by Laura Kenyon
After all, in the Mirror’s last poll, sixty percent of the populace in Marestam’s four other kingdoms couldn’t even draw Tantalise on a map. But SURPRISE! As it turns out, Snow’s last-second celebration was actually just a rouse to announce that she’s adopting triplets! Nifty. But the real news is her husband’s baking. That’s right. The beatnik Prince Consort served rampion brownies to his unsuspecting guests—including our royal Braddax mommy-to-be.
And as my inbox can attest, that isn’t sitting well with Marestam’s morality crusaders, who’ve already descended upon Capitol Park to demand either Snow’s head on a pike or her crown in a trash compactor. They’re calling themselves the Monarch Morality Coalition. Not joking.
I caught up with protester Montgomery Jones, who had this to spout: “My colleagues and I are sick and tired of Tantalise having a double-standard when it comes to Parliamentary law. Just because they’re so disconnected from the rest of us doesn’t give them permission to do whatever they want. Rampion is a gateway drug that should have been eliminated years ago—that our elected leaders have been trying to eliminate for years. So to think one of our own monarchs has been growing it is just an insult to everything that Marestam stands for. I’m proud to live in a place where monarchies and civil elections can coexist. But if twenty percent of the former is going to flout the law so egregiously, I can’t help but wonder if it’s time for a change.”
Yeesh. Them’s fightin’ words.
CARPALE Castle is looking quite bleak without Cinderella and Aaron Charmé, who are on the other side of the ocean continuing the honeymoon that was cut short ten years ago.
And they must be having a rocking good time, because no one’s seen hide nor hair of them since they landed more than two weeks ago. Either the ceiling of their hotel room is more interesting than the ancient ruins of Ellada … or they persuaded a certain fairy to find them a cloaking charm. Scandalous either way…
So to keep spirits up in their absence (or at least that’s what the press release says) Prime Minister Kane will be ramping up his lunches with the public from once a week to daily. Give me a moment while I feign excitement. But if you’d still rather ogle royalty than a cadaverous politician, MBC will be re-airing coverage of the Charmé wedding all weekend. Unfortunately, the network has refused requests to blur out heinous and outdated fashion choices—like day glow tuxedos and reptilian hats. Apologies in advance.
BONUS!
And now, I have a tongue-twisted challenge for the water coolers this week. Yours Truly received an anonymous tip last night saying Liam Devereaux slipped away during Snow White’s party with a high-ranking female who is not without a ring on her finger. Was it just a friendly conversation? Canoodling in the woods? And who might this wedded mystery woman be?
(Seriously. If you know, please tell me. My anonymous source doesn’t understand how this is supposed to work.)
Chapter Nine
DAWN
Every Sunday for eleven years, Dawn and her husband spent the afternoon sharing brunch, commenting on the weather, and dividing the of-interest sections of the Marestam Mirror. Dawn perused the arts, fashion, world news, and travel, while Hunter scoured the financial pages front to back. He then took a light skim through sports—which he saw solely as a way to schmooze some additional dollars from the average investor. To his chagrin, sometimes knowing the Carpale Canaries’ newest player was more lucrative than knowing how to turn a straw company into gold.
At the moment, he was hidden behind a massive photo of Angus Kane towering over a sea of microphones—one bony finger in the air and his mouth open mid-word. Along the top screamed the headline: PM to White: No One’s Above the Law.
“Someone should really tell him ugliness fades on the outside if you’re decent on the inside,” she said.
Hunter replied with a generic grunt, the kind that could mean a thousand different things but was intended to be whatever his wife wanted.
Dawn rolled her eyes and flipped to Perrin Hildebrand’s column. She hated legitimizing the gossip hound, but had to keep up with what he was telling the realm. Ignoring it was like driving blindfolded. Or allowing Rapunzel to dress her.
Just as she hit the last paragraph, her heart began to race.
“So I was thinking about this Devereaux fellow,” Hunter said, still hiding behind the Mirror.
On cue, the pages fell from Dawn’s trembling hands and into her bowl. Her chest heaved as she watched the edges of the column soak up red tomato bisque.
Hunter peeked out from his paper long enough to show a crooked eyebrow.
“Claire!” he called, his tone flat and careless. “We need more soup!”
Dawn continued to stare, watching the offending sentences bleed away as the events of Snow’s party rushed into her head.
She remembered how her voice had stopped mid-syllable when Liam walked into the cottage, the gorgeous Kiarra Kane clinging to his arm. She’d attributed it to a tickle in her throat, but really it was her heart—curled up and lodged there and begging to get out.
After learning his full name from Rapunzel, she’d tried her best to stay away. But when her chameleon-haired friend snatched him en route to the patio, she’d had no choice but to play along with an introduction. Had it not been for the vodka, Dawn was sure Rapunzel would have noticed her shiver when Liam cupped her fingers in his … or frown as he indulged a dozen bimbos’ desperate advances … or blush when he shot a clandestine smile at her from across the room, even while his blonde waif sparkled directly at his side.
An hour later, when Hunter set off on a fairly rude whiskey run, Dawn had decided to wander toward the edge of Snow’s property—and make sure Liam saw her go.
“I hope I didn’t offend you earlier,” he said, strolling up behind her where she’d stopped to look at the stars. She spun around, startled less by his presence than by the excitement it made her feel. “I thought it better to let Rapunzel make her introductions, than to explain to her how we’d already met.”
“Of course,” Dawn agreed, mirroring his formality. “Yes.”
Yes of course. She was being a child, fantasizing about things and emotions that weren’t really there. Just the thought of his rose sitting in a box beneath her underwear—and of how many times she’d taken it out over the past few days to get another look—made her want to crawl under a rock and die. But then he asked why she hadn’t returned to see him. Why she’d ignored that part of the woods entirely. Why she seemed to be hiding.
“I’m not hiding,” she cried and then immediately covered her mouth. That had been far too loud. Just because they were standing in the shadows didn’t put them out of earshot from the cottage. Its glow only stopped a few feet away, and she could hear the laughter in the distance.
“Not hiding, huh?” Liam nudged her arm the way a teenage girl would nudge the prom king’s—the way she used to nudge Davin’s centuries ago. “Well, please know you can not hide in my neck of the woods any time you’d like. I’m the very definition of a night owl, so you’re always welcome. Your husband too, if he’s awake. Maybe he can talk me out of a few billion dollars or solve my company’s distribution dilemmas.”
Dawn laughed. In truth, she’d stayed away from Liam because she was terrified of the feelings he’d opened up in her after just a few hours. And right then, after mere minutes in his presence, she found it happening again. The next words tumbled out on their own accord. “And Kiarra Kane? She and you are—”
“Like brother and sister. Don’t tell, but I think she’s eying your friend’s brother-in-law. It’s not often a queen’s crown becomes available.
Dawn hid her smirk by pretending to yawn. There was no reason for his bachelor status to bring her relief. After all, she was married and Liam wasn’t the open book she’d thought.
But their relationship—Dawn now realized as she watched Perrin Hildebrand’s column turn into a red, sopping mess—was.
“That’s what you get for reading that trash,” Hunter
said, folding his pages closed. “I’ll never understand that Hilderman’s appeal.”
“Hildebrand,” Dawn murmured as Claire replaced her bisque and wiped off the table.
“Anyway,” Hunter replied. “As I was saying, I’d like to invite that Devereaux fellow over for dinner.”
Dawn’s spoon crashed into her brand new bowl, splattering tiny red dots onto Hunter’s knuckles and across her white dress. “You want to have him here?”
“I do.” He set the paper into a neat pile, dabbed his napkin into his water glass, and began poking her stains away. “Perdemi-Divan is a financial powerhouse and I have some investment ideas to pitch. And I’d like my beautiful, charming wife to help me win him over. Would you mind?”
Dawn shook her head. She hoped Hunter’s opinion of himself was far too grand to suspect she’d been anything but devoted.
“Wonderful. I’ll have Grogan set something up for next weekend. Oh, and dear?”
“Huh?” Dawn’s pulse quickened again.
“Try to be more careful when you eat.” He frowned at the now pink smudges on her dress. “I can accept losing an investment because it’s too risky, but not because my wife has eighteenth century table manners.”
Chapter Ten
BELLE
Snow visited Belle first thing Sunday to apologize, again, for drugging her fetus.
She still had no idea how those brownies made it to the table, or how Perrin Hildebrand found out about it. And she’d been up all night researching the possible effects of rampion weed on unborn babies.
“These quote doctors who actually prescribe it for morning sickness,” she said, sliding a pile of papers across the kitchen table, which was already covered in webzine articles, health forum print-outs, and a chunk of the criminal confection itself. She smiled as a curtain of black frizz fell across her face.
It wasn’t unusual that Snow looked as if she didn’t even own a hairbrush. Nor did Belle find her horrid faux-suede cape/dress concoction cause for alarm. That was just typical Snow. But no matter how composed her friend pretended to be about the whole rampion backlash, Belle knew she was scared. If she wasn’t, she’d have copied and pasted all of this information into an email—or read it to her over the phone. The sea of paper between them gave her true feelings away. Belle knew things were dire when Mother Nature herself killed so many trees—and sent three gallons of gas into the ozone just so she could see her in person.
“I mean, it is natural,” Snow continued. “It must be better than those chemical capsules people pop every day. You know I don’t approve of those. But make an appointment with Dr. Frolick anyway, would you? Please? Just to be safe.”
“Of course,” Belle said, though she had no intention of doing so.
After Donner’s intrusion, she’d postponed her twenty-week appointment to twenty-two and didn’t plan on entering the hospital a single second sooner. She didn’t want to be responsible for his wrath if she went without him, and she wasn’t ready to see him just yet. He’d been surprisingly gracious about granting her time thus far, but would want an answer the next time they met. And so far, no one had found a way to break the pre-nup. So far, answers were in short supply.
“I’m sure this whole Monarchy Morality movement will blow over,” she added. “I mean, I’m the supposed victim here, and I sent a statement out this morning asking them to back down.”
Snow’s lips rose like a tiny red bow tie against her ivory skin. She was naturally striking, but could be so much prettier if she put in any effort at all. Then again, her own mother had tried to kill her over vanity. With that sort of history, Belle might forgo the hairbrush too.
“So congratulations again on the adoption,” she said, desperate to change the subject. “With all the commotion, I hardly got time to say how happy I am for you.” She rested her hand over Snow’s and felt something flutter, like petals in the breeze, around her heart. “I really, really am. You deserve this more than anyone. You’re going to be a terrific mom.”
Snow wiped a quick tear from her eye. A close-lipped smile stretched across her face, puffing her cheeks up like a child’s. “Thanks, Belle.”
“Have you decided what you’ll use as the nursery? I mean, three babies in that tiny cottage might be—”
Snow’s laugh sounded like a distant wind chime. “Insane? Tell me about it. We’ll use Griffin’s study for now, but I know we’ll have to expand. Or move—though I do love our little nook in the woods so much. Something will work out though. I have faith.”
Belle slid her hand back over one of the articles and pretended to skim it. Snow’s confidence in karma and the balance of the universe was admirable … sometimes. But more often, it was irritating. The only way Belle could shrug off the awful was when there was something more awful to dwell on instead—like losing custody of her child or plunging the entire world into darkness.
“Cheer up,” Nathan said as Snow finally chugged down the driveway and Belle thumbed through a mountain of phone messages. Donner had called twice, Ruby left half a dozen reprimands, and every reporter in the realm seemed to want a follow-up to her statement. “I know you had an unfortunate night, but your pasty scowl is clashing with the wallpaper. And don’t expect me to cheer up the guests after you depress them. It’s bad enough I had to feed them this morning while you had girl talk.”
“Sorry.” She pushed the notes into a folder and moved back towards the kitchen. She’d just hit the stage of depression that only calories could soothe. “I’ll go hide out with the food.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Nathan’s designer loafers clicked against the wood as he shuffled over. Stopping a foot in front of her, he clamped both hands on her shoulders and gave a long, calming stare. Belle felt an unexpected surge of affection. Perhaps the mannequin did have a heart. Then he opened his mouth. “Stay away from the cookie dough, okay?” He scanned her face—and then her yoga pants, and her oversize flannel shirt. “It’s cliché. And you already look like a scarecrow.”
She shrugged him off with a sarcastic laugh, though in truth his mockery stung. Right now she needed a friend, but they were all busy with their boyfriends or husbands or children. The closest thing she had was a self-absorbed employee and an absentminded canine. She turned the corner and thwacked open the kitchen door with her foot. It flew a few inches forward and then rocketed right back.
“Agh!” she heard a man cry out, followed by the sound of something crashing across the floor.
Belle panicked. Had she just assaulted the postman? Maimed a guest? Whoever it was, his body was blocking the door from opening more than a foot. Spouting apologies, she sucked her belly in and squeezed through. The first thing she saw was a sideways, mud-splattered sneaker … then a pair of tattered jeans … and a washboard stomach half-exposed beneath its tight, black henley.
“Well that’s one way to greet a guy,” Gray groaned from the floor, one hand covering his forehead.
With the flick of a switch, all of Belle’s fawning and quibbling apologies stopped. In all the commotion of the past twenty-four hours, she’d completely forgotten about him. She’d forgotten Rapunzel had saddled her with a … what was he even supposed to be? Temporary groundskeeper? Bodyguard? Freeloading guest who’d nearly killed her dog?
He was lying, one leg out, against the cabinet. And still, he was wearing that aggravating, twisted smirk she just wanted to swipe off his face.
“I didn’t know you were there,” she said, keeping her voice as flat and cool as possible. The sooner this guy hit the road, the better it would be for everyone. She grabbed a bag of broccoli florets from the freezer and tossed it his way. He caught it, flipped it around, and pushed himself to his feet.
“Thanks,” he said, lobbing the bag of veggies back into the freezer. “But for the record, I prefer peas.”
She scanned a quick line over the green countertops, the white cabinets, and the vegan cranberry muffins Snow had left behind. “Actually,” she said, “it wasn’t for eat
ing.”
He ran his fingers over a basket of apples, popped one into the air, and crunched half of it away in one bite. “Actually,” he said, locking eyes with hers, “I know.”
Belle screamed inside and spun around—as if not looking at him would make him go away. She flipped on the faucet and recalled Snow’s instructions for dealing with stress. Close your eyes. Breathe in. Picture yourself pushing all the negative energy out as you exhale. Gray was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now.
But when she opened her eyes again, nothing had changed—except that Gray was standing directly beside her now, leaning into the counter with his arms crossed.
“You okay there?”
Belle thought she felt a blood vessel burst between her eyes. She yanked a sponge from the sink and began furiously wiping down the counters.
He shrugged, grabbed some of Snow’s print-outs from the table, and straddled a stool at the breakfast bar. Then he began tapping in an excessively irritating fashion.
“Rampion, huh?” His voice bounced like a song, but was somehow still jarring. “I’ll be honest; you didn’t strike me as that kind of girl.”
“Are you serious?” Belle’s voice was half-shriek. She spread her arms to emphasize the point she was about to make. “I’m pregnant!”
Gray mimicked her dumbfounded expression and gave a slow, sarcastic nod. “I know.” He flipped a page loudly. “All the more reason to shelve the drug use for a while.”
Brown water poured out from the sponge as Belle balled up her fist. She should have flung it at him, but had a feeling he’d enjoy that. Instead, she asked what the garage had said about his car.
He replied that they’re closed on Sundays, so the estimate should come tomorrow. “But I doubt it’ll be drivable before the end of the week.”
One of Belle’s knees gave out, but she managed to hide it. She had to change her tactic with this guy. He seemed to feed off her hostility. Perhaps sweetness was a better approach. It’s not like she hadn’t done it for ninety percent of her life.