by Ember Casey
“This is your last chance,” he says. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” I say, grinning in spite of myself. “Let the adventure begin.”
Justine
Today I feel very much the prissy little princess the world has always thought of me. There are at least a dozen people running around in the suite of rooms the royal family of Montovia has put me up in—including two who are pulling at each side of my hair as though it isn’t attached to my head.
“The whole world will be watching you today, Princess.”
“Everything must be just so…”
I’m doing my best not to think about any of it. Zoning out, I think they call it in America.
What I wouldn’t give to go back there now. It wasn’t so long ago that I was attending college, pretending to be a normal person.
I think I really will go back to America and go to graduate school, as soon as this farce of a wedding is over… The only reason I even agreed to go through with the marriage and this idiotic wedding is because of the promise my father made to me.
I’d had every intention of leaving Montovia—and Europe, for that matter—for good the night William announced my surprise betrothal. I’m sure he thought he was doing what was right for his country, but he has no idea what is really in store for him. I almost feel sorry for him—before this whole bullshit arranged marriage was announced, I thought he was nice enough. Handsome, even. He certainly doesn’t ooze the same sex appeal as his brother Leopold, but then again, what other man does? I’d had every intention of going through with a marriage to Andrew—it would have been a good fit. He’s been preparing to be a king his whole life, and I’ve been preparing to marry a nobleman.
It probably seems backward to many outsiders—the traditions of the royal family of Rosvalia. But for me, it has been something I was prepared to honor from birth—marrying for the benefit of my country. My father and mother always assured me I would have the final choice in the matter, though. They’d always promised that I would never have to be married to someone if I didn’t want to be.
So it came as more than a surprise when William announced our betrothal at the Masquerade ball. Perhaps if I had been told about it—given the choice that was always promised me—I wouldn’t have hesitated. On paper, it seems to be the wise decision. The rights to the Montovian royal scepter that Andrew lost to my brother in a gambling match will be returned as a wedding gift, and Rosvalia’s claim to the Amhurst Valley will be dropped and the rights to it will be granted to Montovia once and for all.
But things are never so simple, and my father certainly wasn’t in a hurry before now to have me married off to one of the playboy Montovian princes. No, he has something else up his sleeve, and I’m certain William won’t know what hit him when it’s finally revealed exactly what he’s gotten himself into.
And I can’t wait to see his reaction. I’m not normally a spiteful person, but back me into a corner, and you’ll see exactly how I am not the sweet little spineless princess everyone thinks of me.
The ladies who’ve been dressing me and yanking at my hair finally say they are finished, and my mother comes over from whatever corner she’s been hiding in to inspect the results.
She takes a sip of what I can smell is a very strong drink as she nods at their handiwork. “This will do.”
I try not to roll my eyes. My mother and I have had very little interaction in my twenty-four years, usually only when it’s been necessary for official reasons—family photographs, visits from officials from other countries, and those sorts of events. Mostly, I’ve been raised by one nanny or another, though they never seem to last too long, either. My mother runs them off, and if she doesn’t, then my brother and his antics make them flee for parts unknown.
“I’m so glad you approve, Mother.” I can’t even force a smile for the woman. I’ve wished my whole life for a mother like Queen Penelope, William’s mother, but I’ve been dealt the hand I have, I suppose. There isn’t much one can do about choosing her parents.
She shrugs. “I didn’t say I approved. I just said it would do.” She downs the rest of her cocktail in a single swig, handing the glass to one of the attendants and motioning for her to bring another. “If I know William’s mother, it will be over the top. It’s all about the cameras for those Montovians.” She turns and walks after the attendant with the glass.
And she shouldn’t talk—it’s all about the cameras for her, as well. She takes every opportunity for free press for herself and whatever fashionable charity event it is she’s working on this month. It isn’t lost on me that she’s wearing a white dress—not quite as formal as my wedding gown, but obviously meant to take attention away from me as the bride.
It doesn’t matter. This wedding is a joke, anyway. I’m certain I’m already the laughing stock of the world, agreeing to this farce. But the end result will be worthwhile, at least for me. My father has promised me that if I can make it through three months of this sham of a marriage, I can attend whatever school I choose, anywhere in the world. And that the marriage will be annulled, as though it never happened.
I just have to make it three months. Three months, and I can leave this mess of a life, a family, a country. Three months can’t be that difficult—I’ve been through much worse things in my life than tolerating a man for a mere twelve weeks.
If William thinks he’s going to have some sort of passionate wedding night with me tonight—or on any night during these three months—he’ll soon find out he won’t.
And if he should think he’s somehow going to force me to do something I don’t want to do, he’ll soon find out how sorry I am going to make him for trying.
William
Well, I guess this is it.
My parents have just entered the cathedral, taking their places of honor in the first pew. Justine’s parents have taken their places as well. My brothers stand with me in the narthex, waiting for the signal to proceed. Andrew is still watching me with that frown, and more than once he’s caught my eye as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind and make a break for it. Even Leo looks worried, but he hides it behind one of his grins. Nicholas adjusts his coat, not looking at any of us. He’s had to put his military training on hold—between our father’s heart attack and my wedding, he’s been away from training for over a month. He’s been unusually quiet in that time—he was always the talkative one, which is saying a lot in this family—but I haven’t had much opportunity to speak with him.
I’m glad to have them with me. I wish my sister Sophia—our youngest sibling—could be here, too, but she’ll proceed in with Justine and her other attendants. I almost pity Sophia, being forced to endure this with a bunch of near strangers, but it wouldn’t do to break with tradition during a royal wedding, even one as small and rushed as this.
It could be worse, I remind myself. This is nothing compared to the hoopla Andrew will have to endure when he gets married. The wedding of the third son of a large royal family isn’t nearly as exciting to the world as the marriage of the heir—or even the marriage of Leo, who’s been in the tabloids since he was a teenager—so most likely, this will all pass without much fanfare. There wasn’t time to plan something especially grand, but honestly, I’m okay with that.
The man at the door gives the signal, and I nod.
“This is it,” I say to my brothers, grinning. “My final moments as a single man.”
Andrew’s mouth tightens. Leo chuckles, but the sound is strained. Nicholas says nothing.
We proceed into the cathedral silently. The organist plays some traditional Montovian hymns as we walk slowly down the aisle, and for the first time, it really, truly hits me—I’m getting married.
My nerves have been on edge all day, but suddenly they slam into me with the full force of their power, tying my stomach up in knots.
My eyes fall to the people on either side of the aisle. It’s only a moderate crowd, and I find myself searching out friendly faces.
When we’re near the front, I spot Victoria, Andrew’s bride-to-be, among the others. She gives me a small, encouraging smile, but I can see the worry in her eyes, too.
You’re doing the right thing, I tell myself again. Just trust that you’re doing the right thing.
My brothers and I take our places in front of the altar. From here I can see my parents’ faces. I know my mother is as concerned as everyone else, but her face is serenely blank—I hope she’s decided to trust my decision, but I can’t be sure.
My father is rather pale—he always is these days, since his heart attack—but he still looks every bit the king. His eyes meet mine, and he gives the smallest of nods. He, at least, understands why I’m doing this, and he thinks I’ve made the right decision.
That knowledge gives me comfort. I straighten my shoulders, then allow my eyes to drift across the aisle to Justine’s parents. My soon-to-be in-laws.
King Maximilian looks as unpleasant as ever, even though this arrangement was partially his idea. I swear the man has a permanent sneer on his face. Queen Constance, though quite beautiful, appears just as unpleasant as her husband. I haven’t had the chance to spend much time with her as yet, but my initial impression of her has not been entirely favorable.
Well, you’re not marrying her, I remind myself. Or King Maximilian. You’re marrying Justine, and she, at least, intrigues you.
I bite back a smile at the thought, reminded again of the dream I had about Justine last night. I can still picture it now… Her dark hair tumbling down over her bare breasts, her big eyes looking up at me as she kissed her way down my body. I still remember the sound dream-Justine made as she closed her lips around my cock, and even now, I have to bite back a groan.
Control yourself, you bloody idiot. I force myself to look around at our guests once again.
Notably, Justine’s brother, Prince Reginald, is absent. I have to admit, I’m a little relieved. Reginald’s relationship with my family—and especially with Andrew—is rather strained, and I don’t want him causing trouble today. He’s partially responsible for this mess in the first place. I know that my marriage to his sister won’t erase the hatred Reginald feels for my family—I only pray that he doesn’t plan to make the rest of my life in Rosvalia completely miserable.
My entire body has started to ache, and I realize I’ve tensed up from head to heel in anger.
Don’t think about Reginald. Think about Justine. About how you might win her over. About how much you’re going to enjoy undressing her tonight…
Funny, how just shifting the attention to the needs of my cock makes my other worries seem much smaller. Even though I know it’s wildly inappropriate, being horny is much better than being angry right now.
The organist shifts into another song—the Montovian wedding march. The crowd rises, and I straighten my back, preparing myself.
Think about how much you want to taste those pink lips of hers. How much you want to bury your face in that thick hair. Think about how soft her skin is going to feel beneath your fingers. Or how perfectly one of her round breasts would fit in your palm. Think about—
The bridal attendants have started their march down the aisle, and I’m half hard, distracting myself with thoughts of Justine’s body.
Think about the fire you’ve seen in her eyes—about how intoxicating it would be to have that passion turned on you in bed. I bet she’s a wild one beneath the sheets—she needs an outlet for that fire.
A soft murmur moves through the crowd, and I’m pulled out of my thoughts—Justine has appeared at the top of the aisle.
I raise my chin, trying to get a better look at her. The knot in my stomach tightens, but I’m not entirely sure it’s out of trepidation this time.
She looks…beautiful.
Even from this distance, I can tell. Her wedding gown spreads around her like a white cloud, but my eyes are drawn upward to her face. I can’t see her expression from here, but I don’t have to. Her hair is half up, crowning her head with braids, while loose curls hang down around her face.
My hands are clasped behind my back, and I remind myself to breathe.
She moves slowly down the aisle. Her chin is raised slightly, defiantly, and her eyes are cast straight ahead.
Toward me.
In spite of myself, my heart quickens. Don’t lose your head. Where else would she look?
Still, a warm pleasure fills me, and my cock twitches against my tight wedding suit. This might be an arranged marriage, but if she’s looking at me like that…
My pleasure lasts about twenty seconds.
The closer she gets, the faster my heart races—until suddenly, she’s close enough for me to read the actual expression in her eyes.
I’d allowed myself to think, for one foolish moment, that Justine might want me, too, on some level. Maybe it was the confident way she walked down the aisle or that defiant set of her chin. Now that she’s nearer, though, I see the truth—it’s not desire in her eyes, or even determination. It’s pure, full-bodied hatred.
She’s still pissed at me. I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but for a few seconds, I’d allowed myself to get caught up in all of this wedding fanfare.
She’s still here, though, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter what either of us feels—we’ve both made our choices, and we’re both determined to go through with this.
She stops in front of me, and at this distance her hatred seems to burn right into me. Despite everything, though, my humor leaks through.
Hate me all you want, I think, biting back a smile as I take her arm. We’re in this together now, Justine. And for better or for worse, I welcome the challenge.
Justine
My gut twists with guilt as I near the altar, but I do what I can to cover it. After all, it was Prince William who agreed to this sham of a marriage in the first place. It was he who announced our betrothal to the world without so much as a conversation to find out my feelings on the matter.
It is he who is as much a pawn in this game as you. And unlike you, he’s an unknowing pawn.
I clench my jaw to prevent myself from frowning. And it takes every ounce of will I have not to run away and betray the agreement I’ve made with my father. It is what would be fair—if not to me, then to him. But part of me wants to do what is right for my country and the other part… I mostly want to finally do what is right for myself. To finally free myself from the shackles of duty placed upon me from birth.
You leave one set of shackles for another, wedding a perfect stranger. I wish that voice whispering to me in my head would shut up for once and stop reminding me of how I am the one acting the fool at this moment. William may have agreed to this wedding for the benefit of his country, but I, on the other hand, agreed to it for perfectly selfish reasons.
And the twinge of guilt in my stomach twists into something more at the thought.
William takes me by the elbow and leads me up the altar and away from our attendants. I glance over at the guests behind William. Andrew’s gaze narrows at me as we begin up the steps to the priest who will marry us.
Andrew knows. Something in his gaze makes my stomach tighten all the more, making me almost wretch under my guilt.
But there is no way he knows. I’m certain the only two people in the world who know the true plans my father has for Montovia are him and my brother, Reginald. Reginald refused to even attend, telling me that he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face, knowing how stupid William is for agreeing to our father’s lies.
The thought makes me stop the slow walk to the altar.
William’s grasp on my elbow tightens, and he looks down at me. “I’m nervous, too,” he whispers, so quietly only I can hear him. He gives me a small smile. “You’re beautiful.”
It takes every bit of strength I have not to yank my elbow from his grasp and run out of here. I’m not sure how I thought this sham was fair to either of us—fooling him for three months is going to be nearly impossible, especially if he continues
being…nice.
Our brief interactions to this point have been pleasant, if not rather dull, except for the last time we spoke after his announcement of our engagement. That conversation was anything but dull, but I’m certain William thinks of me as little more than a prissy princess.
He nods at me again, giving me another encouraging smile. Something about the way he looks at me… It isn’t with the same disdain I give to him. There’s something warm in his eyes. Kind, even. And I let myself think for the briefest of moments that maybe…
No. The only reason I am doing this is for my freedom, as strange as it seems.
“I’m sorry.” My own voice is little more than a whisper, meant for only him to hear, but I can’t hide my emotions much longer. If I’m forced to speak too much, I’m going to crack. The pressure of carrying this burden is too great, and I’m not certain I’m going to make it through this wedding, let alone the next three months.
He tugs lightly on my elbow again. “Shall we?” He whispers again.
I give him the slightest nod, but I’m still not able to even force a smile. My mind is elsewhere—mostly on the knot of dread and guilt in my stomach—as we climb the altar the rest of the way to where the priest waits.
The ceremony is much more formal than in my country, or in America for that matter. The priest begins reciting something in the traditional Montovian language, which I only barely comprehend. There’s not much need for someone from Rosvalia to learn it, even if she is royalty of their neighbor. Like most citizens of Montovia, those from Rosvalia speak multiple languages, but traditional Montovian isn’t generally one of them.
“You’re lovely.” William whispers to me again under his breath. As we’re now kneeling before the priest, our backs are to the small crowd of people in the cathedral, and no one could possibly hear us but the priest himself, who is far too busy with the pompous Montovian wedding rites to pay attention to us.