Royal Mistake #3

by Renna Peak

  Andrew lifts a brow in my direction but says nothing. Instead, he pulls his napkin off his plate and slams it onto his lap.

  Queen Penelope and a young woman are at the door a moment later. We all stand from our seats when they enter.

  The young woman looks uncomfortable, as though she’d rather be anywhere but here.

  I can relate to that.

  The queen smiles and motions at the young woman with her hand. “This is Princess Justine. She’ll be joining us for the next several days.”

  William and Andrew bow and the princess curtsies in return.

  The queen smiles at me. “I’m so thrilled you’re able to join us this morning, Victoria. William tells me you had quite the duel last night.” She sits and the rest of us take our seats.

  William places his hand on the back of my chair, his fingers brushing against the skin of my neck. “It was quite exhilarating, Mother. You should have come.”

  “Perhaps I will another night.” She turns her gaze to mine. “William tells me you’ve agreed to fence with him as your schedule allows.”

  I force an uncomfortable smile and nod. Did I agree to that? It’s hard to remember now—my brain was pretty scrambled with jealousy over witnessing what Lady Clarissa had been doing to Andrew last night.

  She grins, her eyes twinkling. “I think it is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful that you two have so much in common.”

  Andrew’s eyes have narrowed to slits, almost like he’s trying to shoot darts at his brother through them.

  The queen turns her gaze to Justine. “Ms. Simpson is here to record the details of Andrew’s search for a wife. She’s also a writer.”

  The young woman smiles at me and gives me a knowing nod. She’s beautiful with long, flowing black hair covering her shoulders, pale skin, and chocolate brown eyes.

  Andrew turns to her. “You’re a journalist?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’ve just finished my degree in English literature. I’m writing poetry now.” Her English is perfect—she almost sounds American.

  “She’s had two collections published already and she’s only just finished her undergraduate studies. It’s impressive, wouldn’t you agree, Andrew?” The queen lifts a brow in his direction.

  He nods, the corners of his lips curling into something of a smile. “I would. It’s quite impressive.”

  Our breakfast is served and the queen chats with William as we eat. Andrew and Justine haven’t stopped talking to each other—or looking at each other—since the meal arrived at the table.

  William tilts his head to whisper into my ear. “He likes her.”

  I have to force my head not to snap around to be able to glare at him. I keep my eyes instead on the couple across from me.

  William’s hand brushes against the top of my back and he whispers again into my ear. “Look at his mouth while he’s talking to her. See how the corners are twitching, like he’s trying not to smile?” He pauses for a moment. “And look at his hand—he’s trying not to reach over to touch her.”

  His hand grazes the back of my neck and his finger trails delicately across my skin, making goosebumps rise on my arms. He tips his head to mine again and he whispers in my ear. “Watch his hand—I know my brother. I know what he’s going to do next.”

  William’s fingers dance over the skin at the back of my neck as we watch the couple across from us. He tilts his head once more to mine. “If he touches the top of her arm, that’s it. That’s his tell. Like in poker—do you know poker?”

  I give him a quick nod, unable to move for fear of his fingers moving anywhere else.

  He nods again, tipping his head to mine to speak into my ear. “If he touches the top of her arm, caresses her skin there—it’s all over. She’s the one—the one he’ll choose to be his wife.”

  Memories of every time Andrew has touched my arm like that come rushing back to me. The first time—the first time was when we were in the cave in the middle of the torrential rainstorm. He did it again the next day. And at the cabin—he definitely did it at the cabin. And at the hospital. And on the airplane. How did I not know that was his tell?

  Has he done it since we’ve been at the palace? My brain is a wreck—I can’t remember. I can’t remember the last time he touched the top of my arm. And does it even matter? He had sex with me night before last. Surely that means more than how he touches my arm. Surely that means something—

  William squeezes my shoulder and trails his fingers back to my neck, nudging against me with a chuckle.

  I look across the table. Andrew is mesmerized in his conversation, a genuine smile on his lips for the first time since I’ve met him. He laughs—I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh. And his gaze is locked with Justine’s like there’s no one else in the room.

  My stomach twists into a knot and I know I need to leave.

  Andrew’s hand—his fingers…it seems like they’re moving in slow motion, even though I know it’s only me. My stomach is hard and I want to run.

  Andrew is caressing the bare skin at the top of Justine’s arm.

  Andrew

  Justine isn’t what I expected.

  She is infinitely more pleasant than her father—friendly, even. She can carry on a lively and intelligent conversation, which is more than I can say for Lady Clarissa. And though I can’t change the fact that Justine is some years younger than I, I can’t deny she’s a woman now—and a lovely one at that. I’ve always been partial to women with dark hair.

  It almost pains me to admit this, but if I didn’t currently feel as if I were backed into a corner, I would have considered Princess Justine a fine prospect for a wife.

  You still can, I think. This would solve all your problems at once. You’d find a wife, settle your debt, and redeem yourself in the eyes of the public in case your disgrace comes to light.

  For the first time in days, I feel a touch of hope. Princess Justine might be the answer to everything. I can be the king Montovia deserves without having to resign myself to a miserable married life, the way I would if I chose Lady Clarissa. Little by little, I feel myself relax, growing comfortable with the idea.

  I’m not a fool, though. Justine is still the brother of Prince Reginald, and I don’t trust that man at all. Justine’s friendliness might be a ruse. An attempt to put me off guard. I don’t see any deception in her eyes, but I don’t know her well enough to be certain.

  If she is genuinely pleasant, I think, perhaps I can use that to my advantage. Win her over to my side. Have her speak to her father on my behalf and help me out of this mess before my mistake is announced publicly and I am condemned in the eyes of my own people.

  As the meal goes on, I find myself returning her lovely smiles more and more. Engaging Lady Clarissa feels like a chore, but attempting to win Princess Justine’s good favor is almost enjoyable. It’s easy to speak with her. Easy to return her friendliness. Easy to cross the lines of intimacy by touching her casually.

  This might be my answer, that hopeful little voice keeps telling me. She can be my answer. I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel, almost see a scenario in which I make it through this mess and actually have some semblance of sanity left at the end of it.

  And then I look up and see William touching Victoria.

  Instantly, I tense. I feel as if I’ve been punched. As I watch, my brother leans over to Victoria and says something softly in her ear.

  A loud clatter suddenly makes everyone at the table jump. It takes me a moment to realize it was caused by me—that I’ve slammed the side of my fist down on the table, making all the china and silverware rattle.

  Everyone looks over at me, shock and surprise clear on all of their faces. My fist is still clenched. I can’t seem to move.

  “Andrew,” my mother says, frowning. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Nothing,” I say, forcing myself to move my hand from the table. “Forgive me—I was just startled.”

  “By what?” William
asks almost cheerfully.

  You know exactly by what, I want to say. Instead, I straighten my shoulders.

  “I thought I saw a fly,” I say.

  No one believes me, I know, but there’s no helping it now.

  “Now that I have everyone’s attention, though,” I say, “I thought I might remind William that it is rude to whisper at the table.”

  William smirks. “This is hardly a formal occasion. I see no reason why we must be sticklers for such stiff, outdated rules.”

  “Because it is polite.” My voice is practically a growl. “Because we have company. And because it’s not appropriate to carry on private conversations in the company of others—”

  “Perhaps you would care to share what you and Princess Justine were discussing a moment ago?” William says lightly.

  “We have nothing to hide,” I say. “We were talking about the recent political events overseas—”

  “If we’re going to be following the rules, then we shouldn’t be discussing politics at the table, either,” William points out.

  “Sons,” my mother cuts in before I can respond, “if you wish to have a discussion about appropriate dining conversation, then perhaps we might do it at a later time.” She looks over at Princess Justine. “Tell me, my dear—how is your mother doing?”

  As my seating companion responds to my mother, I tear my eyes away from William at look back at Victoria. She’s staring down at her plate and stabbing at her food with her fork.

  Only a moment ago, William was touching her. And not just touching her—he was caressing the back of her neck and speaking into her ear like they were lovers or something. And she was letting him. My body is still rigid, my chest tight with something that feels uncomfortably like possessiveness.

  She’s mine, I want to yell at William. She wants me. She belongs in my arms. In my bed. He saw us kissing in the gymnasium—he knows I have a claim on her. He’s just trying to mess with me.

  Suddenly, as if she can feel me staring at her, Victoria looks up, her eyes locking with mine. Her expression is hard, guarded.

  “Ms. Simpson,” I say evenly. “I thought perhaps we might work on your story after breakfast. I’d like to review your work so far.”

  “Don’t forget,” my mother says, “I’ve planned luncheon in the garden for everyone.”

  Everyone includes the Lady Clarissa and Princess Justine, which means I’ll spend the entire event exhaustively working to ensure that everyone is given the proper amount of attention. I’m not looking forward to it, even if Justine is less of a chore than her rival.

  “We’ll be done by luncheon,” I assure my mother.

  “Actually,” Victoria says, still looking at me, “I’m not sure I have time to meet before lunch. I have some things to take care of—”

  “I need to review your work,” I say firmly. “In case I decide I’d like you to take things in a different direction. I wouldn’t want you to waste your morning on something you’ll just have to throw out.”

  Her frown deepens, but she doesn’t argue.

  “In fact,” I say, “I’m finished with breakfast and I think I’d like to get right to work. What do you say, Ms. Simpson?”

  “I’m not done yet.” Defiance flashes in her eyes. “If you don’t mind, Your Highness, I’d like to finish my plate before we begin our work for the day.”

  “Let the poor girl eat,” my mother says to me. She looks over at Victoria. “You must forgive Andrew—he becomes quite focused when he wants to get something done. He forgets that we must eat and sleep sometimes.”

  The rest of the meal seems to last an eternity. I make small talk with Princess Justine, but my eyes remain on Victoria the entire time. She seems to be picking at her food, taking as long as humanly possible to clear her plate.

  The moment the final bite is in her mouth, I stand.

  “Are you finished, Ms. Simpson?” I ask. “I would like to discuss our work now.”

  Her eyes dart up and down the table, almost as if she’s looking for an excuse to linger a few more minutes. Finding none, however, she finally nods. “I’m done.”

  I’m at her chair in an instant, holding out my arm. As she stands, I look at the rest of our breakfast companions.

  “Thank you for the fine company,” I say. “I will see you all at luncheon.”

  Victoria doesn’t take my arm. But I keep stride with her as she leaves the room and marches down the corridor beyond.

  As soon as we’re out of earshot, she spins on me.

  “What the hell was that about?” she demands.

  “What was what about?”

  “You know exactly—”

  Before she can get another word out, I grab her and pull her against me, my mouth coming down on hers.

  She allows my kiss for the briefest of seconds before she jerks back. She’s still in my arms, but her eyes are furious as she stares up at me.

  And then, just as quickly, something shifts. The fury is still there in her gaze, but behind it is something that looks a lot like hunger. Before I can analyze it too closely, though, she grabs my face and pulls it down to hers again.

  My arms tighten around her as our lips meet, all my control slipping away. In another second I have her pushed up against the wall. Her fingers dig into the back of my head as my hips grind against hers.

  What are you doing? Something in my mind screams. You’re in the middle of the corridor!

  I reach out and fumble with the handle to the door beside us. The room is unlocked, thank goodness, and I pull us both inside.

  We’re in one of the winter parlors, so named because it has the best light during the colder months of the year. No one will stumble upon us here.

  My mouth is on hers again as soon as the door is safely closed behind us. She kisses me back just as fiercely. We never had a chance to indulge in our passions last night, and now that unspent desire is bubbling up inside of me, threatening to drown out everything else.

  There’s a sofa on the far side of the room, but I’m not sure we’ll make it there. Perhaps the floor will suffice. Or up against the wall…

  My hands slide beneath her shirt as I let my lips trail along her jaw and down the side of her neck—where only a short while ago, William’s fingers lingered.

  This neck is mine. All of her is mine. Her neck, her mouth, her breasts…

  “You shouldn’t let William touch you,” I growl against the side of her throat. “You’re mine. Not his.”

  She stills in my arms. “Is that what this is about?”

  I ignore her question, nipping lightly at her neck with my teeth.

  She pushes on my shoulders, suddenly trying to wriggle out of my arms. I stop kissing the side of her throat, confused by this abrupt change.

  “God, this is just some stupid display of ownership,” she says, pulling completely out of my arms. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”

  I frown. “This is not—”

  “You just told me I’m yours. Damn it, Andrew—this is just some stupid man thing. You’re jealous of William and trying to prove something.”

  “I am not jealous of William. He needs to learn his place and that he can’t just touch you whenever he feels like it—”

  “You were touching Princess Justine.”

  “That’s different.”

  She throws her hands up. “How? How the hell is that different?”

  “Because she might become my wife, and—”

  “So you’re allowed to touch whoever you want, whenever you want, but if someone else so much as lays a hand on me—”

  “William is not someone else—he’s my brother.”

  “So you’d be okay with some other guy touching me? Is that how this works? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot more like you just think you should be able to have your cake and eat it, too. That you should be able to do whatever you want with any woman you want but that I’m yours.”

  I stare at her for a lo
ng moment. Her eyes are bright with emotion, her chest heaving. Her cheeks are still flushed from our passionate kissing.

  “You know I have to find a wife,” I say finally. “You’ve known it the entire time. I’ve been honest about that from the start, and absolutely nothing has changed.”

  She squeezes her eyes shut. All the fight seems to have left her. “What are we doing, Andrew? We can’t… I can’t…”

  I step closer to her. Take her face in my hands. “I can’t stay away from you.”

  “You have to. You have to try.” She looks up at me. “I’m sure you’ll move on. You seem to like Princess Justine well enough.”

  Something about her tone makes me pause.

  “I am not the one who’s jealous,” I muse out loud. “You are.”

  She steps away from me again. “This isn’t about jealousy. It’s about me protecting myself.”

  My chest feels suddenly hollow. “You know I must entertain the idea of a marriage to Princess Justine. This situation with her father—”

  “Is bad. Yeah, I get it,” she says.

  “I don’t think you understand how bad.”

  “So you lost in a gambling match, big deal.”

  “It’s what I lost that’s so important.” I swallow, fighting down the knot of shame I feel in my throat every time I remember that night. “I lost the Montovian Royal Scepter.”

  I expect to see the understanding flash immediately across her face, but instead, she just blinks at me.

  “The Montovian Royal Scepter?”

  “The scepter is passed from king to king and has been since Montovia was founded,” I say, frustrated. “It’s a physical symbol of the king’s right to rulership. The jewels alone are valued at nearly two million Euros, but it is worth so much more than its monetary value—it’s a national symbol. It’s on our bloody flag. Mentioned in our national anthem. If the Montovian people were to learn that I got drunk and lost it in an illegal gambling match…and lost it to Prince Reginald, of all people…” My voice nearly breaks.

  Victoria is shaking her head. “I know your father has had some minor political scuffles with Reginald’s father, but surely—”