by Leslie North
“It’s half past eight.”
“Oh, crap.” Amy stretched, trying to work out the kinks in her back. “You saved me, then. There’s a meeting at nine, so I’d better—”
“There’s something you should see first, Ms. Branch. Amy.”
Amy took another look at Sasha. Her cheeks were red, but it wasn’t a happy flush. “What is it?”
Sasha took a deep breath. “It seems that some photos have been released to the tabloids.”
Amy’s stomach dropped straight to her toes, coming to a screeching halt somewhere beneath the floor. “The maternity pictures?”
Sasha cocked her head to the side. “No—I don’t know—”
“Show me.”
The maid turned the screen of the tablet on and turned it toward Amy.
The good news was that it wasn’t the maternity pictures. The bad news was that it wasn’t just pictures.
There was a video, too.
They had all been taken at the fair, when Amy and Artur had gone on the Ferris wheel. There he was, with his hand on her belly. There he was, looking at her with awed delight. And below, a video clip. Someone had taken it from behind, while they walked away from the Ferris wheel. “It is your baby,” she heard herself say. And then Artur: “And since it’s mine, we should think about—”
Her mouth worked before her thoughts could catch up.
“Where is he? I need to speak to him. Now.”
Before Sasha could answer, she pushed past her, ran through the sitting room, and out into the palace halls. He would be in his rooms—at least, she hoped he would be. Amy’s pulse thudded in her ears, the blood crashing through her veins. She burst through the door to Artur’s rooms so quickly that a young staffer had to leap back out of her way.
“Artur,” she shouted, and he came in quickly from his bedroom.
“Amy? What is it? Is it the baby? Is she—”
“This.” She brandished the tablet in his face. “This, Artur.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Someone took photographs.”
“Did you authorize them?” She was seething now, with anger and fear and something white-hot at the pit of her gut. “Was this part of your plan?”
“Plan?” He looked shocked. “What? No, Amy—”
“Because I know this is what you wanted. You wanted us in the public eye, and now you got it. Now there’s no going back with this.”
Artur took the tablet gently from her hands. “That’s true,” he said simply. “I did want to date you. I did want it to be you I was seen with and photographed with, and not any of those other women. You’re the mother of my child, and the tour taught me that you’re the only woman I want to get serious with. You’re the only one I want a relationship with. You have the makings of a princess.”
“I can’t be a princess.” She could hardly breathe. “That’s insane.”
“We could be an amazing team.” Artur smiled at her, his eyes full of hope. “You have a knack for bringing out the best in me. You could fix what’s wrong in my world. In more ways than one. Amy, I—” He swallowed, pausing. “The way I feel for you grows stronger every day. Surely, you feel there’s something good between us, yes? Something worth exploring further?”
“No.” She spit the word before she could stop herself. “No, I don’t. I never wanted to be in the public eye. I never wanted to be a princess. And this family—your family—the communication problem isn’t just that the citizens can’t talk to you. I don’t know if you’re even listening.”
“I am listening,” he insisted.
“You’re not. If you listened, you’d already know that I’m a background player because that’s where I want to be. I’m not like you. I don’t want to be the center of attention and I don’t want my baby in the spotlight, either. We are not here to fix things for you. I’m here because it’s my job.” The fear rose up in her throat, choking her, overwhelming her. “I don’t want anything to do with you or your world.”
Artur’s face fell, and then it rearranged itself into something cold. Blank. Public. “In that case, you’re absolutely right,” he said, and her heart snapped in two. “You are being paid to be here. You’re being paid to fix this. You should focus on that.” He looked into her eyes, and it was like he’d become a different person. “I hope you have something to take notes with. You’ll need to arrange a press conference.”
Artur stood in front of the crowd, tall, confident—a complete stranger. He looked every bit the prince, and not the prince he had been when she met him. This version of him was serious, focused, yet still charming.
Amy couldn’t look away.
She hovered near the side of the stage, because that was where she needed to be, but she wanted to run and hide. The way he’d looked at her in his rooms...on the one hand, she deserved it. Amy knew she’d been cruel, and dishonest too. She did want something with Artur, but she didn’t want the businesslike marriage he’d proposed before they’d gone on the tour, where he dictated her role in the family and made it into a job. Love hadn’t been part of his offer, and she couldn’t accept anything less.
The press questions rolled straight through her ears. She only heard Artur’s voice, floating easily above the crowd as he answered.
“Yes,” he said firmly, his back straight, head held high. “Ms. Branch and I are having a child together.”
There was a flurry of questions, but Artur quieted them with a wave of his hand and a gentle smile that made Amy feel, somehow, like he’d included her in it too. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see her—she felt it, anyway. He was good at this.
“I have an idea of what you’re keen to ask me, and no, the pregnancy will not be available for press coverage.” There was a low murmur of laughter from the crowd, and then one of the photographers shouted something from the back that she didn’t catch. “No, no pictures, Lyon.” Another swell of laughter, but then Artur turned serious. “In all honesty, I’m here to ask you for our privacy during this time in our lives. We are hard at work constructing a plan for the two of us and our growing family, and I’m sure you all understand the delicate nature of the moment. Thank you.”
It was perfect. He had handled it just how she would have counseled him to. But she hadn’t counseled him. He’d done it all on his own. Even the press seemed to understand that things had changed. They didn’t shout after him as he left, only bent over their notepads and talked to each other, preparing for the articles they’d file and the news segments they’d take. Her heart was bursting with pride—she thought it might actually explode.
As Artur came down the steps of the podium, Amy rushed toward him. It was as spontaneous a gesture as she’d ever made in her life, but how else could she thank him for being so perfect in this moment? She had been hurtful, and he had acted like a prince.
But he shook his head at her, cutting a quick glance at the crowd.
It stung. The rejection shot straight through her like an arrow.
Artur beckoned to her as he went past, and she numbly turned to walk at his side. She could tell by the set of his jaw that he was still upset, even if he was controlling it. He’d seemed so comfortable in front of the crowd. Amy had almost hoped that meant they could brush aside what had happened in his room. Now she knew there was no chance.
“You’ll need to come up with a new plan, and quickly,” he said, his tone as formal and stiff as if he was talking to one of his staff. Stiffer, even. He was always so charming with them. “We’ll need an official, distributable statement asking for privacy, and then you’ll need to choose a residence for the rest of your time here that’s not near the palace. You’ll never have your privacy if you stay here.”
“All right. I—”
“By the weekend, I’d think,” said Artur, and walked away from her, going into the palace alone.
15
It was a long walk back to her room.
A very long walk.
For the first time, Amy felt like people were staring. But in
a furtive kind of staring that was more obvious than if they’d just stood there with mouths hanging open. They moved aside to give her space as she walked through the halls, but she felt their eyes flicking down to her belly and then carefully away.
They hadn’t known. Well, obviously they’d known she was pregnant, but none of the people who kept the palace running had known that the baby was Artur’s.
Now, in one fell swoop, they all knew.
She had completely misjudged the gravity of the announcement.
It was a humming in the air, a kind of electricity, and though no one asked her directly, Amy was certain that Artur had gone immediately into some meeting or another to talk about the details. What details he could possibly provide, she had no idea.
It would change things. Of course it would change things. Amy hadn’t quite understood before the press conference that Artur wasn’t just a prince in name only. He was second in line to the throne. This baby girl of hers was now third in line. Artur had made it sound like she could choose a place to live and go there without much intervention, but now she knew that behind closed doors, contingency plans were being made. For her security. For the baby’s security. For any number of things that came along with being the mother to a royal baby, whether she wanted to be royalty herself or not.
She’d never been more relieved to get back to her own rooms.
Sasha stepped forward immediately from a tray with a tea service on it. “Come, sit down, sit down.”
“No, I’m all right.” Amy paced to the window and took in a deep breath. What was she going to do? Artur hadn’t asked her to attend any meetings, and half of her wanted to march through the castle until she found him. Or, if not him, the group of people who was undoubtedly planning how they’d keep her safe. Surely she should be part of that conversation.
“You should rest,” Sasha tutted behind her. “I’ve made tea, just the way you like it. It’s not good for the baby if you stand around all the time.”
“I think better on my feet,” she explained. Where could she go, honestly? Would it be best to stay in Stolvenia, perhaps in one of the towns they’d visited? Or would they both be safer in the United States? Or elsewhere in Europe, setting up the new office for Petra? Now that it would surely be over between her and Artur, there was no way he could make the argument that she had to stay.
Or maybe he could. He’d have a team of people who would probably insist that the next generation of the royal family should be close by. All of this took on a different tenor, a different urgency now that the truth was publicly known. She understood, in a way. It was the first royal baby to be born to any of the brothers, though Armin had officially adopted Seraphine and Lily after the deaths of their parents—his close friends. Where did the girls fit in with all this?
“Do you need something else? Something to eat? I brought some pastries with the tea, but—”
“No,” Amy said sharply. Too sharply, but she couldn’t seem to soften it. “No, Sasha.” She turned away from the window. “I’m not hungry. I just...I’m tired. I want to be alone.” Sasha’s face had fallen, and her eyes were glued to the floor.
“Of course.” She dipped her head and turned around, heading swiftly for the door.
“Sasha—”
A moment later, the door clicked shut.
Well, she’d gotten what she wanted.
The video call dialed in once, twice, three times, and Amy started to lose hope.
She’d been alone all afternoon. Sasha hadn’t come in again, though Amy knew she would return if she called for her. She didn’t want to call for her. A friend—that’s what she wanted. And Petra was the perfect person.
Finally, the call connected.
Petra’s face materialized on the screen, her eyebrows raised. “I’ve got big news about one of my employees.”
Amy rubbed a hand over her face. “What? Who?”
Her boss and best friend laughed. “You, silly. Your one-night stand had a press conference a little while ago, remember? Is the pregnancy brain getting bad? Because you were standing right there in the wide shots.”
Amy groaned.
“You weren’t going to tell me about this finally going public?”
“All my reporting is going through the Stolvenian royal family. I didn’t think I had to give you a rundown,” Amy snarked.
“No need. All the international stations carried the conference, too. The whole world is talking about the next royal baby. Your baby.”
Amy let her head fall back on the chair behind her. “I know.”
“How are you doing?”
She sighed. “Not well. Artur and I—” Amy buried her head in her hands, then lifted it back up so Petra could see her. “We have a fundamental disagreement about how things should proceed from here.”
“As in...”
“As in, he wants me to join the royal family, and I don’t want that kind of pressure. I don’t want cameras following us all the time. I don’t want—” Her throat tightened. I don’t want Artur to be upset with me for that. I don’t want to be apart from him. I want my daughter to know her father. I just don’t want to be a princess. “I don’t want everything that comes with it.”
Petra narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“You don’t?” Amy blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. “It’s all true.”
“Amy, you work in PR. If you valued privacy that much, you’d never have entered a career where you have to deal with so many high-profile people as you work with them to build their brands. There is nothing private about that. You always say that you’re meant to stay in the background, but I’ve seen you go toe-to-toe with powerful people and talk them down. You can hold your own anytime and anywhere you choose.”
“Yes, but—” It was different, here. It was personal. This was personal. It wasn’t a matter of representing the royal family. It was her own body, her own child, her—
“That said.” Petra raised both hands in the air in front of her. “If you’re ready to bow out, I’ll book you the next flight. You don’t have to stay another instant. I can fly out and take your place and finish the job personally.”
Amy’s heart sank. Accepting would be an easy out. It would fix everything, at least temporarily. But the thought of leaving—why did it make her so sad? Why did it make her feel so defeated?
“I don’t think you need to do that,” she said. “I just wanted to talk. It’s...a lot.”
“I’m all yours,” Petra said, and for the next hour, she was.
16
“Excellent news,” Rafael said, sweat pouring down his face. They were sparring—fencing—and Artur’s brother, the king, was determined to make their time together to carry on a conversation. Artur knew from childhood that this was a tactic Rafael loved. It tended to distract his opponent enough to give him a bit more of an upper hand. Artur was no fool. He kept himself focused, even if all he wanted to do was shut himself in his rooms with a group of his friends and drink the night away.
“What’s that?” Artur parried, keeping an eye on Rafael’s foil.
“The press conference has put us back in the public’s good graces. Mostly you, but the rest of us, too.”
He should have been happy to hear that—it was what they’d been working on for months—but Artur frowned at his brother. “They’re fickle. They’ll forget that they have good reasons to like us, unless we keep shoving them in their faces.”
“Are you worried about that?” Their foils clashed, and both men took a step back. “You don’t have to use your child to gain good favor with the public.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Artur advanced on his brother, who defended himself neatly with an almost-bored expression on his face. “I was never planning on it, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“I was not—” Rafael advanced on Artur with three strong steps. “—insinuating anything of the sort.” Artur defended himself with a frantic
energy. No matter how hard he held the foil, he couldn’t clear the energy from his arms. Part of him didn’t want to. Rafael continued. “I was only pointing out that right now, the public is on our side. I think they’ll be surprised if you don’t share more of the pregnancy and your plans with them. It would be very unlike you.”
“Unlike me?” A droplet of sweat rolled down Artur’s back. His heart wasn’t beating hard only from the fencing.
“You’ve...invited them in.” It was amazing, how Rafael could sound so thoughtful while also attacking him in a clear attempt to provoke. Artur took the bait. It felt good to take the bait. “You’ve given them the idea that they have a right to your life. You’ve set yourself up as the entertainment. It’s become your role.”
“Well, who else was supposed to do it?” Artur had to concentrate with everything he had to keep his foil in bounds. “Armin never wanted the spotlight. You had to step up and take over the throne after we lost Eduard. Someone had to be the approachable one. I was never going to be the most brilliant or capable, but I could be entertaining.” Artur went in for another point, but his parry went wild and Rafael stepped easily out of the way.
“Brother.” He held up one hand, and Artur dropped his foil to the ground. Frustration boiled. It had been his part. He’d played his part, and it had backfired. “That never had to be your role. Your family never doubted there was more to you than that. I hope you know that.” Rafael looked him directly in the eye. “The press and the people will be interested in you because you are royal. They don’t need parties to keep their attention.”
“They’ll want—”
“You don’t have to give them everything they want. They don’t need tabloid stories about you on some tropical island. They don’t need tabloid stories about anything. You could do anything you wanted, maybe even show them how smart and capable you actually are. Focus their attention elsewhere. And I don’t mean on the baby—I mean your work for the people.”