Accidental Princess: A Hidden Kingdom Novel

by Lexi Whitlow

  I stumble to the entrance of the apartment building and somberly walk to the elevator. The doors open. Not hours ago we shared a kiss in this very elevator on the way down this morning. How happy we were in that moment.

  I knew that I wanted to tell her today, but God, not like that. It was insensitive of me on so many fronts. I should have put Freya’s feelings front and center from the beginning and like an idiot I failed her. I failed her big time.

  The elevator opens to the top floor and the single door to our apartment feels lonely. I walk in and pour a glass of scotch, downing it quickly. I take another and carry the glass and bottle with me to the terrace.

  Today feels like a good day to forget what a horrible mess of a man that I am.

  19

  Freya

  I don’t stop walking. My mind is frazzled, and I don’t even know how to begin to sort my thoughts.

  An hour or so later I get back to the apartment and knock on the door for Ally to let me in. I left my keys in my purse which is back at the apartment. She opens the door and takes a good look at me.

  “He told you, didn’t he?” she asks.

  “You knew?” I ask, stunned. My mind swirls with that same anxiety I’ve had since I met Andreas—the emotion I’ve been trying to push down for so long. Except this time, I know exactly what I’m dealing with—a web of lies. And I’m at its center. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “Come inside and we can make cocoa and talk about everything,” she says as she opens the door wide for me.

  I nod slowly. I can feel the anger and disappointment welling inside of me, but I walk inside and sit down on the couch. The energy rushes out of my body, and I slump down on one end of the sofa, tears stinging my eyes. I hear Ally in the kitchen with the kettle, and I smell the warm, rich scent of chocolate. She appears a few moments later with two of our giant mugs and a sad look on her face.

  “I’m sorry, Frey. I knew. I just didn’t think it would get this far.”

  Hot chocolate is our go-to when something bad has happened. We usually drink this after I get off the phone with my mom, but this time things are so much worse.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Ally?” I ask after I take the first sip of my cocoa.

  “Caelan was drunk when he told me, and that was the night of your wedding. It was the last night in Ibiza, and I guess I just thought that we wouldn’t be seeing them again, so it wouldn’t matter if you knew. They would just be remembered as the cute brothers that we met on vacation.”

  “Ok, I can understand that part, but what about when we got home, and he knocks on the door saying he’s my husband?”

  “It was his place to tell you. He should have told you the first second he saw you.”

  “And he didn’t. You didn’t either.” The hot chocolate tastes like cardboard, and I put it down on the side table next to me.

  “No,” she says quietly. “I didn’t. I told him to tell you.”

  “Well, you can rest assured that he didn’t get the chance. He continued to lie up until the very last second.”

  “I think—I think he thought you might not like him as much. Or something dumb. I have no idea.”

  Confusion swirls in my head. “Or he thought I was an idiot.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re just about as far from an idiot as they come.”

  “I accidentally got married to a prince. I am definitely an idiot.”

  “You’re not. I looked them up. Their family is super low-key, and the guys haven’t been in the media at all until this year. They’re used to being rich, but I don’t think they’ve come into the limelight at all. It makes sense we wouldn’t know who they are. But since Bellecoaste is joining the EU—”

  “They’re going to be a big deal. And I married one of them.”

  “Yeah, it seems like you did. The marriage certificate is legit.” She pauses. “You guys can get divorced. I’m sure it would be a big shitshow and the media would be all over you, but hey, maybe you could get a book deal out of it.”

  I groan. “I really like him, Ally. Like I want to stay married to him kind of like.”

  “It’s like that, huh?” She nods and drinks her cocoa, watching me. I’m silent for al little while.

  “But all of our relationship—if you can call it that—is a total sham. If that was a lie, then what else is? I can’t bring myself to go back to an apartment that’s supposed to be ours if this is all just a big lie.”

  “It’s hard not to love a guy like that, isn’t it?” Her voice is a little far away.

  “I guess. I mean, I didn’t say that word. It seems insane.”

  “It does. But these things happen.” She takes my hand in hers. “And for what it’s worth, I think the only thing he’s lied about is his royal bloodline, and that was mostly lying by omission. We knew they were wealthy and probably a pretty big deal, so I mean, in a way, this isn’t such a big shocker.”

  I laugh and can’t stop laughing. “Oh my God, you’re insane. It’s ridiculous. They’re princes.”

  “They are.”

  “And according to Bellecoastean law, we need to live together for six months before we can declare a divorce. I haven’t even talked to a lawyer yet. Maybe I should. This is crazy. I can’t live with him—”

  “I don’t see why not,” Ally says, shrugging. “The sex is good, right?”

  I hang my head in my hands. “Yes, yes it is.”

  “I bet he really wants to apologize to you. That’s my guess. Could be wrong. He’s not a gigantic dick like his brother.”

  “Maybe. But when his parents find out—”

  “His parents don’t know yet, or so Caelan says.”

  “You said you two weren’t in touch. Web of lies,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Yeah well, I’m not supposed to be in touch with him. Legally, I think. At least you and Prince Hottie are legal.”

  I’m sure that his parents will insist we get the divorce proceedings started when they find out. There’s no way that they want him to stay married to a commoner who’s also an American, so I bet they’ll be doing everything in their power to get us divorced as quickly and quietly as possible.

  “So, what are you going to do?” she asks with a concerned look on her face.

  I sigh deeply; this whole situation is bizarre to say the least. “Maybe I’ll just stay at the apartment on the weekends. Two days is easier to manage than a whole week. I can stay here during the week and go to school just like I have been. I’ll change my address to the apartment so on paper it looks like I’m living there. It’s not like we have to make an appearance for anyone or even act married… if we don’t want to. And maybe we can see how things work?”

  Ally considers what I’ve just said. “I guess that could work. Are you sure?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Ally scoots over and puts her arm around me. “He and I had a good talk the other day and he’s genuine. He said that he liked how you were infatuated with him, not the crown that sits on his head or the size of his wallet like all the other girls. Yes, he was wrong not to tell you but if you take a moment and try to understand the reasoning behind it, maybe you can see why he hid it from you. I’m not agreeing with him or taking sides, but you guys are married now, for better or worse, and it takes more work that just giving up. Now that you know the complete truth, you can make an honest decision on whether you want to stay married or not, and I bet if you really be true to yourself, you’ll find that you already know the answer.”

  “That’s just it, Ally, it’s not just us being husband and wife, it’s a royal prince and his newlywed wife, whose title I don’t even know. There are rules, regulations, and restrictions on every aspect of your life. The life I’m living is no longer my own, and he didn’t give me a choice in that.”

  “You should still give him time to explain his side. You’re important to him, Frey. And even if things go south with you two, you’re still going to need closure and answers. So, talk to him and f
igure out if you’re ready to really and truly give up on this.”

  “Thanks, Ally. I get what you’re saying, and I’ll try to be understanding. However right now, I need a hot shower and a couple of days to process and cool down before I see him again.”

  I don’t think that us seeing each other right now will do either one of us any good. My heart is hurting right now, and I just want to lash out at him in anger and frustration. But I know that isn’t going to get us anywhere so all I want to do is take a nice hot shower and maybe wash the scent of him off of me so that it’s not bothering me while I’m sleeping. I don’t want the memory of sleeping with him plaguing my dreams.

  She nods. “Okay.”

  I get up to walk to my bedroom, but I stop before I’m there. “Hey, I forgot, can you stop by the apartment and get my purse? I left it there and if I see him right now, things aren’t going to be so civil.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll go get it tonight.”

  “You’re the best friend a girl could ask for,” I say, offering a small smile.

  “I know,” she answers. “I certainly am.”

  “You’re so humble,” I reply, smiling.

  “You got that right.”

  I walk into the bathroom and get out my bath salts and oil, the fancy ones that almost never get used since they’re pricier. The collection smells like roses and the fragrance helps calm my jittery nerves.

  I start the water and let the tub fill. It’s not the biggest bathtub but it’ll do just fine tonight. I add the goodies to the water when it gets deep enough and swirl my hand along the water’s surface.

  Stripping off my clothes, I slip into the hot water and let the welcoming waters wash over my body. I lean my head back against the wall, closing my eyes to relax. It’s hard to do though.

  My thoughts flow through my mind in a sickening jumble, and there’s a deep, angry feeling in the pit of my stomach. Anger at myself for not being more cautious—or more curious? I don’t even know. Everything feels so broken right now, and I’m not sure if I can make it through to the other side.

  I don’t even know what to make of being married to a prince. What does that even mean for me if we stay married? A title and wealth?

  Thanks, but no thanks. I never wanted any of that.

  I want to graduate and become a museum curator—not a princess. While I can imagine the castle probably has some amazing historical artifacts to check out, a part of me knows the price of my happiness is steeper than that.

  There’s a lot more to life than money and fame.

  If it was just Andreas and I, living together and staying together because we came to love each other, then that would be… far better. I could see a world where we’d make that work, where we could be happy, despite the differences between us. Add in the royalty factor and it completely changes everything. The fact I’d be a total outsider in that life—it’d be like feeding me to the piranhas.

  I almost wish that I’d never gone to Ibiza and met Andreas. Life would be simpler right now, and I’d be content studying my life away. What’s done is done. I have to try to find some way out of this mess.

  I’ve stalled and delayed looking into a divorce because I was swept away with Andreas, with the romance of it all.

  “And I’ve never been that person,” I say into the swirling bubbles around me. “I don’t know how he turned me into this.”

  Since the day I met him at the fountain, he’s been this supersized force of nature that shakes up everything I thought I knew about myself. I know that our time together in Ibiza was short, but I thought that we had a connection. I still can’t understand why he would continue to keep his life a secret from me if he felt the same way.

  I’m glad that he helped me get over Kirk and be able to see him for the loser he really is. I was just too busy with school to even pay attention to getting over him. But was it worth it? Trading one drama for another?

  “Why can’t I just be happy, truly happy for once? Is that too much to ask for?” I blow a few bubbles off of one hand and sink lower into the water, trying to clear my mind.

  I continue to soak for a while longer until the water’s turned cold and I’m forced to get out. I take my time drying off. I look in the mirror and see red, puffy eyes and a pale gray look to my skin. I’ve cried so many tears that I’ve worn myself ragged. I sigh deeply and hang up my towel.

  Andreas taught me to take such pleasure in my own body, to reclaim it as my own and rejoice in everything that I am. And yet here I am, lost in the weight of my own sadness.

  I pull on an old college t-shirt and fall into bed, folding in on myself and trying to think of anything but the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

  With my phone on silent, it only takes a few minutes before I’m sound asleep.

  20

  Andreas

  It’s been three days since I told Freya who I truly am, and I haven’t heard anything from her.

  I pace through the apartment that was supposed to be our home, looking back through the texts I sent to Freya over the weekend. None of them have been answered. Ally called me earlier to let me know that Freya needs some time to think and get back to me.

  I guess I’ll have to be content with that—and try not to text her again.

  There’s so much that I want to tell her, so much that I need to apologize for. I fall down into one of the antiqued leather chairs that I selected for the beautiful loft apartment. I look out of the picture windows that lead onto our balcony—that’s how I think of it, as ours—and I stare out into a city where Freya sits, somewhere, hating me.

  “I know I hurt you, Frey,” I say, feeling the solid weight of the phone in my pocket. “I didn’t mean to. I was just so, so stupid.”

  A dark pit of grief takes me over, and I hang my head low. In seeking to find someone who didn’t care who I was, I pushed away the very best thing in my life.

  Everything in this bright, beautiful apartment feels out of place without Freya. I get up and pace again, looking for something to occupy my wandering mind. I open a beer and then leave it on the counter, resting there and collecting condensation. I try to make a sandwich, but the bread tastes like cardboard.

  I know that Freya is the only thing that will put everything right again, and she’s the one thing I can’t have.

  It’s blindingly clear that I need to fix myself right now. I realized that if you take away the crown, I don’t have anything in life to offer Freya. I’ve been living a carefree lifestyle for years. I’ve not given a damn about anything but myself—how big of an ass does that make me? I couldn’t even decide what to do with my own life.

  It was Freya’s mention of graduate school that made me realize what I really want to do. Caelan might be destined to be King, but I am the other face of the nation. I’m the one that is easily recognizable, to everyone except for Freya, and I want to bank on that popularity to help me become an official global ambassador for Bellecoaste.

  Even though she doesn’t know that side of me, she was right when she said the crown was my whole life; I’d be fooling myself if I thought otherwise. I’ve been lucky enough to live a very privileged life and up until now I’ve taken it for granted. After talking with Freya and Ally, I want to change that and actually be someone who is capable of great things. I want to leave a legacy that can be remembered long after I’m gone.

  The thought spurs me into action and I grab my laptop and open it up. I search through graduate schools and look through applications and requirements.

  “International relations, foreign service. This would be… good.” I smile, looking through all the things I’d need.

  And whether or not Freya wants me at all, I do need something to do with my life. I hate the idea of doing anything without her, even as short a time as we’ve known each other. But I need to be a grown man—and no longer a boy.

  Half an hour later my eyes are still glued to my screen checking out graduate schools in the Glasgow area. As I search, an article po
ps up about a St. Andrew’s student who managed to marry the Party Boy Prince of Bellecoaste in secret. I click on the article and scan it. Not one bit of it is flattering, and it makes me sick just reading it. The source however, doesn’t know when it happened but that it was suspected that the secret event took place while the two were vacationing in Ibiza.

  They’ve managed to paint Freya—who miraculously isn’t mentioned by name—in a horrible light. They’ve made her out to be a greedy American who’s only got eyes for my money—or rather my family’s money. There are questions about her being pregnant and the measures she took to conceive. There’s a ludicrous notion that maybe she went as far as poking holes in a condom package in order to get pregnant.

  Who writes this stuff?

  It’s completely false—Freya is nothing like that. Absolutely nothing.

  I exit the article and type in my name to the search box. Sure enough, results show article after article about the marriage. I’m surprised that I haven’t heard from my mother yet and I remind myself to call her later after I finally talk to Freya.

  I don’t even know what to tell my parents when I do get to talk to them. I know that they will be disappointed, but I truly believe that Freya will change their minds. She’s beautiful and smart and could charm anyone with her kindness, her humor, her intellect.

  If only she consents to talk to me again.

  I don’t like it when she isn’t here with me. I don’t like it when I can’t see her smile or the way her eyebrows pull together when she’s thinking hard. I don’t like it that she isn’t in my bed with me or teaching me new things. The apartment feels empty and lonely and I need her here to make it feel like home. She’s become my home.

  I love her. She’s taken up the empty space inside my heart and I want her to stay there.

  For now, and forever.

  I close the lap top and pick up my phone but decide this is a conversation that should probably happen in person.