The Runaway Queen

by Sophie Rodger

  Interesting that he referred to Phillipe as “the king,” not “father.” Not that it was any of his business—not his circus, not his monkeys. “That is nice. So why are you both here?”

  The sound of the metal fork scraped ear-splittingly across the concrete floor as he dragged it to the next pile of hay.

  A cool smile pulled at Antoine’s lips, and he nodded slowly. “Because Damon, Elle and I wanted to meet you. We only found out recently about your existence and—”

  “You thought you would come and buy the silence of the royal bastard, is that it? I know about the election, and you can assure the king that I have absolutely no interest in him and his pathetic games anymore,” Damon bit out, turning his back to them and spearing the hay with more force than necessary.

  There was silence, then the shuffle of feet.

  Good, he wanted them gone, didn’t he? They weren’t his family and—

  Damon turned slowly at the light cough behind him to see Antoine standing alone.

  “Elle went to see the horses. My . . . our sister has a delicate constitution, thanks to our father, and she doesn’t like witnessing disagreements of any kind.” His voice brooked no argument; Damon could see this man as the future king of Montcroix.

  “In my experience, princesses can be overindulged in the protection department.” Damon almost winced at the sharpness of his words. The only princess he knew was Tia, and she had been something else.

  Antoine’s eyes narrowed dangerously, a tight smile playing across his lips. “You would think, wouldn’t you, but Elle has experienced the opposite. That is the kind of man our father is, as I am sure you too have experienced from the sounds of things.”

  Damon frowned. This didn’t make any sense. This man, Phillipe’s legitimate son, seemed to like him as much as he did. Which was zilch. “You don’t sound especially close.”

  “We are not. But getting back to your experiences of princesses. I take it this includes the golden princess herself?”

  That did it. There was a line and he crossed it. Damon dropped the pitchfork with a loud clang and marched up to the man whom fate had deemed to be his half brother.

  His sibling’s eyes were level with his, though Damon guessed he had a few more pounds of muscle than the other man. “Whatever you are going to say about Tia, just don’t,” he ordered.

  He wanted to pound his fist into the man’s face and the lazy smile that appeared on it at that very moment.

  “Good. I was hoping you would say that.”

  Disconcerted, Damon folded his arms in front of him.

  “I spoke to Sebastian last night, hence why we are here today. He got us in without the press knowing. I would have come sooner if I could have, but then Elle insisted on coming, and our younger sister can be quite determined.”

  “I’ll have to take your word on that. Continue.”

  “Sebastian told me about how you rescued Christiana and spent more time alone with her than some may deem . . . appropriate I believe, is a good way of phrasing it.”

  “And I know that she had already written you a good-bye e-mail.” He shrugged, his muscles tense with the effort of controlling his instinct to protect Tia and her good name.

  “Yes, she had.”

  “And now you are able to just stand there and talk about your ex-fiancée like she meant nothing to you.” Damon dropped his hands by his sides, curling his nails into his palms till they hurt.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. She never loved me, nor I her. It was a childish engagement, if you will. Our fathers went to university together, and her brother Geo and I were best friends. The engagement was arranged and one that we both agreed to. In fact, should I have married her, I would have had to leave Montcroix, so I would not be able to stand as a candidate for the monarchy, and . . . my people need me.”

  “Aren’t you just the candidate for sainthood?” Damon scoffed.

  “It is the price that comes with being the son of a sinner. Our father did wrong by your mother and now by you, and—”

  “We never needed or wanted anything from you!” Damon bit out.

  “Not even happiness? There is no need to lie to me. Your eyes are the exact colour of our father’s. You look a lot like him, more than I do, in fact. And I can tell by the way you spoke about Christiana that you feel more for her than you are willing to admit, even to yourself.”

  The sounds of light feminine laughter drew their attention, and they stepped out of the dim barn into the sunshine. Damon let out a low whistle as Elle emerged from the trees in his smallest paddock, riding bareback on Kronos.

  “I told you she was talented. I think she was a bit disappointed on this trip, if I am honest with you,” Antoine mused.

  “With me?” Damon asked.

  Antoine laughed softly, kindly. “No. I think she was hoping to see Sebastian.”

  “Tia’s brother Sebastian?”

  “You are not the only Rousseau in love with a member of the House of Helios, though you are able to do something about it. Sebastian believes this affection is reciprocated.”

  “And he knows that how?” Hope danced in his heart, and Damon resisted the urge to push the man for more information.

  “Brothers know these things. The question is, are you going to let our father steal any more of your happiness, or are you going to do something about it?”

  Damon bit back a sharp laugh at Antoine’s authoritative tone. “Are you ordering me as a potential king?”

  Antoine shook his head, his eyes dark as they held his. “No. As an older brother who is doing what he does best—protecting his family.”

  Heat suffused Damon. Brother. Sister. Despite his father, he had a family.

  “Older brother? Forgive me, but I think you’ll find that—”

  “I have seen your birth certificate. I am exactly six months and eight days older than you.” Antoine’s voice was dark, his words clipped.

  Damon didn’t need to ask whose mother had been hurt the most by his father’s actions. It seemed his father left chaos in his wake, whomever he touched.

  How the hell could he be king?

  “I think, Antoine, you will make a great king.”

  His brother inclined his head, a wide smile pulling at his lips and pushing his cheekbones higher. Damon could imagine the paparazzi photos of Tia and Antoine. They would be the model king and queen, he knew. The only problem was Damon wanted—no, needed—Tia for himself. Without her, he was an empty shell of a man. His every waking moment had been thinking about her. Hell, his dreams were nothing but her and . . .

  Humiliation crawled through him as he remembered the things he had said about royalty and about their birthright and excess. Tia had shown him none of those things. She had shown him a woman who was not scared to go after what she wanted, and even if she was, she tried anyway. She had been humble with his friends and his employees, and he understood now where her need to prove herself came from. Hell, she had even said something about ditching the modernisation programme, and he had still jumped down her throat about it!

  “I have to see her! I have to talk to her and explain!” The words jumped from his lips before he had a chance to stop them or make sense of what he was thinking or saying.

  A warm, firm hand grasped his shoulder, and he looked across to find his brother—he never thought he would use that word—Antoine, staring at him, his eyes shining. “I had hoped you would. Otherwise, my visit would have been for nothing. You should go and tell her.”

  A cold knot formed in his stomach. “How the hell would I get into the palace?”

  Damon looked down as something scraped against his fingers, and he opened his palm to a scrap of paper. “This is Sebastian’s private number. Call him. I believe he will be expecting to hear from you. Good luck—brother.”

  His heart swelled, and Damon clasped the proffered hand tightly before letting go and turning towards his house.

  Time was against him, and he couldn’t afford to waste any
more of it being angry and letting someone steal his happiness.

  Chapter 12

  “You look lovely, your highness.”

  Tia forced a smile to her lips and dipped her head at her lady-in-waiting. They were right. She did. More than lovely, in fact, she was exquisite. Only, it was her, and yet it wasn’t anymore.

  Empty turquoise eyes stared back at her, and lines she had sworn weren’t there two weeks ago now permanently sat there like the proverbial chickens that had come home to roost.

  The diamonds in her Athena tiara, more than she could count, weighed heavily on her head and pulled at her half-updo. Her father had it made for her mother after the birth of the twins, and her parents had hoped she would wear it at her wedding and pass it to her own daughter one day.

  An irate breath escaped her lips. They would have to make do with her wearing it at the party after her coronation and passing it to Sebastian’s children, though judging from her brother’s lack of ability to settle with any woman, her parents would be waiting a long time.

  Sounds from below drifted like clouds on a breeze through the open window, and she exhaled slowly and gratefully at the noise. It drowned out Damon’s voice replaying in her head like a broken record, and it drowned out the part of her brain that urged her to go to him. She had her pride, and he had lied to her!

  As you did to him . . .

  Hells bells! The last thing she needed was an overzealous conscience now.

  Her body still burned at the remembered feel of his hands, and she could picture his body and—those eyes. She had thought she had seen those eyes and that chin before, and now she knew where. Phillipe!

  Her fingers traced along the lace on her wrap. It was as soft as his hands had been. Grrrr! Why was she so weak even at the mere thought of him? She shouldn’t think of him; she had no right. He had lied to her and then rejected her. She would never think of him again.

  She gritted her teeth and ducked her head, ready for her lady-in-waiting as her state sash, replete with its various medals, jangled over her and laid flat against the ornate red dress.

  There. Her armour was complete.

  She drew in a deep breath and forced her lips to part into a stiff, curved smile.

  Her face fell instantly. Oh no. That would never do. She looked like she was snarling and wanted to attack someone.

  Wiggling her jaw, she lifted up her hand and moved her wrist gently from side to side and forced her cheeks into a gentle, serene smile.

  “What do you call that face?”

  Tia’s shoulders slumped at the sound of her brother, and she let her head hang slightly away from the judging eyes of the woman in the oval mirror. “It is called, darling brother, the ‘I do not know why we are having this ball’ face,” she bit out.

  “Because it is tradition that at this time of year, we always have a ball.” His bland answer irritated her further.

  “Have you heard from Father? What did the lead minister say? If it had not been for all this hair preparation, I would have checked this myself and—”

  “Slow down, Tia. Yes, I did, and the lead minister will talk to you after the ball tonight. He thinks it is a strong move, investing in the past, and not something Geo would have done. But then—you are not Geo, are you?”

  “And neither are you, Bastian. Geo would have wanted us to be who we are, not mini-cutouts of him.” She spied him in the mirror through lowered lashes as he sat heavily in one of her delicate silk chairs. “Bastian! You know those chairs are not for sitting on.”

  “Ha! Tia. Despite your recent adventures, you are still the same cautious big sister. Except, what is this I hear from Nico about you taking a sudden interest in another family of racers? I thought you were done with horses. And whatever happened to family loyalty?”

  “They are the Olympians, and they are owned by . . . ” God, was she not even able to say his name out loud now? “Damon.”

  “Figures!”

  Ping. Ping.

  The shrill sound of a text message cut through the air. It was Sebastian’s phone, not hers.

  Though why it would be and why she should have hope, she didn’t know. He didn’t have her number.

  She cringed as he pushed back the delicate chair and stood up as quickly as he had sat down, running his hand through his hair and mussing the blond locks. “You are right as ever, sister, and as tradition dictates, I am going to go now to find our mother and escort her down.”

  “That is a good idea. I will come with you and find Father. The journey to my apartments is tiring him more now than before, and I need to clarify things with him about the Skipios plant.” She picked up the hem of her dress and turned slowly towards the door, the whole action, thanks to the dress’s voluminous skirts, taking her more time than she had the patience for.

  “No! I mean, erm . . . ”

  Tia flicked one groomed eyebrow questioningly at her brother’s blunt refusal and the colour that stole up his cheeks, making his eyes sparkle.

  Mm . . . if she didn’t suspect something before, she certainly did now.

  “Sebastian, is there something I need to know?”

  His phone shut with a sharp click, and a look she had seen him use many times before to get himself out of trouble lit up his face.

  “Would I ever not share? Unlike some people. I may add, I have kept up our twin bargain to share and share alike—information and all.”

  “Bastian.”

  “You know, you sound just like Father when you say my name like that, all exasperated and fed up.”

  “Maybe because whatever you are plotting now makes me exasperated and fed up,” Tia huffed, letting a reluctant smile pull at her lips.

  His shoes clicked rhythmically against the floor, and his own medals, more genuine than hers thanks to his time spent abroad, sparkled brightly in the lights. Tia tilted her head as he stepped in front of her, taking her hands in his. “There are no plots, dear sister, but I urge you to stay here a little while longer. I believe Father is having a tête-à-tête with Mother about the usual.”

  The long-running feud between their parents about their grandmother’s hideous brooch—it made her smile every time.

  “Okay, fine. You win, Sebastian. I will stay here. But the party has begun, and we can’t be late.”

  “As the future queen, you can do what you like!” The laughter in her brother’s voice followed him to the door.

  “You know it is a good job you are not to inherit the crown with that attitude,” she called after him.

  “It is because I am not to inherit that I can have this attitude!”

  Her eyes searched for something to throw as the door closed with a final click behind him. Damn it! If it weren’t for this dress, she could have reached across to the nearest seat and picked up its pillow. She eyed the lace concoction. Mm, maybe not. It didn’t look like it would do much harm to a fly, let alone a man of her brother’s size and stature.

  One final touch up and she would be ready.

  She leaned down and swept her hand across her the gown, frowning as she heard the door click open. Great! Her brother was back, and she was still no closer to that pillow.

  “I thought you were taking Mother . . . ”

  Her voice trailed off as his heeled shoes failed to click. She looked up, her words dying in her throat, at the tall, dark figure looming in the shadow of the doorway. Her heart squeezed painfully at the familiar silhouette. It was as if she could reach out and touch him—the man she wanted and yet could never have.

  “Tia?”

  That voice. It haunted her dreams, and now it was haunting her waking hours too. Her feet were frozen. And she was torn between wanting to run as far from her memory and imagination of him as she could, or staying in her dream with him, then waking up like she always did at the point he took her in his arms and . . .

  The shadow moved, and her world shifted with it as he stepped into the light. “Damon.” His name tingled on her lips and came out in a br
eathy rush. He was here. In the palace.

  “Tia,” he said her name again. It was the same way he had said it when he first held her, when she first discovered what love was in his arms.

  Her limbs ached for him, and she stepped forward, stopping short as the many layers of the ball gown refused to budge. His eyes burned into hers, and she knotted her fingers in front of her. What was wrong with her? She had practiced a thousand times what she would say to him if she ever saw him again. Rehearsed it till she had cried because she knew deep down she would never get to say anything to him again.

  “How did you get in here?” How did you get in here? She had spent weeks rehearsing how she would cut him down and when the moment came, that was all she had?

  A slow, lazy smile pulled at his lips, and her heart slammed against her ribs. “Let’s just say I had some help from some newly discovered quarters.”

  She clutched the layers of her dress between her fingers, holding on tightly. “Did these same quarters pick your clothes too?”

  She nodded towards his black tuxedo. Words now failed her. She had thought he was good looking before; thank goodness for the dress’s stiff layers keeping her upright and preventing her from swooning. She would never complain about the stiff, scratchy material ever again.

  “No, they only got me into the building. The rest came courtesy of my newly discovered little sister who insisted I dress the part.”

  Unshed tears of shock, happiness, uncertainty clogged her throat, and Tia nodded heavily, any pain from the tiara gone.

  Her nose twitched at the familiar smell of him, and her head swam as he walked towards her.

  “The thing is, Tia, I have not come here to talk about our families. Not anymore.”

  • • •

  Damon fought back the urge to run to her. She looked like the fairy queen from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and he felt like Bottom, the ass. Her tiara twinkled in the chandeliers, casting flames of light around the room to banish the dark of the night outside and the darkness within him.

  “No? Then what do you want to talk about?”

  His ears pricked up at the small tremor in her voice. She wasn’t as immune to him as he had thought. The knowledge made his head dizzy. He had thought that Sebastian had been wrong. That maybe she wasn’t as in love with him as his siblings believed. Hell, he wasn’t surprised if she even liked him. He hadn’t liked himself very much after, either.