The Inherited Series Book 2: The Claimant

by Lily Burlington

  Cottage was the wrong word. It wasn't even close to an accurate description of the estate. Granted, it was half the size of DuMont Palace, but it was still nowhere near small enough to be considered a house, let alone a cottage.

  It was made out of the same white stone as all the other buildings, surrounded by lush overflowing gardens, all bundled together and precariously balanced on the side of a cliff.

  "Beautiful," I said, as we circled the property.

  "It has always been my favorite," Leopold said. "Much more isolated than the palace in Dumasville. It is always quiet and bright, more free." He sighed and pulled out of the loop, changing direction. "Just wait until you see your house."

  "Oh no, it's ridiculous, isn't it?" I groaned. What had Richard said? Designed by Marie Antoinette and Napoleon Bonaparte?

  "A little," Leopold admitted. "Quite amazing though."

  The world turned red as we swung out over the sea. The sun had been swallowed by the waves and was staining sky and water alike in a bloody crimson.

  "Where will we live?" I asked Leopold suddenly. His estate on Mortimer had looked appealing with the whole seclusion factor, but I didn't think we would be allowed to permanently hold up fort there. It would be too far away from the capital. I wasn't sure if Beatrice and Felip would stick around the palace at Dumasville once Leopold was crowned. Would we kick them out of their house? I knew there were other estates – maybe we would get one of those.

  "We will be spending a lot of time at Sinclair Palace after we are married. You will be needed there a lot when they reform the government. Once I am king, Hector will be given Mortimer, and DuMont Palace will be ours. We will move into my parents' suites. Felip and Beatrice will stay in the castle for a while to assist us, but eventually they will move out into another of our residences. Phillipa will marry and live between her estate in Carmencie and her husband's lands."

  So we would be living in two castles. Leopold and I, living in two castles alone; it seemed like a lot of wasted space. I couldn't imagine the castle being that empty. It was bad enough now with the ten or so of us coming and going. We would need to have a constant flow of guests to make it feel even remotely homelike.

  Static sparked in my ears again as Leopold flipped a switch. "ADS, this is Romeo Foxtrot Sierra seven six tree at one two hundred. Please confirm."

  Another voice replied, different from the one before. His French accent was much harsher sounding than the Solisian one I had grown accustomed to. "ADS, Romeo Foxtrot Sierra seven six tree, roger."

  "Will confirm departure," Leopold said.

  "Roger," the voice repeated. "Will standby."

  Leopold flicked the switch again, cutting us off. We were still above water, but I guess the helicopter had entered France's air space.

  "That is the beginning of your land," Leopold told me a moment later, confirming my suspicions. I perked up, pressing closer to the glass.

  There was no beach, just vast fields with crops sprouting up, run through with dirt trails. "The castle is on a farm?" I asked suspiciously.

  "A vineyard," Leopold corrected. "Your ancestors made fantastic wine. The trails between them are great for riding. It is quite beautiful."

  It seemed nice, I mean, I couldn't complain about a vineyard. The crops came to an end though, giving way to the gardens. I was used to the DuMont's very natural gardens: the orchard, the fields of grass and thick gardens filled with native plants. The most groomed part of the grounds was the rose garden, which was carefully pruned, dotted with fountains and circled by stone paths.

  The grounds of Sinclair Castle were very well maintained in comparison. The garden beds were carefully laid out into square formations. There were huge strips of stone-tiled pools with fountains and jets streaming aqua water into them. I could spot a maze made of hedges off towards the far corner. It was stunning, no doubt unbelievably gorgeous, but almost too perfect somehow, too beautiful.

  The palace came into view. Leopold was right, I could tell even from this high up that my castle was opulent in the most obscene way. DuMont Castle was more formal and resilient looking, reminding me of the prince's palace in Monaco. My mom and John had honeymooned in Monaco and showed me pictures. Sinclair Castle was more akin to the winter palace in Russia.

  It was huge, spanning north and south in a long strip. If I had to guess, it was well over a million square feet, and boasted at least one or two more wings than DuMont Castle. The outside was white and green, with gold trimming and statues. It was lined with pillars and had large balconies jutting out at even intervals.

  "Jesus," I breathed. I had been overwhelmed by the size of DuMont Castle, but this was on another level completely. A map was definitely going to be needed, and maybe a guide, or some sort of GPS device.

  "Your family had a flair for creating beauty. It is no wonder the French wanted it. They could not have anyone competing against them." His tone was jokey, but his smile was sad. "It is a miracle that your county will be its own again."

  The sun slipped below the horizon, making the castle, the gardens, and the vineyard all disappear.

  I fell asleep on the way back. I'll never know how Leopold managed not to hit anything flying blind in the night, but somehow he succeeded. I was awoken by a gentle rocking that seemed both calming and familiar. I was pressed against something warm but felt like I was still flying as my feet swung in the air. Slowly, as my eyes fluttered open, a blush spread across my cheeks as I realized what was happening.

  I was in Leopold's arms, the helicopter winding down behind us as he carried me across the field.

  "Oh," I said, trying to squirm free. We were home.

  Leopold's arms tightened around me, "I have you."

  "But your shoulder," I protested, still trying to push free.

  "You barely weigh a thing," Leopold said. "It is no trouble at all."

  I settled back into his arms, resting my head on his chest as he carried me up the steps. My shoes, I noted, had been picked up from where I had dropped them earlier.

  The guards at the back entrance stood at attention as we approached, automatically saluting Leopold before opening the doors.

  "Thank you," I told Leopold softly as he maneuvered deftly through the halls. "It was beautiful."

  "It was my pleasure," Leopold assured me. "Hopefully I will soon be able to take you to visit those places for real." He frowned, seeming to contemplate something. "Maybe this winter. There is a good ski resort on Mortimer."

  "I've never been skiing before," I told him.

  "We will have to cross that off the list as well then. You will love it."

  I smiled. I hadn't seen snow in years, let alone played in it. I already knew I was going to have to snowshoe; Ben had preemptively warned me about that. But learning to ski as well, and maybe even ice skate, definitely sounded appealing.

  Leopold finally set me down once we were safely inside his room. He didn't let go of me though. His arm stayed firmly wound around my waist, holding me in place against him. He stared down at me, his strange mismatched eyes searching my own.

  "Oh, Monseigneur!" cried Mike from the direction of the bathroom. "I have been looking for you."

  Leopold's fingers dug into my hip, but his gaze didn't shift from mine. "Not now, Mike," he said, his tone laced with warning.

  "But Monseigneur," Mike insisted. "It is time to—"

  Leopold cut him off. "It will wait. You are dismissed."

  Mike hesitated, debating, I suppose, whether or not to listen to Leopold. "Very well, Monsieur," he decided after a moment, and he made his exit.

  Leopold's free hand came up, cupping my jaw. His thumb ran across my cheekbone and traced the outline of my lips. They parted under his touch, the edges quirking upwards. My muscles tensed in anticipation, eager for his kiss.

  When it came, it was gentle, careful, his mouth just brushing across mine. I could feel his restraint. I made an impatient noise, pulling his full bottom lip between my teeth. Leopold let out a
small gasp and lifted me off the ground again. I wrapped my legs around him, locking my ankles behind his back.

  My hands threaded through his hair as he began walking. He was breathing quickly, heavily, his heart beating frantically through the fabric of his sweater. My skirt bunched up around my thighs, his fingers pushing into the bare skin of my legs.

  We fell onto his bed, Leopold pressing down into me, his muscled body hard against mine. I tugged at the collar of his sweater, and he helped me pull it off, revealing the tanned skin on his chest and back. My hands gently scratched down his ribs as I traced the planes and valleys of muscle, pressing my thumbs into the hollows at the inside of his hips.

  Impatiently, Leopold jerked the hem of my blouse from the waistband of my skirt. He pulled it up to my ribs, fingers running along the bare skin on my back.

  "You're beautiful," he said, skin pressed against skin, his lips bruising against my collarbone, neck, jaw, and mouth.

  I slid my hands down, across his abdomen, the V of his hips. His muscles contracted under my touch, goosebumps speckling across his skin. I smiled, happy I could evoke such a reaction, and I undid the buttons of his jeans.

  "Hmm?" I hummed, surprised when he didn't stop me, and smiled against his lips.

  Leopold growled in response, "Do you want me to stop?"

  "No," I said, digging my nails into his forearms. "Just surprised you haven't already."

  "I am a teenage boy," he stated, "and currently hormones are beating propriety."

  He recaptured my lips, the want fueling every kiss. I had never seen him like this before; usually he was so much more careful and contained. I was going to have to stop him soon while I still had clarity of mind or we would be past the point of no return.

  Lightly pushing on Leopold's chest caused him to roll onto his back, as I knew he would. I threw my leg over the top of him, straddling his waist as the buttons of his jeans bit into my skin. I kissed him once, twice, three times, and then pulled back, still keeping him pinned beneath me.

  Leopold looked up at me, frowning; his cheeks were flushed, hair sticking out wildly around his head. His hands stayed on my legs, lacing patterns on the bare skin. "You know," he said, his accent thick, "I had never been told ‘no’ that much until you arrived. Suddenly it seems I can't have anything I want."

  I grinned down at him. "It's for your own good. There should be at least one rule you don't break."

  "It's too late for that; I've read all the rules and broken every one of them, some more than once, just for good measure." He turned serious then. "You know I wouldn't have. I wasn't going to."

  It was my turn to frown. "What do you mean? I thought you just said..."

  "You're not a rule to break, Cat. You are a promise. I don't break promises," he said. He shrugged and sighed heavily, dramatically. "I guess you'll just have to wait a little longer to see my tattoo."

  "What?" I asked, confused. Did he say tattoo?

  Leopold's lips twisted into a devious smile as he slid me off of his lap. Shrugging again, he said, "I'm going to take a shower."

  Leopold was up before me the next morning. He was sitting in bed beside me, sipping coffee, his textbook in his lap. His chest was still bare, and the sheets were bunched around his hips.

  "Morning," I mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

  "Bon matin, ma belle," Leopold said, smiling down at me.

  I stretched, feeling the bones in my spine pop into alignment, and then curled up next to Leopold's side. "What time is it?" I inquired.

  "Around ten," Leopold replied.

  "Wow! No one woke me?" I asked, sitting up now. I ran a hand through my tangled hair. Surely there must be somewhere I was supposed to be.

  Leopold glanced at the page number in his book, before shutting it and running his hand along the spine. "I told them not to; I figured you could use the sleep. Besides, it is a tour day, so we cannot go too far." He grabbed the notebook beside him and the pen that was balancing on his ear and scribbled down a few things. "Phillipa wants you at twelve, though, in the garden. Apparently it is of critical importance."

  Well, that didn't sound good. "Is everything alright?"

  Leopold rolled his eyes. "Fine. Floriography," he said as if it explained everything.

  "Floriography?" I asked. I remembered the word from the lessons yesterday, but I had no idea what it was.

  Leopold nodded once, "Floriography."

  Well that cleared things up. "I thought you said that the castle is open for tours today. Isn't the garden off limits then?"

  "Phillipa is having it closed off for a period of time for the lesson. I'm going to do a bit more here and then come find you. We are going to review a few things," he said, tossing the notepad down alongside his text. I watched as he flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles.

  "Right," I frowned. "You're staying then? It's Monday. I thought you were leaving today."

  He smiled, a truly excited, happy smile, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger, and he said in all seriousness, "And miss the big day? Never."

  I turned my head, looking up at him fully. Something must be up. Leopold was never this excited about royal events, and I was sure he had said he had planned on leaving today. What had changed? I decided to drop it for now and rolled out of bed. "So, twelve?" I checked, walking over to his desk. My phone was there, charging. I unplugged it, making the screen blink to life. Sure enough, there was an event message answering my question. I wondered vaguely whose job it was to keep everyone's schedules updated. I could picture a man locked up in a tiny square room filled with computers, going mad with organizing it all.

  "If you wait a moment, I will walk with you down the hall," said Leopold, rising. "I think I will work in the library today."

  I found Phillipa and Rose in the center of the rose garden. They were sitting on the edge of a large fountain featuring a statue of a woman with hounds in the center. During one of my tours, M. Arsnault had informed me it was supposed to be Artemis, the Greek goddess of hunting. He couldn't tell me what business a hunting goddess had in the middle of a garden though. "I didn't know you were coming," I said to Rose as she and Phillipa stood to greet me. Usually Rose spent the weekends with her parents, at their bakery.

  "Hector insisted I move in for the next few days, until things settle down a little," she explained.

  "Sorry," I offered. It hadn't occurred to me that Rose might be in danger outside the castle walls. Were they really expecting that much of a reaction to the engagement announcement?

  Rose shrugged, smiling, "It's hardly an inconvenience."

  "Yes, yes," said Phillipa impatiently as she handed Rose and I each a sheet of paper that was divided into four columns. The first two columns were lists of different kinds of plants and flowers and their scientific names. The third column contained a definition of sorts and in the fourth were a few words that seemed to be chosen at random.

  "What's this?" asked Rose, frowning at the sheet. At least she seemed to be as confused as I was for once.

  "Floriography," I told her, smiling at Phillipa.

  "Which is what exactly?" Rose asked, scrunching her nose.

  "The language of flowers," said Phillipa dreamily. "It became popular in the Victorian era as a way to send coded messages through different floral arrangements."

  "Doesn't sound particularly important," I told her, remembering Leopold's earlier words. Rose snickered.

  "On the contrary, it is very useful; many aristocrats still practice it. Floriography can be particularly useful if you have to send flowers for congratulatory purposes, like the birth of an heir, or to send me condolences at the time of a bereavement, or to set the tone of an event," explained Phillipa, trying, perhaps in vain, to win us over. I was pretty certain it was less complicated to write a letter than to try and send a vague coded message in bouquet form. But Phillipa wouldn't have any of that.

  "You will need to know this for your wedding if nothing else. The message you send with you
r bridal bouquet will be analytically torn apart and examined under a microscope," she said while heading for a path on the other side of the fountain. "Come on, let's get started."

  She led us through the gardens, pointing out different flowers from the list, explaining their meanings. Some seemed pretty straightforward: daisies for innocence, red roses for love, and ivy for endurance. Others were strange; someone seemed to have a vendetta against marigolds as they were ascertained to represent pain and grief. Although I wasn't as interested in the art of floriography as Phillipa, I was happy to be outside. The late August afternoon was warm and dry with none of the damp humidity there had been earlier in the summer. It was more like the weather I was used to in California, minus the blazing heat. I thought of the cacti that grew in the desert, and I wondered if they had a meaning too, or if no one had bothered to add them into the code since it would be impractical to put them in a bouquet. I wondered if Leopold had been to the desert and if he would ever get to see my home. Somehow I couldn't quite picture him in my house in Scottsdale, which was minuscule in comparison to the castle. It seemed far too common and mundane a place for him to be comfortable in, much too still and calm. I could see him liking Forks, though, where Louis lived. Its green forests and isolated location would be much more Leopold-like, not to mention its popular pursuit of cliff jumping, the ocean, and the mountains.

  "We are going to stop for the day now. Leopold and Catherine have a meeting to get to," said Phillipa. We had just gone through the herb garden. It turns out Ophelia wasn't so crazy in Hamlet after all.

  "That's it?" I asked surprised. We had only gone through half the gardens.

  Phillipa nodded, heading towards the back door of the castle. "It's all we have time for. Keep those sheets, though. You will need them for your project."

  "You're giving us homework?" wondered Rose, bemused.

  "I want both of you to bring a bouquet conveying a specific message to me on Wednesday afternoon, when I get back," confirmed Phillipa.