at me from beneath a headline that makes my heart stop. It’s in Austrian German, but I’ve been fluent in the language for most of my life:

  Lies, Secrets, and Fraud: Prince Andrew of Montovia Betrays His Own Country.

  Victoria

  Andrew is muttering something to himself. It takes me a second to reach him—he was walking so fast I could barely keep up with him—and when I do, my heart sinks to my toes.

  I can understand enough German to get the gist of the words on the newspaper Andrew’s been staring at—and the headline says it all. By the way Andrew’s shoulders have dropped, it says too much.

  He stares down at the paper for a long time—too long. He’s talking to himself, and his voice is too low for me to make out what it is he’s saying.

  After what seems an eternity, he turns to me and glares. “This, Victoria, is why you must accompany me back to Montovia.”

  I frown. I can think of about a hundred sarcastic things to say to him right now, but I have to measure my words. I have no idea what is going on in Andrew’s head at the moment or how what I say might affect him. I’m not sure I could live with myself if some snarky comment of mine sent him over the edge.

  I let out a long breath, steadying my voice. “It’s sensationalistic journalism, Andrew. Nothing more. They’re…” I give the newspaper a dismissive wave. “They’re only trying to sell newspapers.”

  His eyes are wild. “And they will sell them. Can’t you see the problem here? They are attempting to ruin my life. These…these monsters who write stories like this. They have no idea about the lives they ruin. They think of one thing and one thing only—the amount of money they’ll earn when they destroy the life of someone innocent.”

  The man at the newspaper stand turns his gaze from the magazine he’s reading up to Andrew before he drops it to the newspaper. When he looks back up at Andrew again, his mouth fa
lls open.

  I take Andrew by the elbow and lead him away, not acknowledging the criticisms he’s thrown at my profession and me.

  He allows me to guide him back into the train station and onto a bench, but he doesn’t stop the string of insults that seems to be falling out of his mouth. His voice has lowered to not much more than a mutter, but I can still hear every word he’s saying.

  “Fucking paparazzi. They have no concern for anyone but themselves. No concern for the well-being of a nation or a human being for that matter. They’re little more than gutter filth.”

  I sit there and take it for far too long before I turn to him. “Andrew, I know you’re going through a rough patch right now—”

  “I am not going through anything, Victoria. I’ve already told you—”

  “Yes, you’ve already told me. I still think you’re having a tough time, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not. And that’s perfectly fine. As you so succinctly pointed out, I’ve had a few tough times of my own.”

  His jaw clenches and he speaks through his gritted teeth. “Is there a point to this, Victoria?”

  I let out another long breath. “Yes, there’s a point. I think maybe—just maybe—the paparazzi aren’t to blame here.”

  He glares at me. “Of course you would take their side. You still identify with them. You still—”

  “Can you deny the claims in that newspaper? Was a single thing you read in that article false?”

  His eyes widen for a second before his gaze narrows again. “That has little to do with anything. If the press would mind their own business—”

  “Yes, yes. I know. If the press would mind their own business, you and your brothers could get away with murder. Figuratively, if not literally.”

  “That is not what I meant, Victoria.”

  “No, I know what you meant. You don’t want the press in your business. I get that. But you are the one who wanted to use the media to your advantage with that pageant of yours, remember?”

  “Again, that is an entirely different discussion. The press was invited—”

  “You mean I was invited.” My brow furrows. “You know, you can’t have it both ways. I can’t be ‘the press’ and be your friend. That’s the problem celebrities have with trying to use the press to their own advantage. It usually comes back to bite them in the ass.”