Royal Arrangement #3

by Casey, Ember

  Through the clouded glass, I can see musicians playing and people dancing. And judging by the smells, there are vendors selling food inside, too. The people streaming in and out of the Hall don’t look like people who’ve spent the last few days struggling to rebuild huge parts of their city—for tonight, at least, they are taking the time to celebrate what they do have, to rejoice in the fact that they’re alive. And that’s exactly what I want us to do, too.

  “What do you say, Princess?” I ask her. “Do you care to dance?”

  She’s paused at the edge of the square, and she suddenly looks uncertain. “The royal family doesn’t usually attend these sorts of events,” she says. “They’re for the people.”

  “I’ll have you know I was personally invited,” I say, grinning. “By seven or eight separate people. They’ll be happy to see you here, Princess. They appreciate the work you’ve done these past few weeks, especially when the rest of your family has hidden themselves away.”

  She still looks unsure. But before I can try and convince her further, a young man—who’s had a few drinks, by the look of him—notices us.

  “Your Highness!” he says, attempting a clumsy bow. “I mean, Your Highnesses..esses…” His tongue tangles over the word.

  Other people turn toward us, and a small cheer goes up. One of the men I worked with earlier—Marcell—gives an especially joyful grunt and strides right over, pushing a full mug of beer into my hand.

  “I knew you’d come,” he says, smiling through his full, curly beard. “And Princess.” He gives a quick bow. “A pleasure to see you.”

  Justine’s surprise starts to fade, replaced by an uncertain smile. “The honor is mine. I’m happy to be here.”

  I offer her the drink, but she gives a small shake of her head, so I take a swig instead. No reason to let good beer go to waste, and I’ve learned that Rosvalian beer is incredible—possibly better than Montovian beer, but I would never admit that out loud.

  I pull Justine through the crowd, and those that notice us show nothing but pleasure at our presence. Finally, we manage to make it inside the Hall.

  The building is packed. The center of the floor is full of people dancing to the music coming from the ten-person band against the far wall. The edges of the room are lined with stalls selling food or drink, and all around us people are eating, talking, and singing—not always in time with the tune. The air in here is warm, but not stuffy—in fact, it’s a pleasure after the nippy wind outside. I chug down the rest of my beer, and before I can lower it again, someone has taken the empty mug out of my hand.

  “This is wonderful,” I say with a laugh, looking around. “Marcell said you Rosvalians knew how to party, but this is better than I expected.”

  Justine’s cheeks are pink, but I can’t tell whether it’s from the warmth of the Hall or because of a flash of embarrassment—for once, she looks like she feels out of place. But the brightness in her eyes belies any misgivings she might be experiencing. She looks as excited by this festival as I feel.

  “Care to dance?” I ask her.

  “Not yet,” she says. Her eyes are roaming over the room. “First, I want some food. I haven’t had dinner yet.”

  “I’m not going to say no to that,” I tell her, weaving through the crowd behind her. “Where should we begin? I see some spiced buns over there.”

  “I’m thinking something a little more substantial.” She grips my hand and drags me toward a stall in the corner selling smoked meats and sausages. My mouth waters just looking at them.

  The vendor’s eyes widen when he recognizes us. “Your Highness! Princess! Please, please—have whatever you like.” He spreads his hands across his wares.

  “We’ll take two of the spicy bratwurst,” Justine says. She looks up at me. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

  “No doubt I will.”

  Within moments, we each have a fat, juicy sausage in our hands, and we duck into a quiet corner of the room to eat them in peace. I watch the dancers for a moment, then turn back to Justine. She must really have been hungry—half of her sausage is already gone.

  After a moment, she realizes I’m watching her. Her eyes flash as she looks up at me.

  “It’s rude to stare at people, you know,” she says.

  “Forgive me, Princess. It’s just that sausages are so…suggestive.”

  Immediately, her cheeks go bright red, and for a moment I think she’s going to slap me upside the face with the sausage still in her hand.

  “Very classy, Your Highness,” she mutters. “How old are you again? Thirteen?”

  “Believe me, no matter how old a man gets, he never forgets about a certain part of his anatomy.” I laugh. “Especially when he’s standing next to a woman with a mouth so—ye-owww!” I jerk away from her as her heel slams down on the top of my foot.

  “Eat,” she says, but there’s humor in her eyes. “Or you’ll be the only one touching your sausage for the rest of your life.”

  I feign a frown at the sausage, then make a suggestive gesture. To my delighted surprise, Justine actually laughs out loud, though she tries to stifle it when I grin at her.

  “Eat,” she insist.

  That’s a step in the right direction, at least, I think, still grinning as I take a bite of my sausage. Perhaps she’s not as opposed to our marriage as she was suggesting earlier.

  After we’re done with our sausages, we make a circle of the room, trying anything thrust at us—buns, cakes, roasted nuts, tiny meat pies. I also manage to go through another mug of beer and two glasses of mulled wine—which seem to come out of nowhere, handed to me and then carried away as soon as they’re empty—and Justine has a glass or two of the mulled wine as well. By the time we’ve circled the room, we’re both red-cheeked and laughing, caught up in the energy of this place. My hand is twined through Justine’s, and somehow that feels natural. Wonderful.

  Belly full and spirits high, I feel as hopeful as I have since arriving here in Rosvalia. This is what I hoped we might become, Justine and I. All of our disagreements and secrets seem far away, as does James Camden.

  I frown. I’d managed to forget about that bastard for a little while, but just the thought of his name brings feelings of burning jealousy back. My fingers tighten involuntarily on Justine’s.

  “What is it?” she asks, looking up at me.

  Good God, she looks so beautiful right now. Her face is bright with color, her eyes alive and shining. Right now, at least, her worries and cares appear to be forgotten—there’s none of the usual tightness or concern in her expression. This is how it always could be between us, I tell myself. If we let it.

  “Nothing,” I tell her. “Nothing at all.” I force myself to grin again. “Now, though, I think I’d like to dance. What do you say?”

  Justine

  Perhaps all I needed was a few glasses of wine to see a future with my husband.

  My husband.

  Thinking about him like this now is somehow different than it was before. And maybe it is the alcohol, or maybe—just maybe—it’s something more. And whatever that more is makes my stomach turn cartwheels at the thought of dancing with him. I’m not certain if the heat I feel in my cheeks is from the wine or from the thoughts I’m having about finally spending the night with the man standing before me.

  “Shall we dance?” William gazes into my eyes, smiling as widely as I’ve ever seen.

  Before I have the chance to respond, he’s whirling me onto the dance floor.

  The band is playing a lively tune—a traditional Rosvalian folk song. I look up into William’s eyes. “Do you know this one?”

  He grins as he takes my hand and spins me around. “Of course I know this one.”

  “Really?” I laugh. “Because we’ve already missed two partner trades.”

  His gaze never leaves mine. “I don’t care.” He loops his arms around my waist, pulling me tightly to him. “Do you know this one?”

  “I think I do.”

&nbs
p; He’s still moving us about the dance floor, though he’s completely ignoring the steps of the traditional dance. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I smile. “I think you might want to avoid drinking any more of the free beer tonight.”

  His grin widens and he pulls away to spin me to the cue of the song, though we aren’t following any of the other moves.

  “I think you were supposed to pass me to the right just now.”

  He pulls me close to him again, wrapping his arms even tighter around my waist this time. He tips his head to whisper into my ear. “I don’t care.”

  “I think the other people dancing might care—”

  “I think the other dancers will afford a newly married man a chance to hold his new wife.” His lips brush against my cheek before he tilts his head to speak into my ear again. “You really are beautiful, Justine.”

  My cheeks burn at the compliment, but perhaps it is just the wine. “Thank you. William, I—”

  He kisses my cheek again. “Your people love you, you know.”

  Something hardens in my gut. “I’m not so sure about that—”

  “They do. I’ve worked hand in hand with them for the past two weeks and they have nothing but wonderful things to say about you.” His lips brush my cheek once more before he kisses my jaw, then my neck.

  I draw in a sharp breath and my neck arches involuntarily. It must be the wine, because my entire body suddenly feels warm.

  He pulls away to look into my eyes again. “And what’s not to love? You’ve devoted your life to them—”

  “I haven’t, though. I—”

  “But you’re willing to. You put their needs before your own. You—”

  “William, let’s not.”

  “Let’s not what?”

  “Find ourselves arguing at this establishment—in front of everyone here. They came to celebrate the end of harvest, not to hear us bickering for the millionth time.” Thankfully, the tune changes to a slower melody, and I pull myself closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder to look away from him.

  We dance for what seems an eternity, and I can’t help but think I might be able to dance like this with him forever.

  His arms slide up my back into something of an embrace. “I wasn’t attempting to start another argument, Justine.”

  I say nothing, but I know his use of my name means he’s likely telling the truth.

  “They really do love you.”

  I shake my head against his shoulder but still say nothing.

  “You’re going to make them a fine queen.”

  I close my eyes. William probably has no idea what he’s even saying—if he’s not drunk, he’s at least not thinking clearly. He doesn’t understand. My family is never going to allow me to be queen. They’ll never let me have the required four male heirs, and even if I could somehow manage to get the antiquated laws changed, my father and brother would certainly find some way of keeping me from ever ruling this land.

  Clearly, this is something William and I should have discussed before we decided to marry. And I might have, had he given me the chance. I’m almost sorry I agreed to my father’s plan now—the one that has me leaving Rosvalia in a few months.

  I suppose I haven’t thought much about what it will mean to my people should I choose to leave. And what kind of princess does that make me? I already know the answer—it makes me exactly the same as my wretched family, thinking of my own desires before the needs of the citizens of my country.

  But I’m in an impossible situation. As much as I might want to make things work with William, I have no power to change anything. And even if I could somehow change things, I’m still not sure he wouldn’t betray me, the same as has happened before. Even if I could manage to allow myself to fall in love with the man holding me in his arms, it wouldn’t be worth it in the end. As soon as he finds out what happened to me, he’ll leave. He’ll leave me alone with my family, and I’ll be no better off than I was before. I’ll probably be even worse off—left alone with a broken heart.

  No thank you.

  I turn my head so that he might hear me. “I’ve already told you, I have no intention of becoming queen.”

  “I know.” He smiles, tipping his head slightly to brush his lips over mine. “I know.” He smiles against my lips. “Have I told you how much I enjoy kissing you?”

  I can’t help but smile. “You’re drunk.”

  “Possibly.”

  “I think it is more than a possibility.” I laugh. “We should return to the palace before we embarrass ourselves.”

  The tune changes again, this time to another traditional dance. “I think I’d like to stay a little longer. This is one of my favorites.” He grabs my hands and turns me about, leading me across the dance floor again.

  “You’re skipping the partner trades again.” I laugh. “If this is one of your favorites—”

  “It is. And I’ve already told you, I’m not letting you go.” Something changes in his expression, and it’s obvious his words have more than a single meaning.

  “William—”

  “You can fight me. Argue with me. Hell, you can punch me if you like.” He pauses, looking into my eyes for a long moment. “All I know is I’ve spent the past two weeks apart from you, and I’ve done nothing but think of you. I missed you, Justine. And I’m not going to let you go again.”

  “I…” I can’t think of a response. I’ve missed him, too, certainly. But I hadn’t been able to put my finger on why. We do nothing but argue—except, apparently, when there is alcohol involved. Maybe that’s why Mother began drinking—to be able to tolerate Father…

  But what William and I have doesn’t seem to be anything like the relationship of my parents. They might tolerate each other, but we…we almost like each other, I think. And perhaps we could grow to be more. I certainly respect him more than I do my own parents—the man has sacrificed his life for the past two weeks to serve the Rosvalian people. He seems to care about them more than my own family does. What more could I ever ask of him?

  But now is not the time for romanticizing our relationship, even if I could someday be persuaded to care for him more than I imagine I should allow myself.

  He spins me across the floor again before pulling me tightly to his chest. “Let’s just dance a little longer, Princess.”

  The wine is most definitely getting to my head. I laugh. Maybe I am afraid of allowing him to get too close to my heart, but at the moment, I don’t seem to care.

  He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I’m going to make love to my wife tonight.”

  My cheeks burn, but my heart begins to thump nearly out of my chest. It’s exactly what I want, even if I can’t admit it to him yet. I want to love him—and I want him to love me. I’m just not sure how I can get myself to allow him beyond the steel wall I’ve built around my heart. I’m not sure I’ll survive if he crushes me the way I’ve been crushed before.

  But I can’t deny it—I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted any man. “William—”

  “I’m going to make love to you. I’m going to show you why we belong together. I’m going to…” He glances behind me at the same time I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  I hear a voice in my ear. “May I cut in?”

  William drops my hands, taking a step to my side. For a moment, I think he’s going to let the man interrupt us to dance with me, but then I see his hands ball into fists. Before I know what’s happening, William charges at the person behind me.

  I turn just in time to hear the crack of William’s fist against the man’s jaw. William pounces on top of the man and begins pounding him in the face again and again.

  My stomach drops to my toes as I realize what’s happening, and I seem to be frozen in place, watching the scene unfold in slow motion. It takes me a moment to realize who it is William is attacking.

  My former lover—the man who betrayed me. James Camden.

  William

  I recognize
d him the moment I saw him.

  In person, James Camden looks exactly as he does in pictures—from his sandy blond hair to his sharp gray eyes to the arrogant arch of his eyebrows. He’s leaner than I am, and taller than I expected, and he carries himself like a man who knows he’s incredibly intelligent. I hated him before I even met him, but now that he’s in front of me, that hate goes even deeper.

  I don’t remember moving, but I suddenly find myself on top of him, his collar in my grip and my other fist slamming into his face.

  I’m only dimly aware of everything else happening around me. Somewhere in the distance, I hear music, and people exclaiming, and a woman shouting my name. But my entire focus is on the bastard in front of me.

  How dare he try to dance with Justine, after everything he’s done to her? He has no claim on her, not anymore. She’s mine. This bastard will never hurt her again. Will never touch her again. Not if I have anything to say about it…

  My vision has gone red, and I blink, trying to clear my head. Everything is still a blur around me, but I feel someone tugging on my arm, and a beautiful voice saying my name.

  Justine…

  I sit up, still blinking. Justine is squeezing my arm, her nails digging into my skin as she tries to pull me back. There is a flurry of emotions on her face—fear, anger, worry—and my gut twists when I realize I’m the cause.

  Slowly, I stumble to my feet, looking around. People have pulled away from us, forming a small circle around the little scene I’ve just caused. I can still hear the music playing on the far side of the room, still see dancers twirling past beyond the circle of onlookers, but with every passing moment, more people are stopping to gawk at what’s unfolding before them.

  Justine has released me, and now she’s kneeling next to her former lover, gingerly touching his cheek. The man looks slightly dazed, but otherwise no worse for the wear. I clench and unclench my fist, grimacing at the stab of pain that shoots through my knuckles. Apparently I’m a clumsy fighter when I’m drunk. I’m both disappointed and immensely relieved that the bastard probably won’t suffer anything worse than a black eye.