Royal Arrangement #5

by Renna Peak

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand. He might be her brother, but it was clear at a glance that this isn’t a friendly family visit.

  Reginald’s surprise is quickly replaced by a sneer. “Well, look who it is. I shouldn’t be surprised my whore of a sister has taken up with you again.”

  My grip on his collar tightens. “What’s that supposed to mean, you bastard?”

  “Hah! If there’s any bastard here, it’s that thing growing in the whore’s belly.” His eyes flash. “That’s right—I know all about it.”

  In my surprise, I nearly release him, but I manage to keep my grip. “How? How do you know?” I shoot a glance at Justine, who’s still wide-eyed and rather pale, though I can tell from the set of her lips that she’s just as angry as I am. I can’t believe she would have told her brother—or anyone in her family—about her pregnancy, not yet. And the fact that he doesn’t know she’s having twins only further confirms it.

  “You think we’d have let Justine come over here without any supervision?” Reginald says. “After the stunt she pulled before with that professor?” He barks a laugh. “Clearly the whore can’t be trusted to behave properly. We’ve had eyes on her ever since she set foot in this godforsaken country.”

  Justine inhales sharply, and when I glance at her again, I see realization in her eyes.

  “You’ve had me followed,” she says. “I thought… I knew there was someone watching me, but I convinced myself I was being paranoid. Or that it was just other students curious about the fallen princess.” She squares her shoulders. “This is low, even for you—”

  “And having some bastard child isn’t?” Reginald laughs again. “Oh, Sister. You never learn, do you?”

  With a growl, I squeeze Reginald’s collar, shaking him. His laugh cuts off.

  “Get the hell out of our lives,” I say. “You aren’t allowed to interfere in Justine’s life anymore.”

  “I don’t believe you have a say in that,” he chokes out. “You gave up your claim to her.”

  “Not anymore. Justine and I remarried.” In spirit, at least. But Reginald doesn’t have to know that it isn’t official yet. “She’s my wife now, and I’m not going to let you or your father lay a finger on her. Not now or ever again.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Montovian scum, but you can’t marry her. Not without my father’s permission. Under Rosvalian law, a daughter belongs to her father until—”

  “I don’t care about the bloody Rosvalian law!” I give him another shake. “Justine is my wife, and I swear, if you even attempt to harm her in any way—”

  Reginald suddenly twists, breaking himself free of my grasp. Before I can grab his shirt again, he throws a fist at me, and I only barely manage to avoid his punch.

  But I’m not about to let him get away with that. I lunge for him, swinging at him. All the anger that filled me last night when Justine told me how her first pregnancy ended comes rushing back, filling me with rage. All her life she’s been controlled by her father and brother, all her life she’s suffered at their hands. I’ll make them pay for the crimes they’ve committed. And I won’t let them hurt her again. Even if I have to kill them to do it.

  We both go down, falling onto the concrete at the top of the library steps. In the back of my mind, I have a sudden, terrifying thought—Justine is too close, and it’s dangerous to fight near her—but it’s too late to stop the fight now. Even as I try to break free, Reginald grabs my arm and socks me right in the stomach, knocking the air out of me. I punch his shoulder, just trying to get him off of me, but even my defensive gestures only seem to make Reginald angrier.

  “Montovian scum!” he roars, striking me in the side.

  My anger is just as wild and free, though part of me is desperately trying to fight it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Justine. No matter what happens—even if I have to let Reginald beat me to a pulp—I’ll keep the fight away from her. I’ll keep her safe.

  Still, my body fights back as best it can, trying to deflect his punches and twist away from his kicks. He manages to catch me on the jaw, and for a moment, stars flash across my vision. The back of my head hits the cement, and that makes me even dizzier.

  My anger threatens to break free again, to make Reginald pay for everything he’s done. And another desperate part of my mind realizes that letting Reginald continue to beat me won’t help Justine either—especially if he cracks my skull against the concrete. But as he swings another punch at my face, I see my chance. I stay where I am until the very last second, then I quickly twist my head away. Reginald’s punch continues toward where my face was only a split second ago, and as a result, his fist slams right into the concrete.

  The crunch of his bones echoes through my skull.

  With a scream, Reginald falls back, gripping his hand. I take advantage of the opportunity and wriggle out from beneath him, then clamber to my feet. In a heartbeat I’m next to Justine.

  “Are you all right?” I ask her. She doesn’t appear to have been hit or even bumped, but I have to make sure.

  She nods, her eyes on Reginald, who’s still howling. After a moment, his cries of pain shift into wild, furious curses.

  “You fucking scum!” he shouts at me. “You fucking Montovian bastard!” He stumbles to his feet, cradling his broken hand. “You can have my bloody fucking whore of a sister, for all I care! You can both rot in hell!”

  “It will be much more pleasant than your palace, I’m sure,” I say lightly.

  “Laugh while you can, fucking scum,” he says, backing down the steps. “You won’t be laughing for long! You fucking Montovians think you have it all…but you have no idea. No idea at all.” He throws back his head and laughs. “You’ll be ruined by next week. Just you wait. My father is about to make you pay once and for all for what you’ve done to us.”

  Justine

  All my life, I’ve been told how horrible the country of Montovia is. As I grew older, I realized it wasn’t Montovians that were horrible—something terrible happened in my family to make them feel that way. Something terrible must have happened to my father, too, as he’s taken up the feud even more than past generations. He’s never revealed that secret to me, though perhaps he’s revealed it to my brother.

  Reginald’s rage runs too deep for it to have been caused by only my father’s stories of the atrocities of Montovia, and he’s also had a number of run-ins with the Montovian princes, which certainly might contribute to my brother’s anger

  Reginald breaks into a run when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, still cradling his injured hand.

  It doesn’t have to be this way. Our countries are not so different that we couldn’t find common ground—

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” William places a hand on the shoulder where Reginald had grabbed me, startling me from my thoughts. “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m fine.” I pull his hand into mine. “I’m much more concerned about you. You…you hit your head pretty hard, William.” Tears fill my eyes. “This fighting…it needs to end.”

  He runs a hand through his hair, probably checking for injuries. “I seem to be no worse for the wear. I’m sure I’ll feel differently about it tomorrow, however.” He grins at me, an obvious ploy to cover his anger with my brother. “It always hurts worse the next day, so we should take advantage. Enjoy today—”

  “William.” My voice is much softer than I expected—the past few times he’s thrown punches to defend my honor, I’ve been pretty upset with him. Today, however, I would have joined the battle. “I mean it. I—”

  “I’ll not allow anyone to speak of my wife using such horrible terms.” He takes a step toward me, releasing my hand so that he can slide it around my waist. “I will always defend you.”

  I tilt my head to look up into his eyes, lifting my hand to straighten his mussed hair. “I appreciate that, William. I do, but I wasn’t speaking of only you. The fighting—the feuding between our countries—it has
to stop. I know the troubles are old—”

  “Centuries old. Maybe older than that.” He catches my wrist, pulling it away from his hair to place a kiss on the back of it. He looks into my eyes for a long moment. “I brought us breakfast.”

  Laughter spills from me at his unexpected change of subject. “William—”

  He motions with his head toward the spilled cup of coffee on the top of the steps. “I hope you didn’t need coffee, my love. But I think our pastries survived.” He releases his hold on my waist before he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a bag. “I know it isn’t oatmeal, but shall we?” He motions to a nearby bench. “I also know it’s chilly out here—it’s why I brought the coffee—”

  “It’s perfect.” I pull his hand into mine again, leading him over to the stone bench just outside the library.

  We sit, and he hands the bag to me. “I’ll let you choose first, seeing as you’re eating for three.”

  “I wouldn’t call what I’m doing at the moment eating, per se.” I smile up at him. “But I appreciate the gesture.” I look in the bag—there are several pastries in there, all broken and combined. “But it looks like we both get to taste them all.”

  He looks down into the bag before he gives me a sheepish grin. “Perhaps my little scuffle was worth it, if only for the interesting mix of pastries, then.”

  I lift a brow. “I don’t think I’d go that far.” I pop a piece of a chocolate pastry in my mouth. “But this is very good.”

  “I can go back and get us another coffee, if you like. And whole pastries—”

  “Don’t you dare.” I smile at him. “I rather like this. Sitting here, eating broken breakfast food with you. It’s much better than oatmeal.”

  He grins. “I rather like it, too.”

  “Though I do think you should be examined by a physician. I…I heard your head hit the ground, William. It…” Honestly, the memory is still making my stomach turn over on itself.

  “Perhaps it knocked some sense into me.” He smiles, grabbing another bit of a muffin. “Though, I do hope your brother seeks some medical attention. I’m fairly sure he broke his hand.”

  I look down at my lap, trying not to feel guilty for being almost happy that my brother finally suffered some consequences for his actions. He tries to raise hell wherever he goes, often trying to rope other royals into his shady games. I’d heard about the Prague incident with William’s brothers through the grapevine—it might have been the entire reason for Andrew’s original plan to put on his pageant to find a wife. And since that incident led to my marriage to William, perhaps I have my brother to thank for it after all. I suppose things might have gone a little better—been a little less violent, anyway—but I’m sure William and I never would have married if I hadn’t been part of that charade in the first place.

  William is silent for a long moment, too. He finally speaks after eating several more bits of breakfast. “Do you…do you know what he was talking about?”

  I look up at him. “Which part? About my being a whore—?”

  “No, no.” He shakes his head, taking another bit of muffin and stuffing it into his mouth. He looks away from me—we can see a large part of the campus from this vantage point, but I know he’s not admiring the lovely view. “No, I meant the bit about Montovia being ruined.”

  “I…I don’t.” I chew on my lip for a few moments. When we were in the Rosvalian palace, William always suspected there was something going on in the east wing. And perhaps there was. But even if my father and brother were planning some battle, they would never allow me to be privy to that information.

  He finally looks over at me. “I believe you.”

  I lift a brow. “Good. Because I’ve always told you the truth, William. I have no interest in any feuds—I hope you know that about me by now.”

  He pulls my hand into his. “I do. I trust you. I’ll admit, I had my moments—there was a time when I was sure you were in on their plans.”

  “He…my brother might have been making idle threats. He’s been known to do that. Perhaps…perhaps it’s nothing. Maybe he was embarrassed that you won your little fight out there…” I motion to the spot where they’d had their scuffle a few moments ago. “Maybe he was trying to make you fear for something more than yourself.”

  William pulls my hand into his. “Don’t you see, though? I’m not thinking of myself. I’m thinking of you…our children…” He searches my eyes. “Our future. And I think that should include the fate of our countries. For all our sakes—our children are half-Montovian, are they not?”

  My other hand finds my abdomen, almost involuntarily. “I suppose they are.”

  “And I want them to know that part of their heritage. I want them to know both.” Something clouds his expression. “I know…I know you don’t like to talk about it, Justine, but…” He lets out a sigh. “This is bigger than both of us. We have a chance, the two of us—a chance to change our fates. The fates of our countries.”

  My stomach churns again at the direction this conversation is going. I know I need to think about it—especially in light of Reginald’s threats—but the thought of actually ruling my country makes me physically ill.

  “Justine…” His voice softens, and he pulls my other hand into his, turning his body so that he’s facing me. “I know it isn’t what you want to hear—I know your family has been telling you since birth that you’re not fit to be queen—”

  “Because I’m not.” I shake my head. “I don’t…I don’t have the same sensibilities my father and Reginald have. I don’t—”

  “But that isn’t a bad thing, my love. That’s…that’s a good thing, at least as far as Rosvalia is concerned. I wish you could see yourself the way I do—the way your people do. They adore you.”

  “They only adore me because I try to give them what they need. I can’t do what they actually want—”

  “That is why they love you. Because you care about their needs. Because you can see past the pettiness that has festered inside that palace for centuries. Have you looked at Rosvalian history at all?”

  My shoulders drop—I do not want to have this argument again. “Of course I have. All Rosvalian children study the history of our country. I’m sure you had to study Montovian history—”

  “I did. You’re missing my point.” He frowns, shaking his head. “There’s been one Rosvalian queen in the past three hundred years, right?”

  “William—”

  “Let me finish.” He searches my eyes again. “One queen. She ruled for forty years, right?”

  I give him a single nod of my head. “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Her reign was the only peace Rosvalia had known in centuries. And it lasted the entire forty years.”

  I shake my head as tears fill my eyes again.

  “It’s your birthright. I know this isn’t the time—I know you’ve had it drilled in your head that you’re unfit. But it’s your birthright in more ways than one, isn’t it?”

  “William…don’t—”

  “What was her name?” He smiles down at me. “I just want to hear you say it.”

  I close my eyes for a moment. He’s right, of course—my family has told me since birth that it didn’t matter that I was the first born and next in line for the throne. They’ve convinced me that even if I do produce the required four male heirs, that I’ll never be fit to rule my country. It’s going to take a lot more than William saying some kind words to convince me otherwise.

  “Please? I just want you to say her name.”

  I open my eyes and look up at him. “It isn’t going to make a difference.”

  “It will to me.” He releases my hand and places it on my cheek. “Please?”

  My heart hammers in my chest—the strange mix of emotions would probably make no sense at all to anyone else. But it means nothing. Her name means nothing. I’ve been told for so long that I mean nothing, that I’m not sure how I can change that now.

  “Please?”
His eyes are pleading with me, almost shimmering.

  My eyelids flutter closed again—I’m not sure I can make eye contact with anyone. It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. None of it matters. It doesn’t change anything.

  I steel myself as I open my eyes, squaring my shoulders, almost as though I’m about to enter a fight.

  “Fine,” I finally say. “Her name…her name was Queen Justine.”

  William

  I wish Justine could see herself the way I do. The way her people do. But I also understand her fear—I know how much pressure it takes to rule an entire country. I’ve seen the effects on members of my own family. Part of me wishes I could protect her from that. That she and I could run away to the ends of the earth, away from politics and feuds and heartache. But neither of us can deny who we are, and this is so much bigger than us, now.

  “I will support you no matter what you decide,” I tell her. “My main goal from this point forward is to protect you and our children. But I know who you are, Justine, and what you could accomplish.”

  She’s quiet for a long moment. I follow her gaze, staring out at the people passing on the sidewalk below. My adrenaline is still pumping from the fight with Reginald, and my thoughts are bouncing around. I can’t stop thinking about what he said when he ran off: You’ll be ruined by next week. His words might have been an idle threat, but ‘next week’ is oddly specific. I don’t like it, not one bit. He’s up to something—he and his father both. Even if Justine and I ran away somewhere remote, that knowledge would fester in me, growing until it became unbearable.

  Your father is a competent politician, I remind myself. More than competent. Andrew, too. I’m sure they have everything under control. But that doesn’t keep the worry from growing. Reginald made it sound like something was already underway—but what? We never did learn the extent of what Maximilian had planned during my short-lived marriage with Justine—our preemptive annulment cuts his plans short. But that doesn’t mean he gave them up completely. And I never did discover what he was hiding in the eastern wing of the palace.