“That’s half the fun of it though, right?”
I heave a martyred sigh.
“Oh, cheer up, buttercup. It could be worse.” Chloe smiles. “She could be trying to sell you off to the Earl of Cromwell — the one who kept stepping on your feet during the waltz at your coronation. Remember?”
“How could I forget him? I still haven’t regained feeling in my right pinky toe.”
Chloe’s lips twitch. “You know, I probably have a pill for that…”
I toss a pillow at her head.
Chapter Fourteen
“Cucumber sandwich, Your Royal Highness?”
Pressing my lips together to contain a laugh, I shake my head at the waiter. Chloe catches my eye and I see her own lips are twisted in a barely-contained grin.
As it turns out, we were both wrong about Octavia’s motives. Our trip to Westgate three days later is not, in fact, a set-up for me to date Alden, but rather a tea hosted by his mother, Naomi Sterling — Baroness of Westgate. My gaze sweeps the large parlor where two dozen of Germania’s most well-connected (read: wealthy) women are floating around in the latest designer fashions. The cumulative cost of all the dresses, shoes, and accessories in this room is more than the GDP of most third world nations. And I’m not even including the royal jewels in that estimate.
“Incoming,” Chloe warns lowly.
I turn just in time to see Ava approaching, her navy blue cocktail dress a sharp backdrop contrast to her long platinum locks. There’s a smile fixed on her face, but I notice not a smidge of warmth in her intent hazel eyes.
“Princess Emilia! How good of you to come.”
I return her frigid smile. “Oh, you know me — never pass up an excuse for a good cucumber sandwich.”
Chloe snorts into her mimosa.
“Happy we could oblige, Your Royal Highness.” Ava’s eye twitches, a telltale sign of the anger boiling just beneath her surface. She glances at Chloe. “And Chloe — always wonderful to see you. It’s a shame your brother couldn’t come today. Strictly ladies only, at mother’s insistence. Such nonsense.”
“Carter’s on that ski trip with Alden in the Alps. They’re not scheduled to come back until tomorrow, anyway.” Chloe’s voice drops to a low mutter. “Selfish pricks should’ve taken me with them so I could get out of coming to this, too.”
Now it’s my turn to snort into my drink.
Ava’s expression reveals she’s less than amused. “Well, when the boys return, we’ll all have to get together. It’s been far too long.”
“Yes, things have been a bit busy lately!” Chloe says in a falsely bright tone. “What with your fiancé nearly dying and all. But sure, by all means, let’s throw a party!”
Ava stiffens. “Henry’s condition is precisely the reason we must continue to live our lives to the fullest. That awful fire was a tragedy but, in a way, it was also a gift — it made me see just how precious our time here on earth is.”
“Wow, Ava.” Chloe’s eyes roll. “Those acting classes your parents bankrolled are really paying off.”
Oh boy.
I take a large swig of my champagne.
“Excuse me?” Ava’s grip is so tight around the stem of her glass, her knuckles have gone totally white. “I’m not sure I like what you’re implying, Chloe.”
“And I’m not sure I like you setting your sights on my brother again, now that the Crown Prince is suddenly out of commission.”
I flinch. “Again?”
Ava glances at me, amused. “Oh — did you not know? Before Henry and I got engaged, Carter and I were together.”
What?!
Grip tightening violently on my glass, I try to swallow down the question, but I can’t help myself. “For how long?”
“Three years,” she informs me happily.
“On and off,” Chloe interjects. “Mostly off.”
“Even so.” Ava’s victorious smile is painful — a dagger straight to my heart. She leans in, eyes locked on mine. “You never forget your first love. Wouldn’t you agree, Your Highness?”
I blink rapidly, searching my brain for a proper response. Something breezy, that won’t reveal my deep distress at this unexpected conversational twist.
You never forget your first love.
God, I hate her.
Thankfully, Chloe jumps in and rescues me. “Judging by the past-season Prada heels you’re wearing, I know you’re a fan of dredging up ancient history, Ava — but don’t you think it’s time you moved on from my big brother?” She arches her slender red eyebrows. “Oh! Wait. My mistake. You do have a fiancé lying in the hospital. Isn’t that right? Tell us, when did you last visit him? Have you ever been to visit him? Because I go twice a week and, funnily enough, I’ve never once bumped into you in that waiting room.”
“They won’t allow visitors,” Ava snaps, her defensive tone unmistakable. “He’s cordoned off in the burn unit.”
“I’ll take that as a no then,” Chloe murmurs.
I swallow another long sip of my drink. It’s almost empty.
Definitely time to flag down another waiter…
“You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve been going through.” Ava’s voice trembles as though she’s suddenly overcome with grief, but it doesn’t ring true. “This has been the most difficult time of my life.”
“Cut the dramatics, Ava.” Chloe’s eyes roll again. “You’re more upset about losing your shot at becoming the queen than you are about losing the man you’re supposed to love.”
“And what exactly would you know about love, Chloe Thorne? I’ve known you since we were children and in all that time, not one person has ever spared you more than a single night’s worth of attention.”
“Enough. Both of you.” I cut in before Chloe can retort. “Can we at least attempt to get through this damn tea party without bloodshed? People are starting to stare.”
“Aw! I see you have a new watchdog, Chloe!” Ava laughs as her eyes slide to mine. “How… cute.”
It takes effort to keep myself from snapping back at her but, seeing as I’m the one calling for peace here, I force a benign smile instead.
“So, Your Highness—” Funny how my title sounds like an insult on Ava’s lips. “How have you been holding up? I haven’t seen you since the coronation. It was such a trauma, I figured you’d be simply wasting away from the stress!” Her eyes cut me down, taking in every curve of my size six body in the fitted green wrap dress I’m wearing. “I’m happy to see you’re not skin and bones. In fact, you’re looking quite healthy these days.”
I flinch, despite my best efforts to conceal it.
Bitch.
Ava sees my reaction and her smile widens — a shark smelling blood in the water. Her voice is full of false sweetness. “I hope I haven’t offended you, Princess! I just envy your ability to maintain such a full figure. No mater how much I eat, I can’t seem to put on any weight at all! You must tell me your secret.”
“Oh, go peel a grape, Ava,” Chloe hisses, leaning forward. “You’ve been on the air diet since we were twelve.”
Ava’s eyes sharpen to blades. “I don’t have to ask your secret to staying thin, Chloe. Everyone in this room knows your diet consists of a steady supply of booze and pills. Everyone in this country, actually, seeing as your last two overdoses were splashed all over the papers.” She pauses. “Perhaps you can give the People’s Princess some pointers before they have to build additional weight supports for her throne.”
Chloe takes a stride forward, fully prepared to go to battle on my behalf. “Listen here, you frostbitten little bitch—”
“Chloe! She’s not even worth it,” I mutter, throwing out a hand to stop her before she makes a huge scene. Already, I can feel the weight of several pairs of inquisitive eyes on us — the other ladies in the room, peering over their teacups to discern the latest drama.
“Aren’t you two just adorable.” Ava’s stare drifts from Chloe to me and back. “It’s clear you hav
e a special bond. Closer than sisters!” She leans in to whisper. “But then, you’ve always had such close female friends haven’t you, Chloe? A shame it caused those rumors about you on Page 6 last year! I wouldn’t worry too much, though. I’m sure your delightful mother will eventually find you a husband who doesn’t mind your rather… untoward proclivities.”
My face pales.
My stepsister releases what can only be described as a growl. I tighten my grip on her arm, holding her back, though in all honesty I’d like nothing more than to help her put this smug skank in her place.
“Ava, I suggest you turn around and walk away,” I warn through clenched teeth. “Because you might’ve been raised here in this little bubble of tea parties and polite society… but I grew up in the real world. And I think we both know, despite the truly impressive size of your bitchy attitude, when it comes down to it, my healthy, full figured self could kick your skinny ass from here to the Austrian border.” I smile cooly, channeling a look I’ve often seen Octavia don in my presence. “Not to mention sign a royal decree barring your re-entry.”
“You don’t have the power to do that!” Her indignant huff is music to my ears.
“Oh, Ava.” My eyes gleam. “Try me. Please, try me.”
With that, I whirl around and stride away, tugging Chloe after me. I don’t stop until we’ve left the parlor behind in favor of a heated glass atrium overlooking the manor’s sprawling, snow-covered grounds. I stare at the drifting snowflakes, breathing far harder than normal. When I finally unclench my hands, I find an orderly row of half-moon fingernail indents scored across my palms.
“Dude!” Chloe exclaims lowly. “Did you see her face!? You were such a badass back there.”
I shrug.
“I’m serious! Where the hell did that come from?”
“She pissed me off.”
“Then people should piss you off more often, E.”
“Honestly, if there was an award for Bitch of the Year, Ava would give Octavia a run for her money.”
Chloe snorts.
“I’m not joking!” I insist. “She’s a terrible person.”
“That’s common knowledge.”
“Has she always been like that?”
“Pretty much. I think she came out of her mother’s womb wearing that same haughty expression.”
“How on earth did Carter ever date her?” I shake my head, as if to reject the mere thought of them together.
“It was a long time ago. Almost a decade. We were teenagers. And…”
“What?” I ask.
“Ava’s a mega bitch, but even I can’t deny she’s a hot piece of ass.”
Staring out the window, I strive to slow my pulse. It’s a futile effort. My mind is awhirl with thoughts — about Ava and Henry and Carter. About the strange love triangle I never knew existed.
“How did it end?”
Chloe sighs. “It was never serious — at least, not on Carter’s side. He was a horny seventeen-year-old and she was an easy mark.”
“But it was serious to her?”
“I don’t truly believe someone like Ava is capable of love, but I do think she felt something for him. Of course, whatever feelings she had for my brother were quickly extinguished when she realized she could marry Henry and become the Queen of Germania. Amazing how fast her heart flipped from one boy to the other.”
“How did Carter react?”
“Not well, as you might guess. Seeing a girl who claimed to love him choose power and opportunity over what they had together only reinforced all the shitty things he already believes about relationships.”
My face goes pale as I digest that information. I have the sudden urge to weep.
Rejected twice by a would-be queen.
God, he’s going to hate me forever.
Chloe sighs again. “Looking back, the Ava drama just about wrecked our entire friend group. The guys still hung out, of course… but it was never the same after that. The trust had been breached. There was no going back to the way things were.”
I suddenly find myself thinking about last month, when we shared a limousine with the Sterlings on our way to King Leopold and Queen Abigail’s funeral. Replaying the memory with fresh eyes, certain details stand out starkly.
Alden’s strained silence.
Chloe’s pointed commentary.
Ava’s predatory looks, when she saw me sitting beside Carter.
It all makes sense.
I glance over at Chloe. “Is anything in this world ever uncomplicated?”
“Nope! Now, let’s get back in there before we miss everything.”
“Sorry, but no amount of mimosas is going to convince me to go back in there to be picked apart by those… those shrews. And since when did you start caring about rubbing elbows with socialites?”
“Just trust me, okay? You don’t want to miss this.”
“God forbid we skip a single minute of tea and crumpets!” I snort. “How exceptionally vital…”
“Screw the crumpets. Haven’t you figured out how this works, yet? More political decisions have been made by women sipping tea than they ever have by men in grand halls. The women in that room run this country. Their husbands might control the laws… but they control their husbands.”
I snort. “This session of Parliament sponsored in part by: Prada.”
She grins. “Now you’re getting it.”
Feet heavy with dread, I follow her back into the room where a pack of wolves in designer day dresses awaits — their words far sharper than fangs, their stares more cutting than any set of claws.
Let the games begin.
Chapter Fifteen
The earth crunches beneath Ginger’s hooves as we trot around a particularly pretty bend in the path. Her caramel coat gleams brightly against the pale, whitewashed landscape that surrounds us. The evergreen trees to either side are fully frosted with snow. Icicles hang from their heavy branches, sparkling like diamonds in the early evening light.
I usually don’t ride at this time of day, but I desperately needed to clear my head after the tea party this afternoon.
Chloe was correct about one thing — the women in that room really do make all the decisions for their husbands. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. The way conversation shifted from the latest gossip — Did you hear Baron Levinson was caught in a rather compromising position with the new nanny? — to politics — What are the geopolitical implications of Europe’s recent push for renewable energy on the value of Germania’s natural resources? — was truly something to behold.
For more than an hour, they discussed everything from trade to tariffs to the charities they’ll be sponsoring this holiday season. I sat there listening in what I can only describe as awe.
But awe soon faded to outrage.
Not on my behalf — on theirs. On behalf of all women in this country. For it’s glaringly obvious that, hidden not so deeply beneath perfectly coiffed hair and sparkling jewels, sit some of the sharpest minds in Germania. And no one will ever know, on account of some archaic law barring women from Parliament.
What a goddamn waste.
The longer I listened, the more infuriated I became. How is it possible that Germania — a supposedly progressive nation, a first-world country, a gem of Europe — has sidelined half its population from making political decisions? How can it be that the country I love so dearly does not love me back, simply because I have a set of ovaries? And dear god, why aren’t these women out protesting in the streets, demanding equal representation in government?
I was so lost in the dark spiral of my own thoughts, Chloe had to elbow me several times when the conversation turned my way. Which, to my great displeasure, happened quite frequently as several different women attempted to pawn off their single sons on the future Queen of Germania.
Oliver just returned from a semester at Oxford! He’d love to meet you.
Charles is the captain of his rowing team. He’ll take you out o
n the Nelle once the weather improves!
Philippe has box seats to the opera. He simply must to bring you to a show!
Evidently, the word is officially out that I’m accepting suitors, which means a parade of eligible young men will soon start showing up at the gates, desperate for my hand in marriage — or, more accurately, desperate for a crown of their own.
My heels press into Ginger’s flanks, picking up our pace. This ride may well be my last moment of freedom.
Freedom.
What a joke.
This isn’t freedom. Merely the illusion of it.
It’s not like I can leave the grounds. And I’m not truly alone, even now. I might not be able to hear my guards anymore, but I’m sure Galizia and Riggs are behind me somewhere — following at a respectful distance on a pair of black horses.
I grip my reins tighter, spurring Ginger faster down the trail as if I might outrun them. The fading light filters faintly through the snow-topped canopy overhead. I know I should turn back before it gets dark, but I’m not yet ready to return to the confinement of the castle.
Tomorrow, it all starts over.
The preening. The fake smiles.
The public appearances and forced princess duties.
When the forest thickens, I pull back on the reins, slowing Ginger to a reluctant walk. She whinnies softly, her breath pluming in the cold air like mist. Turning around another bend, she carries us through the final stretch of trees into a clearing.
I squint at the sudden shift from snowy forest canopy to overcast evening sky. The sun has dipped low, staining the clouds orange as it descends into the towering westward mountains. The castle looks like something out of a fairy tale in the distance, silhouetted like a slumbering giant, its pale stones gleaming, its spires and balustrades refracting a thousand beams of buttery light.
As soon as we leave the narrow trail behind, I feel Ginger’s muscles shift beneath me, poised and ready to run. I eye the large expanse of frozen field separating us from the castle doors and gather the reins more firmly in my gloved hands.
“Okay, girl,” I whisper, leaning forward in my saddle. “Let her rip!”
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