“Alden…”
“And if you and I were to marry one day,” he continues intently. “You wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.”
“I’m not alone.” My words sound defensive even to my own ears.
“Of course. You have Chloe by your side. But is that enough? One surrogate sister? Don’t you want a family of your own? Don’t you want love? A support system? Children?” His hand is suddenly grasping mine, so hard the bones crunch together. There’s an expression on his face I’ve never seen before — so different from his ever-polished calm, it’s hard to fathom he’s the same man I’ve come to know. “I can give that to you, Emilia. All that and more. You just have to grant me the chance.”
I’m silent, struggling to find an appropriate response to this unexpected declaration. As he waits for me to speak, Alden’s fingers tighten around mine almost to the point of pain. I gasp softly as I jerk my hand loose.
The sound jolts him out of a daze. He suddenly seems to remember his manners; the intent glint ebbs from his eyes, his jaw slackens, his throat convulses on a swallow. “Forgive me…”
Flexing my fingers to regain circulation, I force a laugh to diffuse the sudden tension between us. “I thought you were asking me on a date. It feels like you’re asking me something much more significant, Alden.”
“If I’ve gotten ahead of myself, I apologize. We so rarely have a chance to talk like this — just the two of us. I didn’t want to miss my opportunity to express to you how seriously I take our relationship.”
His sheepish smile should be reassuring but I still feel strangely unsettled as I examine the familiar planes of his face, now arranged in a mask of contrition. His flip from adamant to apologetic is startling in its suddenness.
I clear my throat. “I do appreciate your candor, Alden.”
“But?”
“How do you know there’s a but?”
He takes a long sip of scotch. “Let’s call it a gut instinct.”
“I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for,” I say bluntly. “I’m not ready to get married. Not to you or anyone else. And frankly, I don’t care if that ruffles societal feathers. I don’t care if the aristocracy doesn’t approve. Becoming a wife — becoming a mother — is not something I would ever do for political reasons. If you really knew me, you’d recognize that.”
“Queen Emilia—”
“Would you mind getting me a glass of water?” I cut him off before he can say anything else, seizing upon the first excuse I think of. “I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”
He tenses at the wall of formality I’ve thrown up between us, but doesn’t attempt to knock it down again. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll be right back.”
With a stiff smile, he bows and walks away. I hold my breath as I listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps. Only after he’s disappeared inside the museum am I able to breathe properly again; my lungs seem to loosen inside my chest, inexplicable tension falling away in a great whoosh.
I glance around the terrace and see it has emptied completely during the course of our conversation. I wonder if that means the auction is beginning. I should probably head inside to find out for myself, but I can’t bring myself to — not just yet.
Taking a sip of my champagne, I revel in the momentary solitude. I’m so rarely alone these days, especially at functions like this one. And after Alden’s little speech, I need some time to gather my thoughts.
A marriage proposal.
Was he serious?
Did he actually think I might say yes?
I’m not naive enough to deny the truth behind his words; there are many Germanians who would feel far more at ease seeing their queen settled down, a husband by her side, a new heir on the way. And yet, I cannot bring myself to contemplate such a reality. Not now. Not for a long, long time.
Not while my heart still beats for a man I can’t ever call mine.
The sound of approaching voices jolts me out of my thoughts. Someone is coming out onto the terrace. Several someones, judging by the high-pitched feminine cackles washing out the museum doors as they step outside, heels clicking against the stone. To my horror, I recognize one of the voices instantly.
“Did you see that horrendous streak in her hair? How tacky can she be? I swear, it’s bad enough having to call a low-class guttersnipe our queen… she could at least make minimal effort to look the part…”
Ava.
She and her posse are the last people I want to see right now — alone, without any backup to fend off their nasty words. A few more steps and they’ll spot me standing here by the railing, totally exposed.
I have to move.
My eyes dart around, seeking somewhere to hide. Nothing materializes. No alternate exit doors or emergency escape hatches. The terrace is sparsely decorated; nothing but open air, with the exception of a few evergreen trees in large decorative vases scattered around. And crouching behind one of those in my bright purple dress won’t keep me concealed for long.
I eye the terrace railing with desperation.
Could I jump it?
How long is that fall?
Fifteen feet?
Twenty?
For a crazy instant, I actually contemplate hiking up my skirt and hopping over the stone railing, taking my chances with a sharp tumble into the frozen gardens… in all likelihood, landing in a razor-thorned bush of some kind…
I am so not wearing the right outfit for that.
“Ava, that’s a little harsh… Give her a break.” Ava’s friend pauses smugly. “You can’t buy class, after all. Even the royal jewels aren’t enough to disguise trash.”
They laugh again, sounding even closer this time. Any second now, they’ll see me. Time has frozen and, with it, my body. I am paralyzed in place. I cannot run. I cannot hide. I cannot do anything but brace myself for their inevitable arrival.
“Too true. There’s simply no accounting for proper breeding…”
I can practically already hear the gloating sneer in Ava’s voice… can almost see the gleeful malice in her eyes as she stumbles upon me…
“Come on.”
I jolt at the sound of a low male voice from the shadows. Before I can even turn to look at him, a large hand clamps down on my bicep and tugs me sharply left. I gasp as my body is man-handled roughly away from the railing toward an ivy-covered wall, but I don’t struggle against my captor.
Because he’s not a captor at all.
He’s a savior.
I recognize him without seeing his face. Unsurprising; it’s the one that haunts me every time I close my eyes. Too-blue eyes and a jawline sharper than a blade. A man made of a savage sort of grace. Unfortunately, whether he’s leading me to salvation or ruination remains to be seen.
I should’ve jumped when I had the chance.
Chapter Ten
“Carter,” I hiss between clenched teeth. “What are you—”
“Quiet. Sound carries out here.”
My teeth sink into my lip, swallowing the rest of my words. Without even an ounce of gentleness, he shoves me toward one of the massive marble columns holding up the museum roof. Only when we’re inches away do I understand the reason for his roughness — there’s a narrow shaft of space behind the column; a nook hidden from view, even when you’re staring at it head-on.
The perfect place to hide in plain sight.
It’s a tight squeeze for one person let alone two, but Carter follows me in, his large body crowding mine until we’re practically fused together. I can feel every muscular curve of his chest pressed against the blades of my shoulders. Each exhale is a special sort of torture, forcing us closer as our rib cages expand.
“What do you think you’re doing, Carter?” My whisper is breathless — I tell myself only because of the cramped quarters. Not because being so close to him makes my head spin.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, the words warming my nape in an almost-kiss. “Saving you from an altercation with Ava.”
“I don’t recall asking you to rescue me.”
“You didn’t have to ask. Panic was written all over your face.” He pauses. “But if I misjudged… If you want to see her… By all means, let’s head back out there.”
I go tense when he starts to shift away. Reaching back blindly in the dark, my hand fists around smooth fabric — the sleeve of his suit — stopping him in his tracks. It’s a silent plea.
Don’t.
He stops moving. His low chuckle makes me shiver. “That’s what I thought.”
I swallow hard to steady myself. “How did you know this place was here?”
“When you’re forced to attend as many charity events as I have over the years, you figure out where the good hiding spots are pretty early on. It’s a survival skill.”
“Ah.” I force myself to release his sleeve. My fingers tingle like I’ve had them stuck inside a circuit board when I press them against my side. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. But…”
“Chloe can be convincing?”
He snorts. “That she can.”
We both go still when the voices suddenly drift closer; Ava and her friend are outside now, standing by the railing just beyond our pillar. They’re in almost the exact spot I was standing less than a minute ago.
Instinctually, I curl my shoulders in, trying to make myself smaller. Carter presses tighter against me. I suck in a sharp breath at the sensation of his body cradling mine — his chin tucked over my shoulder, my ass nestled against a set of powerful thighs.
Fuck.
Desire sparks to life, flaring like a match lit in the dark.
“I don’t know what your brother sees in her,” Ava’s friend whines. I’ve met her once before — Harriet Something-or-Other Weatherbee, The Third. A pretentious name for a pretentious girl. “Besides the obvious, I guess. He wants to be king. Even if his queen sooner belongs in a trash bin than on a throne.”
“Alden will be a great leader, no matter what position he holds.” Ava sounds smug. “I’ve warned him not to hitch his wagon to a horse destined to lose the race. She doesn’t have the stamina to succeed at anything. It’s only a matter of time before she burns out… and they seek someone more qualified to take her place.”
“One of the distant Lancaster relations, you mean? Someone of the von Strauss line?”
Even Ava’s laugh feels calculated. “Perhaps.”
“They’re quite far down the line of succession, aren’t they? Five or six generations removed from power… Is their claim to the throne even strong enough to make a proper play for the throne?”
“With the Sterling family bankrolling them, it could be.”
“Strong enough to beat Emilia’s claim, though?”
“Did you hear about that farce of a feminist agenda she unleashed in Parliament this afternoon? My father says the ministers want her gone. Out of power, before she can destroy our kingdom. Many members of the aristocracy already fear she does not share our values. With the right push, they could be persuaded to turn their backs on her completely.”
There’s so much confidence in Ava’s voice, I almost find myself believing her.
“In fact…” she continues. “The only ones who truly seem to enjoy Emilia Lancaster’s royal imposition are the common people — and everyone knows their opinions don’t matter. Not remotely. They have no real power.”
I press my eyes closed, trying to get a handle on the sudden rage thrumming through me, but it doesn’t help. I’m seeing red.
So this is their plan. To replace me with some remote relation who lacks even a modicum of leadership experience. To insert a puppet on the throne, whose strings will be easily manipulated by Sterling bank accounts and corrupt aristocrats.
“They live abroad now, right?” Harriet asks. “The distant Lancaster cousins?”
“They do.” Ava pauses. “But there are plans in place to rectify that situation. In fact, as we speak, we have allies laying the groundwork overseas. Trust me… Soon, we won’t have to call that freak of nature queen ever again.”
“Cheers to that!”
The clink of two champagne glasses is accompanied by a celebratory chorus of giggles. The sound is grating. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, containing the torrent of angry words I’d like nothing more than to unleash on Ava.
That’s exactly what she’d want, though, isn’t it? It would give her plenty of ammunition to lambaste me in the public eye.
Queen Emilia attacks fellow attendee at charity function! Read the victim’s tearful testimony on Page 12!
One more piece of condemning evidence to support their campaign to usurp me.
A few more minutes pass with them toasting to my downfall. They pick apart everything from my uninspired hairstyle to my totally tacky dress to the small bump in the arch of my nose I’ve always been just the slightest bit self-conscious about. I do my best to stay still, to keep my breaths steady, but it’s increasingly tough to pretend their words have no effect. Without Carter’s presence at my back, keeping me in check, my composure would’ve frayed completely by now.
“It’s so unfair,” Harriet drones, nasally as a tissue commercial. “You would’ve been the best queen. Ava. A total fashion trendsetter. If only Prince Henry hadn’t…”
“Become a vegetable?” Ava laughs coldly. “Yes, that was rather inconvenient. I do wish he would just expire already. But Mother says I can’t break the engagement while he’s lingering in a coma. Bad for the family image, apparently.”
“Shame,” Harriet murmurs. “Especially when you’ve already set your sights on someone else…”
“Mmm,” Ava hums. “Tonight it seems my efforts have gone to total waste, in that regard.”
“That waitress was full of shit. We should have her fired for lying to us. ‘Why yes, Miss Weatherbee, I saw Lord Thorne heading out onto the terrace a few minutes ago.’ What a deceitful little bitch!”
Carter sucks in a breath at the sound of his name.
“Where could he have gone?” Harriet continues. “He’s not out here, and we’ve checked everywhere else.”
“Lately he’s been… more elusive than usual. I haven’t seen him at any recent events. Even Alden says he’s been unable to get in touch with him.”
“I heard he’s living back at the castle. With… her.”
There’s a marked pause. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting. His sister lives there as well, Harriet.”
“You don’t think there’s any other reason he might be staying at Waterford Palace?”
“Such as…?”
“The queen.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Didn’t you see them dancing together at her coronation? And… the way he’s always watching her across the room, whenever they’re at the same event… I don’t know, it’s like he’s in love with her or something.”
I bite down on my lip, hard enough to draw blood. Carter is a statue behind me. I swear, neither of us is breathing anymore.
“How dare you imply such a thing!” Ava practically screeches, her anger cracking out like a bolt of lightning. “Carter Thorne would never even look twice at a pathetic girl like Emilia Lancaster. He could have anyone in the kingdom. Anyone! Why would he waste his efforts on some frumpy size six with no style, purple hair, and the manners of a dirty peasant?” She hisses out an incredulous breath.
“Of course, Ava. S-Sorry,” Harriet stammers worriedly.
The silence is stony. When Ava speaks again, she’s managed to get her anger under control; her voice is smooth as the surface of a frozen lake. “Once Henry is officially out of the picture, Carter and I will fall back into place. We’re meant to end up together. We always have been. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on him, when we were no more than children.”
My eyes press closed, as if to shut out the poison of her words. I want to turn to look at Carter, to read the truth on his face. To shake him until he pr
omises he’ll never tie his life to Ava Sterling’s. Because, even if he’ll never be mine… I can’t bear the idea of him being hers. It’s too awful.
“You two are like… destiny.” Harriet sounds dreamy. “Your wedding will be the event of the season.”
“Season? Try century.” Ava scoffs. “Our mothers are already in contact, making preliminary arrangements. Carter and I will be married — within the year, if I were to put a timeline on things. No trashy girl masquerading as a royal can interfere with the joining of our households.”
I can almost hear Carter’s teeth grinding together behind me. Waves of anger are emanating from him, a steady pulse in the darkness. He’s about two seconds away from vaulting out of our hiding space and letting Ava have a piece of his mind, I’m sure of it.
Fearful of exposure, I reach backward in the dark, seeking his sleeve again to hold him in place. Instead, I brush against bare skin. His hand. Strong and slightly callused. I’d recognize it amongst a sea of thousands; I have memorized its every line, kissed its every digit, traced each tiny scar that mars its strong knuckles.
The wind leaves my lungs in a whoosh.
Carter’s hands.
I dream about his hands. Touching me. Holding me together. Wiping my tears. Setting my skin on fire. Time and again, they find me in the darkness and… I lose myself completely.
This is no exception.
The effect of his touch is staggering. Potent. A gateway drug to undeniable dangers. Heart thundering in my chest, I try to jerk away, to find his sleeve instead, but his fingers capture mine before I can. In the space between two heartbeats, our grips are twined tightly together in a hold I couldn’t break even if I tried.
The feeling of his palm against mine makes my heart clench painfully inside my chest.
Why is one chaste touch enough to unspool me?
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Ava. Even if Carter is in love with the queen, it won’t happen. She’s technically his stepsister, for god’s sake! Can you imagine the scandal?” Harriet’s mouth is practically frothing at the prospect. “Plus, I heard she is to be married off to the Earl of Lund, Edgar Klingerton, quite soon. They were spotted out courting several months ago.”
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