by Ember Casey
“The Montovian consulate is in Vienna—”
I try not to roll my eyes. “The American consulate. So I can get my passport replaced. And my identification.”
“Oh.” He frowns. “The American consulate is only a short distance from Montovia’s. In fact—”
“I don’t need to hear any trivia about the Montovian consulate and the American consulate. I just need to get a damned passport so I can get the hell out of Europe.”
“You’re still on about that?” His brows knit together. “I had thought that after what we shared on the train—”
“It was just sex, Andrew. It meant nothing.”
He winces like I’ve just slapped him. “I said I love you, Victoria.”
“As a friend. You said you love me as a friend. And I love you, too, Andrew. As a friend.”
My heart feels like it’s being crushed under my own words, but there’s no way I’m going to let him in on that little secret. No way I’m going to tell him that I feel so much more than friendship for him. It’s best to try to walk this all back as much as I can. And to make sure I never let him anywhere near my heart again, no matter what.
He props his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands. He turns slightly to look over at me. “I never said anything about friendship.”
“Yes, you did. You asked if a friend could love me. I think we both know that’s a different kind of love.” I frown. “And I meant what I said earlier. I don’t want to be your mistress. What happened on that train was a one-time thing. A last-time thing. It can’t happen again.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
We’re silent for another moment before he speaks. “Is it just me, or does the coffee at that cafe smell like the most divine thing that has ever been?”
I clench my jaw. “It’s not just you. I didn’t have the pleasure of eating breakfast this morning. Quick exit and all.”
He chuckles, running a hand though his hair before he sits upright again. “I, too, did not eat breakfast. Lady Clarissa deemed it necessary to throw glass objects at my head when I broke the news that she and I would never be a couple.”
I shrug. “Never say never. You never know. She might age gracefully—or you might have already given her that heir you always wanted. Either way, she’ll probably mellow the fuck out at some point.”
“There would be no way for her to have given me an heir. I barely gave that woman anything. And certainly not that.”
“Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about her popping out your kid for a little while, then.”
“I suppose not.”
I look over at him. He’s peeking at me through his fingers as he holds his head in his hands. “Andrew, there still is the very real problem of us having no money to get a late breakfast.” I straighten. “And the even bigger problem of us figuring out how we get to Vienna so I can get my passport replaced.”
He frowns. “No phone. No money.” He shakes his head. “Do you have any ideas?”
I lift a brow. “Think I’d be asking for your opinion if I did?” We’re silent for a moment. “What about the consulate?”
He shrugs. “What about it?”
“How far is it from here to Vienna? It can’t be too far, right? This is a pretty small country—”
“It’s about three hundred kilometers. And know that if we do somehow manage to get there, my father will need to become involved.”
“Mm.” I frown. “Is there someone else you can call? And I guess it’s going to have to be a collect call since neither of us seems to have any money…”
He shakes his head, rubbing his chin for a moment. He lifts his gaze to mine, finally turning fully toward me. “There is one person.”
I lift a brow. “Leopold? I thought he disappeared out of the country and no one could find him?”
“No, not Leopold. He frowns and glances over to a nearby payphone. “Not Leopold.” He turns his gaze back to mine. “William.”
Andrew
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.<
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“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 meeting 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: