Perry and Her Princes (Kingdom of Veronia Book 1)

by Serena Akeroyd

  “There’s every reason, dammit. You know I can’t…”

  “Why not?” his brother snapped. “We’ve sacrificed a lot for our country. Why do we have to sacrifice our happiness in this too?”

  “Because it’s not normal, you fool. We live in the public eye!”

  “We can hide it. There’s no reason for anyone to ever know.”

  “How can we? We can barely take a leak in a public restaurant without someone trying to photo it.”

  “You marry her,” George said softly, so quietly that Edward had to strain to hear the madness spilling from his brother’s lips. “You make it respectable. No one needs to know about my part in your marriage.”

  Jesus.

  This was no fanciful notion. George had been thinking about this, planning it.

  Lifting a shaky hand, Edward ran it through his hair. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. Deadly. You were miserable with Arabella, Edward. You know it, and I do too. I’m sorry she died, and it was unfair for her to die so young—she didn’t deserve that. But it would have ended with a divorce. She could never have given you what you wanted. What you need.”

  “This whole conversation is ludicrous.”

  “Is it?” George eyed him. “Or is it ludicrous that I have the answer to our prayers and you’re trying to back away from it?”

  Edward’s nostrils flared. “How is she that? Have you spoken to her about this? Is she aware of your plans?”

  George snorted. “If you think that, you’re a bigger fool than you seem. Do you think she’d have taken her damn shoes off if she’d thought she was here as my girlfriend?”

  Edward scowled at him. “You do realize that’s one of the reasons why she could never be Crown Princess? Or, God help her, Queen one day.” Hell, were they seriously having this conversation?

  George shook his head. “The public would eat the whole ‘prince and a commoner’ thing up. You know it. I know it. They didn’t exactly love Arabella, did they? Not that she did anything to endear herself to them. But they’d love Perry. How couldn’t they?”

  Edward turned back to look at Perry who was engaged in a rousing conversation with his parents about... Edward blinked, sure his ears deceived him. She really couldn’t be talking about how a dead body would nourish a tree through the coldest of winters with his mother and father, could she?

  His very conservative, very serious parents. Parents who had taken three months to speak without formality to his fiancée.

  George smiled when he saw where his attention was focused. “See? If she can do that to mother and father, what could she do to the rest of the country? She’s fresh blood, Edward. She’ll bring life to this stuffy place.”

  He heaved in a breath. “Does she know how you feel about her?”

  “No.”

  Edward had figured as much. There was a distance on her part that spoke of two people who were very close, but not close enough to be physically intimate. “Why not?”

  “We were friends first. Then, when I realized she’d be perfect for us, I was hesitant to ruin things.”

  Edward narrowed his eyes as he realized there was plenty his brother wasn’t telling him when George’s voice trailed off.

  “You’re being presumptuous in the extreme. She might not want us.”

  “She wants me,” George said softly. “I know she does. She just doesn’t act on it.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one of the reasons I haven’t. Fear.”

  “Fear of what?”

  “Losing our friendship.”

  “But you’re willing to risk it on this?”

  “For our happiness, Edward?” George met his glance and held it. “Yes. Yours, mine, and hers.”

  Edward shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t rule anything out, okay? Just keep an open mind.”

  How could he do anything else?

  George clapped him on the back before returning to the seating area and taking part in whatever his parents and Perry were discussing.

  He watched them, shaking his head a little at his brother’s plan.

  It couldn’t work. Surely?

  He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, trying to deny the visceral attraction he felt for the small woman on the sofa.

  He didn’t know where it had come from, considering she wasn’t his type. And he didn’t even know if it was reciprocated because when he’d shaken her hand, she’d been distracted—by her heels, apparently.

  His lips twitched at the thought.

  A man whose handsomeness had been described in too many news’ journals to count, hadn’t been gorgeous enough to distract a woman from the pain her shoes caused her.

  A full-blown grin had him turning back to smirk out at the fountain.

  How could he not be attracted to such a woman? One who didn’t fawn or fuss. Didn’t flutter her lashes up at him or touch him inappropriately with the hope of bedding a man who would one day be King.

  She was… a breath of fresh air.

  George was right about that.

  He clenched his hands into fists.

  This was madness.

  His brother was mad. This had just made it official.

  Chapter Three

  Xavier DeSauvier, Duke of Ansian and Lorrena, prowled around the ballroom with ease. His ease also spoke of a familiar boredom in being at the reception.

  Such functions were too common and too bland for him to do anything more than attend.

  Actually taking part required far too much energy.

  Of course, when his uncle the King caught sight of him in the crowd, Xavier was the recipient of many displeased looks. But Uncle Philippe often did that.

  He’d always just shrug as if to say, ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

  His mother’s brother would always grit his teeth and then return his attention to whichever boring official he was talking to.

  He supposed it was rather ill-behaved of him to refuse to speak to the attendees, but the truth was, he didn’t have a clue why he was here. Just knew that when his Aunt Marianne sent him an invitation in a blue envelope, his attendance was required.

  As such, he gave it to his social secretary, a perennially underworked member of his household, who knew to mark the important dates in his diary.

  He had to admit, the grand ballroom looked particularly marvelous tonight.

  The parquet floor gleamed underfoot, but he groaned at the damage the women’s stupid heels caused to the antique wood. Overhead, a fresco of cherubs dancing and frolicking amid a cloudy sky was a beautiful sight to behold, and the walls were paneled with various artworks that predated the Renaissance.

  Mock candles flickered authentically, giving the air a rather romantic and antique feel, and with the women dressed in ball gowns and men in official dress—tuxedos—he’d admit it looked like something from a movie.

  Dining tables for diplomats lined the large atrium, leaving the center open for dancing. The orchestra had yet to strike up though, as now was the time for conversation before the lighthearted side of the night could occur—a thought that had him rolling his eyes.

  Lighthearted and ballroom dancing did not go together in his opinion. But then, little of this life did to the family’s black sheep.

  It was a painful cosmic joke that he was third in line to a throne he didn’t even truly believe in. Not that he didn’t recognize how fair a king Philippe was, but such power should not be doled out because of a family’s DNA.

  Still, Philippe would have to pop his clogs, then Edward, and then George before Xavier would ever set one butt cheek on the throne.

  Hallelujah.

  On his journey around the room’s perimeter, a journey that had him avoiding anyone of any import as people huddled in the center desperately trying to speak to their monarchs, he saw a small brunette huddled in a chair. As he neared, he realized she wasn’t huddled, she was crouching, then he saw the screen.


  She was on her phone.

  At an event.

  His lips curved into a grin. That was his kind of woman.

  Relieved he wasn’t the only one bored out of his skull, he approached her. When he appeared in her line of sight, she tilted her face to stare at him and he was surprised by the delicate beauty before him.

  She was small, that he’d already seen. Round in all the right places, but her face is what caught him. It was stunning. Cat’s eyes stared up at him from within their almond-shaped cast, and her cheekbones could splinter ice they were so high and sharp.

  She had pouty lips and a button nose. A widow’s peak framed her brow which was covered with wispy bangs from a blanket of unrelieved black hair.

  She had to have some Asian influence. The hair and eye shape alone were a clue, but they were faint enough to tell him they were traits from a great grandparent. Barely there yet prominent enough to make her delicate beauty astonishing.

  “Excuse me?”

  The woman’s voice grated a little as was the way with the American accent.

  Germans, Americans, and British people... They all brayed rather than spoke, he found.

  Of course, his native tongue was of the Romance linguistic tree. His language was seduction in verbal form. Who could compete with that?

  “I’m afraid I can’t excuse you.” He grinned. “Are you playing games at a royal event?”

  Her eyes widened but without looking at her hands, she shielded her phone. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard what I said,” he said teasingly. “I wish I’d thought of playing games sooner, but I’d prefer to read.”

  She frowned. “You would?”

  He nodded, raised his champagne flute to his lips. “Indeed. I’m a reader not a player.”

  That had her laughing, and his own lips twitched at the tinkling sound. “I’d have to agree. I’m the same but I can’t concentrate when it’s so loud.” She grimaced. “That’s why I downloaded that game.”

  This was loud? This boring event with barely there background music from a six-piece orchestra and inconsequential chatter that could make or break the country was loud?

  Better and better.

  Beauty and brains on the same wavelength as his own.

  “Would you like to go out to the gardens?”

  She bit her lip, peered around him. “Are we okay to do that?”

  He shrugged. “Usually, no. But I know the King. He’ll let me get away with it.”

  “How do you know him?” she asked with a scowl.

  “I’m his nephew,” Xavier murmured, curious as to her reaction. Usually, making such a statement would have most women panting.

  The woman before him didn’t pant. She frowned in disgruntled surprise.

  “You are?”

  He nodded, amused at her suspicious query. “That’s why I can move freely about the palace.” He cocked a brow at her. “Do you wish to leave the noise and go to the gardens?”

  He could tell she was cautious, but he could also sense that she was eager to leave the party. He himself wanted to huff at such a notion. This wasn’t his idea of a damn party.

  She gnawed at her bottom lip. “Do you think anyone would mind if we did slip away?”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  Philippe would mind, but his uncle would just lecture him tomorrow over the phone.

  He usually did anyway.

  She slipped to her feet and when she barely came to his throat, he had to admit he was surprised by how small she was.

  Surprised and, bizarrely enough, turned on.

  She was like a fairy, he realized with no small amusement. All graceful limbs and light steps.

  “I’m Xavier,” he introduced himself as he held out a hand, indicating she could start walking.

  Her lips curved in a shy smile. “I’m Perry.”

  “Perry? Isn’t that a boy’s name?” He tried to remember the last time he’d visited America and failed.

  They had bizarre ways of naming their children.

  Coming from a British background—he, and his cousins Edward, and George had all attended British boarding schools—to him, randy meant horny. For a child to be named thus would cause raised brows in Veronia.

  Naming a girl with a boy’s name would also cause a stink.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Perry can be a girl’s name.”

  It could? Huh. What did he know?

  Shrugging, he murmured, “You see that door to the right of the suit of armor?” When she nodded, he said, “That’s where we’re going.”

  Once she knew their direction, her pace picked up, giving him the chance to study her from behind.

  She wore, he realized, flats. A notion that had him hiding an outright grin. She was small and wore no heels—could the woman be more unusual if she tried?

  Even the women approaching six feet wore heels, ones that had them appearing more statuesque and Amazonian, uncaring if they were taller than any man attending.

  Yet this small, beautiful creature wore flats.

  Intrigued, he watched as she turned her head over her shoulder to make sure he was still following. He shot her a smile he hoped was encouraging and received a warm curve of her lips in response.

  She opened the door, and he escaped with her, closing it behind him.

  The silence after the gala was almost deafening, and Xavier lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck in relief.

  “You really didn’t like it in there, did you?” Perry asked quietly as they stepped down the darkened corridor. It was only vaguely lighted with strip lights on the perimeter of the floor which made the glossy tiles seem like a runway.

  “No. I really didn’t like it in there,” he confessed. “I hate those events.”

  “I can’t blame you. That was my first, and I was very bored. If that was your…”

  “Let me see, at a rough estimate, hundred and twentieth?” God help him, it could have been more.

  There’d been a time when he’d been terrified of Aunt Marianne and had gone to two or more of these damn events a week.

  “Ouch,” she said, cringing. “I feel bad for you.”

  “Yes, we royals have it tough.”

  She shot him a sharp look, but whether she saw his wink in the faint light, he didn’t know.

  “I wouldn’t say it’s all bad,” she replied ruefully after a few minutes of silence. “This isn’t terrible, after all.”

  Her words went in tandem with the magnificent view that appeared at the end of the corridor.

  Two ornate glass doors overlooked a raised terrace, which in turn, overlooked the gardens. In the distance, the Ansian mountain range, which were a part of his ducal lands, were looming presences, only visible thanks to the twinkling lights of the houses and amenities on the craggy plains.

  In front of the rises, there was the city of Madela. A glorious metropolis that gleamed like a treasure trove. The Arc, their national monument, soared higher into the air than even the Eiffel Tower. Older than that infamous statue, it was a feat of technological engineering that had stunned Europe at the time.

  With a similar infrastructure to that of the tour Eiffel, designed with ore from Veronian mines, the piece soared into the air in a straight line but as it approached the summit, it began to curve until it was almost overhanging.

  He’d seen the plans. Had studied them as a child. Architecturally, it made sense. The overhang was more illusion than reality. But from a distance, and from below, it seemed like a half-done arch that could topple over at any minute.

  Veronians were, after all, known for their sense of humor.

  Regardless, the monument was very impressive considering the time period, as well as its size. At night, it was lit up like a Christmas tree, and the sight never failed to remind him of home.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she murmured softly when he opened the door for her, letting her pass through first.

  “That it is. Veronia may have its flaws, b
ut its natural beauty and the touches man has made to it never cease to astonish me.”

  “What flaws does it have?”

  “I shouldn’t tell a foreigner,” he teased as they stepped out onto the raised terrace. There were steps that led down into the gardens, but he shepherded her to the side where there was a better view and a small seating area.

  The night was balmy and temperate, warm enough even though autumn was approaching to sit outside without her needing a wrap to cover her shoulders.

  In her floor-length ball gown, the only thing uncovered was her chest and shoulders.

  And what that lack of covering revealed had his cock hardening in response.

  Creamy pearl skin was taut with defined muscles in her arms, but the roundness of her hips spoke of a woman who wasn’t ashamed of her curves.

  She had large breasts, enough to make a man’s hands sweat with the need to cup them. And in the sapphire blue gown, with its sweetheart neckline, the round globes were plumped and straining.

  As he took a seat, he tried not to peer down said neckline.

  Proud of his restraint, he watched her ruffle her skirts as she settled back in the seat.

  It amused him further when she didn’t sit with a ramrod straight spine as most of the court would have done. She leaned back against the filigree metalwork of the garden chair and sighed as she looked at the ornate flowerbeds before her.

  When she didn’t tease him for more information, he prompted, “You wanted to know about Veronia’s flaws?”

  She jerked a shoulder. “Not if you’re not willing to tell me them.”

  His eyes widened. She was taking him at his word? Not pumping him for gossip? Not avariciously seeking news she could sell to the tabloids?

  Was it a ploy?

  His suspicious thoughts filled him with guilt, but he ran a sharp eye over her, trying to ascertain her game.

  Everyone wanted to know more about Veronia. Everyone. They were a ridiculously wealthy country but had intense privacy laws which made gossip like a powder keg at times.

  And if any information came from a source such as he?

  That would be like gold to the press.

  “We’re struggling to cope with the demands of our population,” he said smoothly, watching as she gently turned her head to look at him.