Royal Arrangement #5

by Renna Peak

  Royal Arrangement #5

  Renna Peak

  Ember Casey

  Casey Peak Publishing, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations or incidents are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Ember Casey and Renna Peak

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Edition: July, 2017

  Contents

  Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

  1. Justine

  2. William

  3. Justine

  4. William

  5. Justine

  6. William

  7. Justine

  8. William

  9. Justine

  10. William

  11. Justine

  12. William

  13. Justine

  14. William

  15. Justine

  16. William

  17. Justine

  18. William

  19. Justine

  20. William

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  Royal Arrangement

  Also by Renna Peak

  Also by Ember Casey

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  Justine

  It seems both my father and William’s father have finally found something they both agree on. My marriage to William will be annulled by this afternoon.

  The room I’ve taken here in Montovia feels quite stuffy and uncomfortably warm, but perhaps it is only because I know I’ll never see William again.

  I lie down on my bed and close my eyes. This isn’t like last time. This isn’t like last time at all. When my father interfered in my personal life before, I suppose he had good reason. I’d made mistakes—horrible lapses in judgment. And it didn’t help that the man I loved then had almost as little respect for me as my father, though I didn’t see it at the time. I suppose I’ve never considered how much James and my father are alike—at the time, I could only see that James paid attention to me. It’s a little sad, really, that I sought attention from a man like him—some sort of stand-in for my father.

  And when it came down to it, he hadn’t only been like my father—he had gone to him for help. And my father betrayed me in a way I could have never imagined—in a way I never can forgive him for. But I don’t allow myself to feel that betrayal very often. Much of it came out in my writings. The poetry William found so dark and disturbing at one time was the direct result of the betrayal of the people closest to me.

  It’s why I must move on—why I need to leave this life. I suppose a small part of me had hoped that William would join me. Of course, that isn’t how our story began at all. My marriage to William was one of convenience only—I was never supposed to fall in love with him.

  There’s a soft rapping on my door, but I ignore it. I’ll let Reginald carry me out of here—I’m certainly not going to go willingly.

  The only thing I’m completely sure of is that I’ll never allow myself to fall in love again. It isn’t worth the pain. And I don’t believe I’ll ever be far enough away from my father, my brother, or Rosvalia to be allowed to give my heart to anyone, anyway. Somehow, word always seems to travel back to someone. Nothing—no one—can protect me from them.

  At least there is some poetry in this—there must be. After I return to Rosvalia, I’ll lock myself away somewhere and release this agony the way I always do.

  The rapping on the door comes again, louder this time, and I still ignore it. Maybe I locked the door—if I did, it will keep my brother out for a little while longer. I don’t have much to pack—only one of my bags ever made it back from Berlin, though I haven’t thought much about it. I don’t want to allow myself to think about any of it—I was happy there for a short time. I was happy here for a short time. But I should have known better. I should have known it wouldn’t last.

  I take a few deep breaths, but it does nothing to relieve the aching William-sized wound in my heart.

  I hear the door open, and I know my time in Montovia is over. My brother will come into the bedroom and tell me it’s time to leave. And I’ll never see Montovia—or William—again. My father and brother will make sure of that.

  The door to my bedroom is open, and the footsteps stop at the doorway.

  I say nothing. I just remain on the bed with my eyes closed.

  “Justine?”

  I recognize the voice, and it isn’t my brother’s, it’s William’s. Part of me wants to jump into his arms and beg him to get us out of here. But another part knows he’s only here to say goodbye. And that is the part that won’t let me even open my eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  I give a single, silent nod, and he sits on the end of the bed.

  “I suppose you’ve heard…”

  I nod again, still unable to open my eyes. I know if I so much as look at him, I’ll be a pathetic, blubbering mess, and I’ll not have that as his last memory of me. No, I’d much rather it be last night—or any other memory, really.

  “I…” He pauses. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything.” I can feel the tears welling behind my eyelids, but more, I can hear them in my voice. “Please. Just don’t say anything.”

  “If…” Something is cracking in his voice, too. “If we had been honest with each other from the beginning—”

  “You were honest. I was not.” My eyes finally flutter open, and I lift myself onto my elbows to look at him. “If I had been honest from the beginning—”

  “We wouldn’t be here now.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have married you if you’d told me it was going to be over so soon.”

  I nod. There isn’t much I can say because he’s right. I may not have been given a choice in the matter of our marriage, but I went into it under false pretenses, at least as far as William was concerned.

  “My father—he can’t be convinced otherwise.” He rubs his jaw where I can see a bruise forming from his earlier fight with my brother. “I…I’d offer to run off with you, but I know neither of us truly wants that.”

  I right myself fully on the bed as the tears begin to spill down my cheeks. He has no idea how much I truly do want that—but I can’t expect him to leave his family and his world forever.

  “It’s better this way. I… We’ll be better off.” The uncertainty in his voice betrays his words.

  It makes me feel the slightest bit better, knowing he’s trying to convince himself.

  I nod. “Yes. I suppose we will.” A few more tears fall down my cheeks. “William, I need to tell you something before I go.”

  He gulps, nodding, and rubs at his chin again. “I should also—”

  “I was wrong.”

  He nods. “As was I. About so many things. If I had to do everything over—”

  “Not…not about what you think. Of course I was wrong to marry you knowing my father only intended our marriage to last three months. But…but I told you once…” I shake my head. “I’m sure you don’t remember, but I told you once that I believed people were only capable of loving once in thei
r lives.”

  His lips tick up into a tiny smile. “I do remember. It was the first night we shared a bed—right before the storm.” He nods again. “I believe I said to you that loving someone was a choice—”

  “I was wrong. I need you to know that.” A few more tears spill down my cheeks. “Even though…even though this is over, I need you to know that. It makes things better, though, doesn’t it?”

  His eyes shine, and he blinks back his own tears before they fall. “No.”

  I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from sobbing. “It does, though. It means we both still have a chance. Someday…maybe. Maybe someday, we can both learn to love someone again. We can both choose to love again.”

  He shakes his head. “No. You weren’t wrong, Princess. I think—perhaps—neither of us understood what love was until we found each other.”

  William

  I thought going to see Justine again, clearing the air, would make things easier. I was wrong.

  As I walk down the corridor away from her room, I fight the urge to turn and slam my fist right through the wall. I’m so angry, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m helpless.

  I argued with my father all morning, but despite my protests, he never budged in his decision. For a time, at least, I thought I had Andrew on my side, but then he, too, agreed with my father that this was the wisest decision.

  “As much as I hate to say it,” my brother said, “Father might be right. We made our best efforts for peace with Rosvalia, but that family has only betrayed our trust again and again. Every single one of them. Justine lied to us, too. Lied to you. She didn’t enter into your marriage in good faith, as you did, and even if her mind has changed, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a liability now. Think about it—even if we manage to foil whatever Maximilian has planned, if they have you, they still have a bargaining chip. If you return to Rosvalia, even willingly, you’ll be more or less a hostage. As long as you’re married to Justine, they have leverage over you. And us.”

  “By that logic, we’d have leverage over them, too,” I said. “And who says Justine and I have to return to Rosvalia? What if we stayed here?”

  “You think Maximilian would allow such a thing?” my father cut in. “No, he’s been using you. He’s been using all of us. And I won’t let it go on another minute.”

  In the end, though, it was Victoria who convinced me. She’d been quiet for most of the meeting with my father, watching silently from the edge of the room, until she stepped forward and put her hand gently on my arm.

  “What would be best for Justine?” she asked me softly.

  It’s the question I’ve been repeating to myself all day, and I’m still not sure I’ve made the right decision. But it’s far too easy to mix up my own feelings with what actually benefits her.

  As long as we’re married, we’re both pawns in her father’s game. The only way for her to escape him—to escape all of this—is to let go of me, too. She never wanted to be a part of it anyway. She didn’t want to marry me, and she insists that she doesn’t want to be queen. If our marriage is annulled, it will be much easier for her to walk away from it all. To go to Yale like she always planned. To forget about Montovia altogether.

  And though I don’t want to admit it to myself, many of the things my father said have taken root beneath my skin. He’s right—if I force myself to look past my feelings toward Justine, she’s given me very little reason to trust her. She’s carried so many secrets, hidden so many of her intentions from me. From the very beginning, my desire for her has blinded me—I thought of her as a puzzle to be solved, not a potential political enemy. If this was all a ruse by her family to manipulate mine, I fell right into their trap.

  I made the right decision. And there’s no going back now.

  But never before has the right decision felt so agonizingly wrong. Even when I agreed to marry her in the first place—when she was a stranger, and I was sacrificing so much—I knew in my heart that I was doing the right thing, and that gave me strength. Now, I just feel restless.

  I head outside, making my way to the gymnasium. It’s been a long time since I had an épée in my hand, and maybe working through some exercises will help work off some of this steam.

  My hopes aren’t high, though—just like my hopes for my future.

  The official annulment of our marriage happens at four o’clock in the afternoon. Father and Maximilian spent the first part of the day drawing up the agreement, which essentially just negates everything they decided in the original marriage contract. When I arrive, I find that they’ve already signed it themselves. They just need my signature and everything will be final. Since Justine wasn’t involved in the original contract, she’s not needed now, either. I’m both saddened and relieved when I realize she’s not here for the official end of our marriage.

  The pen feels heavy in my hand. I stare down at the blank line on the page, wondering what would happen if I told them I’d changed my mind. Would they change theirs? Would they accept my decision and let Justine and me remain married in peace?

  But I already know the answer to those questions. This has to end now, one way or the other. My signature won’t end the conflict between our countries, but it will end the mess we’re in right now. That has to be enough.

  I take a deep breath. And then I lean over and sign the annulment.

  Justine

  Everyone is staring at me. At least, it feels that way. I hunch further into the chair, covering my face with one of the magazines I’ve picked up from the nearby table.

  I toss it aside when I realize it’s one of the celebrity tabloids, and though the photograph is small, I am on the cover. My cheeks burn at the realization, and I grab another magazine—this one about sports with an inoffensive photograph of an American football player on the front. There’s little chance there will be a mention of me in here, and at least the stupid thing will help to cover my face.

  It’s been a difficult few weeks since I left Montovia. Five weeks, to be precise. Five weeks since I’ve seen or heard from William. Thirty-five days since he last touched me—since we said goodbye on that horrible day.

  It was fortunate that the English department chair at Yale invited me to their poetry intersession—a small group of graduate students who will meet for a month before spring classes begin. It was a welcome reprieve from being in the company of my family for the holidays in Rosvalia. Not that I actually spent any time with them at all—I was alone most of the time, including on the actual Christmas holiday. And every single day has been a chore. I’ve barely wanted to get out of bed, and I can’t seem to find my appetite. And then when I do, I find myself vomiting.

  I never could have imagined losing my husband would be this difficult. Coming to Yale should have given me a fresh beginning. I’ve been doing better with the getting-out-of-bed part of my life—I’ve even written quite a bit of poetry about my short relationship with William since we’ve parted. But my stomach has still not recovered.

  The student medical clinic at Yale is unobtrusive enough. There are plenty of people here—mostly women—and though it feels like they are all watching me, part of me knows they are likely all too wrapped up in their own lives to even notice me. Still…my photograph continues to find its way onto the celebrity tabloids, and it’s certainly possible…

  Oh, who even cares? I’ve been subject to the media my entire life. Now should not be any different.

  But it is different, somehow. My annulment made international news. Considering our wedding barely made any news, it’s a little disconcerting. I suppose people are much more fascinated by the misery of others than by their happiness, so the coverage of the annulment and the embarrassment it has caused me makes sense.

  Someone finally calls my name, and I walk with the woman into the back, glancing over my shoulder a few times—it still seems as though someone is staring at me, though I can’t say who it might be. I try to shrug off the feeling, following her through the co
rridors.

  She takes me to a small room with a desk on one wall and a gurney covered in tissue paper on the other.

  She motions for me to take a seat, and she sits at the desk. “I’m Marcia, one of the medical assistants. What can we do for you today, Justine?”

  I frown at the young woman. “I thought I explained to the woman who made my appointment—”

  “Oh, I’m sure you did. But they just put the barest minimum of information on the charts.” She holds up a paper. “See? It just says ‘stomach.’ That could really mean anything.”

  “I see.” I glance around the room—I’m not sure what it is I’m afraid of happening here, but something different than my constant nausea churns in my stomach. “This is all confidential, correct?”

  She nods, bobbing her head up and down much too cheerfully. “Of course. We have the same privacy laws as everyone else, even though it’s a campus clinic.”

  I let out a long breath. “Okay. I’ve been nauseous lately, and I can’t seem to find an appetite.”

  She types something into the computer. “Okay. Anything else going on? Headaches? Weight loss?”

  I nod. “I suppose I’ve had a headache for the past few months.” Though I’m not sure if it could be attributed to anything but my father… “And I have lost some weight. About five kilos, I think.”

  She bobs her head again. “Ten…eleven pounds?”

  “I suppose.”