by Renna Peak
He shakes his head. “Why is nothing a joke to you?”
“Is this how we are to speak now? Answering questions with questions?”
“What if it is?” He seems quite amused that he’s unwittingly pulled me into his little game.
“Wouldn’t it be a bad idea?”
He chuckles. “Wouldn’t what be a bad idea?”
I stare at him for a moment. “You know I don’t want to play this game, right?”
“And yet, you realize you are, do you not?” He chuckles again, stroking his chin in an obvious attempt to come up with another question. “Would having a child with me be the worst thing you can imagine?”
At this moment, yes. I’m so focused on answering his question with another that I don’t hear the words that come from my mouth until it’s too late. “You realize I’m on the birth control pill, do you not?”
William
Her words knock all of the amusement right out of me. “What? What do you mean you’re on the birth control pill?”
I’m still processing what she’s told me. It’s not just that she isn’t actively trying to start popping out male heirs—a reluctance I attributed to all the fast, huge changes in her life over these past few months—she’s purposefully working against it. She’s not even letting chance decide.
“Why would you be on the pill?”
She drops her eyes, but not before I see the panic in their depths—I suddenly realize she probably didn’t mean to tell me this, and I’m torn between sympathy and anger.
“It’s my choice,” she says finally, still not looking up at me. “I’ve been on the pill for a couple of years, and I saw no reason to suddenly stop just because we got married.”
“No reason? But the heirs—”
“At the end of the day, it’s my choice, and I’m not ready for children.”
I run a hand through my hair, trying to control the maelstrom of emotions sweeping through me. Trying to gather my thoughts. “Does that…does that mean you might be ready someday?”
“I don’t know,” she says, still not looking at me. “But I’m not ready now. I need you to respect that.” She shakes her head. “I’m not ready to settle down yet. There’s so much I want to do still. And if I start having kids, if I find myself suddenly on track to become queen…everything changes. And I don’t want that path.”
My jaw is tight, and I realize I’m clenching my teeth. I can tell she’s not telling me the whole truth, but I don’t know what she’s hiding.
“We don’t always get to choose our paths,” I say stiffly. “Not when we’re born into royal families. It’s the price of our privilege.” I open my hands, which have somehow curled into fists at my sides. “Don’t you think I would have chosen differently if I’d had the option? Do you think my first choice in life was to marry a woman who has no interest in building a life with me? Who spurns my attempts at connection? Do you think I wanted to give up my old life for this?” I spread my arms. I don’t mean to be so harsh, but now that I’ve started, the words seem to pour out of me. “But I’ve accepted my responsibility. And I’m doing everything in my power to make the best of it. Trust me, Princess. You can spend your entire life running from your responsibility, but you’ll never escape it. And in the end, you’ll just be miserable. Sure, run off to the United States if you want to, abandon your people to your idiot brother, pretend you don’t care about anyone but yourself, but don’t expect me to support your choice. In fact, don’t expect me to stand by you at all. If you have no interest in making this work, then why should I? Why would I even bother?” I desperately want to go back to half an hour ago, when we were laughing and dancing together. I want to go back to pretending that we had a chance together.
Justine doesn’t respond, but honestly, nothing she could say will fix this. Without knowing it, she brought up the very thing that’s been bothering me these past few weeks, the thing I refused to look at too closely—the realization that I’m fighting for this marriage alone. Anger builds in my chest, and my hands clench again, my nails digging into my palms.
I can’t even look at her right now.
“Go to the hotel,” I say. “Don’t worry—you’ll have the room completely to yourself.”
Her head snaps up. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” I say, already walking away. “But far away from you.” I need time to think. To figure out what the hell I’m going to do.
Justine calls after me again, but her voice is lost in the sounds of the crowd. It makes my heart ache to walk away from her, but my feet keep moving. I lose myself among the people heading in and out of the Christmas market, ducking around a couple of stalls and putting as much distance between Justine and me as possible. The sights and smells and music that only a short while ago seemed festive and cheerful suddenly feel oppressive.
But even though she’s no longer in front of me, I can’t stop hearing Justine’s voice in my head. And I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she hid something so important from me, that she’s actively trying to avoid having children.
I reach the far edge of the market, and I keep going. The sun has completely set, but there’s still plenty of light in this part of the city, and plenty of people still move through the streets. As I told Justine, I have no idea where I’m going, but I need space to figure out what to do next.
You could go back and fight for her, a voice whispers. And honestly, a significant part of me longs to do just that—to go back, give her another chance, and use all of my charming powers to persuade her to take responsibility for her role. After the evening we just shared, I want to believe that this marriage has a future. That we will laugh together and dance together, that we could actually make each other happy.
But nothing I’ve tried has worked so far—why would it work now? And at the end of the day, I’ll always wonder if she’s just on the verge of changing her mind, of running away again. Why put myself through that? Obviously we want different things.
I stop in front of a large church. The windows are dark, but there are plenty of streetlights in this square. I sit on the church steps, propping my elbows on my knees and letting my head fall into my hands.
You have another option, that voice in my head says. If she’s determined to act in her own self-interests, with or without consulting you, then why should you do any differently? Let Justine do whatever she likes—let her move across the bloody ocean if that’s what she wants. There’s no reason I have to follow. If she’s doing what she wants, then I should, too. Hell, I wouldn’t even need to stay in Rosvalia—I could return to Montovia, get on with things as if I’d never married at all. Why, we wouldn’t even have to divorce, and the political alliance between our two countries could remain intact. Justine and I would merely be leading separate lives. Plenty of royal couples spend large amounts of time apart, seeing to their various duties and needs. We’d be no different.
It physically pains me to think of giving up on Justine. But the more I debate my options, the more the idea of returning to Montovia appeals to me. Seeing Sophia and Nicholas made me realize how much I miss my family—and I’m sure they can still use plenty of extra help around the palace while my father is still recovering from his illness. Andrew and Victoria will be marrying soon, as will Leo and Elle—and there’s the impending arrival of Leo and Elle’s baby, too. So many important events I want to make sure I don’t miss.
And I’m not going to lie—many of the smaller things appeal to me, too—sleeping in my old bed again. Spending hours practicing fencing with my épée, clearing my mind. Returning to my favorite restaurant in the city. Visiting my old friends.
I drop my hands. I’ve been so committed to building my new life in Rosvalia that I never let myself think about how much I missed home. And Montovia will always be home, no matter how much I’ve tried to tell myself otherwise.
And with that, I’ve decided—I’m going back to Montovia. Maybe for a few days, maybe forever. Either way, I need to clear
my head, and the only way to do that is to go home, to spend a few days far away from all of the nonsense in Rosvalia. I can forget about my difficult wife, her bastard ex-lover, her troublesome friend, and whatever King Maximilian is hiding in the eastern wing of his palace. I can stop fighting, stop struggling, stop trying to force my way into the lives of people who obviously don’t want me there.
I stand. If I’m not mistaken, the train station isn’t far from here. I might even be able to make it back to Montovia before dawn.
Pulling my collar up around my ears to protect me from the chill wind, I hurry down the street before I can change my mind.
Justine
I suppose I can’t blame William for being angry with me, but he doesn’t understand my reasoning. He’s never bothered to stop for even a moment to listen—this is all about his desire to rule a country. Still, as I watch him walk away, there’s a sharp twisting in my stomach that is only slightly less intense than the same sharp turning of something in my chest. I can only barely fight the tears that well in my eyes.
The truth is still too painful for me to speak about, and I’m sure that even if William did ask, I wouldn’t be able to tell him. Carter was there for me back then. Emily, too. And if I’d been anywhere other than America, I can’t even imagine the scandal I would have suffered.
I just need to get away now. I just… It’s too bad William stormed off the way he did. I’ve always wanted to go to Bali.
I shake my head to clear that voice—when did that happen, anyway? When did I begin to care about spending time with my husband? When did I begin to think of anything but getting the hell out of Rosvalia?
I’m not able to pinpoint the exact moment I began to care, but there is no doubt about it—I do. There may even be something slightly more pronounced than caring here.
But he doesn’t understand me. He believes he does, but truly, he does not.
Because you’ve never given him the chance…
A single tear spills down my cheek, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand. I look around at the Christmas festival—we’d had so much fun together only a few moments ago. And he had to go and ruin it with one of his stupid games—
No. I had to go and ruin it.
It’s true. William has been mostly wonderful to me since the brutal games we played with each other after our wedding night. And I…have been much less than wonderful. I’ve been awful to him, exactly the type of noblewoman I swore I would never become.
I have to go after him.
I weave through the crowded marketplace, searching everywhere for William. But there are too many people. Far too many people. And it isn’t long before I’m feeling somewhat claustrophobic, crushed between the bodies of strangers trying to get to the next stall, or the dance floor, or wherever it is they are going.
I see an open bench and I take a seat before anyone else can occupy it. I’m not certain how long I sit and watch the revelry, but it feels like hours. I know I need to go after William, but I realize I have no way to find him. My bags went ahead of us to the hotel when we left the train, and with them my phone.
I stand with a start as I realize not only my phone has gone ahead, but my bag with my wallet and identification as well.
I’m alone in a city I’ve visited only once before. Alone, with no money, no identification, no phone, no…
Suddenly, I’m mesmerized again by the crowd. At how easy it would be to join them, to lose myself among the people. I’m still a mess from the earlier sprinkler disaster, and few would recognize me in my current state.
I could do it. I could join the crowd. Blend in among them. Find some man to take me home tonight and make a new life for myself.
But for how long? How long could I honestly get away with trying to pretend I belong here? For that matter, how long can I get away with it in America? Certainly, graduate school holds some appeal, but for me, it isn’t necessary. I’ve already accomplished much more than most people my age—I’ve published a book, held a mostly successful international conference… What exactly will I get from going to graduate school?
Nothing. Nothing but the opportunity to leave Rosvalia.
I’ll admit that the thought still holds some appeal, but much less than it did before. I have a life in Rosvalia now. I have a husband—one who does more than tolerate me, at least for the moment. I could build a life there. Perhaps not one with four male heirs, but William and I could certainly try. We might even be able to break with tradition and find ourselves a home outside the palace walls. Surely we could—
There is no we any longer, remember? He left you. He left you without understanding your reasoning for the choices you’ve made in your life. Without understanding what was taken from you…
I have to find him. But first, I need to go to the hotel. Unfortunately, I have no money for a taxi—or even for bus fare, for that matter—let alone a phone to call one.
My only hope is to catch him before he leaves Berlin. And I know there’s only one place he’ll be going.
I race through the crowd, hoping I remember the location of the train station. It isn’t far—I remember that much. And after asking a few passersby which way to go, I make my way there in far less time than I normally would have taken, particularly in the shoes I’m wearing.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach the station, and it is far busier than I would have expected for the late hour. But I know which train he’ll be waiting for—there aren’t many express trains to Montovia, but something tells me that’s exactly where he’ll be.
I take a quick glance at the departures board to find the right platform—of course, it’s the one furthest from where I am, but thankfully, it is also the train departing latest. If I’m reading the arrivals section correctly, the train hasn’t even come into the station yet. Which means I won’t have to search the train for him at all—only the platform.
I make my way through the crowded station to the correct platform, and as I expected, William is waiting near the end. He’s reading something—it’s too far away for me to see what it is. I make my way over to him and stand in front of him.
He doesn’t look up—he doesn’t even seem to notice I’m there.
It’s then that I finally see what it is he’s holding in his hands and another tear spills down my cheek.
William hasn’t lifted his gaze at all from the book. “Did you know your poetry had been translated to German? It reads a little differently in this language. Oddly, it’s not quite as macabre—most of it, anyway.”
I bite my trembling bottom lip. If I so much as speak a word, I’m going to lose it.
He finally lifts his gaze to mine. “You need to tell me what this is really about.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.” My voice is so shaky I barely recognize it.
He nods, looking back down at the book before he closes it and puts it in his back pocket. “The train should be here in a few minutes.”
“I know. I…”
He finally meets my gaze. “You what?”
I shake my head again. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know how to say any of it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, William.”
William
My heart swells at her apology, but my mind tempers the sudden rush of emotion. After everything between Justine and me, I’m not yet sure I can trust her reasons for being here—or trust myself around her, especially when she’s looking at me like this.
“I should have been upfront with you,” she says softly. “I’m not used to having someone I can…be honest with.”
It might be an excuse, but it’s a damn good one—after meeting her family, it’s a miracle she’s even half as trusting as she is.
Before I can respond, a train whistle echoes down through the station. My ride is here.
Justine’s gaze flicks nervously to the arriving train, then to back to me. “You’re going to Montovia.”
“Yes. I decided I needed a little time at home.” I choos
e my words carefully, not knowing where we stand. “I thought it might clear my head.” I step closer to the edge of the platform. Even with her apology, I still think returning to Montovia for a little while would do me good.
Her voice is so soft behind me that I barely hear it above the noise of the approaching train. “Don’t go.”
I look back over my shoulder. Her blue eyes are pleading with me, begging me with words yet unexpressed. My heart aches again, but I tell myself to be strong. I can’t keep doing this—I can’t cave every time she bats her eyelashes at me. This woman already holds too much power over me.
And I do miss home, far more than I want to admit.
But the longer I look at her, the more I know I can’t deny her. This woman is in my blood, now. I might try to ignore that fact, but it’ll do me no good.
The train stops in front of me. It’s now or never. A decision has to be made.
And I make it. “Come with me.”
Her eyes widen. “To Montovia?”
“Yes. Come with me. I take it we have a lot to discuss. And I imagine your need for some time away from Rosvalia hasn’t changed.”
She hesitates. “All my things are at the hotel—”
“We’ll send for them.”
“And Carter—”
“We’ll message him. If he’s survived all evening without you, he can survive a little longer. I have to contact Sophia, anyway.” I try to keep my voice level as I continue, “Carter is welcome in Montovia, of course, but I have no intention of entertaining him indefinitely.”
She shakes her head, stalling. “I just can’t… My family…”
“Didn’t seem to be an issue when you ran off here,” I say. I level my gaze at her. “I’ll ask you again, Justine—will you come with me?”
For a moment, I think she might still refuse. But then her eyes meet mine again, and she nods. “Yes.”
She steps toward me, and without realizing I’ve moved, I suddenly find my arms around her, pulling her tight against me. She buries her face in my chest and wraps her arms around my waist, clinging to me. I drop my face, burying my nose in her hair.