Dirty Halo: a forbidden royal romance

by East, Evie

I mull over the question. The few guys I’ve ever had sex with were all casual college flings — dark, drunken hook-up sessions in narrow dormitory beds, typically over and done with in a few short minutes. I don’t have the nerve to admit to Chloe that I’ve never had an orgasm. Never even come close, actually. And I’m definitely not about to inform her that the only time I’ve ever felt even a hint of the passion I’ve read about in my favorite books was in the backseat of an SUV last Friday night, sitting on her brother’s lap, the rock hard length of his erection making itself unapologetically known against my ass.

  “Come on,” Chloe prompts. “Spill. Who was the last guy that inspired some hot sexual fantasies?”

  With considerable effort, I manage to push Carter’s face to the depths of my psyche.

  “No one. Honestly.”

  “You know, you’re a terrible liar.” Her eyes dance with humor. “Don’t worry. We’ll work on that before you become the crown princess. You’ll need to be able to bluff with the best of them, if you’re going to rule someday.”

  “Chloe! Give it up, already.”

  She just grins at me, totally unapologetic. After a beat, I can’t help grinning back.

  I’ve never had a sibling, so I don’t have anything to compare it to… but if this is what it’s like to have a sister, I have to say…

  It doesn’t entirely suck.

  Chapter Twelve

  The knock sounds sharply on my bedroom door. A riot of butterflies flutters to life inside my stomach.

  “One second!” I call breathlessly. “Almost ready!”

  I give myself a final once-over in the floor-length mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back at me. Between the freshly dyed hair, the sky-high designer heels, and the immaculately tailored black dress that costs more than any other garment that’s ever been on my body… I’m a far cry from the girl with overgrown roots in a skimpy crop top who arrived at the Lockwood Estate a week ago.

  Hearing Lady Morrell’s voice in the back of my head, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin.

  Posture is pertinent! Your spine should be straight as the steady trunk of a rainforest tree, supporting a whole canopy of branches.

  I tuck a glossy mahogany curl behind my ear. I haven’t seen my hair this color in — god, I don’t even know how long. Surprisingly enough, I don’t hate it. And though I gave the stylist a hard time last night when she pulled out the scissors, I have to admit that the layered cut is far more flattering for my heart-shaped face than the drab, uniform length I had before.

  Smoothing my hands down the front of my dress, I grab my jet clutch purse off the vanity. My hand hovers over my cellphone, but when I see the screen light up with an incoming call — Owen’s name flashing in all caps — I decide to leave it behind. No good can come from talking to him, right now… even if keeping him at arm’s length is enough to tear my heart in two.

  He’s safer this way, I tell myself, eyes stinging painfully. You heard Chloe’s story about Kacey. If Octavia would do something like that to her own daughter… she won’t think twice about doing it to you.

  My head tilts back to look at the coffered ceiling, a vain attempt to keep the tears at bay. I know I don’t have a choice — that shutting him out is the only way to protect him — but that doesn’t make it any easier. He’s been calling and texting nonstop. He even showed up at the front gates last night, demanding to see me. Or so one of the guards told me, after they’d turned him away.

  Apparently the email I sent two days ago requesting space and time to sort through things on my own was not well received.

  “That’s how you choose to end a twenty year friendship? A bloody email?” Owen snarled on the voicemail he left around midnight, sounding both inebriated and furious. “For fuck’s sake, Ems. I can’t believe you could be this cruel.”

  Chloe knocks again, harder this time.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming!” I mutter, wiping a tear as I head for the door. “Hold your horses, Chl— Oh!” My throat convulses as I pull open the door and find myself face to face with Carter, looking utterly incredible in a black suit that hugs every plane of his sculpted body.

  Holy fuck.

  “You’re not Chloe,” I breathe stupidly, unable to tear my eyes away from him.

  “No,” he murmurs in a tight voice. “I’m not.”

  I nearly stumble back when I see the dangerous heat burning in his eyes. He drinks me in, inch by inch, his gaze dragging slowly up the length of my body from the black stilettos on my feet to the fitted curves of my dress to the dark brown curls falling around my shoulders in an elegant half-up style.

  “You look…” he trails off, jaw clenching tight.

  “Different?” I supply. “It’s the hair.”

  A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Trust me. It’s not the hair.”

  My fingers grip my clutch purse so hard, I worry I’ll snap the clasp as Carter takes a step toward me, closing a sliver of the distance between us. My breath catches, watching his hand lift to gently take one of my curls between his index finger and his thumb — just as he did the first night we met. I stop breathing altogether as his fingers slide down, stretching the lock to its full length.

  It’s the most erotic touch of my life, and I can’t even feel it.

  “What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.

  His eyes flicker to mine, molten with banked heat. His mouth opens, he leans in…

  “Hey!”

  We both flinch back at the sound of Chloe’s voice. My eyes drop to the hallway floor. Carter clears his throat roughly, turning away from me.

  “Let’s go, you two!” she calls from the top of the grand staircase, gesturing madly. “The limos are waiting outside. Don’t worry — I already made sure we aren’t riding with Linus and Octavia.”

  “Thank god for small miracles,” I murmur, looking anywhere but at Carter.

  He doesn’t say a word as the three of us make our way out the front doors and down into the driveway, where Octavia and Linus are waiting by the limos with Simms. At least ten of the King’s Guard are also present, armed to the hilt — literally, they’re all wearing swords — in impressive navy blue military uniforms. Their double-breasted gold buttons gleam brightly in the early morning sunshine. They look more ready to take on an invading army than accompany a grieving family to a funeral.

  “Is all this pomp really necessary?” Chloe asks.

  “Seeing as someone has recently attacked the crown? Yes,” Octavia snaps at her daughter. “A certain show of force must be made during our first public appearance.”

  Linus coughs, a rheumy sound. “Your mother is right.”

  I meet his eyes and see an unfamiliar expression on his face as he evaluates me.

  Could it be pride?

  “Emilia,” he murmurs. “You look absolutely lovely.”

  I open my mouth to thank him, but Octavia interrupts shrilly. “Yes, well, lovely as she may be, she’s delayed us insufferably. We’re running quite behind schedule. Everyone — into the cars this instant. We will see you at the Abbey. You won’t arrive until shortly after us, as you’ll be diverting to Westgate to pick up the Sterling children before the ceremony.”

  “Oh, perfect.” Chloe groans dully. I hear Carter sigh deeply from my other side, equally perturbed, and my curiosity magnifies. I’m sure I’ve heard the name Sterling before, but I can’t put my finger on the context.

  I shoot Chloe a questioning glance. She mouths the words I’ll explain later, eyes rolling back in her head.

  Octavia, Linus, and Simms climb into the first limo while I follow Chloe and Carter into the second. We settle onto supple seats and I try not to let my awe leak through as I take it all in. I’ve never ridden in a limousine before, let alone one from the vintage Rolls Royce fleet used by the royal family for all formal events. My eyes scan from the fully stocked bar of glass decanters to the plush carpeted floor to the hand-embroidered royal crest that decorates the privacy partition. Every detai
l appears custom designed for maximum comfort and style.

  We’ve barely pulled out of the driveway when Chloe reaches into the beaded bodice of her frock and retrieves a rolled joint from her bra. She lights up and takes a deep hit before extending it in my direction.

  “No thanks.”

  “Carter?” she offers, voice scratchy with smoke.

  He shakes his head, reaching instead for the decanter of bourbon. Pouring a few fingers into two separate glasses, he takes one for himself and leans forward to hand the other to me.

  My fingers close automatically around the smooth crystal. “Oh, I don’t think I need—”

  “Just sip it,” he murmurs, staring into my eyes. I know he can read the emotions churning inside them — all the fear and worry and butterfly-induced nausea. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

  With a nod of appreciation, I take a hesitant sip. He’s right. The minute the warm liquid hits my stomach, I feel some of the swarming butterflies dissipate.

  The atmosphere is unusually quiet as we roll onward, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts, enveloped in that unique somberness that accompanies all funeral processions.

  “So.” I clear my throat and they both look at me. “Who, exactly, are the Sterlings and why do you both hate them?”

  Carter snorts and takes another gulp of bourbon.

  Chloe giggles. “First of all, we don’t hate them. There’s just… a lot of complicated history between their family and the Lancasters. Starting with the fact that Ava was engaged to Prince Henry. And her brother Alden was his best friend.”

  “Is,” Carter corrects lowly. “Not was. Henry isn’t dead, Chloe.”

  “Really? How would you know, Carter? Last I checked, you haven’t even been to see him.”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Chloe.”

  She flips him off and takes another puff of pot.

  “You were out with Ava the night of the fire,” I recall as fragments from a previous conversation suddenly click together in my mind. “At a club opening in Lund.”

  Chloe blows out a perfect ring of smoke, smirking at her own parlor trick. “Yep. Hard to say what she was more upset about — the fact that her chance to be queen legitimately went up in smoke, or that her fiancé had the gall to inhale so much of it during that fire.”

  “You make it sound as if she doesn’t care about him at all.”

  Chloe shoots Carter an interesting look. “Care to offer an opinion on that, dear brother?”

  He takes another gulp of bourbon and stares pointedly out the window.

  “So…” My brow creases as I try to sort out the complicated dynamics. “You aren’t friends, then?”

  “We were growing up. All five of us, actually — me, Carter, Henry, Ava, Alden. Thick as thieves.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, Ava and I are more like… frenemies?” She shrugs. “Our families are connected.”

  “Meaning…”

  “Look, E, you’re new to all this, so I don’t think you realize how small the circle of aristocratic families in Germania is. Even if you don’t like someone, it’s practically guaranteed you’ll cross paths relatively often at charity fundraisers, galas, balls, coronations…”

  “Funerals,” Carter supplies darkly.

  We all go silent again.

  “My point is, if I avoided every asshole in this country, there’d be no one left. Including my own flesh and blood,” she says glancing briefly at Carter again. “But if you want my advice… just be on your guard around them, okay? Especially once they find out who you really are.”

  “They won’t,” I insist. “I’m undercover. Your new royal aide, remember?”

  “Mhm. But don’t be shocked if they figure it out eventually. Ava and Alden have been groomed for this life since infancy. They love nothing better than a juicy piece of gossip, and they know exactly how to use it to their own advantage.” Chloe shakes her head. “They play the political game better than anyone I’ve ever met. Maybe even Octavia. How else do you think a girl gets a crown prince as handsome as Henry to propose at the ripe age of twenty-five?”

  With Chloe’s words tumbling around inside my head, I stare out the tinted window taking slow sips of bourbon to settle my churning stomach. About twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of a stately manor house, half the size of the Lockwood Estate but no less beautiful. Two white-gloved butlers sweep open the imposing carved oak doors as we roll to a stop. I watch, dazzled, as two of the most attractive humans I’ve ever seen step out into the morning light.

  Platinum blond and staggeringly tall, they’re the picture of elegance as they descend the steps to the gently sloping driveway where we’re idling. Our chauffeur gets out to hold open the limousine door for them. I slide down the leather bench seat to make some room and find myself pressed uncomfortably close to Carter’s side.

  “Sorry,” I murmur.

  His Adam’s apple bobs roughly. “Don’t worry about it.”

  The Sterling siblings climb into the backseat so gracefully, they remind me of swans settling on the water’s surface. He’s in solid black — from his suit to his tie to his shirt to his pocket square. Even his cufflinks glitter darkly, crafted from the deepest onyx. She’s in an exquisite silk dress and an ornate cocktail hat with a netted veil that dips low to cover one half of her stunning face.

  Alden and Carter exchange stiff nods while the girls fawn like old friends.

  “Chloe, darling. So good to see you,” Ava exclaims, leaning forward to air-kiss Chloe once on each cheek. “How are you holding up?”

  “You know me,” Chloe drawls, re-lighting her blunt as soon as the greetings are done. She blows out a puff of smoke. “Walking on sunshine.”

  “Charming.” Ava coughs lightly and makes a show of fanning her face with a white-gloved hand. Her light hazel eyes rove around the interior of the limo, lingering for an uncomfortably long time on Carter — or maybe that’s just my imagination running wild — before finally sliding over to me. She seems to zero in on the small point of contact where my bare arm brushes up against his suit.

  “And who is this new face?” Ava asks tightly.

  My mind blanks for a minute as I try to remember my cover story, unexpectedly rattled by the intensity of her stare.

  “Oh, her?” Chloe’s eyes twinkle with good humor as she interjects. She’s actually enjoying this, the loon. “No one of consequence. Just my new assistant, Emilia.”

  “I wasn’t aware smoking marijuana all day required assistance.” Ava’s tone may be prim and proper, but there’s no mistaking the bite beneath her words. I’m vastly relieved when her eyes slide away from me.

  A lowly assistant isn’t worth her attention.

  I finish off my bourbon in a single gulp.

  “Yes, well we can’t all be as productive as you, Ava.” Chloe’s grin looks more like a grimace. “How many organizations do you co-chair, now? Four?”

  “Five. There’s the Lund Beautification Society, the City Gardeners Association, the Veterans Relief Fund, the Art Preservation Council, and of course the wonderful work we’ve been doing to save the spotted owl population in the eastern mountains. Were you aware they’re endangered? It’s so important that we…”

  I promptly tune her out, watching Chloe take another drag. Her eyes are glazed, whether from the drugs or the self-inflated chatter is anyone’s guess. The more Ava prattles on about her own endeavors, the stranger I find it. She hasn’t mentioned her fiancé. Not once. She’s acting like we’re on our way to a charity fundraiser for her precious spotted owls, not the funeral of two people who were supposed to be her in-laws, someday.

  Equally strange is that her brother, Alden, says nothing the entire ride. Not a single word. His jaw is locked tight as he stares out the window, eyes unfocused with either grief or boredom. I can’t tell from here.

  “…and our focus should really be on restoring the natural grasses and trees that used to grow plentifully in those at-risk areas, because
I think we can all agree, without a habitat, there’s not even a chance…”

  God, does she ever take a breath?

  Without a word, Carter grabs the decanter and refills my glass along with his own. Taking a fortifying sip, I tap my elbow against his.

  Thank you.

  A second later, I smile into my bourbon when his shoulder presses subtly against mine.

  You’re welcome.

  * * *

  Have you ever driven through a crowd of half a million mourners?

  I’d imagine it’s a lot like the procession at a royal wedding or the celebratory parade after particularly impressive football championship… except, instead of cheers, tears flow freely. Instead of team colors, a sea of black, punctuated by the occasional bolt of blue and gold — a Germanian flag, waving proudly over closed shop-doors and tight-shuttered houses.

  Somber citizens line every street from the outskirts of Vasgaard’s historic district all the way to Windsor Abbey. They blow kisses, salute, and throw flowers into the path of the twin black hearses that lead our procession — carrying King Leopold and Queen Abigail on one last tour through their capital city.

  A final goodbye.

  Several limos trail after in a long, stately line, ours second only to the one carrying Linus and Octavia, followed closely by a cluster Chloe would refer to as the far side of the family tree. At our creeping pace, it takes nearly two hours to drive from one end of the city to the next. Feeling strangely numb, I stare out at the faces as we pass, safe in the knowledge they can’t see me through our tinted windows.

  A week ago, I would’ve been out there with them.

  Would’ve been one of them.

  Now, I am somewhere else.

  Someone else.

  When we finally reach the abbey, a towering vision of steeples and stained glass, I catch sight of the photographers lining the security barricades, their telephoto lenses snapping endless shots of Linus and Octavia as they ascend the steps toward the doors in a stately fashion. My heart begins to pound so hard I’m sure Carter can hear it, seated so close beside me. I’ve never felt more grateful for my anonymity.