by Ember Casey
Judging by the masks the others in the crowd are wearing, mine is among the simpler. I suppose it’s so no one will recognize us, which seems to be part of the fun.
Of course, it’s also sort of a relief after the past few days. I’m not sure I want anyone in Montovia recognizing me ever.
Andrew smiles at me as he offers me his elbow. I curl my hands around his upper arm and allow him to guide me through the crowd. If anyone has recognized him, they aren’t saying anything. Most of the people here seem too caught up in the merriment to pay much attention to anyone else who might be here.
It’s perfect. And a weight seems to lift from my chest the longer we’re here.
I sidle closer to him as we walk through the crowd. There’s a definite chill in the air, and the cape I’m wearing over the gorgeous blue dress Sophia chose for me is doing little to stop the cold.
Andrew pulls a few mugs of something off a tray from a passing waiter as we walk over to an empty area. He hands it to me before he takes a sip from his cup. “Try it. This cider is one of Monrovia’s oldest recipes.”
I take a drink and smile over at him. “It’s delicious.”
He grins. “I thought you’d like it. Though I can think of a few more pleasant ways to warm you up.”
He motions toward a bench and we sit, watching the nearby dancers as we sip our drinks.
He finally slides an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He tips his head to my ear, lowering his voice. “I want to thank you, Victoria.”
“Thank me?” My brow furrows and I turn to look at him. “For what?”
He smiles and sets his cup down next to him. “For putting up with me. With this.” He motions with his hand. “This is but one of many of the responsibilities you’ll have as queen. Though I dare say, this is among the more pleasant.”
My face flushes and I turn to look at the crowd of people again, setting my drink down next to me. Queen. I’m not sure the thought of me having that title at some point in the future has sunk quite yet. I’m not sure it ever will.
“Of course, when you’re queen, things will be a bit different. We won’t be among the crowd, at least not until the masquerade ball on the final night of the festival. When we rule, we’ll—”
“Andrew.” I’m not even sure why I interrupt, but my heart is racing a bit too uncomfortably in my chest at what he’s saying. “Maybe we can take things one day at a time. Maybe…” I pause, turning to face him again. “Maybe you can let me get used to the idea of living in Montovia before I try to accept being any sort of ruler.”
He takes my hand in his, lifting it to his lips. “You will make a fine queen, Victoria. The people here are going to love you.”
I hope my smile isn’t as sickly as I feel. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. I’m not sure they’re even going to like me—”
“Nonsense.” He kisses the back of my hand again before clasping it into his and placing it on his lap. “You’ll have many opportunities to show the people here how you’ve come to think of them—placing their needs before your own. Much as I have—”
“Is that what you’re telling yourself now, Andrew?” A masked man walks up behind Andrew, clapping him on his back.
Andrew releases me, standing up and turning to face him.
The man grins and pulls off his own mask. He’s not unattractive—he definitely doesn’t have the striking features of the Montovian princes, but there is still an air of regality about him. He’s tall and muscular, with eyes that match the color of his light brown hair. “And now that I’ve recognized you, isn’t it tradition that I win some sort of prize?” He turns to me, giving me a sweeping bow. “And you must be Victoria. I’ve heard so much about you. Though I must say, most of it has not been what you might call…pleasant.”
Andrew is almost snarling beneath his mask. “Reginald.” He sneers at him for a long moment. “I can’t say it surprises me that you’ve decided to be as classless in this matter as you seem to be in all others—”
“Still a sore loser, I see.” Reginald chuckles. “You know, Andrew, no one forced you to wager your precious scepter in the first place. As I recall, it was you who suggested—”
“Actually, it was you who suggested we wager our national treasures. Though I highly doubt I would have wagered anything at all had you not been refilling my brandy after each hand of poker.”
“As a good host should do, Andrew.” He chuckles, turning to me. “Though, I will say, had we wagered our women, I might have been even happier to have won.” He lifts a brow in my direction. “And though my father is having far too much fun debating the legitimacy of our country’s claim to the scepter, I would be open to negotiating if the hand of this fine woman were involved.” He pauses, glancing at Andrew before he looks back at me. “Or other more interesting parts than hands…”
Andrew’s voice is little more than a growl. “I will kill you with my bare hands, you filthy—”
“Andrew.” I interrupt, placing my hand on his arm.
I’m not sure if it’s the tone of my voice or my touch, but I can feel the tension melt from him.
Andrew lets out a long breath. “As I was saying, Reginald, your behavior is inappropriate. Perhaps you should—”
“It might be inappropriate, Andrew, but what you did to my sister was far more inappropriate. And we do have that minor detail to discuss.” He grins at Andrew for a moment before bending to grab Andrew’s drink from the bench. He downs the liquid in a single swig, setting the mug back down on the bench. “Or had you forgotten how you’ve disgraced her? And my country? Because, Andrew…” He balls his hands into fists. “I have not.”
I step between the two men. “You two are not going to brawl. Not here. Not in the middle of this.” I motion toward the crowd of people, who thankfully haven’t seemed to notice what’s going on. “I think we can all agree that this issue is better settled in a more diplomatic way. A more civil way—”
“In a fencing match, perhaps.” Andrew interrupts, his tone flat. He glares at Prince Reginald. “Unless you fear being beaten, of course.”
The man snorts. “Beaten? By you?” He laughs. “You do recall that we’ve sparred on numerous occasions, do you not?”
Andrew only glares at him, which makes Reginald laugh even harder.
“Andrew.” He shakes his head, laughing almost uncontrollably. “How many times have you beaten me? How many times has any member of your family beaten me? William is the best of the four of you, and even he—”
“Perhaps we have a surprise in store for you this year, Reginald. Perhaps this year—”
“Have you been taking lessons then, Andrew? In between all your other duties, chasing Leopold around the world and mopping up his messes?” He stares at Andrew for a moment. “Those are your only duties as Crown Prince of Montovia, aren’t they? Washing up after your brother?” He grins at him, almost daring him to respond. “Tell me, Andrew, do you do anything else for Leopold? Do you wipe his ass after he takes a—?”
“I will kill you.” Andrew’s hands ball into fists again.
I squeeze his forearm but look up at Reginald. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Why don’t you go enjoy the festivities? While you can.”
He lifts a brow and smiles at me. “While I can?”
I nod. “Yes. While you can.”
“Is that a threat, dear lady?” His grin doesn’t even fall in the slightest.
“I would never lower myself to making threats, Prince Reginald.” I glance at Andrew and back at Reginald, dropping my voice for effect. “But you should know, Andrew doesn’t make threats, either. He tends to follow through with his promises.”
The man’s eyes dart between mine and Andrew’s and his smile finally falls. He lifts his chest. “I was planning to go and find Leopold, anyway. He still owes me money from betting against me at the jousting tournament during last year’s Festival.”
He claps Andrew on the back as he edges around us an
d disappears into the crowd.
We’re silent for a moment before Andrew spins me to face him and slides his arms around my waist. He dips his head to speak in my ear. “What did I do to deserve you, Victoria?”
I tilt my head to look up into his eyes. “I could ask you the same thing, Andrew.”
He smiles at me for a moment before he pulls me tightly to his chest. Then he tilts his head and kisses me as hard as he ever has.
Andrew
When I finally, breathlessly, pull away from her, Victoria smiles up at me.
“What was that for?” she asks, all innocence.
“You know what it’s for,” I say, brushing my nose against hers—or at least trying to. These masks Sophia picked out for us are rather in the way. I straighten, looking down into her eyes. “For helping me feel hope again.”
Something shines in her eyes—something that makes me want to grab her and kiss her again.
“I hope Reginald hasn’t spoiled the festival for you,” I say. “I truly despise that man.”
“He’s not exactly…charming,” Victoria says.
“The man’s an arrogant, entitled bastard,” I say. When she gives me a look, I add, “I know that’s saying something, coming from me.”
Her fingers grab the front of my shirt. “You can just say it—he’s a grade-A dick.”
“He’s also one of the finest fencers in Europe,” I say. “Victoria, I know you mean well by offering to enter the tournament—”
“Do you think I’m afraid of him?” she asks.
“Well, no, that’s not what I—”
“I can take him,” she says. “I’ll get back your scepter for you, I promise.”
It’s hard to argue with the look of determination in her eyes, but I find myself trying to anyway.
“Of course, I have the highest faith in you,” I say. “But it isn’t your responsibility to win back the scepter. I don’t want you to feel pressured to—”
“It might not be my responsibility, but I want to do it,” she says. “Or are you the only one who’s allowed to fight for this relationship?”
My mouth falls open. When she puts it like that, I truly have no response.
Her hands tighten on my shirt. “Maybe I’ll fail. Maybe he’ll beat me. But…I have to try. If not for us, then for myself. To feel like I have some ounce of control over this. These past few weeks I feel like I’ve been at the whims of everyone else. And maybe that’s my life now if I choose to be with you, but…this is my chance. The chance to take back a little bit of power. The chance to take action. Win or lose, I have to take the chance.”
Part of me wants to keep insisting that she shouldn’t have to fight my fights, but by the time she’s done speaking, the other part of me realizes how wrong that is. I see the truth in her eyes, feel it in her touch. I know if our situation were reversed, I could never sit back and let her be the only one to fight or take action. If we are to marry, I want to be a team—equal partners in all things. Her battles will be mine…so why should I deny her the same?
This is why I love her—this spirit.
I wrap my arms around her again, holding her against me. “Win or lose, I love you,” I murmur. “I will never stop loving you, no matter what happens.”
My lips find hers again, and she seems to melt against me. I tighten my grip on her as my tongue traces her lower lip before plunging deep into her mouth. She moans, a sound that vibrates through me, before abruptly pulling back. The bits of skin I can see around her mask are flushed red.
“Don’t start anything we can’t finish,” she says breathlessly. “Even if no one here recognizes you, I imagine we probably shouldn’t tear each other’s clothes off in the middle of the street.”
“Let them watch,” I say, pulling her toward me and kissing her again.
She returns the kiss for a moment before pulling away again, laughing.
“Come on,” she says. “I want to see the rest of the festival.”
I can’t deny her anything. Smiling, I lace my fingers through hers. “Anything you wish.”
I lead her back out into the crowd. All around us, people are laughing and even dancing. Many people are wearing street clothes, but just as many are dressed in costumes and masks as we are. Colors and movement and cheer surround us.
The crowds grow thicker as we near the main square of the city. The edges of the streets are lined with vendors selling everything from masks to roasted nuts to mugs of cider—with a splash of the finest Montovian spirits, of course. Music floats toward us from at least three different directions—we encourage all manner of street performers at the Festival—but the real show is in the main square.
“Would you care for something to eat or drink?” I ask her.
“I am a little hungry,” she admits. “What do you recommend?”
“It’s not the Salt Festival without some traditional Montovian salted bread,” I say.
She grins. “Then salted bread it is.”
I pull her through the throngs of people toward a stall along the sidewalk. A round-faced woman stands beneath a bright blue-and-gold awning, serving steaming, nut-studded rolls to the festival-goers around her. It takes some maneuvering, but I finally manage to find us a place in front of the stall.
“Two please,” I say.
“Right away, sir.” She turns and grabs two more of the warm, golden rolls. Coarse grains of salt have been sprinkled over the top.
When she turns back to us with our rolls, I slip her a banknote.
“No change,” I tell her, taking one of the rolls and passing it to Victoria.
The woman looks down at the note, then back up at me. Then again—this time with wide eyes.
“Your Highness,” she says, her round cheeks going even redder.
My stomach clenches, and I wait for it—for her judgment, her censure of my recent actions. But though she doesn’t exactly look pleased to see me, she doesn’t look unhappy, either—though perhaps my generous tip has more to do with that than anything else.
“Congratulations,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “For recognizing me, you receive a royal token.” I reach into the bag hanging from my belt and grab one of the little prizes—a little chocolate coin pressed with the royal coat of arms. I’ll admit I feel a little queasy handing out a prize with the royal seal emblazoned on the front, but there’s nothing to be done about it.
The woman looks down at the chocolate again before looking back up at me. Then her eyes slide behind me—to Victoria.
She leans forward, dropping her voice slightly. “Is that her?”
Her. How exactly do I answer that?
Before I can formulate a proper reply, the woman goes on. “I know it’s not my place to say so, Your Highness, but I’m glad you’re not marrying that Princess Justine. Seemed a shame to sacrifice you to that vile family. No disrespect meant, of course.” Her eyes flick back to Victoria. “Of course, I think most of us were hoping you’d marry a Montovian girl, but the heart wants what it wants, doesn’t it?” Her mouth tilts up into a smile. “First Leopold, and now you. What is it about these American girls that interests you brothers so?” She gives a little shake of her head, still smiling, then tries to hand my money back to me. “No charge for you, Your Highness.”
I refuse to take it back. “If you won’t keep it, then use it on someone else. Pass on the Festival spirit.”
Her smile grows even wider. “Very well, Your Highness.”
“Happy Festival,” I say, backing away from the stall.
For a moment, she looks like she wants to continue our conversation, but fortunately, another customer calls for her attention. I use her distraction to slip away with Victoria, pull her into a doorway, away from the crowd. Victoria’s already been nibbling at her roll, and she takes another bite.
“This is delicious,” she says.
I take a bite of my own, relishing the salty, nutty taste on my tongue.
My thoughts, however, are on the wo
man behind the table. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about my recent life decisions…but she wasn’t cruel, either. In fact, our little conversation gives me hope—hope that the people of this country will come to forgive me, that they might even come to be happy for me.
For us.
Victoria is taking another bite of her roll. She’s being incredibly quiet—even though I’m certain she heard my entire conversation with the baker.
“What are you thinking?” I ask her.
“I’m thinking I need about three more of these. It’s so good.”
“Is that all?”
She looks up at me, lowering her piece of bread. “I think…I’m glad I’m wearing a mask. And that I won’t have to hear most people’s thoughts about me.” She looks down at her drink. “I knew some people wouldn’t be happy about you marrying an American—and I definitely understand—but it’s still hard to hear.” Her eyes rise to mine again. “I never really expected to be in a situation where people would be judging me from all sides. She wasn’t even mean about it, but…that’s what my life is going to be now, isn’t it? Everyone in this country is going to have an opinion about me. About whether or not I’m suitable for you.”
“Yes,” I say, knowing better than to deny the truth. “But they will quickly come to see that you are the best thing to ever happen to me—and when they truly get to know you, they will see that you will make the best queen Montovia could ever hope for.”
She winces a little when I say the word queen. “It’s just a lot all at once.”
“And you won’t have to endure it alone,” I say.
She nods. “I know. It’ll just take some getting used to, that’s all.” She takes another bite. “And we haven’t even officially announced our engagement yet. We still can’t even say for sure that we will get married—”
I silence her with a finger against her lips. “We will. We will marry, no matter what I have to do to make that happen.” I reach down and take her free hand, the one still wearing the pearl engagement ring. “Nothing will stop me from becoming your husband. From devoting the rest of my life to you.”