Royal Arrangement

by Ember Casey

  “Well, I’m perfectly happy to extend the deal the other way, too,” I say. “I’d be delighted to tell you all sorts of things about myself, but in exchange, it’s only fair that you obey my requests, as well.”

  “I’m never agreeing to that,” she says.

  “Suit yourself. But think about it, at least. The offer is always on the table, Princess.” I give her a look that I hope communicates my full meaning. “Always.”

  She drops her eyes, and I’m delighted to see her cheeks have gotten even pinker. “Weren’t you leaving?”

  “Yes.” I start to turn the handle, then pause again. “Since I clearly still have much to learn about how things work in this palace, would you care to tell me when and where I might expect dinner? Is there some protocol I should be aware of?”

  “Typically the family eats together,” she says. “Right at seven. I’ll make sure someone stops by the suite to show you the way.” She’s already looking at her work again, but her cheeks are still flushed. “Good day, Your Highness.”

  “Good day, Princess.” I open the door. “And don’t forget about my offer.”

  She doesn’t respond, and I close the door quietly behind me.

  Dinner with the family, huh? I’m not looking forward to that. I’m not sure who I dislike least—Prince Reginald or King Maximilian.

  In the meantime, I have a few hours to kill. I know I should go back to the suite, but I’m not particularly inclined to follow the palace’s ridiculous rules. This is my home, damn it, and I won’t be treated like an intruder.

  I’ll just have to be a little sneakier this time, I tell myself. I wonder what they’re hiding, that they feel the need to restrict where I go. I always knew Maximilian and Reginald were sneaky bastards with no sense of conscience, but maybe there’s more going on here than I initially thought.

  Well, there’s only one way to find out. I’m here to stay, and it’s not like I’ve got any other projects to occupy my time. If this family has any secrets, I’ll get to the bottom of them.

  My wife’s secrets, too. I’m still delighted that I got her to agree to my little game, even though I’ve given her a tool to take advantage of me. It’ll be worth it, though, if I learn something about her. Little by little, I plan on tearing down those walls she’s put up around herself.

  I’ve never backed down from a challenge, and even though my new life already has more challenges than I imagined, I’m ready for them.

  And that starts with learning the secrets of this place.

  Justine

  My brother enters my office about an hour later. As usual, he doesn’t knock—he storms in and takes a seat in the same chair William had been sitting in a little while ago.

  “You need to control your husband.”

  I lift a brow but otherwise say nothing. I don’t even look up from the computer screen.

  “I mean it, Justine. He can’t just go waltzing about the palace as he pleases.”

  His mention of the word waltz sends a small shiver through me at the memory of the dance I shared with William after the wedding.

  It’s that kind of thinking that will get you in trouble.

  Reginald’s voice cuts into my momentary lapse in attention. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Not really, no.” I finally look up at him. “Is there something you need, Reginald? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for dinner?”

  “You expect me to go to dinner with…him?” He shakes his head. “I’m afraid if I know he will be attending dinner, I’ll not be eating with our family again.”

  “Like it or not, he is your family now.” I frown. “You’re still upset that Father didn’t include you in their little collusion—”

  “I am not upset.” He glares at me. “I’m disappointed that he chose not to include me. I am the one he usually confides in about such matters.”

  “Yes, the matters of controlling my life. I suppose you are his confidant for such things—”

  “You’re upset that he didn’t include you.” He snickers. “It isn’t as though you’ve ever been included before.”

  I roll my eyes. He’s right—it isn’t as though I’ve been included before. I’ve been raised to be the perfect little princess, never questioning the decisions made for me by my father and brother. But I’ve always disagreed—if not been downright opposed—with having my life scripted by my brother and my father.

  “Don’t worry, Brother. I have a plan.” Though I’m sworn to secrecy by our father, I have no reason to suspect things won’t work out in my favor. And suffering through ninety-eight more days of marriage to Prince William might not be so bad after all. After our encounter earlier, I find I might even be able to enjoy this sham of a marriage for as long as it lasts.

  Reginald fights to hold back his laughter. “Is this plan similar to your plan to marry Prince Andrew? We all know how well that worked out.”

  I glare at him. “I assure you, Brother, I never had a plan to marry Andrew. I merely wanted publicity for my conference. Publicity that I did get, so even though I suffered some humiliation for it, my plan was a success by that measure.”

  “Except that you ended up marrying his brother as a consolation prize.” He laughs again. “And it wasn’t even a good brother. At least if you’d been passed down to Leopold, you might have…” He clears his throat, lifting a suggestive brow. “You might have enjoyed yourself.”

  “Get out.” I turn my attention back to my computer.

  He laughs again. “I have sparred with your husband on many occasions. Given his weakness in holding an epée, I can only image he has weakness in his other…appendages.”

  “Get. Out.” My voice is little more than a growl. My cheeks have grown impossibly hot, but I’m not about to give my brother the satisfaction of looking up at him.

  “It’s a sad day for Rosvalia, isn’t it? That you’ll not be able to provide us with the requisite four male heirs? If your husband isn’t able to—”

  “I’m not kidding, Reginald. Enough.” I finally look back up at him. “Get out of my office. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “I’ve already told you, Sister, I’m not about to eat at the same table with any man who identifies himself with the country of Montovia.” Any trace of humor he’d had before is gone. “And I’ll do everything in my power to see he returns where he belongs.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that there is already a plan in place? You don’t need to do anything. I—”

  “If Father has made you some sort of deal to annul your marriage, I’d be very wary, Justine.” He frowns. “It isn’t as though—”

  “And what do you know of it, Reginald? You’ve taken up with the Lady Clarissa, haven’t you? And isn’t she from Montovia?”

  He shrugs. “It isn’t as though she identifies with the royal family. And it isn’t as though she hasn’t suffered enough humiliation of her own at their hands.” He stares at me for a moment, finally smiling. “She’s a fine ally to have in our war with Montovia.”

  “I thought the point of my marriage was to avert war. Not to start it.” I shake my head. “You’re trying to upset me, which is nothing new for you. I’ll thank you to remove yourself from my office.”

  He stands, grinning down at me. “Oh, Sister. I did forget to tell you the reason I came here…”

  I wait for him to finish his sentence, but he never does. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Why did you come here?”

  He laughs again. “Your husband…was detained again. I had him returned to your suite this time, though. I thought he’d had enough time in the holding cell for one afternoon.” His grin widens. “There’s always tomorrow, though.”

  I stand, edging around my brother to leave my office. I don’t even stop to ask him what happened this time—I can already guess. William seems to have some sort of fascination with playing amateur detective, something that is certain to get him into nothing but trouble in this palace.
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  I make it to my suite in a matter of minutes, where there’s a guard standing outside the entrance. I give the man a dismissive nod, but he doesn’t leave.

  I ignore him and enter. William is sprawled on the sofa, reading a book.

  He either doesn’t notice I’ve entered the room or doesn’t care. Either way, he doesn’t look up at me.

  I clear my throat. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for dinner?”

  He turns a page, staring down at the book in his hands. He finally lifts his gaze to mine after another moment and shrugs. “I thought I’d go like this.”

  “Dinner is always formal if my father is in attendance. He’ll expect a—”

  “Perhaps we can stay in then.” He grins. “Surely your family will understand that we’ve not had our honeymoon and that we might want more time…alone.”

  “As…delightful as that sounds, Your Highness, I can assure you that my family won’t care what we might want.” My cheeks burn again—I didn’t just admit that I might want what he’s suggesting, did I? “Not that I want that at all. I’m just—”

  “And what if you did want it, Princess? Then what?” His smile never falls.

  I know he’s waiting for me to take him up on the offer he made to me in my office, but it is never going to happen. “I don’t.” I gulp, almost involuntarily. “I don’t want anything from you. Except for you to get dressed for dinner.”

  “You know the rules, Princess.” His gaze drops back to his book. “This is very good, by the way.”

  It isn’t until that moment that I finally look at what it is he’s reading.

  My book. My book of poetry that was published after I won a writing competition near the end of my university studies.

  My cheeks burn again. “I never said you could read that, Your Highness.”

  “What inspired these? Some of them are very…dark.” He looks up at me. “Not something I would have expected from you.”

  “Because of my passion for rainbows and unicorns, Your Highness?” I frown again. “I think we’ve established that you know nothing about me—”

  “Well, if you want me to stop reading, it’s going to cost you.”

  “I’m not playing your games, Your High—”

  “And if you want me to ready myself for dinner, it’s going to cost you even more.” He grins again. “So what will it be, Princess?”

  My heart speeds in my chest. Something has shifted. I’m not certain of what or how, but something inside me isn’t quite as bitter. I’m almost…intrigued. I almost want to play his game.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you something—”

  “Not some thing. Some things.” He holds up two fingers. “One to stop reading and one to get ready for dinner.” He stares at me for a long moment. “And if you’d like me to help you ready yourself, I’ll be glad to tell you something about me.”

  William

  Justine crosses her arms, clearly annoyed. She probably doesn’t realize it, but the stance only serves to emphasize her breasts, pushing them up slightly against her neckline. I only let my eyes rest on them a moment before shifting my gaze back to her face, but even that quick glimpse draws a reaction from my body.

  Good God, I think. It’s like I’m a bloody teenager again. They’re just breasts. Mostly clothed breasts, at that.

  But I draw my attention back to the situation at hand. Justine knows that playing along with my little game is the easiest way to get what she wants, but her stubbornness is rearing its head. I’d wager the only reason she’s hesitating at all is because she knows this is what I want.

  After a moment, though, she throws up her hands.

  “Fine,” she says. “Two things.”

  I prop the book of poetry on the table, grinning. “Happy we’ve come to an arrangement. Please, take your time.”

  She shoots me what I’m assuming is supposed to be a withering look. Then she turns slightly away from me, her eyes drifting to the wall as she starts to think. After a moment, she raises her hand to her mouth and nibbles absently on her thumbnail before, with a start, she realizes what she’s doing and jerks her thumb away.

  She’s just told me something she didn’t intend to, I think. She’s prone to nervous habits. I wonder if someone tried to break her of biting her nails in the past, or if she’s decided to do it all on her own. I had a similar habit when I was younger, but my etiquette tutor made sure to nip that right in the bud. Princes and princesses don’t bite their nails.

  Finally, she turns back to me and raises a single finger.

  “I can play the piano,” she says. “And the flute. And the oboe, though not as well as the other two.”

  Huh, who knew? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Justine has a musical side—not after the way the rhythm of dancing seemed so natural to her—but I am.

  She holds up a second finger. “I’m named after my grandmother, even though my father hated her. Apparently it was her dying wish.”

  I sit up, intrigued. “Why would he care about her dying wish if he hated her that much?”

  She shrugs. “Beats me. Don’t ask me why my father does half the things he does.” For a moment, there’s a shadow in her eyes, but then she seems to remember that I’m still in the room with her.

  “That’s two things,” she says. “So put my book back and get dressed for dinner.”

  “And what about you?” I ask, thoroughly enjoying myself. “Would you like me to tell you something about myself?”

  “No,” she says, a little too quickly. “I think I’m fine.”

  “Suit yourself.” I rise, still smiling. “If you change your mind, though, I’m here.”

  “I won’t change my mind.” She waves her hand toward the bedroom. “You get ready first. I’ll wait out here until you’re done.”

  You’re no fun, Princess, I think. But I know better to press her any further right now. I head into the bedroom.

  All of my things have been unpacked and placed in the large, walk-in wardrobe. My clothes are on one side, Justine’s on the other, and there are two full-length mirrors at the far end of the room. A couple of plush benches sit in the middle of the room.

  I go over to my side of the closet and select a formal dinner suit. I shouldn’t be surprised that King Maximilian requires formal dress for family dinner—my father does the same—but that doesn’t make me happy about it. My neck already itches at the thought of the stiff collar on my suit.

  As I dress, I think about what Justine’s told me. On the surface, neither of these new facts is particularly personal—nothing I might not have been able to find out on my own, with a minimal amount of digging—but they’ve revealed some things about her. Justine is still very much a puzzle, but everything she shares with me explains a little more. She’s a woman of wide interest and talents, but her father treats her no better than he treats the people of my family. That’s meaningful.

  I still think King Max is up to something. Reginald, too. When Justine’s brother caught me lurking around the palace again—this place must have eyes in the walls, because I took special care not to cross paths with anyone—he didn’t look nearly as amused as he did the first time. Sure, he still had one of those smirks on his face, but I saw something darker in his eyes—he was pissed. Worried, even. Maybe it was only because he’s starting to realize I won’t be as easily controlled as he initially expected, but I wonder if it’s because his family truly has something to hide.

  If they have some deep dark secret they’re trying to keep from me, they shouldn’t have arranged for me to marry Justine. Seems pretty simple to me. Either way, I can’t imagine this family, as irrational as they are, truly expects to confine me to this suite for the rest of my life. Maybe I’ll bring up the subject over dinner and see where everything really stands—it’s possible that this is just Reginald’s way of making me feel unwelcome.

  Not that Justine is helping, either. I run a hand through my hair. Why does she have to be so infuriating? And intoxicati
ng at the same time?

  At least my new life isn’t boring. I’ll give it that.

  After giving myself a once-over in the mirror, I head back out to the sitting room. Justine is sitting by the window, writing in a notebook. She starts when she catches sight of me out of the corner of her eye.

  “That was fast,” she says, quickly closing her notebook.

  “I’m a guy. It doesn’t take very long to get ready.” I nod toward her notebook. “What are you writing?”

  “It’s personal,” she says, rising. She walks past me toward the bedroom, the notebook tucked under her arm. When she gets to the door, she pauses and looks back, as if she means to say something. She must decide against it, though, because she retreats into the bedroom without another word.

  I walk over to the sofa. Her book of poetry is no longer where I left it. I walk over to the bookshelf, but it hasn’t been returned to its spot among the other books.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she hid it from me.

  I see no reason why she felt the need to do that. I wasn’t lying when I told her I thought it was quite good. The darker works surprised me, yes, but they also intrigued me—how does a privileged noblewoman like Justine come to write poems about such profound sadness, or hatred? Or write bits of verse about the sort of anguish and longing that someone in our positions could never understand?

  It wasn’t just her works about dark emotions that surprised me, though. There were also a few that ran in a far more intimate vein. I read one of them three times, and a couple of the lines still stick in my brain:

  Those tortured depths he reaches

  Where pain and pleasure seem the same

  And flesh and wanting share a name…

  I’m not particularly talented at literary analysis, but that implies something pretty clear to me.

  And the woman who can write such words is probably very interesting in bed… Just thinking of that poem again makes me go hard, and I wince—this stiff, tight suit doesn’t make such a condition very comfortable.