The Crown: A Modern-Day Fairytale Romance

by Samantha Whiskey

  “We don’t need his permission,” I teased, smirking at him over my shoulder as I clicked to Charlotte. These heels would likely result with me on my face by the end of this charity event. I suppose that would be the less of all the horrible situations that could arise.

  Charlotte chuckled, but the sound was more like a tinkling bell than my own loud, brash laugh. When we’d walked a good twenty feet away from Xander, leaving him to greet people as they walked through the wide double doors and into the ballroom, Charlotte turned to face me.

  “You look absolutely radiant, Willa,” she said, her smile genuine. I hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to her much—she was usually off with Jameson or Sophie—but there was no trace of undercutting in her tone like Xander’s mother.

  “Me?” I gaped, motioning to her elegant gown. “I was just telling Xander you look stunning. I wish I had one ounce of your…grace.” I laughed but toned it down. “If only for a night like this.”

  Her eyes trailed to the doors, then back to me. “It can be a little intimidating, these charity functions, because of all the important people they bring in. But you’ll do great. Alexander never does anything without thinking it through.” She glanced at him over my shoulder. “And I wanted you to know you look perfect on his arm.”

  “Thanks,” I said, sighing. “I don’t want to cause any trouble,” I admitted, wishing I could make that clear, somehow. I was here for Xander, not the royal family, and luckily I hadn’t run into his betrothed. I’d almost asked him if she was following the news in her country, and how she was taking it all, but I couldn’t bring myself to ruin the little time I had left. “Though,” I continued. “I am afraid I’ll say something in there that will bring the entire castle down.”

  Charlotte grinned again, her perfectly pink lips elegant and poised, but a flash of mischief crossed her eyes as she leaned closer to me. “We could use with a rebuild anyway.”

  The joke eased my tension, but also made me wonder if she lived in the castle. I had never thought to ask but she did seem rather attached to the family—especially Jameson.

  Xander joined me not ten seconds later, retaking my arm. “So?” He asked when I hadn’t said anything.

  “I think I’m in love.”

  He stopped our progress to the room, jerking to such a halt I nearly slipped off the damned heels. His face was frozen, his eyes wide and churning. A laugh ripped from my lips at the realization, and a full on snort followed.

  Whoops.

  “With Charlotte,” I said through my laughs. I playfully smacked his chest. “Breathe.”

  He forced a smile, something I’d only ever see him do when he switched into full Prince mode and shook out his locked muscles.

  “She’s wonderful,” he said as we continued our walk.

  “You’re always surrounded by wonderful people, it seems,” I said, gasping slightly as we finally entered the grand ballroom.

  A hush quieted in the surroundings as if everyone in the room had a sixth sense about when the prince was within hearing distance. Maybe they were used to looking for royalty. I tried not to squirm as hundreds of eyes cast their gaze on me—judging, apprising, laughing—all silently, of course.

  I’d endured signings before—rooms full of strangers dying to get you to sign their books—but they were never dressed in ball gowns and suits and jewels. And they never acted as if I was a blemish on some pristine painting.

  Xander navigated us to a circular table at the head of the room, the gorgeous royal blue linens almost glittering under the candles that rested in their centers. A string quartet played gentle classics from a stage in the corner of the room, next to an opened space for dancing, though no one was.

  We took our seats, and I smiled at Charlotte, then Jameson, then Sophie, and attempted to smile at his mother, but she wouldn’t look me in the eye. The second I sat, she excused herself, claiming to have someone important to speak with. She probably did, but I doubted that was why she left like someone had lit a fire under her.

  My shoulders dropped momentarily, but I forced them to straighten as guest after guest approached the table in pairs to compliment the prince on such a wonderful event. After twenty minutes, my cheeks hurt from keeping the smile in place for so long. I don’t know how Charlotte and Sophie managed it. If Xander took me to any more public events like this, I’d have to ask them for some tips.

  When a lull presented itself in the guest appearances at the table, Xander’s hand found my thigh under the table. The touch was innocent and encouraging, but flames licked my skin, and I instinctively turned closer to him. He smiled at me, removing his hand to shake another’s. I missed his touch, my blood pumping hot and fast at the too quick tease.

  Scanning the faces around me, I made sure no one saw as I slipped my fingers over his thigh. He stiffened, but only for a moment, before he resumed conversation. I ventured higher, palming the crease next to his manhood, brushing the area with a feather light touch. A muscle in his jaw ticked as I grew bolder, trailing the tips of my fingers over the outline of his rapidly growing cock. I arched a brow at him, shocked that a few simple touches could merit this reaction. The thought alone made me slick between the thighs, and I suddenly forgot why we’d had to attend this event in the first place.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Collins,” a man said, his clear blue eyes locked on mine. I jolted at the sound of my name and discreetly removed my hand from Xander’s hard cock.

  “And you,” I said, not having a clue who the man was. He looked like a model, his blond hair falling perfectly over his forehead.

  “Willa,” Xander said, a gruffness to his voice that promised pleasure later. “This is Prime Minister Damian McAllister.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand as he took an opened seat across from us. Holy Alexander Skarsgård vibe. What the hell did they put in the water over here? I knew why there was a shortage of hot men in Upstate New York. They were all in Elleston.

  “I heard a rumor Princess Brie had returned, but I don’t see her,” he said, glancing around before focusing on Xander again.

  “She’s not feeling well,” Sophie answered.

  “I need a drink.” Jameson got up from the table, disappearing into the crowd despite the waiters hovering around our table ready to serve.

  Awkward. I sharpened my gaze on the Prime Minister, wondering what power he held to ruffle the royals so much.

  “That’s a shame,” Damian said. “I would’ve loved to get her take on the Anti-Monarchists and their recent…protests.”

  Xander shifted in his seat, but his features were clear, even. “I’ll be sure to tell her you’d like a meeting.”

  Damian smiled, and the grin was downright wolfish. He cut his eyes to me as he swirled the clear liquid in his glass. “What is your take on it, Willa?”

  “I’m sorry?” I said, glancing to Xander before straightening to look at Damian again.

  “On the ri…the protests? I’m interested to hear an American’s take on the actions against the royal family.”

  I shifted slightly in my seat. Xander had briefly spoken of the monarchists, but nothing tangible enough for me to form an opinion beyond the whole...I’m Team Xander. He’d said it was nothing to worry about.

  “I don’t know enough about the movement to make a statement,” I said.

  He furrowed his brow. “This isn’t a press conference.”

  No, but he was the Prime Minister, and power radiated off of him almost as much as it did Xander.

  “What’s your point?” Xander asked, the tone in his voice sharp.

  Damian raised his glass innocently. “Americans. I find them fascinating.” He whistled. “Curiosity isn’t a crime.”

  The tension at the table was tightly weaving around my lungs, dangerously close to making me lose the fun, teasing I’d had with Xander seconds before.

  “What do you find so amusing about Americans?” I asked, a grin on my lips. Perhaps I could steer the conversat
ion to something easier, like books or music or my penchant for deep fried food.

  “Oh, plenty of things,” he said, his voice curling around every word in a near seductive way. Bodies were starting to gather around our table, but I wasn’t sure if it was simply because it was the royal table or if it was because the Prime Minister was there. I hated feeling out of sorts in my own body. It wasn’t something I was used to. I operated on a non-filter policy and yet here I was afraid of every word I spoke. “How do you feel about choosing your own leaders?”

  “The vote?” I asked, wishing he’d gone with the fried food category instead. I could talk about that stuff for hours. I shrugged when he nodded. “It’s nice having the right.”

  Sophie’s mouth dropped before she quickly closed it, and Charlotte flinched before smoothing her features. Xander stiffened beside me, but his lethal gaze was on Damian. A collective gasp rang behind me, and I finally glanced over my shoulder to see half the party had tuned into our conversation, the Queen Mother one of them. Something like victory and utter defeat flashed in her eyes, and it was in that moment I realized all my worst fears about tonight had come true.

  Whatever I’d done, it was undoable.

  “I mean,” I said, trying terribly to recover. “That’s how it’s been since I was born. I wouldn’t know of any other way—”

  “Yes, but you support the people’s right to choose.” Damian cut me off. “Some people here would call that—”

  “Ms. Collins is in support of what has kept her country in accordance with its Constitution since before she was born,” Charlotte said, talking over him. Her voice projected in a powerful way that couldn’t be ignored, yet it was soothing, calming, comforting. She eyed the crowd behind us before focusing on Damian. “In both respects, America and Elleston are operating in the way their ancestors have for generations. All working to better their given people. In ways, the American election of a President is equal to our election of a Prime Minister. We all vote for who will lead us.”

  A murmuring rumbled through the crowd, along with a great deal of head nodding. Conversations resumed, and I flashed her a grateful look for the save. I would forever be in her debt. After a few minutes, I scooted away from the table, excusing myself.

  I hurried as fast as I could in the heels, out the doors, and then through another set, desperate for the fresh air outside. The ballroom may be huge, but it was stuffy as hell. And it wasn’t my scene. At all.

  I stopped on the sidewalk, vaguely aware of a guard following me. I ignored him, my breaths coming faster and faster as I paced, the black fabric of my gown flowing from the breeze I created.

  Xander was worth it. I knew that with certainty, but I would never fit in here. Not that I was hoping for a miracle, and I somehow got to keep him for my own—as my heart constantly liked to tease me with the fantasy—but it simply couldn’t happen. I wasn’t bred for this life, and I nearly stated that I supported the Anti-Monarchists with the way I answered Damian’s question back there.

  Damnit. He’d baited me, but it wouldn’t be the last time. Not just for him, but for anyone who saw me as an easy target. A way to hurt Xander, make him look bad in the eyes of the public.

  Fuck. I was ruining his life.

  I continued walking, no clear destination in mind, just the need for more air. Like I couldn’t get enough outside. I needed to leave. I was only hurting his image…

  Something jerked on my heel, tugging me to an abrupt stop.

  I groaned, smacking my hands against my thighs.

  “This is why I don’t wear heels!” I snapped to no one, the irrational anger over getting stuck in a grate the perfect outlet for the confliction inside me. I tugged on my ankle, but the damn thing didn’t budge.

  I moved to unstrap the pump, wondering how much this would cost the crown.

  “In a tight spot?” Xander’s voice smoothed over me like liquid honey, and I almost wanted to cry the relief was so sweet.

  “Seems a habit of mine,” I said as he came around to stand in front of me. I swallowed back the tears that worked their way up my throat. I was an emotional wreck, the battle between wanting to be with him and not wanting to ruin his life raging war inside my soul.

  “I’m no knight,” he said, slowly bending on one knee, his hands warm and gentle around my ankle. “But I would like this opportunity to save you for once.”

  I laughed, my eyes glittering as I looked down at him. He was constantly getting on his knees for me, and I couldn’t get enough of it. He wiggled the heel in the grate, gentle with my leg until finally it popped free. He reached up to take my hand, steadying me from the quick release.

  “Better?”

  I grinned down at him. “You’re my hero.”

  A flash popped, illuminating our thought-to-be-private scene.

  Xander was on his feet in seconds, wrapping me in his arms as he whisked us back toward the building.

  I couldn’t escape the vultures inside or out, and I was devastatingly aware of the fact that as long as I was by Xander’s side…he wouldn’t either.

  Xander

  The banging on my bedroom door was enough to wake the dead.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, kissing Willa’s forehead before I untangled myself from her lithe limbs. I settled the sheets over her, their dark blue color a startling contrast to her creamy skin, and pulled on a pair of wind pants in my dresser.

  The banging became damn near insulting.

  “Someone had better be dead,” I seethed as I threw open the door.

  My mother stood there, in her dressing gown, her hair in an unkempt knot and the fury of God in her eyes. “Probably the monarchy,” she answered.

  “Good morning?” I looked back over my shoulder to see that the clock said six forty-five a.m. The world must be on fire if my mother was out in the residence looking anything less than perfectly coiffed.

  “I expect to see you in the war room in exactly fifteen minutes, Alexander.”

  “What is going on?”

  She thrust a newspaper at me, hitting me in the chest with it. Yeah, this is bad. Before I could pull it back to see the headlines, Mother side-stepped me to look into my bedroom. “You’d better get some clothes on and come, too,” she told Willa.

  Willa pulled the sheet even higher to her neck and nodded, her eyes wide and solemn.

  “Mother…”

  Her gaze snapped to mine. “Fifteen minutes, Alexander, or I’ll haul you there myself.”

  She spun in a fury of robes, her guard chasing after.

  I looked across the hall to see Jackson stationed at my door. “Get Oliver in here. Now,” I ordered.

  Then I shut the door, throwing on the light switch.

  The front page was a full print of me on one knee, holding Willa’s hand as we smiled at each other adoringly. The headline read: Your Future Queen: Elleston’s most eligible bachelor is off the table.

  “Fuck me,” I hissed.

  “What is it?” Willa asked, hopping on one foot as she tried to slip her ballet flat on. She’d already thrown on jeans and a flowy blouse. Three minutes out of bed, and the woman looked ready to take on the world.

  She was about to have to.

  I tossed the paper on my bed and tried to slow the slamming of my heart. “Well, the world is pretty sure that I asked you to marry me last night.”

  “What? Oomph!” She tripped and went down at the end of our bed, a casualty of her favorite shoes.

  I helped her up, cupped her cheeks in my hands and kissed her lightly. “It will be okay. No matter what anyone says in this meeting, this will be fine. Do you understand me? I will make it okay.”

  She nodded.

  As I finished dressing, opting for jeans and a rolled-sleeve button down, she brushed her teeth and started to read the paper.

  “Holy shit. Oh. No. Wait, that’s not what happened. Wait. What?” she shrieked the last part, bringing me out of the bathroom. At least I’d gotten my teeth brushed.


  “What’s wrong?”

  “This says that marrying me would violate the terms of your constitution and therefore nullify your government. Oh my God. You just handed the Anti-Monarchists their victory.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Xander, I’m so damn sorry.”

  I sat next to her on the bed, and tipped her chin to meet my eyes. “First of all, it’s just a picture, and I handed you a shoe and nothing more. Second, we can clear this up as easy as issuing a statement. Third, let me worry about our constitution.”

  She nodded and took my hand.

  We left the room exactly twelve minutes after my mother had issued her summons, and Oliver was at the door.

  “Jesus, man, do you sleep in that suit?”

  “Feels like it some days, Sir,” he responded dryly, following us as we walked down the hallway. “Perhaps you should consider armor today? Or should we just start with the whiskey?”

  “I second the whiskey,” Willa said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

  “This is okay,” I answered with a squeeze of my hand.

  She nodded but didn’t respond.

  Our walk through the palace halls was quiet, our footsteps the only sound. The servants averted their eyes, but I saw more than a few glances at Willa—in particular, her hand.

  For fuck’s sake, if I was going to propose to her it would have been better than the porch of an event.

  As we came to the hallway where the war room was located, Jameson leaned up against the wall, not caring that he was probably screwing up the thousand-dollar paint job. But Jameson had that luxury. He could do what he wanted when he wanted. For the slightest moment, I wondered what my life would have been like if he had been born a few minutes earlier. If his heel was the one with the scar mark that noted me as the first-born.

  What kind of king would Jameson have made?

  He would have been decisive, and probably a little divisive, too—between the old generation and this new one. He would keep our people’s best interest at heart, and move the monarchy into something more modern than I would. No, I had been raised with tradition in mind, an eye to keeping the monarchy strong.