The Crown: A Modern-Day Fairytale Romance

by Samantha Whiskey

  I’ve been here six weeks.

  My knees wobbled, and I sank onto the edge of the elaborate tub, clutching it like I’d faint at any moment.

  No. Not possible.

  I glanced down, suddenly aware of my hand, still protectively laid over my tummy…like a fucking instinct.

  Nope. Birth control. No way.

  Another crashing roar churned, and my knees hit the floor as I heaved again.

  Xander had left to give me space. Time to clear my head. Now I wished he was here, to talk about the possibility…to send someone to get a test.

  But, no. I couldn’t do that. Then they’d know. They’d make a spectacle of it. They’d label my unborn child—if there was one in there at all—a bastard. An illegitimate heir to the throne.

  Fuck. That.

  Maybe my writer’s imagination was running away with me. Maybe I’d miscounted my last period.

  Yeah, and maybe you got it while here and just forgot that week.

  Shit.

  We could never have a child. It would blur the line of succession. It’s one thing to have a love affair, and another to bring a child into the world who wouldn't understand why she was a secret, or why he couldn’t claim his father’s name. Xander’s words echoed in my head.

  We could never have a child. But what if we already did?

  I needed to know for certain, but there was nowhere here I could go that was safe. Nowhere I could go without someone watching—a guard, a paparazzi, a royal family member, hell, maybe even the damned Prime Minister.

  I packed in a frantic flurry of movements that I was now all too aware of. I’d never had a pregnancy scare before, but this…this was a mixture of terror and hope and grief. Grief at the solidity in my bones, the certainty in my heart…if I was pregnant with Xander’s child, he or she would never be accepted. It would be worse than being me…it would be…

  No. I slung my bag over my shoulder, my heart shattering just a few more degrees. Maybe, if I was wrong, I could come back here and explore our options. We’d be more careful. My love for the man was that strong. And while I could condemn myself, I wouldn’t let an innocent baby suffer their entire life for a choice their father and I had made.

  I grasped the door handle for a moment before I found the courage to turn it.

  But I did.

  “I need to go,” I said, conjuring all the authority I could into my voice as I opened the door and looked at Oliver.

  “Where would you like to go?” He asked despite eyeing my bag and the tears in my eyes.

  “The airport.”

  “I can’t do that without discussing it with—”

  Xander would stop me. He might not be able to keep me in the way he wanted, but one look in those eyes and I’d stay.

  “If you don’t take me now, I’ll leave. You can’t stop me.” He arched his brows, challenging, but I kept my spine straight. “Fine,” I said, pushing past him. “If something happens to me while I cab it to the airport, good luck handling Xander—”

  Oliver’s gentle grasp stopped my quick steps. “Damn it.” He cleared his throat, releasing me. “Apologies.”

  “Just get me out of here.”

  “This will destroy him,” he whispered.

  “I’m already killing his reign and he hasn’t even taken the throne. I’m doing this with or without you.”

  He gave me one, almost solemn, nod.

  Three hours later I was on a flight.

  Nine hours—and two gallons of tears later—Laura greeted me with open arms from the doorway of her beach house.

  The pale blue home had always acted as a refuge to me when I needed to escape the real world and shut myself away and write it out. Well, I wouldn’t be writing, but I was escaping. No one would look for me here. Not even Xander knew where Laura lived, and the house was an off-the-grid place her great uncle had left her a few years ago. It was still in his name. I would be impossible to find, and that’s exactly what I needed right now.

  “Everything you asked for is in there,” she said, releasing me from a hug and motioning to the guest room. She jerked her thumb toward the living room, a litter of papers, an iPad, and a laptop scattered across the ottoman in front of her couch. “I’ll be in here. Come find me when you need me.”

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice raspy from crying so much and the dry air on the plane.

  I shut the door behind me, not wasting any more breaths waiting.

  Laura had three stacks of boxes on the counter in the guest bathroom. One was cheerily pink, the other baby blue, and the third was high-tech digital. My agent was not only a mama bulldog, she was insanely thorough. I snatched up the high-tech one with the digital read out, not wanting to have an ounce more of doubt.

  Four minutes later, I still hadn’t found the courage to look at the results. I groaned, chewing on my lip. “Laura!”

  The door flew open as if she’d been standing on the other side of it. If I hadn’t been in knots, I might’ve laughed.

  “Yes?” She asked, feigning ignorance.

  “I’m a coward.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re a fierce bitch. Always have been.” She smiled, her concern clear in her eyes. “What can I do?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Is this like when Random House sent me the Crocodile Cole proposal, and you needed me to read it out loud over the phone because you couldn’t open the email yourself?”

  I nodded rapidly, hugging my arms around myself.

  She blew out a breath and approached the bathroom counter like it might explode at any moment.

  “Wait,” I said, and she froze with her hand an inch from the test. “Laura…”

  “It’ll be all right. Whatever happens. Just like Random House. You either have an additional…important project or not.”

  I chuckled, tears glittering in my eyes. “Okay, okay. Do it.” I clenched my eyes shut.

  “Well, fuck me,” she said, and I snapped my eyes to hers, the breath stalling in my lungs.

  The test was pinched between her fingers, her face unreadable.

  “What?” I whispered, the word squeezed from me.

  “I’m picturing a tiny prince with rainbow colored hair running around with a toy typewriter.”

  I dropped to my knees, Laura followed me, still holding the test. I could read it now as she hugged me.

  Pregnant.

  No lines. No questions.

  I was crying into her shoulder, and holding my stomach at the same time.

  After a few minutes, she forced my face into her hands. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.” She hefted me to my feet.

  I hugged her again, clinging to her like I would my own mother. I’d have to call her in a couple weeks when her and dad got back from their cruise.

  “Thank you,” I said, and meant it from the bottom of my soul. She’d been such a force in my life, taking my career to the next level, being a friend who understood my habits without question, and now…she’d read the word I couldn’t.

  Pregnant.

  With Xander’s baby.

  I ate, unable to stop the tears that randomly rolled down my cheeks every time I thought about the life inside me. It was equal parts him and me. And yet, I was alone. And the baby…I’d never let anyone ever call it an illegitimate heir.

  Xander deserved to know, but what could he do? Maybe it would be better for him, for his quality of life, if I simply faded in his memory as one wild romp before he became King.

  I glanced down at my stomach but somehow looked internally at the same time. I didn’t have the answers. I didn’t know what to do...but I knew one thing.

  I love you. I’ll take care of you.

  It was powerful, the rush of certainty and primal protection I felt for this being in my belly. I’d do anything to protect it…even if that meant breaking my own heart in the process.

  Five weeks, six bags of fun-sized snickers, thirty bags of mini M&M’s, sixty-thousand words in a new
prince-themed erotica novel, and too many sleepless nights and naps to count. It was safe to say I looked like a walk-on extra in The Walking Dead. I knew what I wanted, knew what I needed to bring me back to life…

  Xander. I wanted to talk this out with him, even knowing I couldn’t have him. I wanted to tell him about his baby. Tell him about how I could already picture a little boy, much like Laura had painted but minus the colored hair. I wanted him to hold me and make things right, but again, I knew that was a fantasy. And absolutely selfish. He couldn’t change who he was, who he was born to be. This wasn’t his fault. I’d known what I was getting into.

  Of course, I hadn’t known my birth control would fail after one tiny minor case of jet-lag that resulted in me forgetting to take it on time. Not that I regretted it, now.

  I shifted on Laura’s couch, cradling my still flat tummy, hyper-aware of every motion I made. Every sensation in my body, now more clear than ever. It was some kind of cosmic force I could do nothing but contend with, and though I was in shambles over losing Xander, I felt true love washing over my heart every single day.

  The doorbell rang, and Laura came out of her office, looking as much like a vampire as I’d ever seen her. The woman never slept.

  “If you ordered pizza, I’ll love you more than the moon!” The thought was enough to perk me up to a full sitting position.

  “Um…” Laura came around the corner, her eyes popping out of her head.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Your prince.”

  My heart stopped and restarted as I bolted off the couch. I jerked to a halt as the man came around the corner, looking as devastatingly handsome as he ever had.

  A sigh left me in one fast rush, my shoulders drooping.

  “Ouch,” he hissed. “Usually it’s the panties that drop, not the attitudes.”

  Laura balked.

  “That’s not my prince,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s Jameson.”

  Xander

  One month, seven days, nine hours and thirty-seven minutes.

  Somehow I was still breathing, still living...if that’s what this was called. Existing was a far better definition.

  She’d cancelled her phone number, and her house in New York was still closed up. She hadn’t been back as far as I could tell...or could pay people to tell me.

  After the first week, I’d still been determined.

  By week two, I was drunk.

  By week three, I knew that I’d never get her back if she didn’t want to come back. Everything with Willa was her choice, and even as one of the most powerful men in the world—she owned me.

  By week four, desperation took over.

  By week five, I had a plan.

  Which led me to tonight.

  I fastened my last cufflink and did a quick scan in the mirror. My royal uniform was perfectly tailored, bearing the ribbons from the years of service I’d spent as an attorney in the Ellestonian military. This was my future. This uniform. This palace. This empty bed.

  It had always seemed an adequate size, but it felt huge without Willa’s frame held tight against me. The sheets had been changed, the room thoroughly cleaned by the housekeeping staff over the last month, but I swore I could still smell her when I walked in.

  Or maybe her scent was simply imprinted on my soul.

  I left my bedroom, Oliver hot on my heels.

  “Are they here?”

  “They’re all assembled,” he answered, pulling at the neck of his tux.

  “Uncomfortable?” I asked as we turned from the residence to the wing of the administration.

  “I hate these things.”

  “You and me both.”

  We rounded the corner to find Damian waiting next to the door of the theater. His shoulders straightened, and he gave me a tense smile. “Your Royal Highness,” he addressed me with a nod.

  “Damian. Are they all in there?”

  “All four hundred and fifty of them.” He motioned behind me to a bevy of guards. “And they are in possession of four hundred and fifty cell phones. Whatever you need to say will be private.”

  “Thank you,” I told him, my voice dropping. “No matter what happens, I owe you a debt of gratitude, and I’ll not forget it.”

  “We’re both just doing our parts to move this monarchy forward. Ready?”

  “To make the most important speech of my life in a private movie theater?” I joked.

  “Well. Yes.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  The footman opened the door and announced us. “His Royal Highness, Prince Alexander, and the Prime Minister!”

  There was a commotion as the members of parliament stood from their seats. The theater was built to hold four hundred, and the unseated members stood in the aisles, the steps, and every vacant space.

  I climbed the steps to the small stage, where a podium had been placed.

  “Members of Parliament, thank you for agreeing to meet. My father once told me that living rooms are the best board rooms, but seeing as I can’t possibly fit you all in my living room, the theater will have to do. Please be seated...if you have a seat.” Soft laughter came from the members. “I’m aware we’re due in the ballroom in an hour for a very important announcement, so I’ll keep this as brief as possible.” I secured my hands on the sides of the podium and fought the urge to fidget with my collar. “I’m aware that the current law states that not only must a royal be married to ascend to the throne, but that his bride must be of noble birth.”

  A rumble went through the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, our laws are outdated in three ways. The first is that it should be no concern whom a King chooses to wed himself. Have we not evolved enough to respect the emotional attachment of love? Have none of us been made better by our significant others, no matter the status of their birth?”

  Another rumble sounded.

  “The second matter is the need to be wed at all. Forcing marriage is barbaric, and outlawed to everyone in this country except its Sovereign. Would it not be in the best interest of this country to allow her King to serve in her best interest, and then find the partner for his life who would best suit him and this country? Why must the crown be tied to a wedding ring? To show responsibility? Is it not more irresponsible to wed in haste to someone with whom there is no chance of a happy marriage?”

  Senator Lambert stood about ten rows back from the front.

  “Senator?” I called on him.

  “Would it not be in haste to change our laws, when the subject of the discussion is a foreigner? Forget that she is an erotic novelist, no matter how...unsavory that might be, Your Highness. Could we in good conscience make such a drastic change that would pave the way for an American queen? We have never allowed anyone besides those of Ellesonian birth on the throne. That is a matter of tradition—of law—not to be taken lightly.” A grumble of assent went through the audience, with more than a few heads nodding.

  I wanted to grab him by his skinny tie and pummel his face until he apologized to Willa. What a fucking prude.

  “The matter at hand is not that of my attachment to Ms. Collins. It is in the ritual itself. I am prepared to take the throne. I have been raised in deep Ellestonian tradition, in the laws and customs of this land that I love more than my own breath. I can tell you that taking an Ellestonian woman to wed would not deepen my love or commitment to this country. The law is outdated.”

  A few heads nodded, and I took heart. Perhaps a few of them could be talked to logically.

  “We need to move our monarchy into a modern era. To change as our country has. To keep our traditions without remaining in the middle ages. This law has not changed in a thousand years. Do you know what has? Our society. Our warfare. Our technology. The rights of women—which brings me to the third issue. This law also states, “Before a King takes the throne…” because women cannot inherit by right. We are still in the era of primogeniture, and that needs to change. A firstborn Princess sh
ould have every right to inherit.”

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  “Ladies, would you not agree?”

  A feminine chorus of “yes,” sounded.

  “Gentlemen, would you stand here and tell me that your daughters are any less capable than your sons? Do they not deserve the same chances. Do they not have the same intellectual capacity? This issue is not a matter of law as much as it is simple human rights. Because make no mistake, women’s rights are human rights, and we have been far remiss in this. I do not ask your support in this matter, I expect it.”

  A rousing round of applause sounded as the parliament members rose.

  “The official legislation has been drafted by Prime Minister McAllister.” I motioned to Damian, who nodded from his place next to me.

  Then I moved so he could take the podium.

  “I have heard many of you clamor for change,” he said, and the crowd hushed. “Many of you declare that this monarchy is outdated. Many of you whisper that it shouldn’t exist at all.”

  The auditorium grew thick with tension. I had no doubts that many of my enemies were in this room. Many of them were Anti-Monarchists, and I knew somewhere in this room there was a man, or woman, who led them.

  “I’m here to agree with you. To tell you that it is outdated, but that together we can move it into the modern day that we need to. These measures are the first steps. As unorthodox as this is,” he motioned to the theater, “this can be the venue for change. We can be the change Elleston needs. He—” he motioned to me, “Prince Alexander is ready to embrace the change we need if you will but give it to him.”

  Amid the clapping, I thanked them and stepped out into the hallway, Oliver closing the door behind me. The fastest vote in the history of Elleston was about to take place.

  I walked across the hallway to wait in the small conference room, but I couldn’t sit. I paced the length of the table while Oliver watched, quiet, but anxious. I glanced at the clock.

  I could veto any measure they decided—but not one that had been passed a thousand years ago. I could give them my advice, and could introduce new legislation, as I did tonight, but I could not make them pass it.