Table of Contents
Royal Player
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Royal Player
© 2019 Kylie Gilmore
Polly
I’m a modern twenty-three-year-old princess bound by rules more suited to medieval times. My father’s declining health means I will soon be queen, but, as a woman, I will not be allowed to rule alone. I can only claim my birthright by marrying the man chosen for me—a business tycoon useful to our kingdom.
My parents are unbending. If I do not comply, my younger cousin will take my place simply because he’s a man.
I’m the one who must bend, or walk away and lose everything—my family, my birthright, my island home.
I never met a man tempting enough to risk a kingdom…and then I meet him.
Oscar
I’m the good-looking one. If you need to pick me out of the middle of the Rourke clan, that’s how you do it. Does it bother me that nothing is expected of the fourth-born son other than to flash my devastatingly handsome smile for the press? Maybe.
Would I like to be needed even just by one person who sees me as the key to something important? Yes.
And then I meet her.
Only lightning struck for the wrong woman. She’s on Villroy for a short time before she must return home and marry the man her parents have chosen. If she doesn’t, she loses her birthright.
If I truly care for Polly, I’ll walk away. But do I have the strength to resist the most perfect woman I’ve ever met?
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Chapter One
Polly
I just got off probation, and I’m fre-e-e!
I throw my arms up to the sky and let out a little laugh. It’s summer, and I’m on the Rourkes’ yacht, which picked me up in France for my first visit to the kingdom of Villroy. I’m tempted to shout “I’m king of the world!” off the bow of the boat, but it’s a little precarious on the bow and, technically, I’m a princess. I satisfy myself with a brief toe-tapping happy dance. I can’t wait to see Anna, the queen of Villroy. She’s the reason I got probation.
That sounds bad, doesn’t it? But it was a good thing. She and her husband, King Gabriel, helped me avoid jail time in the US for identity theft.
Hmm…that sounds bad too. It was all for a completely understandable reason. I’d better back up to the beginning. I’m Princess Mary Louise Lyon of the Beaumont Islands. Polly to my friends. I’m the only child of very traditional parents in an old-school monarchy. So, I’d just returned home from college in the US last year when my parents began to suggest (read: harass the shit out of me) that it was time I marry and produce the next heir. It only took one meeting with the husband of their choice, Peter, a business tycoon on Beaumont claiming to have royal bloodlines from some now defunct kingdom, for me to come up with my escape plan back to the US. I’m what you call a strategic thinker. My parents call me impossible.
In any case, I paid for a fake ID in the US so I could move freely about as a princess-in-hiding, but it turned out the fake ID was from a deceased person whose aunt noticed her dead niece had bought an apartment building in Tampa, Florida. (It was my gift to Anna, who lived there at the time. I found her, a distant cousin, through the AncestryWise website and thought we could be friends. See, strategic thinker here—find an ally.) In hindsight, I was naïve about the fake ID, thinking it would just be a made-up person. I should’ve asked more questions. I truly regret it, and I reached out to the deceased person’s family to make reparations. There’s now a scholarship in her name at her alma mater, funded through my charitable foundation.
Two good things did come of it—Anna and I became close, and I earned an MBA degree while on probation. (It’s the reason I gave my parents for my extended US stay. They don’t know about my arrest thanks to Gabriel burying the story.) Now I’m going to be reunited with Anna, who’s eight months pregnant. I’ve been granted a brief reprieve to be there for the birth, which I will use to come up with a strategic plan to get out of my impending marriage to Peter without destroying my family and the kingdom in the process.
No pressure.
Peter has backed me into an impossible corner, blackmailing me into the marriage. My parents have no clue about the blackmail. If I tell them, they won’t allow the marriage and Peter will follow through on his threats. Three years ago, my parents took a loan from him to finance the renovation of one of their resorts on the best beach. (They wanted a more modern style to compete with Peter’s modern resorts.) Now the debt is due, and they don’t have the money to pay him back. I only know this because, on my brief visit home before travelling to Villroy, I overheard my mother telling my father she was worried Peter would seize the property, as is his legal right in an island foreclosure.
I went to talk to Peter privately in his office about my parents’ concern, hoping to extend the terms of the loan. That’s when he told me not only would he seize the property, which would only put them further in debt from the loss of income, he’d let everyone know they have debts they renege on and now they must raise taxes exorbitantly to keep things going. He would shred their reputation, painting them as rulers with no honor. All of this is aimed at starting an uprising against the monarchy, which he vowed to topple. And then he made me an offer—marry him, make him king, and the debt is forgiven. All of our properties will be consolidated under his control, and he’ll make sure they’re all profitable and modernized, thereby ensuring a thriving future for Beaumont.
What choice did I have? I must save my family and my kingdom. Monarchies are a dying breed, and I won’t allow mine to be extinguished while I draw breath.
I returned to the palace and told my parents, the words bitter on my tongue, “I admire Peter’s business savvy and agree he’d be an ideal candidate for a husband.”
They were overjoyed, having hoped for the match even before their current troubles. Peter was always the ideal alliance in their minds because he owns half the resorts on the main island. We own the other half. Our kingdom is made up of a chain of islands in the Caribbean, dependent on tourism. Peter has never shown his true colors to them.
My marriage is also urgently needed because my father has decided to step down as king. He’s seventy-three and his Parkinson’s disease is getting worse. He doesn’t want to be seen with tremors in public. My mother, the queen, is only forty-six, but she will not be allowed to rule alone because she’s a woman. Old. School. I’m not allowed to rule alone either. If I don’t marry soon, they’ll pass my birthright over to my younger male cousin. It infuriates me. I’ve been groomed to be queen my entire life. It is my place, my birthright.
I turn and shield my eyes to get a better view inside the cabin of the yacht at my longtime maid and chaperone, Marge. She’s in her fifties now, her shoulder-length hair more gray than brown, which she claims is my fault. I love this woman, who in many ways has been a mother to me. When I was a kid, my high energy and quest for adventure drove my parents and my tutors nuts. Enter Marge. Strict and no-nonsense, she was charged with the impossible task of keeping me on the straight a
nd narrow. She’s been with me since I was shipped off to boarding school at nine years old, all through college, and reappeared when my parents discovered I was staying in the US for my MBA/probation. She appears to be sleeping sitting upright on the sofa. Poor thing. She said she thought she might be coming down with something. Her throat is sore.
I go into the cabin, and her eyes slowly open. “Polly, where is your veil? It isn’t proper, and too much sun will give you wrinkles.” She’s the only staff member who addresses me by my preferred name and only in private. Otherwise, it’s “Your Highness,” “Princess Mary,” or “ma’am” like everyone else.
“The sea breeze stole my veil,” I fib. I always try to ditch the veil—required of single royal women in my kingdom—when I’m away from home. This is an old argument of ours. She feels the need to point out the lack of veil to do her chaperone duty, knowing I’ll have some excuse.
She harrumphs.
I sit next to her and press the back of my hand to her forehead, checking for fever the way she always does with me. “You feel a little warm.”
“I’m fine.” She shifts away. “Even so, keep your distance in case I’m contagious. I don’t want you to make the queen ill so close to the birth.”
I go to the small refrigerator and retrieve a cold bottled water for her.
“Don’t make a fuss over me!” she barks hoarsely.
“Here, you sweet thing.” I hand over the water. “Fluids and rest, Marge’s orders.”
She takes the water, her lips pursed. “Don’t be fresh, giving my orders back to me. Those are for your own good.”
I smile and sit next to her. “And now it’s time to take a dose of your own medicine.”
She scowls but opens the water and takes a sip, wincing as she swallows.
“We’ll get you a doctor once we’re settled at Amalie Palace.” That’s the palace on Villroy.
“It’s nothing.” She takes another sip of water. “Polly, I need to tell you something.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. I can count on one hand the number of times Marge has needed to tell me something, and it is never good news. “What is it? Is something wrong with my father?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you, and I’d better do it now before I’m confined to a sickroom.” She takes another sip of water, and I wait on the edge of my seat. “After the baby is born, we’re to return home, and I’m to accompany you on a formal courtship with Peter for a period of six weeks, and then the engagement will be official. Your parents want the wedding soon after that.”
My gut knots. I knew this was coming, yet it still agitates me. As if the sleazy blackmail wasn’t enough to make me despise him, Peter is twenty years my elder and has promised my parents to take a firm hand with me. My parents laughingly agreed that I was a handful in need of structure, but I saw it as a big red flag. He’s not violent. He means he wants to run a tight ship and he’s the captain. This queen will not bow to her king. I let out a breath. I don’t want to do battle with my husband. I’ve got enough on my plate with the demands of the kingdom.
I manage a nod at Marge before looking away. She’s my chaperone at all times because the princess must be a virgin upon marriage. I’m a modern twenty-three-year-old woman expected to comply with rules more suited to medieval times. I abided by the restriction because I feared jeopardizing my place in the kingdom. (The royal doctor examines me before the wedding ceremony. I know. Blech.) This is why I’ve never gotten close to a man. I could’ve worked around Marge if I cared enough. I just never met a man tempting enough to risk a kingdom.
Do I long for love? Am I sexually frustrated? Yes and hell yes! But I know royals shouldn’t have big dreams. Duty to kingdom must always come before self. That rules out personal and professional aspirations. So what if I want to put my economics degree and MBA to use in the business world? Even ruling independently would be running a business of sorts with our tourism industry. But that’s not the way things work on Beaumont.
And I would sooner exile myself from Beaumont forever than hand the crown to my cousin simply because he’s a man. My hands close into fists. I’ve always been headstrong, always chafed at the restrictions placed on me. It requires great strength to do one’s duty.
“Polly, your parents want what’s best for you.” Only Marge knows I’m not as enthusiastic about the marriage as I let others believe. She doesn’t know why, though. She probably assumes it’s because he’s a bald fortysomething man with a paunch. I don’t need a handsome man. I need an honorable man, a future king.
I fold my hands in my lap. “I know they do.” I attempt a smile. “That’s why they sent me you.”
She blinks rapidly and turns away. “Nonsense.” Her voice is choked with emotion.
I grew on her. It took a while due to my previous exuberant childhood adventures. I used to tally every time she threw her hands up, declaring, “I swear you’ll be the death of me!” I stopped counting at one hundred fifty out of boredom with the task. She has a soft spot for me, and I for her.
I point out the window. “We’re almost there. I’m going out for a better view.”
She shoos me away, pulling a tissue from her short-sleeved blouse and dabbing at her eyes.
I return to the deck and breathe deep. Villroy is just off the coast of southwestern France, a more temperate climate than I’m used to. The island is stunning with dramatic rocky cliffs, inlets of beach, and a gradual hill to the top where the palace is perched like something out of a fairy-tale picture book—sandstone with multiple turrets and spires. My own palace is light gray stone and rather flat. At least we have one fanciful round turret perched near the sea, and the grounds are beautiful with a garden courtyard, pools, and fountains. I’m truly lucky to live there.
Still, I’m very glad for this reprieve on Villroy. Of course to see Anna, but also for some desperately needed breathing room. I know what’s expected of me. I know what’s at stake. Yet I’m still going to attempt the impossible—gaining the throne on my terms while keeping my family and my kingdom safe. Who better to tackle the impossible than the person who’s been labeled impossible? It’s like two impossibles make a possible. My math may be off, but I dare to hope.
Chapter Two
Oscar
I’m the good-looking one. If you need to pick me out of the middle of the Rourke clan, the fourth-born son, that’s how you do it. Prince Oscar is the good-looking one. That’s not arrogance or vanity on my part. The press has deemed it so; even my brothers comment on it. Some combination of genes has given me the perfect symmetry of features that draws attention. Can I help it if I’ve got the same thick dark brown hair, aquamarine eyes, sharp cheekbones, and square jaw as my brothers, only better? I let my older brother Phillip take the spotlight as the royal hottie because I am the soul of discretion. I take great pride in my family name and would never despoil it. Doesn’t mean I don’t have fun.
Does it bother me that nothing is expected of the fourth-born son other than to flash my devastatingly handsome smile for the press? Maybe.
Would I like to be needed even just by one person who sees me as the key to something important? Yes.
And I was for the three years I played pro football for France. I was my father’s pride, the living embodiment of his dream, and I knew what it was like to have someone rooting for me to achieve greatness. He also played for France, briefly, before he had to withdraw to take over as king. Not only did I feel great from the bond with my father and playing, of course, but also because I was able to do great things with the money I earned through my own hard work, funding soccer clubs for children in disadvantaged areas all over the world.
Unfortunately, two years ago, I blew out my knee, had surgery, and no amount of rehab could get me back to playing at the pro level. My career was cut short, and I was forced to retire at twenty-five. I get around fine, no limp or severe pain, just a twinge now and then. My father mourned the loss
of football right along with me. He died a year ago, and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish we could’ve kept that bond over football. I think it would’ve brought him a small amount of joy to watch me play during his struggle with cancer.
I had my moment in the spotlight once. I cannot ask for more.
I cross to the burgundy leather sofa and take a seat next to my younger brother, Adrian. He jerks his chin at me. Neither of us have ever been vital to the kingdom. Adrian is last-born, and he doesn’t even have the famous Rourke aquamarine eyes that match the sea here. My father always said they’re an indicator of the rightful rulers. Adrian’s eyes are hazel. He’s so low-key I don’t think his place in the royal hierarchy bothers him.
We’re in the private salon waiting to meet our guest of honor, Princess Mary “Polly” Lyon, from the Beaumont Islands in the Caribbean. She’s a distant cousin of my sister-in-law, Anna. I’ve never met Polly since she’s been on probation for identity theft and not allowed to leave Florida in the US. A princess committing such a seedy crime must’ve had a very good reason, and I really want to know more. She and Anna met for the first time during Polly’s escape to the US, a long, mostly amusing story, which ended with Anna arriving here in Polly’s stead and ultimately winning my oldest brother, Gabriel, as her groom in an outrageous bridal competition. Anna was a commoner impersonating a princess and married a future king. Never a dull moment around here.
Gabriel, Anna, and my mother are talking in the corner—the king, the queen, and the former queen. My mother stepped down as queen upon my father’s death. They’re all vital to the kingdom.
Just then the door opens and all eyes turn to it. My family has never met Polly, but her reputation precedes her.
Not Polly. It’s my older brother Lucas with his girlfriend, Alice. She’s a romance author, a sexy voluptuous blonde who wears black nerdy librarian glasses, and has an introverted, sweet personality. In contrast to my brother…
Royal Player (The Rourkes, Book 5) Page 1