Virgin Bride: A Single Dad Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  I gaped after him. I wasn’t even sure I wanted the dress, but apparently I was stuck with it. There were no second chances in Starkland as it turned out.

  Shrugging, I smiled to myself and went into the bathroom to try it on. I hoped it was going to fit, though I suspected it would.

  Trip was the kind of man to pay attention to that sort of thing.

  I stepped out into the hallway, feeling good.

  It took me about an hour to get dressed. I was ready in plenty of time, and I felt reasonably confident about how I looked. At least, as far as that went. I was never perfect, but I felt good enough.

  The dress fit, at least.

  “Honey,” Dad said, coming toward me down the hall, “you look lovely.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Lucy smiled. “Very pretty dress. Good color.”

  “Thank you.” At least she was in a good mood.

  The two of them were in their formal clothes, and I guessed they had servants bring them things as well. Lucy looked nice in a floor-length beige gown that offset her nice, dirty blond hair.

  “Ready?” Dad asked.

  “Let’s go.”

  The three of us walked down the hallways and headed down the stairs. Some servants spotted us and took us the rest of the way to the formal dining room.

  It was a lot bigger than I had expected. It was probably more of a ballroom than a dining room. There were at least fifty people milling about, and we entered into the fray knowing nobody and not even speaking the language.

  We managed to find our table, marked with nametags. We were seated with other ministers we didn’t recognize. I looked around the room, but I couldn’t find Trip anywhere.

  We sat down, and instantly Lucy began to talk to the older woman on her right. The woman was clearly some kind of baroness or countess or something like that. She wasn’t really interested in Lucy, but her grasp of English wasn’t the best, so she probably didn’t know how to get herself out of her situation. Lucy, for her part, didn’t care who listened or spoke English, so long as she could speak.

  Suddenly, there was a small buzz of energy, and I saw Trip walk into the room. He instantly started smiling and shaking hands, and I felt a pang of excitement. I hadn’t seen him since we returned back to the estate and dismounted, and I had been yearning to finally see him again.

  But he never looked over at me. He made the rounds of the room, but he never bothered to even look in my direction. He looked so damn handsome, though a little tired, but he wasn’t giving me the time of day.

  Which was fine. It didn’t matter. Maximillian had warned me about this, though I had assumed he was just being a pompous asshole.

  Dad leaned toward me as everyone began to filter toward their seats. “So, do you know any Starklandian yet?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “You?”

  “Nope. Sounds like barking to me.”

  I smiled. “It kind of does. Barking and grunting.”

  “It’s not a beautiful language, whatever it is.”

  I laughed and felt a little bit better. As people found their seats, Trip stood up at the front of the room and began to speak.

  Entirely in Starklandian, of course.

  I didn’t understand a word of it, but he looked impassioned. People seemed genuinely into whatever he was saying, and by the time he finished speaking, the applause was heartfelt and loud.

  I glanced at Dad and he made a face, like he was very impressed.

  “Wonderful speech, don’t you think?” Lucy asked the woman next to her, who nodded politely. I stifled a smile.

  When Trip was finished speaking, he nodded to the crowd and then left the room. I watched him go, curious, but everyone else went back to their conversations. Servants appeared from the sides of the room with food, and dinner began.

  But Trip was still gone. I did my best to try to enjoy the meal, but Trip had left without so much as even looking at me or acknowledging me. I was tempted to text him, but I realized that would come off pretty bad. I was sure he was just playing the politics game and couldn’t break character to come talk to me. I was sure it was meaningless.

  The meal was lovely and rich, all traditional Starklandian food. Conversations drifted around us, including at our own table, but it was all in Starklandian, except for Lucy’s prattling, of course. Dad, for his part, noticed that I wasn’t in the mood to chat, so he didn’t force me.

  After the first course, people began to mill about the room again. I half turned in my chair when a man came toward me, a sleazy man with a creepy smile.

  “Bryce Koch?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yes?”

  “Hello, dear. My name is Nicolai Corvin. The king speaks very highly of you.”

  I put on a smile, despite how uncomfortable he made me. I’d never seen this man before and couldn’t remember his name, but if he was at this dinner, he was important. I couldn’t be rude and risk messing things up for Trip. Besides, this was the first person to actually seek me out all night.

  “That’s flattering,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Nicolai.”

  We shook hands. His grip was weak, and he held my fingers for far too long before dropping them.

  “How do you find our country, dear?” he asked.

  “It’s lovely,” I answered.

  “What have you seen?” His English was surprisingly good, with a very small accent.

  “Stehen,” I said. “Plus this estate, and whatever you can see from the window on the drive here.”

  He laughed. “So nothing then.”

  “Stehen is a beautiful city,” I said.

  “True,” he conceded. “It is beautiful. But I’m the agricultural minister, and it’s my duty to inform you that the farmland in Starkland is lovelier still.”

  “Well, I’ll have to see it someday then.”

  “Soon,” Nicolai said, smiling big. “Very soon.”

  “Good. I look forward to that.”

  “I’m glad. Starkland can be a very unforgiving country, especially to foreigners.”

  “I haven’t found that.”

  “You’ve been protected by the king,” he said, laughing. “Nobody would dare offend the king’s mistress.”

  That took me aback. I gaped at him before gathering myself. “I’m not his mistress,” I said.

  He looked genuinely confused. “I’m sorry. Is this not the correct word?”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

  “Translation error then, let us say. You’re the king’s friend, how about?”

  “Yes. That’s true,” I said softly, my eyes narrowed.

  This man wasn’t stupid and his English was great. He knew exactly what he had said.

  “Good speaking with you, dear,” he said. I wanted to say something else, but he was already walking away.

  I was completely blown away by that exchange. Was that how people in Starkland saw me, just as the King’s mistress? That was crazy.

  Or was it? We were sleeping together, and we weren’t formally dating or something like that. Oh god, maybe I really was the King’s mistress. I glanced over at Dad, but he hadn’t heard a word. He was too busy tucking into his food with surprising gusto.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I said to him.

  He stopped for a second and glanced at me. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m going to head back to my room.”

  He put his fork down. “I’ll walk with you.”

  “No, no. Please, stay. Lucy would kill you if you left.”

  He sighed. “Very good point.”

  I smiled and stood. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Feel better.”

  I quickly turned and left the room. I felt some eyes follow me as I left, but I didn’t care.

  They all already thought I was the king’s foreign whore. What did it matter if they saw me leaving the dinner early? I didn’t want to ruin things for Trip, but I also wasn’t going to sit there an
d be embarrassed for a second longer.

  I should have seen this coming. I saw whispers of it in the media, but nothing in English, and the articles I got translated just came back as jumbled messes. I knew my name was in the papers, but I couldn’t tell why.

  Now I knew. They were saying I was Trip’s mistress, and who knew what else. They were probably blaming me for the war and for all the attacks in the city.

  I got back to my room, feeling tired and angry. That Nicolai bastard was such an asshole for coming up to me and making me feel awful like that. It wasn’t as if I asked for any of this.

  And why hadn’t Trip even talked to me? Probably because he knew everyone thought I was his whore and didn’t want to be seen speaking with his harlot.

  I was so angry, I couldn’t think straight. I went into the bathroom and started the shower, stripping off my lovely dress and leaving it a crumpled mess in the corner.

  I couldn’t stop hearing that man’s voice calling me a mistress. If he said that to my face, I couldn’t imagine what they were saying behind my back.

  I was completely distracted and incredibly angry. I wished Trip would talk to me so that maybe he could explain or at least make me feel better.

  Instead, I was alone in the shower, fuming about my situation.

  I was so angry that I didn’t hear the door to the bathroom slowly creak open or the footsteps come across the tile toward the steamy stall.

  30

  Trip

  The dinner had been a success, or so my ministers told me early the next morning. The local barons and businessmen had been stirred by my speech, which was exactly what I needed. They pledge support and money at a critical junction.

  Except all I could think about was Bryce and the look on her face as I left the room. She thought I wasn’t paying attention to her, but she had my entire mind. All I could do was think about her, but she was clearly put off when I didn’t bother to return her glances or go over and say hello to her family.

  I couldn’t, at least not in front of everyone. I had to invite her, since she’d be expected, but if I ignored others in favor of speaking with Bryce, then I risked alienating the locals when I so badly needed their support. I knew I’d explain everything to her, and soon.

  But not just yet. This morning was an important one. I stood outside the estate as the security team finished their preparations to leave the estate.

  “How’s it going?” I asked Hardcourt.

  “Well, Your Highness,” he said, “we’ll be prepared to leave in the hour.”

  Long lines of trucks stretched down the road as people packed things into them. Ammunition, supplies, and weapons were all loaded up, along with the men who would be using them. These were highly skilled and trained men, and although they were outnumbered, they far outclassed the rebels. My men were better armed and skilled. They were going to win.

  They had to win.

  “What are our chances?” I asked Hardcourt. “Be honest with me. Your career depends on it.”

  He furrowed his brows. “I’d say we have a sixty-five percent chance.”

  I sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

  “It’s a good shot, Your Highness. A victory here could even turn the war in our favor.”

  “Or it could be a disaster and I’d have to run away again.”

  “Yes. That’s true.”

  “Are the men equipped with our latest weapons?”

  “Yes, your Highness,” Hardcourt said. “Power suits for every third man, plus the full array of advanced weaponry.”

  “Very good.” If there was one thing Starkland was good at, it was making electronics. We had some of the most advanced weaponry and technology in the world, but we were still just a small country. I was working on getting our manufacturing abilities ramped up in the coming years, but the war was really sapping our ability to scale.

  I watched the trucks get loaded, one after the other. These men were my men, and each of their lives was important to me. Many of them would die, and they would die for me. I needed their sacrifices to matter. I needed them to win.

  “Listen, Hardcourt,” I said. “Kill those fuckers, or don’t come back at all. Got me?”

  He looked surprised. “What, Your Highness?”

  I grinned at him. “I’m kidding. But seriously, kill those fuckers.”

  He laughed. “I will, Your Highness.” He strode off and began ordering his troops around. I shook my head, worry tying my guts into a knot.

  I wanted to go see Bryce, but I knew that would be bad for moral. I had to stand around and watch men do work that I wanted to be doing. If I was going to order them into battle, the least I could do was oversee their departure. They needed their king to believe in them so that they could fight hard.

  So I stood there and I watched. I wanted to be a part of this, but I knew I couldn’t ever do that again. I had to be apart from it all, a symbol of strength and unity. That shit wasn’t my strong suit, though. I was much more the type to get deep into it and fuck shit up.

  The preparations continued. The men were meant to leave soon, and I was avoiding the need to micromanage everything around me. I knew if I started that, I’d only make things worse, but it was hard. I wanted to help, although I knew I was helping by standing aside.

  Finally, the men were loaded. More ministers began to filter out of the estate house to watch the show. The men began to file into their trucks and then the engines roared to life.

  “Impressive, right?” someone said on my right.

  I looked over. Richter Johansson smiled at me. “I guess so,” I said.

  “Maybe not as impressive as the old days, true. But still, all this metal and technology, it’s amazing what we can do now.”

  “Do you ever wish you were a young man again riding off to war?” I asked him.

  He laughed. “Not in the slightest, Your Highness, and neither should you. War is for those who can’t get out of it.”

  I frowned at that but said nothing. The trucks began to roll out, and the people clapped politely.

  Richter patted my shoulder. “Don’t feel down, Your Highness. You’re doing very well, all things considered.”

  “Thank you, Richter.”

  He nodded and then left.

  I stood there alone, watching the trucks pull out into the distance. I felt a strange pang in my stomach, but I couldn’t identify it.

  As I stood there, Maximillian came walking quickly up to me from the house. “Your Highness,” he said.

  “What’s up, Max?”

  “Your Highness, it’s about Nicolai Corvin.”

  I sighed. “What now? I thought he had been cleared?”

  Max’s expression was stressed and tense. “He was, but . . . well, you’ll find this hard to believe.”

  “Spit it out, Max.”

  “When did Nicolai join the ministers?”

  “Three years ago,” I said. “He’s a young man, and apparently he came out of nowhere.”

  “Yes, three years ago. Well, we went back through the records, and we found something.”

  “Out with it.”

  “Nicolai Corvin died of lung cancer four years ago.” Max held up a photograph of an old, frail man. “This is him.”

  I stared at the photograph. “That can’t be right.”

  “We don’t know who the man who claims to be Nicolai Corvin is, but he is definitely an imposter. We cleared him because Corvin’s name is clean, but that man is anything but.”

  “Fuck,” I said. “Find him. Detain him.”

  “Already sent men looking.”

  I felt another twisting, stressful jolt in my core and began to walk slowly back toward the house. Bryce had been at the party last night, and my servants had told me that they saw her speaking with Corvin. Afterward, she left the dinner and never returned.

  I had a horrible feeling. I walked quickly toward the house but couldn’t hold myself back. I began running, bursting in through the door, and took the stairs two
at a time.

  I careened down the hallway until I got to her room. The door was shut. I knocked and then turned the knob.

  It wasn’t locked. It swung open easily. I went in and checked through her place.

  It was completely empty.

  Max came behind me a few second later, huffing and puffing. “Your Highness?” he asked, confused. “What’s happening?”

  “Where is Bryce?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Find her. Now.”

  “Very well.” He bowed and then left.

  As I stood in the middle of Bryce’s room, I knew what had happened. I knew, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I didn’t want to admit that I could have missed this, that I could have fucked up so fucking badly.

  I was holding out hope, but I knew it was past time for hope and time for more action.

  31

  Bryce

  Jostling back and forth, I tried moving my hands, but they wouldn’t budge. Everything was thick and slow, a muddy mess.

  My eyes were closed. I tried to open them, but they weren’t working. For a moment I panicked, until I realized I was wearing a blindfold.

  Cold floor. Hum of an engine. Okay, I was in a vehicle of some kind.

  I had clothes on. I didn’t remember getting dressed.

  I tried to move and toppled over to the side. My feet were bound as well. I groaned, and at least I didn’t have a gag in my mouth.

  What the hell had happened?

  I remembered leaving the dinner. I remembered going into my room and taking off my dress. Why did I take off my dress?

  I got into the shower. That’s right, I was showering.

  Everything after that was a total blur.

  I stretched again, trying to get upright, and groaned. My head was dizzy and painful, like an awful hangover mixed with vertigo.

  “Don’t move,” a voice said in clear English. “Chloroform is a nasty drug. You’re probably feeling pretty awful right now.”

  I knew that voice but couldn’t place it. I wanted to reply, but my tongue felt heavy and my words came out like a jumbled groan.