by Wood, Vivian
When a footman comes into my study, I’m relieved to be able to focus on anything else for a minute.
“Her Royal Highness,” the footman announces, backing out of the way with a bow.
My grandmother sweeps into the room, looking prim and proper in a white skirt suit and sensible stockings. “Hello, darling.”
I raise my brow, pushing up out of my seat. “Momse. What brings you here?”
She glances behind her, to where the footman still stands. “Get the door on your way out, please. I would like to talk to my grandson in private.”
“Your highness,” he responds, bowing and seeing himself out.
As the door closes, my grandmother gestures to the love seat and chair set up by the fireplace. “Join me, Stellan.”
She perches on the edge of the loveseat, crossing her ankles. I walk over and plop myself into the overstuffed leather chair, tilting my head. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I mean, it’s always nice to see you, Momse. But I assume that you are here for a reason.”
She gives me a small smile. “I don’t know if you know this, but I believe I have spent more time with you than I have with any other grandchild of mine.”
That gives me pause. “Perhaps.”
Her lips quirk. “No, not perhaps. Definitely. I’ve always been here for you. Your father hasn’t…” She pauses, thoughtful. “He has been quite busy, running the kingdom of Denmark. He and your mother both are always on a world tour. I’ve made sure to be here at your beck and call. I wanted to make sure that you were growing up with the right ideals.”
I narrow my gaze at Ida. “Yes, all right.”
“In addition to that, I think you know that you are my favorite.” She gives me another small smile. “You look very much like my own father, after all.”
What is she getting at? I squint at her, trying to puzzle out what she is trying to say to me. “Yes, Momse.”
She folds her hands in her lap. “I want you to consider that when I tell you what I came here to tell you.”
A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that her announcement is not going to be good news. I frown. “You’re killing me. Just tell me already.”
Her brow creases. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen your parents.”
“Yes. They’ve been on a tour of Australia and Africa for almost two months.”
There is hesitation on Ida’s face, which is unusual. She usually just says what she has to say, feelings be damned.
“Your father… your father’s health has not been good over the past year.”
My heart falters. “What?”
She inclines her head. “The king has been ill several times in the past twelve months. It’s enough to make me worry, honestly. And when I start to worry, I start thinking of what I can do to prepare our country for any future… changes.”
My eyebrows rise. “You think that I will have to take over?”
Her lips press into a firm line. “I think that it is not outside the realm of possibility. In my opinion, it is time to start preparing you to take the crown.”
For several moments, I’m too shocked to respond.
“But…” I shake my head. “No. I’m only twenty six. I shouldn’t even be thinking about the line of succession.”
My grandmother stops me by leaning over and putting her hand on my knee. “I’m sorry, Stellan. But I’m afraid that you will have to begin preparing for something catastrophic to happen. And the very first step is finding a wife.”
I draw myself back, frowning and shaking my head. “What? No. That should be the last thing I have to worry about right now.”
Ida raises her hands, trying to calm me down. “Finding a wife now will make everything much easier. If you have to step up suddenly— “
I cut her off. “No.”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s not just me saying this, Stellan.”
It takes everything I’ve got to keep my words civil. “Let me guess. You have Prime Minister Finley on your side?”
She tilts her head. “Yes. And others.”
“Have you noticed that two of the names on your list of marriageable girls are related to Prime Minister Finley?” I cross my arms, my heartbeat sounding loud in my ears. “The list is only ten names long. That means, assuming that I actually go by your absurd list, I have a one out of five chance of being related to our good prime minister. Sure, I hate Prime Minister Finley and everything he stands for. But why not make him part of my family for the rest of my life? Hmm?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “There are eight other choices on that list.”
I stand up, nearly trembling with repressed rage. “No. I’m not interested in having my life managed to that degree. I do everything else by the book, but I won’t choose some insipid girl off a list of girls chosen by their heritage and willingness to breed. It’s disgusting.”
My grandmother climbs to her feet, giving me a tired look. “You have to, Stellan. Your father probably won’t make it for another year in his current position.”
“Well, I’ll deal with that when he calls on me. And as for marriage… when it’s the right time and the right girl, I’ll let you know. But I don’t want to hear another thing about it until I bring it up.”
Her lips thin. “You can’t give me orders, young man.”
“And you can’t dictate who and when I marry. So here we are, demanding things of the other we know will be ignored.” I hold my hand out, gesturing to the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have this huge stack of papers to read through before my afternoon appointment at a children’s hospital.”
She gives her head a tiny shake and then moves gracefully toward the door. “I’m not dropping this subject, Stellan. We’ll talk about it again as soon as your father is back from his trip.”
I give her the most saccharine smile as I head back to my desk. “Have a nice afternoon, Momse.”
She shoots me a glare, then opens the door and stalks out. The footman hovers at the door, looking anxious.
“Can I not be left alone?” I yell.
He goes pale, scurrying out of my sight. The throbbing headache I was getting earlier returns in full force. Rubbing my temples, I pace over to the window, looking out at the view absently.
I don’t have control over so many things in my life. But this… picking a girl to marry… that is one of my few choices. I’m not insane enough to think that I will marry for love. But I’ll be damned if I pick a random name off of a list that was approved by parliament.
I would rather stay unmarried forever than have marriage forced on me like that.
Turning my thoughts back to my father, I picture him in my mind’s eye. He looks just like me, tall and dark haired with light blue eyes. Except there is a shock of silver in his hair, which mostly serves to make him seem even more refined.
Try as I might, I can’t imagine him being ill. Distant? Sure. Quiet? Definitely.
But sick?
That thought just isn’t compatible with the man I know. It just seems unlikely.
Which means that my grandmother is manipulating me. It’s certainly far from the first time… but she was being honest about how much time she has devoted solely to me, to making sure I grow up as she wishes.
What would be the profit in driving me away with her endless questions of marriage unless… unless there really is something going on with my father?
A knock on the open door startles me from my morbid thoughts.
“Hey,” Margot calls out softly.
I turn, narrowing my eyes. She’s standing there, wearing her usual businesslike blazer and black work pants. Her pink hair is piled atop her head today, though several tendrils have already escaped to curl around her face.
Her mere presence makes my heart beat frantically against my ribs.
“Hey,” I answer. I tilt my head. “Come here.”
Her brows rise but she sets her ever-present tote bag down by the door and walks up to me. She sto
ps when she’s still two paces from me.
For some reason, that drives me fucking crazy.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she peers up at me. Her eyes scan my face, trying to shuffle the puzzle pieces around, searching for some kind of explanation. “Are you okay?”
My lips tip up at the corners of my mouth. “I’ve been worse. I just had my grandmother here, reminding me of the plans she has made on my behalf.”
Margot frowns. “What plans?”
I shrug. “Big life plans. It seems the closer I get to ruling this country, the less freedom I have in my own life. It’s actually a bit funny.”
She tucks a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear. “I see.”
I give a dry chuckle. “No, I’m absolutely sure that you don’t.”
Her hand goes onto her hip, her eyes narrow. “There is no reason to be rude, Stellan. I thought we were getting along today.”
Her posture is rebellious. There is something about the way she stands… no, the way she is… that calls out to me. My gaze slides down to her mouth.
A half-smile forms on my lips. “I like it when you’re feisty. You know that?”
She gives a throaty laugh. “You’ve gone insane.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m just seeing the future in a certain light.”
She gives me an odd look, wrinkling her nose. “What light? What are you— “
I stop her words by reaching a hand out and yanking her toward my body. Her eyes widen. Her palms fly up and land on my chest, resisting. Her lower body meets mine, pressing into me intimately.
It makes me crazed. I suck in a deep breath and catch her scent, honeysuckle and fresh laundry. My body responds without my brain; my cock grows hard, my skin tingles like it’s about to catch fire.
“Stellan—“
I lean down, brushing my mouth against her gorgeously plump lips. I hear her sharp intake of breath, but I don’t stop. No, I press my lips against hers, working my mouth in a delicate rhythm.
I can feel her heart beating beneath her skin.
For all her protests, she doesn’t push me away. Quite the opposite. She pushes up onto her tiptoes and opens her mouth, letting her tongue dance with mine. She tastes so fucking good, like sugar and cinnamon and most of all, choice.
Kissing her is a kind of freedom, just in this moment. When she pulls away, her brow puckering, and looks up at me with those probing dark blue eyes…
I suddenly snap back to my senses, pushing her away roughly. “Fuck!”
“What was that?” she says, her fingertips going to trace her mouth.
I whirl, shaking my head and pacing back to the window. “Nothing. A moment of weakness.”
My head pounds faintly. What exactly just happened between us?
“Should I—" she pauses, hesitating. “Maybe this is a bad time. Do you want me to come back?”
A laugh bubbles up from deep within. “I don’t want anything from you, Margot.”
A few seconds pass. “I should… I should come back later.”
She turns and flees, her footsteps sounding as loud as gunshots on the hardwood floors. Grimacing, I rub my forehead.
Sensitivity to sound. I know all too well what that means. It’s the first sign that I’m getting a migraine. Muttering a curse, I stalk from the room, heading to my private apartments to pull the shades and lie in silent misery.
Chapter Nineteen
Margot
If this is the palace’s attempt to impress me by introducing me to the glitzy, glamorous side of royalty… I have to say, it’s working. I glance around the palace’s garden, taking in everything: men in dark tuxedos, women in light-colored ballgowns, servants swooping by the guests with silver platters full of champagne. Everything else is a bright, vibrant green that speaks of how many hours the palace gardeners put into their upkeep.
The high hedges in the distance are immaculately maintained. The sun is just beginning to set and a million little fairy lights twinkle from where they have been hidden amongst the leaves. As I move around, the topiaries and fountains sprinkled here and there hide and reveal different groups of people.
I produce my notepad out of the secret pocket of my dress, jotting a few notes to myself.
At least three hundred people here that I can see; I wonder how many more are walking around, ducking behind the hedges, out of my line of sight.
I pause, my pen poised. Then I sigh and put my notepad away.
Ever-present, rising high in the background, is the palace. The tan brick façades and squat dark roofs look austere in comparison to the lively party fanning out in the palace’s wake.
I feel more than a little out of place, even though I’m in a rented ballgown just the color of my hair. Feeling like a huge piece of salt-water taffy, I look down at my carefully beaded taffeta gown. I stand out from the crowd. Normally that’s a good thing, but here…
Here I feel like even more of an outsider than usual.
A young woman in servant dress comes up to me with a tray of drinks, smiling a bit. “Champagne?”
“Ja, thanks.” I pick up a flute off of the tray. The servant smiles and swishes off to the next group of people she sees. I sip the wine, wrinkling my nose at the tiny bubbles that burst on my tongue. It tastes awfully sweet.
I look around for a friendly face. Someone to talk to. Pippa assured me that she would be here, but as I sweep my gaze around the hedges and fountains, she’s nowhere to be seen.
I do see someone I know, though. My mouth turns down at the corners. Standing on the far side of the party, chatting to a bunch of other guests in tuxes and ballgowns, is Anna. She glances my way and shoots me a wry grin.
Oh god. I have to move. Whirling away before she gets the idea to come over and bother me, I look around, lost. A large group of people catches my eye. I stalk toward them, spying a lovely statue of what appears to be a nymph playing a lyre.
As soon as I get close, I see Stellan standing apart from the large group, a slight frown on his handsome face. As I approach, he loosens his bowtie and pulls it off, stuffing it in his black tuxedo pocket. When he notices me, he smirks.
Something about that light blue gaze of his makes me blush and squirm. I hesitate.
Should I keep going? Or should I pretend that I didn’t see him and just go somewhere else? Before I can make up my mind, he makes it up for me.
“Margot!” he calls. “Come here.”
Making a face, I sigh and continue walking until I’m about two feet away. Then I stop; this is close enough. If I get closer, he might think that I am inviting his attentions again.
And I’m definitely not.
…right?
No, definitely not.
He gestures to the garden around us. “Welcome to our little soiree.”
I chew on my lower lip and scan the garden. “Shouldn’t you be talking to… well… everyone? I’m sure that almost everybody here wants some alone time with the heir to the throne.”
He looks over to the big group, then shrugs. “They do. And I’ve given them what they wanted for the past hour. Now it’s time for me to do what I want.” He tilts his head. “Do you want to go on an adventure?”
I step closer, looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. “I thought I was supposed to be here, swooning over how glamorous this whole party is?”
Stellan grins, sweeping his gaze over the garden area. “Are you impressed by this little get together? This is just a regular Thursday night.”
My lips curl up at the corners. “Even if that’s true, I’m not exactly dressed for an adventure.”
He arches a brow, his gaze wandering down to my dress. He gives me a knowing smirk. “We’ll be all right.” He jerks his head toward the tall hedges. “Come.”
I huff out a laugh as he turns away toward the maze. He just expects me to follow him. Then again, if I were born into royalty, wouldn’t I expect the same?
I trail after him, picking up
my pace when he disappears behind a tall hedge. Grabbing my dress, I jog after Stellan as best I can. As soon as I turn the corner, I stumble right into him.
My hands land on his hard abs. My eyes widen. I look up at him, my breath constricting. From this close, his ice blue eyes crackle. He bites his bottom lip, smirking a little as he grabs my upper arms to steady me.
“Careful,” he says, righting me. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of yesterday, would we?”
My brow wrinkles. I take step back, shaking my head. “What, when you randomly kissed me out of the blue? I had nothing to do with that, honestly.”
He smiles ruefully. “You didn’t exactly resist though, did you?”
I take a step back, smoothing my hands down the length of my dress. “I don’t understand what’s happening here. You have been cold and distant to me since I got here. Now you have done a complete one eighty and you want to talk about how we kissed yesterday?” I fold my arms across my chest. “You have to stop. You’re giving me whiplash.”
He turns away quickly, before I can see his expression. “I’m not trying to, Margot. Honestly.” He starts moving away, deeper into the maze formed by the hedges. He glances back, but doesn’t quite stop. “Are you coming?”
I swallow, then start after him. On my short legs, catching up to him actually proves quite a challenge. When I finally pull even with him, I glance up into his face. “Can I ask you some questions for my article?”
Stellan’s lips thin. “Must you?”
My lips quirk. “Yes.”
He slides me a look, slowing his pace. “All right.”
I pull out my notepad, flipping through a couple of pages until I find the list of questions I came up with while I was doing research. Skimming the list, I choose a light topic to start.
“Your mother and father seem to be fairly busy people. Obviously.” I blush. “What I mean to ask is, who did you grow up around while they were running the country?”
He frowns. “I had a whole swarm of educators and caretakers. And my grandmother was around, making a lot of the day to day decisions regarding my care. She still is, actually. Just yesterday she was here, pressing me about my private life.” His lips lift at the corners. “She’s bossy, but I don’t mind. I think I inherited that from her.”