The Throne

by Samantha Whiskey

  Somehow, I’d find out just what all those dreams used to be. I’d have to dig through decades of conditioning and training, but I’d discover myself again. And now I could because I had the luxury of choice, something that had never been in my grasp before.

  The notion was almost as exhilarating as Jaime’s lips.

  Almost.

  I swiped open the iPad once again, trying to ignore the instinct to pick out a girl I thought might be good enough for Jaime. He didn’t want that. He’d growled at me over it.

  A small chuckle broke up some of the tension in my chest, and I rolled my eyes. That man. He didn’t have a clue what he wanted either. We were the same—as we often were—in that regard. And the kiss that shook the foundation of my soul didn’t matter because that is what he excelled at.

  Xander had been born to rule, to don the composure of a great king, while Jaime had been born to set fire to whatever laid cold and dormant.

  Like you.

  I sighed. It didn’t matter that he had the ability to get my heart racing in ways I’d never experienced before. That is what he did, it was in his nature, and I refused to be his great affair before choosing a queen and settling for life.

  A sharp, twisted something stung my stomach, but I buried it with the collected calm I’d practiced since I’d been a teenager. I’d envisioned myself next to the throne more than half my life, it was natural I wouldn’t like whoever it was that would replace me.

  “Lady Katherine,” I said, clicking open her file. Would she be able to control the fire that blazed from Jaime naturally? Would she be able to read his cues? Would she know that a tiny muscle in his jaw ticked when he was contemplating hitting something, or that the left corner of his mouth twitched when he was holding back a laugh?

  Not likely, but not important. I needed to ask different questions. Ones like, would she support his position if he ever went against Parliament? What would she do if someone challenged his birthright?

  A headache burned at the base of my skull, and I rubbed at my neck.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Duchess Carlisle,” a feminine voice sounded from behind my closed door.

  I slipped into the pumps I’d left by my desk and clicked to open the door.

  “For you,” the young man said handing me a single white gardenia flower and a small gold-foiled box the size of a book.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the items and tilting my head. “I don’t believe I know your name.” I didn’t recognize him from the palace staff—not that I knew all their names but I was certain I knew all their faces. His sleek black slacks and white button-down combo suggested he wasn’t from a flower service, plus they would’ve stopped him at the gate.

  A flash of white teeth and one hell of a head-nod and he jutted his hand out. “Anthony,” he said, the lilt to his tone just this side of confident. “I’m His Royal Highness’s new secretary.”

  A laugh threatened to burst from my lips, but I pushed the bubbly response back, instead electing to smile. “You don’t look like Jaime—His Royal Highness’s—usual secretary.”

  Anthony’s eyebrows raised twice before he grinned mischievously. “With all due respect, Duchess, I think that is the point.” He clapped his hands behind his back. “Princess Sophia selected me herself.”

  “Ah,” I said, nodding as I shifted the items in my arms. “That makes perfect sense.” I leaned in closer, lowering my tone. “She’s the smartest of all the Wyndhams.”

  His bright blue eyes practically sparkled as he gave me another nod.

  “Are you sure you have the right room?” I asked, eyeing the flower. “Surely he meant to send this to one of the candidates staying on the property?”

  He shook his head back and forth rapidly. “He gave me specific instructions. Rather intimidating, actually, about what would happen if I botched it.” His eyes flashed wide. “Don’t tell him I said that. Please?”

  I chuckled. “Our secret.”

  “Thank you, Duchess—”

  “Charlotte,” I corrected him.

  He settled for another enthusiastic nod and backed away slowly until he was out of the entryway and practically power-walking down the hall.

  I tried not to snort as I shut the door.

  Settling on the bed, I brought the gardenia to my nose, inhaling its perfect scent. They’d been my favorite since I was a kid. I gripped the thick green stem, admiring the three perfect buds. I set it on the bed, slipping the small card off the gold box. I wondered who he’d asked about the flower…even Xander thought I preferred white roses. An innocent mistake, but still.

  I easily recognized Jaime’s hurried handwriting as I opened the pristine cardstock.

  Often, when I think of you, I see you sitting tucked behind the rows of gardenia bushes that border our vacation property on the coast, a book against your knees. You were always so damned sassy if anyone ever interrupted you in the middle of a good book.

  Still are.

  The flower is an apology for yesterday, not that I’d take it back even if it was within my power as the new King.

  The chocolates are a thank you for staying to help me navigate this chaotic sea when you could’ve been on the first plane out.

  --Jaime

  Stunned silence swept over me.

  I flipped the lid of the box open and gasped. The peppermint bark was one of my all-time favorite indulgences—a rarity since the chocolatier that made it was from Corbin. My eyes darted from the box of my favorite chocolate to the gardenia to the card. The memory he spoke of…the one with me in the bushes with a book—it was one I visited often. I spent several summers like that.

  He remembers.

  Jameson Wyndham, playboy prince turned future king, remembered our times in the flowers.

  He’s paid attention.

  I broke off a piece of the bark and popped it into my mouth, savoring the crisp, warm taste as it coated my tongue. Setting the gardenia on my desk, I left the iPad forgotten on my desk and rushed out of the room.

  I’d expected to find him in his newly appointed office, or the gym, but stopped short as I passed the common dining hall.

  I covered my mouth with my fingers, trying to hide the laughter that was desperate to slip free.

  Jaime’s arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall, candidate number three—Lady Lancaster—stood before him, gazing up at him adoringly, and chattering at a speed that would make a hummingbird cringe. He opened and closed his mouth a few times in an attempt to work himself into the conversation, or out of it most likely, but she remained oblivious.

  His eyes trailed over the baby blue hat on her head, and I stiffened at being caught enjoying his torture. He smirked, those once panicked eyes shifting to something closer to a spark of amusement.

  Help. Me.

  He didn’t have to speak the words, or even mouth them. I knew what he needed, knew what he was trying to tell me without even trying. Being friends for over a decade will do that to two people.

  I wetted my lips, tempted to let him stew in his predicament a bit longer, but clicked over to him instead.

  “Pardon me, Lady Lancaster,” I said, reaching for Jaime’s elbow. “His Royal Highness has some urgent business to attend to.” The Lady’s lips went into a full pout as she stopped mid-sentence. “But,” I continued. “I know he’s looking forward to tomorrow’s festivities, and to seeing you there, of course.” She brightened at that and did some sort of quick bow before rushing off.

  “Good Lord I thought I’d be stuck here until coronation,” Jaime said, shaking his head. “You’re a lifesaver, Charlie.”

  My spine stiffened at the nickname, and I hushed the heat swirling in my stomach like a purring cat that had been called.

  “What’s my urgent business?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows. “Do we need to revisit our discussion from the butler’s pantry again?”

  I swallowed the laugh bubbling in my throat. “Funny.”

  He shrugged. “Sometim
es.”

  A piece of his hair fell over his forehead and without thinking I pushed it back into place. He caught my wrist in one hand, his fingers overlapping as he cocked an eyebrow at me. “Trying to tame me?”

  I huffed, jerking my wrist back. “No woman powerful enough on the planet to do that job.”

  “I think there is.”

  “Jaime,” I said, breathless from one damn touch. “Your gift—”

  “Ah,” he cut me off, slipping his hands into his pockets like he was restraining himself. “Good to know my secretary is enjoying his first day of work.”

  I smiled, unable to hide my affections for Anthony. “I like him.”

  “He’s got something the others didn’t.”

  “He’s not trying to get in your pants?” I teased.

  Jaime tilted his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It is only his first day.”

  A laugh finally ripped free from my lips, and I glanced over my shoulder, fearful the Queen Mother would hear the booming sound echo throughout the hall.

  Jaime’s smile was infectious.

  “Thank you,” I said once I’d composed myself. “Who did you ask about the items?” I tilted my head, watching his face. His features were smooth as he pushed off the wall, stepping closer to me.

  “How’d it taste?” he said, inhaling deeply as his mouth stopped an inch from mine. He smirked.

  My bottom lip trembled as I tried to understand what he’d asked, his nearness totally clouding my senses. He stepped back a foot, giving me room to breathe.

  “Who did you ask?” I repeated, though this time it came out a whisper.

  “I don’t need anyone to tell me what you like, Charlie,” He said and brushed past me, the heat from his body soaking right down to my bones. He glanced over his shoulder, a delicious smirk on his lips. “Not even from you.”

  I uncurled my trembling fingers after I’d lost sight of him as he rounded the corner. He wasn’t lying. The man knew how to get under my skin, knew how to warm me when I was cold, make me laugh when I wanted to cry and make me want to scream when I should be calm.

  He’s paid attention. I had the thought again, and a tendril of shock, fear, and electricity shot through my core.

  He knew me.

  And it scared the hell out of me.

  Because I was done with this life, and I was done being someone’s contract, not someone’s choice. A sweet memory and all the chocolates in Elleston couldn’t change that.

  Jameson

  Monday

  Five women left. Three weeks until I’d marry one of them. Scratch that. Six women. I wasn’t throwing Charlotte out of the running just yet. I wasn’t giving up on her until she chose someone else because I would always choose her.

  Now if I could just make her see that.

  Instead, I was stuck going on five dates with women I didn’t want as my queen, interviewing them for a job they had no chance of actually getting. Just getting their hopes up.

  Basically, I was an asshole.

  “You’re quiet this evening,” Oliver remarked as we headed toward a private dining room in the palace.

  “Not much to say, I guess.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He gave me a full shot of side-eye. “I’ve known you for years, Jameson. Just because I was Xander’s guard doesn’t mean I wasn’t just as observant as you.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ve never known you not to have anything to say. Quite the opposite really. I’ve always depended on you to fill the awkward silence. To distract everyone from the real issue by drawing attention to something asinine you’d done just to take the heat off one of your siblings.”

  “Usually I’m thankful for how observant you are.”

  “As you should be.”

  Cocky bastard. Not that he didn’t deserve it. He was number one in his class both for his university degree and the academy. But in that moment, I’d wished he’d followed his damn movie-star good looks into that particular field instead of going Freud on me.

  “Shut up, Oliver.”

  “Noted,” he said with a smirk.

  We rounded the corner, and my heart leaped like a schoolboy at the sight of Charlotte waiting for us outside the door. She had on a black sheath dress with a high neckline, and a hemline that skirted just above her knees. Perfectly appropriate, maybe even ordinary. But damn did she make it the sexiest dress on the planet. Maybe it was because I was getting to know what was under that dress. Maybe it was because, for the first time in my life, I was free to let myself linger on what a beautiful woman she really was without the guilt of fantasizing about my brother’s intended.

  “There you are,” she said with a tight smile.

  “Oh, Charlie is displeased,” I said to Oliver.

  She huffed. The Duchess of Corbin actually huffed in my direction. God, I loved getting under her skin, watching her flush, seeing those emerald eyes spark.

  “You’re five minutes late, and Lady Ophelia is waiting for you.”

  I shot Oliver a look, and he immediately stepped away, muttering something like, “good luck,” under his breath.

  “Have dinner with me instead.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Jameson.”

  “Charlie.”

  She swallowed, and my eyes watched her throat move, wishing my lips were on it. “You have five ladies left to choose from. Narrowing down during these five appointments will help you choose. You need to have an official fiancee in the next two weeks.”

  I leaned forward until one of my hands met the wall by her ear, caging her into one side, but not the other. She could move if she wanted.

  Choices, my Charlie. Choices.

  She didn’t.

  “The wedding should be in three weeks,” I reminded her, lowering my head so our foreheads nearly touched.

  “You at least need to give the girl a week to get a darn dress.” She smoothed my tie, correcting an imperfection that I knew wasn’t there.

  “Do you have a dress?” I asked softly.

  “Not. The. Point.” she brushed her hands down my lapels. “Now, Lady Ophelia is lovely. She’s twenty-three, fresh out of University and she majored in psychology in hopes to get her doctorate.”

  I pushed off the wall, stepping back from her. Mood broken.

  “Okay.”

  “Oliver will be with you, and the staff, of course, but that’s it.”

  “You’re not coming in with me?” Disappointment sang through me like a damn opera, all loud and melancholy. I’d been depending on having her with me, showing her how wrong all of these girls were—that she was the only woman for me.

  “Nope. Would kind of kill the mood, don’t you think?”

  “And what if it all goes horribly wrong?”

  “You just ask her what her thoughts are on our diplomatic ties with Switzerland.”

  “Wait. What?”

  She reached for my hair, and I stepped further away.

  “Ask her about Switzerland.”

  “No one can get that question wrong. Asking people what they think of the most neutral country in the history of...history gets you one answer. Everyone likes Switzerland.”

  “Exactly. But when you ask that question, Oliver will signal me, and I’ll come in and find some urgent reason you’re immediately needed elsewhere.”

  A slow smile spread across my face. This was going to be easier than—

  “And you have to wait at least a half hour before it will get you any of my attention,” she said with a smirk.

  Fuck.

  “Great.”

  She reached for my hair again, and I lightly captured her wrist.

  “Leave it alone.”

  “You look like you just crawled out of bed with another woman.”

  “Well, the only woman I’ve been remotely intimate with in the last month has been you, and since we were in the prep room, and not my bed, that’s a physical impossibili
ty.”

  A delicate flush came over her cheeks.

  “Well, you still look like—”

  “Me. I look like me. Stop trying to make me look like Xander.”

  Her lips parted, and she stepped back. “That wasn’t my intention.”

  “Sure it was. It always is, at least that’s been the theme for the past few weeks. I’m not Xander. You can’t turn me into him.” I kept my tone soft, hoping my words sank in with her instead of triggering her temper.

  “I know you’re not Xander,” she said softly, dropping her gaze.

  I sucked a breath in to steady my nerves, carefully choosing my next words. “Of course you do. Because if I was Xander, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be in final fittings for your dress, eager and willing to marry me, not trying to wed me to someone else,” I whispered.

  “That’s not fair,” she answered in the same hushed tones.

  “Yeah, well there’s a lot of that going around this month.” I looked away, taking just the few seconds I needed to get my shit under control. “Shall we?” I asked Oliver.

  He opened the door, keeping his eyes averted.

  God help us all if the guy ever decided to write a book.

  “Jamie…” Charlotte said softly, a tone of pleading in her voice I’d never heard before.

  I knew she wanted me to understand. To give her a fucking minute. I knew she’d been through hell with Xander, that just a few weeks ago she’d been his. She needed a year, a month, a week...a fucking minute. But I didn’t have that minute to give, not with three weeks until I had to fulfill the Parliamentary requirement.

  I stopped at the threshold of the door, seeing Lady Ophelia rise from her seat. Then I turned my head toward Charlie.

  “Charlotte.”

  With a single nod, I walked in to have dinner with Lady Ophelia.

  Three hours later, I hadn’t once asked her about the State of Switzerland.

  Tuesday

  Oliver and Charlotte walked with me down the wide hallways of the Elleston Museum of Natural History. She rattled off facts on Lady Amelia’s accomplishments, her breeding, charities, and hobbies.