Torrid Throne (The Forbidden Royals Trilogy Book 2)

by Evie East

  “Chloe! She’s not even worth it,” I mutter, throwing out a hand to stop her before she makes a huge scene. Already, I can feel the weight of several pairs of inquisitive eyes on us — the other ladies in the room, peering over their teacups to discern the latest drama.

  “Aren’t you two just adorable.” Ava’s stare drifts from Chloe to me and back. “It’s clear you have a special bond. Closer than sisters!” She leans in to whisper. “But then, you’ve always had such close female friends haven’t you, Chloe? A shame it caused those rumors about you on Page 6 last year! I wouldn’t worry too much, though. I’m sure your delightful mother will eventually find you a husband who doesn’t mind your rather… untoward proclivities.”

  My face pales.

  My step-sister releases what can only be described as a growl. I tighten my grip on her arm, holding her back, though in all honesty I’d like nothing more than to help her put this smug bitch in her place.

  “Ava, I suggest you turn around and walk away,” I warn, smiling with clenched teeth. “Because you might’ve been raised here in this little bubble of tea parties and polite society… but I grew up in the real world. And I think we both know, despite the truly impressive size of your bitchy attitude, when it comes down to it, my healthy, full figured self could kick your skinny ass from here to the Austrian border.” I smile cooly, channeling a look I’ve often seen Octavia don in my presence. “Not to mention sign a royal decree barring your re-entry.”

  “You don’t have the power to do that!” Her indignant huff is music to my ears.

  “Oh, Ava.” My eyes gleam. “Try me.”

  With that, I whirl around and stride away, tugging Chloe after me. I don’t stop until we’ve left the parlor behind in favor of a heated glass atrium overlooking the manor’s sprawling, snow-covered grounds. I stare at the drifting snowflakes, breathing far harder than normal. When I finally unclench my hands, I find an orderly row of half-moon fingernail indents scored across my palms.

  “Dude!” Chloe exclaims lowly. “Did you see her face!? You were such a badass back there.”

  I shrug.

  “I’m serious! Where the hell did that come from?”

  “She pissed me off.”

  “Then people should piss you off more often, E.”

  “Honestly, if there was an award for Bitch of the Year, Ava would give Octavia a run for her money.”

  Chloe snorts.

  “I’m not joking!” I insist. “She’s a terrible person.”

  “That’s common knowledge.”

  “Has she always been like that?”

  “Pretty much. I think she came out of her mother’s womb wearing that same haughty expression.”

  “How on earth did Carter ever date her?” I shake my head, as if to reject the mere thought of them together.

  “It was a long time ago. Back when we were teenagers. And…”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Ava’s a mega bitch, but even I can’t deny she’s a hot piece of ass.”

  Staring out the window, I strive to slow my pulse. It’s a futile effort. My mind is awhirl with thoughts — about Ava and Henry and Carter. About the strange love triangle I never knew existed.

  “How did it end?”

  Chloe sighs. “It was never serious — at least, not on Carter’s side. He was a horny seventeen-year-old and she was an easy mark.”

  “But it was serious to her?”

  “I don’t truly believe someone like Ava is capable of love, but I do think she felt something for him. Of course, whatever feelings she had for my brother were quickly extinguished when she realized she could marry Henry and become the Queen of Germania. Amazing how fast her heart flipped from one boy to the other.”

  “How did Carter react?”

  “Not well, as you might guess. Seeing a girl who claimed to love him choose power and opportunity over what they had together only reinforced all the shitty things he already believes about relationships.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Not to mention it just about wrecked our entire friend group. The guys still hung out, of course… but it was never the same after that. The trust had been breached. There was no going back to the way things were.”

  I suddenly find myself thinking about last month, when we shared a limousine with the Sterlings on our way to King Leopold and Queen Abigail’s funeral. Replaying the memory with fresh eyes, certain details stand out starkly.

  Alden’s strained silence.

  Chloe’s pointed commentary.

  Ava’s predatory looks, when she saw me sitting beside Carter.

  It all makes sense.

  I glance over at Chloe. “Is anything in this world ever uncomplicated?”

  “Nope! Now, let’s get back in there before we miss everything.”

  “Sorry, but no amount of mimosas is going to convince me to go back in there to be picked apart by those… those shrews. And since when did you start caring about rubbing elbows with socialites?”

  “I don’t.” She sighs. “Just trust me, okay? You don’t want to miss this.”

  “God forbid we skip a single minute of tea and crumpets!” I snort. “How exceptionally vital…”

  “Screw the crumpets. Haven’t you figured out how this works, yet? More political decisions have been made by women sipping tea than they ever have by men in grand halls. The women in that room run this country. Their husbands might control the laws… but they control their husbands.”

  I snort. “This session of Parliament sponsored in part by: Prada.”

  She grins. “Now you’re getting it.”

  Feet heavy with dread, I follow her back into the room where a pack of wolves in designer day dresses awaits — their words far sharper than fangs, their stares more cutting than any set of claws.

  Chapter Eight

  The earth crunches beneath Ginger’s hooves as we trot around a particularly beautiful bend in the path. Her caramel coat gleams brightly against the pale, whitewashed landscape that surrounds us. The evergreen trees to either side are fully frosted with snow. Icicles hang from their heavy branches, sparkling like diamonds in the late afternoon light.

  I usually don’t ride at this time of day, but I desperately needed to clear my head after the tea party this afternoon.

  Chloe was correct about one thing — the women in that room really do make all the decisions for their husbands. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. The way conversation shifted from the latest gossip — Did you hear Baron Levinson was caught in a rather compromising position with the new nanny? — to politics — What are the geopolitical implications of Europe’s recent push for renewable energy on the value of Germania’s natural resources? — was truly something to behold.

  For more than an hour, they discussed everything from trade to tariffs to the charities they’ll be sponsoring this holiday season. I sat there listening in what I can only describe as awe.

  But awe soon faded to outrage.

  Not on my behalf — on theirs. On behalf of all women in this country. For it’s glaringly obvious that, hidden not so deeply beneath their perfectly coiffed hair and sparkling jewels, are some of the sharpest minds in Germania. And no one will ever know, on account of some archaic law barring women from Parliament.

  What a goddamn waste.

  The longer I listened, the more infuriated I became. How is it possible that Germania — a supposedly progressive nation, a first-world country, a gem of Europe — has sidelined half its population from making political decisions? How can it be that the country I love so dearly doesn’t love me back, simply because I have a set of ovaries? And dear god, why aren’t these women out protesting in the streets, demanding equal representation in government?

  I was so lost in the dark spiral of my own thoughts, Chloe had to elbow me several times when the conversation turned my way. Which, to my great displeasure, happened quite frequently as several different women attempted to pawn off their single sons on the future
Queen of Germania.

  Oliver just returned from a semester at Oxford! He’d love to meet you.

  Charles is the captain of his rowing team. He’ll take you out on the river once the weather improves!

  Philippe has box seats to the opera. He simply must to bring you to a show!

  Evidently, the word is officially out that I’m accepting suitors, which means a parade of eligible young men will soon start showing up at the gates, desperate for my hand in marriage — or, more accurately, desperate for a crown of their own.

  My heels press into Ginger’s flanks, picking up our pace. This ride may well be my last moment of freedom.

  Freedom.

  What a joke.

  This isn’t freedom. Merely the illusion of it.

  It’s not like I can leave the grounds. And I’m not truly alone, even now. I might not be able to hear my guards anymore, but I’m sure they’re behind me somewhere — following at a respectful distance on a pair of black horses.

  I grip my reins tighter, spurring Ginger faster down the trail as if I might outrun them. The fading light filters faintly through the snow-topped canopy overhead. I know I should turn back before it gets dark, but I’m not yet ready to return to the confinement of the castle.

  Tomorrow, it all starts over.

  The preening. The fake smiles.

  The public appearances and forced princess duties.

  I pull back on the reins, slowing Ginger to a walk. She whinnies softly, her breath pluming in the cold air like mist. Turning around another bend, she carries us through the final stretch of trees into a clearing.

  I squint at the sudden shift from snowy forest canopy to overcast evening sky. The sun has dipped low, staining the clouds orange as it descends into the towering westward mountains. The castle looks like something out of a fairy tale in the distance, silhouetted like a slumbering giant, its pale stones gleaming, its spires and balustrades refracting a thousand beams of buttery light.

  As soon as we leave the narrow trail behind, I feel Ginger’s muscles shift beneath me, poised and ready to run. I eye the large expanse of frozen field separating us from the castle doors and gather the reins more firmly in my gloved hands.

  “Okay, girl,” I whisper, leaning forward in my saddle. “Let her rip!”

  I barely have to nudge her with my heels before she vaults into motion, her powerful hooves kicking up the snowy ground with each stride. Air rushes into my face, colder than ice as it fills my lungs. The sky turns to a smear of color around us.

  I know I should slow down, that Hans would likely disapprove of this wild, undisciplined charge when I’ve barely mastered a steady canter, but I can’t bring myself to pull Ginger back. I can feel the elation in her every hoofbeat.

  She needs this as much as I do.

  We gallop headlong across the field, heedless of the rest of the world. The ribbon is snatched from my hair. I feel it streaming out behind me like a flag, whipping into a tangled brown curtain. Wind stings my eyes until they’re watering, but even tears can’t stop the jubilant smile from spreading across my face.

  This, right here, is what freedom tastes like.

  “Faster, girl!” A laugh tears from my throat. “Faster!”

  I let out a whoop of pure joy as we fly toward the castle. I’m so caught up in the rush of adrenaline, I don’t even notice the two men standing in the driveway… or their rapt stares, locked on the crazy girl riding her horse across the grounds at top speed, chased distantly by a set of disgruntled guards.

  When we run out of field, Ginger slows her pace from a gallop to a canter as we cross over onto the circular driveway, passing a series of empty fountains and ice-bound topiary. The royal stables are located off the West Wing; I glance up to locate the side path that will lead us there and instead spot two tall male figures by the front steps, directly in my path.

  My stomach somersaults.

  They’re standing beside a black SUV, watching me intently. With their faces cast in shadow, I can’t quite make out their features from this distance. I squint as the stretch between us narrows with each passing second.

  Thirty yards.

  Twenty.

  Ten.

  The shadowed figures finally come into focus and I feel my heart lurch. I consider pulling the reins sharply to the left, making a mad dash for the stables to avoid them completely, but it’s too late. We’re already upon them.

  “Whoa!” I call, pulling Ginger up short with a shower of gravel. I stroke her lathered neck, cooing softly beneath my breath as I suck in greedy gulps of air. “Good girl,” I murmur, trying not to panic as my head lifts toward the onlookers.

  Both men are still standing beside the car, staring at me. They’re incredibly handsome in the twilight, albeit in completely different ways. Almost like mirror images of each other.

  There’s Alden, grinning up at me with his perfectly parted platinum hair, not a strand out of place. His hazel eyes hold nothing but warmth. He’s like a human ball of light.

  Then, three feet and a whole universe away, there’s Carter — those incredible cerulean eyes narrowed in an unmistakable glare, that messy black hair falling across his furrowed brow. His disposition is darker than the ebony dye of his winter jacket.

  My throat constricts as I take them in.

  Light and dark.

  Sun and shadow.

  Suitor and step-brother.

  “I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow,” I say dumbly, still sitting astride Ginger. My eyes are locked on Carter’s and I can’t seem to look away, even though he’s scowling at me.

  “There’s a blizzard in the forecast,” Alden informs me, his voice upbeat. “We decided to come back early.”

  “Oh.” I swallow hard, hoping it’ll clear the lump in my throat. “That’s too bad.”

  “Is it? Come on, Emilia — aren’t you even a little happy to see us?” Alden asks, drawing my eyes back to him. “And by us I mostly mean me,” he adds, winking.

  “Sure,” I lie, wishing I sounded more convincing.

  “Oof!” Alden staggers back, a hand thrown over his heart in a dramatic show. “How she wounds me with her indifference!”

  Carter laughs, but there’s no joy in the sound. He mutters something snide under his breath but I can’t make out any of the words.

  “Excuse me?” My eyes narrow on his. “Did you say something?”

  “Not at all, princess.”

  “Funny. I could’ve sworn I heard my name.”

  Carter’s lush lips are twisted in a smirk. “Trust me, when I say your name, you’ll know it.”

  A bolt of undeniable lust zings through my bloodstream. That look in his eyes…

  Pure heat.

  Pure hate.

  It’s enough to make my thighs clench together. Enough to make me forget we have an audience.

  Alden’s laugh jolts me back to reality. “Oh, listen to you two! Fighting like siblings already.”

  At that, Carter’s face shutters of all emotion. Dropping my eyes, I shift in my saddle, feeling unbelievably uncomfortable. “Well, I guess I should be getting Ginger back to the stables. It’ll be dark soon and I still have to muck out her stall—”

  “Nonsense! A groom can do that.” Alden’s voice is insistent. Snapping his fingers at one of the servants unpacking the car, he rattles off an order. I don’t hear what he says, but the boy takes off like a shot, running headlong tower the stables.

  My nose wrinkles in distaste. “Really, that’s not necessary—”

  Alden waves away my words of protest. The epitome of a gentleman, he strides forward and grabs Ginger’s bridle with one hand before offering the other up to me.

  “Milady,” he says in a faux-formal tone, his grin teasing. “May I be of assistance?”

  I hear what sounds like a snort from Carter’s general direction, but I don’t dare glance at him. Not seeing a way out of it, I place my gloved hand inside Alden’s and allow him to help me dismount. The gravel crunch
es beneath my boots as I hit the earth.

  “Thanks,” I murmur, staring into Alden’s hazel eyes. He still hasn’t relinquished my hand. I try to pull it free, but he’s holding fast.

  “My pleasure, Your Highness.”

  “Just Emilia. Please.”

  His mega-watt smile is so bright, I worry I’ll get a sunburn just being this close to him. “Very well. Princess Emilia, then. Better?”

  I sigh deeply. “Marginally.”

  “I didn’t know you rode,” he comments, passing off my horse’s reins to the groom who’s just materialized at his side. I try to catch his eyes, but the stablehand disappears with Ginger before I even have a chance to thank him.

  “Princess?”

  “Hmm?” I glance back at Alden, belatedly remembering he’s asked me a question. “Oh! I don’t really ride.”

  His brows lift. “Could’ve fooled me. Was that not you we just saw galloping across the field?”

  “It’s a new hobby. I’m still mastering the basics.”

  “Well, you’re a natural. We’ll have to go riding together sometime.” His eyes gleam. “You know, Westgate has some amazing trails.”

  “I was there just this morning, actually. Your mother hosted a tea.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Ava mentioned that.” His eyes flash with something that looks like worry. “I do hope she made you feel welcome. I must admit, I was hoping I’d be the one to give you the tour of our estate. It’s…” He actually blushes. “It’s important to me that you feel comfortable at my home.”

  I force a laugh, but it sounds thin even to my own ears. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice. I dart a glance at Carter and find him glowering at the two of us. Specifically, at my hand, still clenched tightly inside Alden’s.

  Shit.

  A shiver moves through me.

  “I’m so sorry — listen to me, prattling on like an idiot when you must be freezing,” Alden murmurs, misinterpreting my chills. “Let’s get you inside. We’ll sit by the fire, warm you up. Maybe have some hot chocolate and talk for a while.”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely, but—”

  He cuts me off. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you, Princess Emilia. And you…” His eyes have grown as soft as his tone. “You are certainly a sight for sore eyes.”