“Excuse me?”
“Oh, I think you heard me.” She strides a step closer. “It’s just one more example of why you shouldn’t be wearing that crown. Clearly, you have no idea what it means. How significant it is. Because, when it comes down to it, the life of a queen will always be of more importance than a few regular people. If you truly cared about your country or your kingdom’s future, you would’ve listened to your guards that day and evacuated without resistance.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Only someone like Ava could turn my actions that day — my attempt to save lives — into a negative. “People were dying. I would’ve had to be a monster to leave them behind.”
“Not a monster; a monarch.” Disgust curls one of her lips. “I knew the first moment I saw you — you don’t have the stomach to do this job. You’re too soft. Too weak. It’s only a matter of time before everyone else sees it, too.”
My jaw clenches. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” Her chuckle makes me want to shake her. “You’ll fail Germania. Just like you failed all those people in the square that day.”
Smack!
I slap her clear across the face. It happens so fast, I don’t even have time to think about restraining myself. There’s a sudden sting in my palm, the sharp sound of my hand making impact with her smooth cheek, a red handprint blooming on her skin as my arm falls back to my side.
I expect her to reel away, to react in some way… But this is Ava Sterling we’re talking about. Holding my stare the whole time, she simply smiles as though I’ve done something greatly amusing. I pull in a sharp breath, trying to get a handle on my own out-of-control heart rate.
Way to play things cool, Emilia.
The silence drags on for nearly a full minute. When she finally breaks it, Ava’s voice is so level you’d think we were talking about plans for afternoon tea.
“I don’t know why you showed your face here tonight, but I think it’s past time you leave. No one wants you here, Your Majesty.”
It’s amazing — every time she says my title, it sounds a bit more like an insult.
“On the contrary, I think some people are rather happy to see me.” I cross my arms over my chest with a calculated smile. “Your brother, for one.”
“Stay away from Alden. I mean it.”
“Why? Afraid you and I will wind up in-laws?” I ask sweetly, just to piss her off. “I figured you’d be thrilled to have a closer association with the royal family. Hasn’t that always been your aim? To live in the castle?”
“Ha! That’s rich. As if you’re actually going to last as our queen for more than a few months.” She laughs bitterly. “As if anyone thinks you’re even remotely qualified to do this job. You have no idea what is required to be a true ruler.”
“And you do?”
“Yes. Because unlike you — a walking seminal accident who crawled out of her white trash existence into the lap of luxury — I was born for this life. I was bred to be the queen from the time I could talk.”
“Some good it did you.” Pursing my lips, I tsk at her. “All that training to rule and, in the end, the only realm you’ll ever be in charge of is the bedroom of whatever saggy-balled viscount your parents see fit to marry you off to in a strategic alliance of wealth and property.”
She sucks in a sharp inhale and I know I’ve struck an accurate blow.
“Is that why you hate me so much?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. “Because I’m living the life you were meant to?”
“You don’t even want it!” she practically screeches, her fury finally unleashed. “You have everything I ever worked for — everything I ever dreamed of — and it’s just going to waste.”
“I don’t have everything,” I say quietly, thinking of my parents. Thinking of a giant castle, echoing and empty. Thinking of the many losses I’ve endured on my path to the throne. “Life doesn’t always work out the way we plan, Ava. I thought you knew that by now.”
Her finger appears in my face — a pale pink talon, manicured to a sharp point. “Don’t patronize me! You have no idea what I have sacrificed. You have no idea what I put up with. What I endured, all those years, watching Henry and—”
She bites off the rest of her words, breathing hard. Her hand curls slowly into a fist, then lowers to her side. With a whirl of beaded gold fabric, she turns on her heels and leaves the solarium without uttering another syllable.
I watch her go, my eyebrows arched to my hairline. I’ve never seen her that worked up. She’s usually so difficult to rattle, it’s borderline robotic.
Perhaps she’s flesh and blood, after all.
For a while, I stand in the shadows, waiting for my breaths to slow and my anger to ebb from a boil to a simmer. I’m certain my absence has already been clocked by my guards; it’s probably past time I rejoin the party, make my excuses to Alden, and head home. Honestly, curling up with a book by the fire sounds like perfection, right about now. Between both the Sterling siblings, I’ve had enough human interaction to last me the rest of the month.
Year.
Decade.
Lifetime.
I’m nearly back to the ballroom when Riggs materializes at my side. He must recognize the look of desperation on my face, because all he says is, “You about ready to turn into a pumpkin, Cinderella?”
“More than you know,” I breathe gratefully. “But it would be impolite to slip out without saying goodbye to Alden…” The dread in my voice is palpable. The thought of threading back into that crowd, pushing my way through the tangle of bodies to find him…
I shudder.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Your Majesty,” Riggs says, a note of wryness in his tone. “Just say the word and we’ll get you out of here. I’m sure Sterling will understand. Hell, based on the amount of champagne he’s had, he may not even notice.”
Relief washes over me. “Well, when you put it that way…”
He signals to his men waiting in the shadows and, in less than a heartbeat, there’s a human wall of muscle between me and the rest of the world; four armed guards, surrounding me on all sides. Five including Riggs, who leads the pack as we start walking.
I feel like a pop star exiting a concert venue. The crowd parts fluidly around us. Every set of eyes is fixed on me. I can feel them burning into my skin with each step. Their hushed commentary surrounds me like fog in the air.
Is she leaving?
Back to her castle to hide out.
I’m surprised she lasted more than five minutes.
Shoulders steady, face composed, I walk onward — through the ballroom, down the hallway, into the atrium.
Leave, Ava sneers inside my head. No one wants you here.
I blindly accept my mink stole when Riggs hands it to me, sliding the fur over my bare shoulders as we step out the front doors into the cold night air. I’m so focused on watching my feet, trying not to trip on the silk train of my dress, that I don’t notice what’s happening in the driveway until we’re halfway down the manor steps.
“Sir, I’m not going to ask you again,” a cold voice barks, the order cracking out like a whip. “Move away from the vehicle or we’ll have no choice but to physically remove you.”
My head snaps up. My eyes go wide. The breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh as I see a second contingent of royal guards engaged in an altercation at the base of the steps. Their attention is fixed on the Rolls-Royce, idling in all its glory… and on the man leaning against its hood.
He’s the picture of casual elegance in a black-on-black outfit of dark-wash jeans and a leather jacket, blending in with the night so seamlessly, it’s hard to make out his finer details at this distance. Four of my guards surround him, guns trained, malice etched all over their faces as they tell him in no uncertain terms that it’s time for him to move away from the vehicle. Their sharp orders register belatedly in my ears, muffled like I’m listening to them from ten feet underwater.
Now, si
r.
This is your last warning.
We will use force if necessary.
My world tilts so abruptly on its axis, I’m surprised I keep from toppling over. I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until the guard at my back practically bumps into me. I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until my lungs begin screaming for air.
“Are you deaf?” The lead guard barks, advancing a step. “Move. Away. From. The. Vehicle.”
The man yawns, bored in the face of imminent danger.
“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way, then.” The guard pulls out a set of handcuffs. His partner’s gun jerks a bit higher, until the barrel is trained directly at the man’s heart.
My very bones seem to quake at the sight of his finger lingering on the trigger. At the knowledge that we are a single flinch away from irreversible devastation.
“Stop!”
The word explodes out of my mouth before I realize I’ve shouted. It’s an unmistakable order, loud enough to bring all activity to a halt.
No one disregards the command of their queen.
The four guards by the Rolls-Royce turn in unison to face the steps, paling visibly when they see me standing there with their Commander. A second later, they’re bowing low, murmuring explanations.
I pay them no mind. All of my focus is honed on the man behind them, still leaning against the hood of my limousine. His posture is relaxed as ever, that devil-may-care aura emanating from his every pore. He is the master of studied nonchalance.
But as his eyes cut to mine through the small army surrounding me, I see fire smoldering in their depths — fever-bright with intensity — and my knees nearly give out.
Christ.
There’s nothing at all nonchalant about the look he’s giving me. But, then, there’s nothing nonchalant about my relationship with Carter Thorne. Never has been, never will be. Not until we’ve both left this earth and turned to dust.
Maybe not even then.
I drink in the sight of him like I’m dying of thirst. I try not to, but I can’t stop myself. It’s been three months since I last saw him. An infinite stretch of days and hours and seconds without being in close enough proximity to study the small scar that bisects his eyebrow, to see the way his dark hair has grown long enough to curl at the collar of his jacket, to marvel at the cutting sharpness of his jawline.
I wish, for the zillionth time, he wasn’t so stunning. It might be easier to keep my treacherous heart from reacting the way it does whenever he’s near: twice its normal speed, his name a sharp underscore to every beat.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Car-ter.
Car-ter.
The last time he stood in front of me, I was brimming over with hurt and heartache, reeling from the death of my father and the aftermath of the bombing. When I learned Carter had concealed the truth from me… that he’d been party to my old advisors’ attempts to manipulate my actions…
I cut him out. Excised him from my life like a terminal cancer, with scalpel-sharp precision.
At the time, it seemed the ultimate act of self-preservation: carving out my heart to save my life. But in this moment, as I look at him… as I feel the ache radiating through every bone and ligament in my body… I know my efforts were for naught.
I never got rid of him; not really. He’s threaded too deeply through my every molecule, embedded too permanently in the intricate spirals of my DNA. Nothing will ever remove him from me completely. This foolish state of remission I’ve been living in was never meant to last.
“Your Majesty, we apologize for the delay in your departure,” one of the guards is saying, though I’m having a hard time focusing on him. “This man refuses to move despite our repeated requests.”
Carter lets out a low laugh — the first sound he’s made. It shivers over my skin like a kiss in the hollow beneath an ear, a fingertip down the curvature of a spinal column.
“Anders,” Riggs barks from my side.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Lower your weapon. Tell your unit to do the same.”
“But he’s a security threat—”
“Anders.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll handle this personally,” Riggs says flatly. “You and your men are dismissed.”
“But sir—”
“Dismissed.”
Anders splutters into silence. He looks like he wants to protest, but doesn’t dare disregard a direct order from his Commander. The unit quickly disperses, holstering their weapons as they go.
With a gun no longer aimed at Carter’s heart, it’s ever-so-slightly easier to pull in oxygen. At least, until his eyes flicker back to mine and I lose my breath all over again.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
That dark smirk on his face grows even more pronounced as he regards me, frozen on the steps with a buffer of five hulking men. He doesn’t say a word, but I can practically hear his silent mockery even at this distance.
How many guards do you need to keep yourself in check, little girl?
I swallow audibly, shoving the thoughts away.
“Your Majesty?” Riggs murmurs from my right side. He’s looking down at me with concern. “How do you want us to proceed here?”
“I…” The words dry up. “Uh…”
How do I want them to proceed?
I have no fucking idea.
Riggs shifts his weight to lean a shade closer. “If you don’t want to talk to him, say the word. We will remove him — without violence, I assure you — and take you back to the castle immediately.”
“She wants to talk to me,” Carter calls up the steps. “Don’t you, Emilia?”
The cadence of his voice washes over me in a drugging wave. That deep rasp when he says my name is almost enough to undo me. A memory blasts into my head unbidden — of the last time he said it, when he was buried deep inside me, his thrusts timed to each syllable.
Emilia, Emilia, Emilia.
“Thorne,” Riggs growls. “Address her properly or not at all.”
“New guard dog, huh?” Carter’s eyebrows are two dark slashes of amusement. “Does he do all your talking for you now, Your Majesty?”
I stiffen.
The guards around me go decidedly tense.
“Thorne, watch your mouth.” Riggs’ patience has officially expired; he sounds like he’s about two seconds from pummeling Carter into the cobblestones.
But Carter either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He’s still staring at me with that heady mix of sexual tension and snide defiance. It radiates off him like cologne, even with fifteen feet separating us.
“Emilia,” he says again. Softly. So softly, it slays me.
Dammit.
All this distance, all this time and space… yet still, with one murmured word, he manages to fragment every piece of myself I’ve spent weeks putting back into place with meticulous care.
“No,” I whisper, my head shaking in violent rejection. I’m not sure whether I’m talking to Riggs or to Carter or to my damn self. “I can’t talk to him. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”
If I get near him, I’ll fall into his arms.
If I let him closer, I’ll lose myself completely.
Again.
That’s all the go-ahead Riggs needs to intervene. Signaling the two nearest guards to follow, he advances on Carter without hesitation, his long legs swallowing up the steps in a few strides. They have him in their custody so quickly, it makes my head spin — massive biceps straining against their uniforms as they haul his tall frame off the limousine.
“Emilia, don’t do this,” Carter yells as they start to drag him away, struggling to get free with every step. “Emilia! Just listen to me for a minute—”
I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch, unable to stand the sight of him thrashing against the guards’ grip. I’m horrified to feel tears gathering behind my lids, poised to escape down my cheeks.
&
nbsp; I’ve never felt so at war with myself. I want to tell them to stop, to let him go. I want to run down the steps, into his arms. To sink into him, safe in his hold for the first time in far too long.
“Emilia!”
I flinch as his voice breaks on my name. He sounds farther away already. I wonder how many more seconds of this torture I have to endure before he fades out completely. Before he’s shoved into some dark SUV and whisked out of my life once more.
“Look, Emilia, I know what you think of me. I know I lost your trust. I know you have no interest in talking to me ever again. Okay? I know.” He’s panting now, exerted from fighting against the ham-fisted guards. “Do you truly believe I’d come here if I didn’t have a good reason? This is fucking important!”
The first tear escapes, streaking down my cheek and pooling at the corner of my mouth.
This is killing me.
“Just listen to me… for fuck’s sake…” There’s a ragged note in his voice that wasn’t there before. “It’s about Chloe. Okay? Chloe is in trouble.”
My eyes spring open at the same instant as my mouth.
“Wait.”
The privacy partition is up inside the limousine, but I can still feel the weight of the guards’ presence on the other side — two inches and an entire universe away. I almost wish I’d asked them to keep it lowered when we climbed into the backseat and pulled away from Westgate. Some small modicum of supervision wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
The last time you were alone in a limo with Carter Thorne, you ended up in his lap.
But that was an eternity ago.
So much has changed since then.
You’ve changed so much since then.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
The silk of my dress is slippery beneath me as I shift restlessly against the leather, a feeble attempt to get comfortable. As if I could ever be comfortable with him sitting two feet away, reclined like a king on the seat directly across from mine.
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