by Evie East
It never should’ve happened.
And it never will again.
That night in the garden, I was a certifiable mess — a fraying nerve of pain that needed an outlet. Carter became that outlet. He absorbed my damage like a steel drum containing a detonation. He traced my skin with his hands and soothed all my jagged edges. And I let him.
Not just let him…
Eagerly encouraged.
Actively participated.
I try not to let myself think too hard about the fact that his room has been empty for the past three days. That someone else out there is probably actively participating at this exact moment.
Whoever Carter Thorne spends his time with is none of my business.
With a sigh, I pick up the touch-screen tablet that controls all the settings in my suite, from lighting to housekeeping requests to thermostat to speaker volume. I adjust the temperature, bumping the heat up by a few degrees. There’s an undeniable chill in the air that hints at the coming winter. October is slipping away already, the ever-shortening days punctuated by breezy afternoons that kick up leaves into colorful vortexes. On warmer days, I sit out on my terrace watching them spin around the courtyard, but today I’m bundled in an ultra soft cashmere sweater with the doors and windows shut tight.
I press another button and the strains of a familiar song begin to drift though my overhead speakers: Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Lorde. It’s become somewhat of a personal anthem these past two weeks, bolstering me even in my darkest moments when the castle walls start closing in around me.
Welcome to your life, there’s no turning back…
I close my textbook with a bang and stretch my arms overhead with a low groan. Four straight hours of psychopharmacology definitely warrants a study break. My eyes are tired, but it feels good to be focused on real lessons again. Learning something that actually matters instead of the proper curtsey height or the steps to some tedious waltz.
Sorry Lady Morrell.
She still drops by each day, putting her best efforts into making me a proper princess. I force a smile on my face and go through the motions, but I think we both know my heart is no longer in it. Any incentive I had to please Linus with my progress went away the minute I learned that he’d already sealed my fate. Stolen my future. Seized even the illusion of free will from my grasp without an ounce of remorse.
It’s strange — you do not fully appreciate the freedom of choice until it is snatched away from you like breath from your lungs after a sharp fall. You take your future for granted as you do the presence of stars in the sky up above you each night. All those endless possibilities stretching out into infinity, each brighter than the last.
But when the clouds pull in and the galaxies fade from the view of your faulty mortal eyes... you find yourself alone in the prison of your own darkness, inconsequentially trapped by a circumstance far beyond your own conception.
A captive in moonless haze.
A shackled girl in a shining crown.
Recognizing the pessimistic spiral of my own thoughts, I force myself to leave my bedroom and seek out a distraction. Namely: Chloe. After an hour-long search that includes her private suite, the kitchens, the stables, the throne room, and the library, I finally locate her in the least likely location — inside the glass greenhouse at the center of the courtyard, sitting cross-legged on the slate floor amongst the many flowering pots, an electric yellow bong resting in her hands.
“Yo,” she says when I walk in, her voice scratchy from smoke.
I plunk myself down beside her. “What are you doing in the greenhouse? It took me forever to find you.”
She shrugs. “No one ever comes out here — especially not Octavia. She’d never risk getting dirt on her perfect designer wardrobe.”
I look pointedly at the Louboutin boots on her feet, their cherry red soles on full display.
“Yeah, I know. Pot, meet kettle.” She smirks. “But I don’t mind getting a little dirty. That’s the difference.”
She takes a big hit from the bong before extending it my way.
I shake my head. “Can’t. I have more studying to do later.”
“You’ve spent the past two weeks with your head buried in those books.” She squints at me curiously. “Almost like you’re trying to avoid something.”
“What!? No, I’m not.” My heart pumps harder. “I’m just trying to catch up on everything I’ve missed these past few weeks. Thankfully, my professors were very understanding when I contacted them about make-up assignments.”
Chloe snorts. “Um, obviously. They’re not going to give a failing grade to their bloody princess. You could probably blow off the rest of your semester and still graduate with honors.”
“That’s not the point.” I sigh tiredly. “I actually like psychology. I like learning. I like reading case studies and going over treatment options.”
“Nerd.”
“Yes. I am. Unapologetically.”
“Not to be harsh, but I still don’t see why you’re bothering. You’ll be a bit busy running a country — I doubt you’ll find much occasion to use your degree. ” She pauses. “Unless it’s to confirm Octavia’s narcissistic personality disorder, but I’m not sure we really need a bonafide doctor’s diagnosis, for that.”
I laugh, but it’s unconvincing. I know Chloe is right: I’ll never practice psychology. I’ll never help anyone. I’ll never have any career at all, except the one that comes with a crown attached.
“I guess part of me is just too stubborn to let it go, when I’m so close to finishing,” I murmur. “If I do… it feels like I’m conceding to Linus. Like he’s broken me completely.”
She raises her bong in solidarity. “Stick it to the man, sister.”
My laugh is genuine, this time. “Plus, there’s the fact that without my studies, I’d be bored out of my skull. There’s not much else to do around here.”
“That, I will agree with. No amount of drugs can make this place interesting.”
“At least you get to leave.”
“With a full contingent of body guards,” she grumbles.
“I’d take the whole damn King’s Guard if it meant a few hours outside this castle.”
She bumps her shoulder into mine. “It won’t be this way forever. After the coronation, the press will simmer down. The story will fade from the headlines. And eventually, investigators will discover who started the fire, and these insane security protocols will ease up. You’ll be free to live a normal life. Well… as close to normal as life for a Lancaster ever gets.”
I glance over my shoulder, toward the East Wing. Or… the eyesore that used to be the East Wing. It’s gone, now; reduced to a pile of blackened ash, the larger pieces of debris already cleared away by a work crew in the night.
“What if they never find out who did it?” I whisper, throat tight.
“They will. They have to.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the public demands justice for King Leopold and Queen Abigail. They would never stand for this kind of treachery going unpunished. Especially not with Henry’s life still hanging in the balance.”
“Any word on his condition?”
“No improvement.” She takes another bong hit. “I tried to visit him at the hospital yesterday, but they wouldn’t let me in.”
“Why?”
“He’s in a sterile room because of his burns.” She shakes her head. “The risk of infection is so high, the doctors say any exposure to outside germs could be fatal, at this point. He’s too weak to fight. I think we all know… he’s fading more and more each day. It won’t be long, now.”
“Dammit.” My heart lurches. “You know, it’s strange: he’s my cousin and I’ve never even met him. Now, he might be dying… and I’ll probably never get the chance.”
“You’d like him. Everyone does.” She pauses for a long moment. “I actually bumped into Alden at the hospital. Just sitting in the waiting room, staring off into
space. He looked like he’d been there all day.”
“He and Henry were pretty close, right?”
“Best friends. Damn near inseparable, especially after Henry and Ava’s engagement. He’s taking this really hard. Much harder than that selfish sister of his. She doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about her fiancé dying.”
“Then why the engagement?”
She looks at me like I’m an utter idiot. “Ava Sterling would marry a limp-dicked old bullfrog for the chance to be queen someday.”
“Ah.”
I always forget most people actually want to be royal. To them, being one of the Lancasters is a dream to aspire to… not a nightmare to avoid at all costs.
Chloe clears her throat. “Anyway, Alden actually asked me about you.”
My brows go up. “Really?”
“Yeah. Wanted to know how you were coping with all this craziness. I told him to swing by the castle and ask you himself.”
“Chloe.”
“What?” She smiles innocently.
“Please don’t try to play matchmaker.”
“I’m doing no such thing.”
I stare at her doubtfully.
“Honestly! My intentions are pure.” She grimaces. “He’s lonely and sad, you’re lonely and sad… This way you can be lonely and sad together.”
“Uh huh. No other reasons?”
“Nope.” Her lips twitch. “Though you must admit… the man isn’t exactly a chore to look at…”
“Ugh! I knew this was a set up!”
“Oh, come on, E — you’re stubborn, but you’re not blind. Alden looks like… well, like one of the archangels fell off the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and wandered north.”
I roll my eyes. “So?”
“So, weren’t you just complaining about being bored out of your mind? This is what I’d call… a creative solution to that problem. In my experience, there’s nothing like a toe-curling orgasm to change your whole outlook.” Her eyes narrow. “Unless there’s some reason you can’t go out with him. Something you’re not telling me.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip.
Dammit.
The last thing I want to do is hang out with Alden. Between Carter avoiding me like the plague and Owen stalking me via apologetic voicemail messages, the men in my life are already far too complicated. I certainly don’t need to add more testosterone to that equation. But I’m not sure how to make Chloe understand that without revealing other details I’d rather keep to myself.
“Look, I’m sure he’s very nice,” I hedge. “If he happens to swing by in a few weeks, maybe I can make time to see him, but—”
“Great! He’s coming over tonight at six.”
I gasp. “Chloe!”
“What?”
“Tell me you’re joking!”
“I could, but that would be a lie.”
“You’re a monster, you know that?!”
She’s totally unperturbed, smiling as she flips her thumb against her lighter and watches it flame to life. “Did I mention it’s five thirty right now?”
“WHAT?!
“Yeah. Do you plan to wear that on your date?”
Date?!
In a sudden panic, I glance down at myself.
There’s a coffee stain on my cashmere sweater and the loose-fitting pair of boyfriend jeans I’m wearing look like something I found in the reject pile of a thrift shop. There are frumpy sheepskin slippers on my feet. Not an ounce of makeup on my face. Hair piled atop my head in a messy bun. Bright blue manicure— sorry, Lady Morrell, I’m a rebel — chipping off most of my nails.
Basically, I look homeless.
“I hate you,” I hiss at Chloe, scampering to my feet and taking off like a bullet.
“Go get ‘em, tiger!” she calls after me. I can hear her laughing like a damn hyena even as I barrel out of the greenhouse and head straight for my suite.
Chapter Sixteen
“Wow,” I breathe, turning in a slow circle.
“Told you.” Alden’s smile is small but genuine. “Nothing beats this view.”
He’s right. I lean forward on the turret, brush a windswept curl out of my face, and squint my eyes toward the horizon. From up here, the Alps look so close I could practically reach out and touch them. All of Vasgaard is spread out in the valley beneath us, a colorful carpet of red slate roofs and smoking chimneys. The Nelle River snakes along like a brown garden snake, its many bends and stone bridges a striking sight from this vantage.
When Alden showed up at my bedroom door a half hour ago and volunteered to show me his favorite spot in the castle, I must admit I was skeptical. I assumed he’d bring me to the Great Hall, with its vaulted ceilings and gold-gilded throne… or the armory, to fawn over the impressive collection of medieval weaponry… or the stables, to butter me up with the help of a few glossy-eyed horses.
Instead, he led me down the hall to a massive wall tapestry bearing the double-headed Lancaster lion crest. Pulling an ornate key from his pocket, he pushed the thick fabric aside and proceeded to unlock a narrow door I never knew existed.
Trust me, he said, holding out his hand. It’s worth it.
Wide-eyed, I placed my hand in his strong, warm grip, then followed him down a dim, cobwebbed hallway. We passed through another door into a pitch-black spiral stairwell, its stone steps worn smooth over hundreds of years. Up, up up we climbed, only the light of Alden’s cellphone to illuminate the ascent, until we reached top of the tallest turret of Waterford Palace.
To be honest, I’d began to doubt any view could possibly be worth the burning in my thighs after three hundred steps… but as soon as we stepped through the thick wooden door into the small round spire, I forgot about my sore muscles.
The view from up here is, quite simply, incredible.
“I didn’t even know people could come up here,” I say, awed. “I thought it was sealed off years ago.”
“Not sealed, per se. Just… discouraged from public use. It’s not on the sanctioned castle tour, that’s for sure. ”
I move to the other side of the tower, eyes fixed on distant skies. “Will they throw us in the dungeons for trespassing, then?”
He laughs. “You? Certainly not. You’re the princess. Technically, you own this turret. Me, on the other hand…”
“Don’t worry. I’ll use my vast authority to free you.”
“How very benevolent of you, Your Royal Highness.” Teasing me, he bows low at the waist, wrist flourishing in a well-practiced gesture. It’s so smoothly done, I can’t help smiling. Genuinely smiling. For the first time in weeks.
I’m stunned to find I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s so good to be out of my room, standing on top of the world with a handsome man who isn’t at all complicated, who doesn’t make my head spin with torturous thoughts or my heart race with treacherous feelings. I lean into the wind, letting it clear out my head. Hoping it might erase a set of blue, blue, blue eyes from the deepest vaults of my memory.
After a few minutes, a thought occurs to me. I turn to ask, “How did you get a key?”
And how do I get one for myself?
“It’s not mine, it’s Henry’s. We come up here all the time… I mean, came up here all the time. It was—” he breaks off mid-sentence, all light extinguished from his expression in the space of a few seconds .
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I know the two of you are close.”
His hazel eyes flash with thoughts I can’t decipher. “We are. It’s been… quite difficult.”
“It’s not the same, but… I lost my mom very suddenly two years ago. I didn’t get to say goodbye because, even that last day, I didn’t think it was real. It couldn’t be real. She simply couldn’t be dying.” I suck in a sharp breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I understand how hard it can be — what you’re going through, right now. And I realize we don’t know each other very well but, if you ever need someone to talk to…” I gesture around. “My turret is always
open.”
His smile returns. He takes a few steps toward me, hazel eyes never shifting away from mine. “Thank you, Emilia. I will definitely take you up on that offer. Soon.”
He reaches out his hand for mine. After a moment’s hesitation, I place my palm against his. My heart flutters slightly as he laces our fingers together. And it feels… unquestionably nice.
Not like my heart might explode inside my chest from trying to contain all my emotions at once. Not like I’m at risk for having a stroke from the sheer strain of standing in his space. Not like my lungs aren’t working properly because I keep forgetting to breathe around him.
Simple.
Easy.
Uncomplicated.
“Shall we descend?” he asks. Up close, his eyes have flecks of green and gold. They’re stunning.
So why do I keep wishing they were blue?
I nod and smile brightly. “Sure. Let’s go.”
* * *
Alden is a picture-perfect gentleman as he walks me back to my room in the North Wing. We keep the conversation light, discussing the upcoming coronation. A flurry of activity unfolds around us as we pass through the Great Hall, where at least a dozen housekeepers are dusting chandeliers and polishing floors.
“There hasn’t been a ball here for a long time,” Alden murmurs, as we cross through an archway into the throne room. It reminds me of a church, full of stained glass and somber air. “Not since King Leopold and Queen Abigail threw a party to celebrate Henry’s birth.”
“You must’ve been very young.”
“Little more than a baby.” His grin is quick. “I don’t remember much. Ava wasn’t even born yet. Neither were you, come to think of it.”
“Is that typical? To have so few balls?”
“King Leopold wasn’t a fan of excess or debauchery.” His eyes grow sad again. “Not like his son. Henry loved a good party. If he’d been crowned… his coronation would’ve been a celebration the likes of which Germania has never seen.”