by May Sage
“Because you’re good at investigation and I need a background check pronto.”
•
The patrons of the club had requested to temporarily stop the music and turn the TV up during the announcement.
For once in over ten years, she looked at the overly perfect features of their King and smiled, feeling as smug as the cat who’d just eaten all the cream.
He said he had been thoroughly disappointed at the sheer number of women who were willing to debase themselves in his kingdom and declared that those who had applied had been dismissed; he was looking forward to welcome to one thousand one hundred and seventy eight who hadn’t.
“I trust I will find a woman whom I can hope to respect amongst you.”
In any other dwelling, she might have indulged in a little victory dance.
There were three reasons why she had no desire to go to the festivities.
The first was practicality: he may have promised to cover expenses, but what of the three days of work she’d be missing? Bartenders didn’t exactly stop on bank holiday weekends and she couldn’t afford to pass on some of the most profitable tip nights of the winter.
The second was lack of interest. She’d been to Fortswood in her youth and it wasn’t all that. Sure, she’d had fun at times, but one could only speak so loud, running was out of the question and while she assumed people did wear jeans there occasionally, she hadn’t once witnessed the occurrence.
The last and most significant reason was her absolute distaste for anything attached to the crown in general, and to Daniel in particular.
There were nobles and there were nobles. The house she was the heir of was part of the second set; with the Luz, the Fall and the Woods, they were the relics of the Old Kingdom.
So when, at sixteen, she’d written to explain that she was being treated as a servant in her home, her seal ensured her letter was delivered straight on the King’s desk.
In response, Ella received a short, contemptuous missive advising her to grow up and stop acting like a spoilt brat.
While a message from her mother might have been answered by Leopold himself, she was only a child so hers had been dealt with by the son.
Strangely enough, after that, marrying Daniel De Luz wasn’t on her agenda.
Damn, fuck, hell and bother. What had happened there?
The red envelope waiting for her – unsurprisingly opened – didn’t make sense. The receipt of her application was still sitting in her inbox; she’d seen it a couple of time just today!
Yet, she was summoned to the palace.
“You are declining the invitation.”
The tone had been final, and the look Lady Tremaine gave her was full of heater mixed with a fine layer of something else.
Out of necessity Ella had – like any female working in a club – become a keen observer of body language and what she read in her shaky hands, the cold amber eyes and the thin line of her stepmother’s lip was fear.
It took a minute, for Ella hadn’t even contemplated the possibility of being picked by Daniel, but she got it: Lady Tremaine was dreading the unlikely chance of her becoming Queen.
Ella stared at her, baffled that the woman might be scared of such an improbable feat, but hadn’t even blinked once about letting her go to university.
Didn’t she realise that by becoming a veterinarian, she’d end up earning money and that her very first move would be to sue the shit out of her?
Opening her legs to a King might certainly be the quickest way to get her vengeance, but Ella’s preferred path would be just has efficient; and she could achieve it without losing her self-respect.
David was to be a lawyer in another year and she would be his very first client. When she was done with Lady Tremaine, there wouldn’t be a rock in the kingdom willing to hide her.
So, she smiled, took her mobile out and called the help centre’s phone number, listed at the bottom of her letter.
A cheerful attendant introduced herself as Chantelle and asked how she could be of assistance.
“I wish to decline the invitation to attend the King’s event. I’m working that weekend.”
“Oh, dear – I understand. We’ll cover your wages, don’t worry.”
That wasn’t what she expected to hear.
“Well, I’m after the tips and in all honesty, I don’t take hand-outs. I’d rather work.”
“I really wish I could help, Ella, but your presence is desired and requested. The King wishes to meet every suitable woman – every single one. Failing to respond to his call will come with heavy penalties; you’ll receive a subpoena and will have to stand trial for disobeying a direct order from the crown. If you have a reasonable explanation, such as a medical condition or a longstanding committed relationship, you can appeal the court’s decision but otherwise, we’re looking at up to three months of imprisonment.”
Too stunned to gather her wits, she hanged up, defeated.
It was a few hours until it first hit her.
Ella.
Although she hadn’t introduced herself, the stranger – who probably answered thousands of phone calls every day – had somehow known her name.
What the hell?
•
“She called this morning.”
“Damn. Not cool.”
Sandro and Jonas begrudgingly fetched a bill of a hundred marks and dropped in on the table, losing the first of the many bets they had going on. Dane, Chantelle, Sheila and Silvia shared their spoils, ridiculously condescending with those two.
How could they have doubted that Ella would try to wiggle out of the weekend?
“But she’s coming,” Dane probed.
“I guess? I mean, she’s getting a doctorate; there is no way she’d risk a felony on her record. Her career might end before it even starts.”
He wasn’t ecstatic about having to resort to coercion to convince a woman to meet him, but needs must.
Beyond the obvious, there was something about the girl.
Contrarily to what some amongst the others believed, he wasn’t planning on sending every other aspirant packing without a second glance, though; Ella was still merely a candidate.
But one he very much wanted to see.
“On another matter, I’ve read the reports from our spies. It doesn’t look good.”
Unsurprisingly.
Two years ago, the scientists of Ferren and Alenia finalised the prototype of a project they’d worked on for just under a hundred years: a decryogeniser.
At the heart of a violent plague, Ferren’s royal family – the king, queen and heir – had frozen their bodies to survive and when scientists tried to reawaken them twenty years later, they'd failed and ended up losing their queen.
Experts had relentlessly worked on the perfect process for generations and they were ready; they’d tested it on plants, animals and finally, on actual volunteers.
Dane’s father petitioned to attempt to revive the King of Farren only days before assassins had been sent to kill him; there were no proof directly pointing to the Regent, but his culpability was obvious to all.
Ferren and Alenia had an interesting history to say the least: the two countries were rich, prosperous, populous and every so often sought to remedy to at least one of the three conditions.
There had been several violent wars between the neighbours, and their extensive alliances meant that the entire continent generally joined in.
From the recent report, it was clear that Pruce, Ennom and the Kingdoms of Seela would join Alenia; the Woodlands hadn’t shown a favour for either side so far, but Krutia and Denker were leaning towards Ferren.
Altogether, the odds were in no one’s favour which made Dane uneasy.
The obvious solution would have been to go ahead and marry Aurora, but Dane was completely opposed to it.
When he’d suggest that her father might be behind the assault on his, she’d immediately, violently opposed against the very possibility and had also had a fe
w things to say against him.
Truth of the matter was, King’s Leopold’s murder really didn’t matter. There were hundreds of people who could have happily organised it – Dane amongst them. One of them had done it and that was that.
What did matter was Aurora’s response.
Dane could respect loyalty and to an extent, he even admired it; but he had no place for a wife who wouldn’t fight alongside him – or at the very least, hear out his concerns.
To his surprise, the dissolution of their engagement hadn’t been the cause of many regrets.
Aurora was everything he’d thought he’d wanted in a wife – beauty, refinement, intelligence and sensuality. She’d also turned a blind eye upon the rumours linking his name to various courtesans, accepting that if she wasn’t opening his legs, he had to satisfy his needs elsewhere. While in the relationship, he’d thought it wanted for nothing.
Now he was out of it, he discovered that his life hadn’t altered – not even one tiny bit. He still fucked whomever he wished and had no trouble finding adequate escorts to the function he needed to attend. For companionship, he had Alessandro.
A perfect partner would be all three: a friend, a perfect hostess and an insatiable tiger in the sack.
In short, Aurora had been a poor choice.
“After my wedding, I think we should travel up to the Woodlands. Their Queen isn’t the most logical person; flatter her ego, feed her vanity, and she’s likely to sway to our side.”
“Why would we want a mercurial ally?” Alessandro grunted.
Good point, but it was worth a try anyway; small as the Woodlands – the little kingdom tucked between the sea, Pruce and Ferren – was, it was very wealthy and strategically placed; having their support might tip the scale in their favour.
“We need her now. She’s welcome to change her mind in two seasons.”
“Fine; then I’ll go,” Alessandro offered. “After your wedding, the country expects you to be otherwise engaged for a few weeks, at least.”
Right.
The prospect of repetitively screwing one woman night after night until the conception of an heir had seemed stressful when he’d thought of the few months ahead.
Now though – imagining dark messy hair on his pillow, a big red mouth on his cock and those lean legs around his waist – pure anticipation was running through his veins.
Shit, no.
She wasn’t a certainty yet. She could be vulgar, her voice could have an annoyingly high pitch. She might smell, have fake nails or try and get into the pants of anyone with power…
No, she wouldn’t.
Hearing the conviction colouring his own thought, he realised just how fucked he was.
“Guys, as you may have noticed, I have showed a clear inclination towards this Ella Tremaine.”
“You think?”
“For that reason,” he continued, ignoring Silvia’s interjection, “I need you to test her. Sandro, try and seduce her. Jonas, give her the opportunity to steal something, Sheila, please do the friend thing and gather some intel. Silvia, be a bitch – the usual. I’d like to know how she fairs against pressure. We need her to be flawless.”
She is.
Dammit. What was it with his own bloody mind?
Chapter 3: The Fortress.
The variety of potential retaliations her stepmother managed to come up with when under pressure was an absolute credit to the wealth of her imagination.
They weren’t empty threats and promises of physical punishment; Lady Tremaine hadn’t ever laid one single finger on her.
There was no need for it.
She simply had to state what would happen to the porter, the gardener, the cook, the maids if she reported one or the other amongst them for a petty crime.
They’d be imprisoned, condemn and forever branded as outlaws after their terms in jail and Ella would have been powerless to stop it.
Finally, her dear stepmother punctuated her speech with a:
“And are you going to wear that?”
That was a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt; she shrugged, rather than pointing out that her last set of formalwear had been purchased when she’d been a skinny fifteen year old.
“You will disgrace our name in this get up.”
Unfortunately, she was correct.
Ella’s name had been different in the past, but her stepmother had insisted on having it changed right after her wedding.
“She will make her sister feel uncomfortable with that formal designation of hers,” Lady Tremaine had appealed to her docile husband, who’d promptly had Ella rebaptised.
Therefore, it was the Tremaine name she would dishonour, rather than her own.
Oh well.
“I don’t have time to change; I’m already late as it is and Henry is at the doors.”
It wasn’t an actual lie.
The manor, their main dwelling, was a good half hour from the city and further still to the outskirt where Fortswood, the royal palace, had been built; it was twelve and she didn’t expected that Henry’s truck would make it by one.
What she didn’t mention was that, for once, she didn’t care how late she might be.
“Fine. Change when you get there.”
Of course. No problem; as soon as pigs start flying around.
Her soft leather backpack in hand, she left the house, and uncharacteristically, she turned around to look at the old, handsome building covered in Ivy.
Her home had held good memories, but they were so few, far between and long removed that quitting it never was a chore.
Today, it was.
The road from the city to the palace’s walls wasn’t a familiar one; a decade and a half ago a book, a song on the radio, some magazine or a particularly pretty petticoat would have distracted her from the picturesque scenery.
Now she watched the landscape through the window and almost laughed.
A few generations ago the north of Alenia had been part of the Woodlands, but their royal family had all but begged the De Luz to take it over; they offered a bargain for the land, throwing in their youngest daughter as an incentive.
Ella understood why as she passed all these trees contorted into the most delightfully unnatural of shapes. On her left, there was a trunk curved to emulate the form of a chair; when she turned to the other side, she saw rows upon rows of neatly trimmed bushes.
It was very beautiful and ever so artificial, perfectly expressing what the De Luz valued; splendour at the detriment of nature itself.
When the palace came into view, it did surprise her.
Ella had known it had been burnt and rebuilt following a particularly vicious attack a decade ago – she’d even seen the plans on TV – but she hadn’t expected that.
In place of the grand gothic edifice she recalled stood a tall, enchanting and immaculate fortress.
It was a very pretty fortress – with white circular walls and clear blue roofs – but the purpose of the structure was clear; should a threat arise, there was very little chance of anyone going in or out of that castle undetected.
“Can’t we go closer, Henry?”
She wasn’t one to begrudge a little walk, but the entrance seemed a way away, and it had started to rain.
While Ella was used to enough discomfort and unpleasantness to make most situation agreeable, there was one thing her nature hadn’t and wouldn’t allow her to reconcile herself with.
Water in general, and rain in particular, sucked.
“Not without clearance, lass.”
Great. Time to get wet.
•
Thinking clearly, Dane was actually more relieved than disappointed.
He’d thought he would recognise her straight away – that his gaze would romantically be drawn to her amongst the sea of long legs and heavily made-up faces.
It didn’t.
So far, he’d noticed three different kinds of women: those he could have fucked, those he might have talked to and the few whom he
could imagine marrying.
Unfortunately, most of those were either gay or taken.
They’d never thought of those when they’d drafter his masterplan last month, imagining that women were either wedded or up for grabs, because in his world there rarely was an alternative.
“Say something,” Silvia whispered. “And for Christ’s sake, smile. They’re going to think you don’t want to be here.”
Probably because he didn’t; not anymore.
In the morning, he’d been eager, impatient, hopeful; now he remembered what the next three days were about: analysing, assessing and choosing an asset – one of the most significant assets he’d ever have to pick out.
Not getting to know a snarky woman with dark come-to-bed-right-this-instant eyes and a mouth made for sin.
It was good news. Lusting after a woman he hadn’t even seen was out of character, superficial, unhealthy and terrible for the kingdom.
He managed to plaster a generic smile on, and got up from his seat to address the crowd before him, just as one of the side doors opened.
She hadn’t been the only one to arrive after one – there had been a girl who’d sneaked in less than five minutes ago – but the beautiful blond in her long red dress had barely registered as a blip on his radar. She’d obviously meant to make an entrance and had gone practically unnoticed by him as well as her peers.
Ella’s arrival was another story.
The hundreds of women in the room fell silent and turned to her; instead of resuming their chatter as they had before, they stared, their expression raging between awe and horror.
Dane understood; he was feeling a little bit of both.
She was a tiny thing and should have looked like a total mess in her damp t-shirt, her chaotic hairdo floating every-damn-where.