And why would they?
We’ve never met. We’re nothing to one another.
He didn’t want us, Emilia, Mom’s memory whispers. He didn’t want you.
For a full minute, there is total silence in the parlor. I don’t think anyone dares to breathe — not Carter, not his mother, not Simms, not the three suited guards flanking the man with whom I share strands of DNA. Least of all me.
Linus takes two strides into the room, that evaluative stare unwavering as he takes me in — purple hair, exposed midriff, bared thighs, brazen expression.
If he’s shocked by my appearance, he doesn’t let it show. Not that I’d give a fuck if he found me lacking. I stopped waiting for his approval around the same time I gave up playing dolls and dress up.
My chin jerks higher, so he knows I’m not intimidated. Maybe I’m supposed to bow my head in supplication, maybe I’m supposed to play nice — he is the new King, after all — but I can’t bring myself to show even an ounce of respect to the man who threw me and Mom away like the condom he should’ve been wearing the night I was conceived.
Bastard.
Oh, wait. No. That’s me.
His green gaze sweeps around to address everyone in the room and, in a voice that rings with kingly authority, he says the words that alter the entire course of my life.
“Her name is Emilia Victoria Lancaster. She is my daughter. And, as it currently stands… she is next in line for the throne. The Crown Princess of Germania, by blood and by right.”
Chapter Six
“No,” I whisper, reeling backward at his words.
I bump straight into the hard wall of Carter’s chest. It takes all my strength not to lean into him. To let him absorb the weight of my watery bones, now that my knees have gone weak. The room tilts around me as those words spin through my mind.
Next in line for the throne.
Crown Princess of Germania.
He must be mad — that’s the only explanation. I’m not the only one who thinks so, either.
“Linus!” Octavia is out of her seat and across the room so fast, I’m not confident she doesn’t posses powers of teleportation. “Tell me it’s not true.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Linus says, never shifting his eyes from mine.
God, he looks like me. Or, I suppose, I look like him. And I hate it. Hate it so much, it makes me want to smash every mirror in the world, to have my face surgically altered, to burn every picture I’ve ever taken in a sacrificial fire.
“But you cannot be serious!” Her shrill tone pierces my ears like a knife. “Look at her! She can’t possibly be—”
He stiffens. “She is my daughter, Octavia.”
“Perhaps we should discuss this matter in private,” she says pointedly. “Before any hasty decisions are made—”
“Hasty?” His brows lift skyward. “This is not an act of haste. If anything, it is twenty years overdue.”
“But—”
“My decision is final. I will not hear another word on the subject.”
Octavia’s lips press into a thin line. Her eyes slide to me and I’m grateful that looks cannot, in fact, kill people because otherwise my blood would be spattered all over their immaculate white oriental rug.
“Your Majesty,” Simms interjects in a placating tone, breaking the stilted silence. He bows slightly at the waist, formally greeting his king. “If I can be of assistance in any way at all, please let me know. Whether drafting a statement for the press or helping with smaller matters. I am at your full disposal.”
“Thank you, Gerald. If you would please ensure that there are suitable rooms ready for Emilia’s use upstairs. And perhaps send for appropriate ensembles. We won’t be briefing the press quite yet — not until Emilia is…” His eyes flash back to me. “Settled in.”
Read: made to look like a properly-groomed princess.
It takes all my self-control not to roll my eyes.
“Of course, Your Majesty. I will contact the palace personal shoppers immediately and have them send a selection of clothing first thing in the morning.” Simms glances at me. “Your size, miss?”
I cross my arms over my chest instead of answering. I refuse to be party to my own reinvention. Especially if said reinvention requires me to announce the exact proportions of my ass to these people, who all look like they’ve just stepped off a runway at Paris Fashion Week.
“Very well.” He bows shallowly to Linus again before he turns and walks out of the room, muttering to himself. “Trial and error it shall be…”
Silence descends again. Octavia uses the opportunity for one final plea.
“Linus…” Her eyes dart quickly to me. “Are you certain she is… yours? Have you had the necessary testing done to prove—”
“Octavia.” The steel in his tone is sharper than a broadsword. “This is not up for discussion. ”
“So, you expect me to… to… to simply take her into our home?” Her perfectly waxed brows furrow. “To allow her to live alongside us, as though she is a part of this family?”
“I would expect you to take in my child, as I once took in both of yours.” Linus glances at Carter, who’s hovering a few feet to my left, then back to me. “I apologize, Emilia, you must be terribly confused. Allow me to formally introduce my family. This is my wife, Octavia Thorne.”
“A pleasure,” the redhead lies thinly. Her smile involves neither teeth nor joy.
I go still.
His wife.
Thorne.
But that means…
When I don’t say a word, Linus hurries on. “And I believe you have already met my stepson, Carter.” He gestures to my left. “He’s your stepbrother, now, I suppose.”
My stepbrother.
I try to nod, but I can’t. I’m paralyzed. Carter seems equally so, though I don’t dare look his direction for confirmation.
“The guards informed me you were both in Vasgaard when the extraction protocols went into effect.” Linus clears his throat lightly. “I hope you had the chance to bond a bit, during your trip here.”
Oh, we bonded all right.
My head turns slowly to the left, dread saturating every blood vessel in my body. My eyes tangle with Carter’s as soon as I glance up. He’s guarded as ever — a locked box of emotion. The only clue he’s feeling anything at all is the rhythmic ticking of tension in his locked jaw, the tight clench of his hands into fists at his sides.
Horror washes through me in a potent wave as I remember the feeling of those hands on my skin not so very long ago, in a dark back seat. The silent sparks of desire in the air. That ache between my thighs. That unspooling sensation inside me, like I might come completely undone at the command of a total stranger. At the hands of…
My new sibling?!
Nausea churning in my stomach, it takes all my composure to keep from vomiting on the carpet at my feet. I break eye contact with him, unable to meet his stare for another second. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but I suddenly feel as though the whole world might cave in around me.
I have to get out of here.
I have to run.
Back to my life.
Back to reality.
Octavia and Linus have begun sniping at one another, but none of their words hold any real weight.
“What would you suggest instead, Octavia?” Linus sighs, weary. “I am too old to father children, and you’re too old to carry them.”
“There are other ways!” Her voice is insistent. “A surrogate or—”
“No. If Henry doesn’t recover, the line of succession is clear. Emilia is the heir apparent.”
I shake my head, rejecting those words, but he’s not even looking at me as he plots out my entire future — regardless of whether or not I want any part of his grand plans.
“The people will be looking to the crown for strength, after tonight. We cannot afford to appear crippled by the loss of my brother. We need to give them something to hold onto. A new ruler
to throw their support behind.” He nods to himself, his vision fixed on a point far beyond this room. “They will rally behind her. The Lancaster line will be restored in the eyes of the world.”
“Linus, I understand that, but she’s—” Octavia breaks off in distress. “This girl is…”
I arch one brow, waiting.
Octavia’s nose lifts, her expression uppity. “She is in no way equipped to represent Germania on a grand-scale.”
“Nevertheless, she must,” Linus counters. “And, if Henry does not recover… Someday, whether you like it or not, my dear… I will die and she will inherit. She will rule.”
“Like hell I will,” I interject, finally finding my voice.
Every head in the room turns in my direction. For a minute, no one says a word.
“What did you say?” the king growls.
“I have no interest in…” I gesture vaguely at my surroundings. “Any of this. I don’t want your name or your birthright. I have no interest in becoming a… a…” I can’t bring myself to utter the word princess aloud. It’s far too absurd. “A Lancaster,” I finish lamely.
“Your interest is irrelevant,” Linus thunders, rage clouding his expression. “This is your destiny. Your responsibility.”
“You have the audacity to speak to me about responsibility?” I choke out. “That’s rich, considering you felt approximately zero responsibility for me until about three hours ago when, as far as I can tell, your precious monarchy suddenly found itself short a few viable heirs to the throne.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Linus looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. “Clearly, your upbringing has been sorely lacking in discipline, manners, and credible information. Don’t worry — we will strive to compensate for every gap in education your mother did not see fit to fill.”
I go stock still.
Did he just say what I think he said?
Leaning forward, I make sure to articulate clearly, so he can’t possibly dismiss my next words as an idle threat. “I don’t care who you are or what titles you go by. If you ever insult my mother or her parenting again, make no mistake — you will live to regret it.”
All three guards step forward, hands on their holsters. Carter edges closer to me, worry in his eyes. For good reason. To insult the king is bad enough… but to openly threaten him?
That’s courting treason.
Octavia presses a hand to her heart, aghast at my impropriety. “You dare speak to your King in such a manner, girl?”
“Oh, I dare,” I hiss, already moving toward the door. “Now, if we’re done here… I think I’ll get back to my life.”
“You would turn your back on your crown?” Linus yells after me. “On your country?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can take your royal legacy and shove it up your ass.” With that, I dart out the archway, down the hallway, and through the front doors, into the night.
Forty minutes later, I’m still pissed off, but anger has taken a backseat to a more pressing sensation: cold. Shivering, I rub my bare arms with fingers that have long since gone numb. My knees bounce, a futile attempt to generate some much-needed body heat. It’s no use — I’m damn near hypothermic, every inch of exposed flesh covered in goosebumps.
The stone bench I found in the side garden seemed like an ideal spot when I first stumbled upon it, steam still leaking from my ears after the scene inside. But now, after nearly an hour, my bones are aching, my lips have chapped, and each freezing gulp of air burns its way down my throat like fire. To top matters off, it begins to rain — a stinging, spitting drizzle that pelts my face and quickly soaks me to the bone.
“Perfect,” I mutter to myself, watching my breath puff in a small cloud.
It’s unseasonably chilly for October, even this high up in the mountains. I realize I’ll have to go back inside eventually — it’s that or freeze to death out here, seeing as my attempt to hijack a vehicle was unsuccessful. When I stormed out of the manor, I was greeted by the uncompromising stares of the same four bulky guards who grabbed me earlier — members of the elite King’s Guard, I realize now, tasked with protecting the Lancasters.
Which, apparently, now includes me as well.
Emilia Victoria Lancaster.
The Crown Princess of Germania, by blood and by right.
I wince.
Much as I’d like to pretend this is all one big cosmic joke, I know better. Linus — I can’t bring myself to call him anything else, even in my head — is deadly serious. He intends for me to be named publicly as the heir apparent. Acknowledged in front of the entire world as his child.
How’s that for irony?
I mean… it’s every bastard’s dream. Isn’t it? To be claimed. Legitimized. To have the parent who never wanted you sweep suddenly back into your life and tell you it was all a terrible mistake. That they’re sorry. That things will be different, from this point onward.
Hell, it was my dream, once upon a time.
But not anymore.
Because I know now that dreams come with strings attached. As Mom used to say: when something seems too good to be true… that’s usually because it is.
A shiver rattles my teeth. God, it’s freezing. The lure of warmth and shelter inside the manor is growing harder to resist, the longer I’m perched out here on this sodden bench. I wipe rain out of my eyes and glance longingly at the Lockwood Estate.
Two of my guards stand in the shadow of the great house, silhouetted by the light pouring out the first story windows. Keeping watch on me, despite the steadily-increasing downpour. They haven’t tried to force me inside yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time, seeing as they’re bound by oath to protect me — even from my own pigheaded decisions.
“I have to say,” a wry voice comments from the shadows, scaring me half to death. “This isn’t the best plan I’ve ever seen.”
Whipping my head around, I suck in a sharp breath when I see Carter standing there in the rain, his white dress shirt plastered against his muscular chest like a second skin. Sweet Christ. It should be criminal for someone to look that hot while sopping wet. Especially when that someone is your new stepbrother.
“Wh-what?”
“This.” He shrugs. “You, dying of exposure to avoid becoming the princess. It’ll work, sure, but I think there must be an easier way.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out sounding suspiciously like a sob instead. “Right, well, let me know if you think of one, because I’ve been out here racking my brain and so far I’m coming up empty.”
“I don’t know about you, but I brainstorm a hell of a lot more effectively when I’m warm. Dry. Preferably with a glass of bourbon in my hand.” He hesitates a beat, then takes a step forward and extends his hand. “Come on.”
I don’t move except to tilt my head questioningly. “I thought you were supposed to be an asshole.”
“I am.”
“Could’ve fooled me. In my general experience, assholes don’t brave the elements to help some — what was it you called me, earlier?” My lips twist. “Oh, I remember. Some delusional, purple-haired pixie you barely know.”
“Fine.” He snatches back his hand. “Forget it. Freeze to death, for all I care.”
Grumbling to himself, he exits down one of the garden paths and disappears between two rose bushes in the space of a few strides. Before I have time to talk myself out of it, I’m on my feet, racing after him.
“Wait!” I call breathlessly, nearly slipping on the slick stone path as I careen around a prickly shrub. “Wait, Carter I was just messing with— oomph!”
I careen into his chest hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. He grunts in pain, rocking backward to absorb the impact. His hands automatically close on my biceps, steadying me against him. My hands find his sides, clinging for purchase on the damp fabric of his shirt.
“Christ!” he curses.
“I’m sorry!” I gasp. “Really, I didn’t mean to—”
The apologetic words poised on my tongue never make it out. Instead, a burst of uncontrollable laughter bubbles up from my stomach and explodes out my mouth. Carter blinks down at me, his dark brows pulling together with concern. For some reason, that only makes me laugh harder.
Deep down, I know nothing about this day is even remotely amusing. But right now, I feel delirious enough not to give a damn that I look like a crazy person, cackling in the rain.
In my stepbrother’s arms.
The ridiculous thought inspires a fresh fit of giggles. I try to stop, but I can’t. Tears of mirth — or are they real tears, after all? — mix with the rain on my face. Carter’s fingers flex against the flesh of my arms, but I barely feel it. I’m floating outside my body, lighter than air, lighter than wind, lighter than the weight of crushing responsibility on my shoulders. So light, I’d float away if he were to let me go — up, up, up to the stars where there are no words like birthright or destiny or succession to push me down.
“Hey! Hey.” He gives me a light shake. “Emilia.”
It’s the first time he’s ever used my name and it moves through me like a bolt of electricity. My laugher evaporates as suddenly as it appeared, leaving behind a hollow ache that would scare me, if I could feel anything at all.
“Emilia?”
“I’m okay,” I whisper in a voice I hardly recognize as my own. “I’ll be okay.”
“God, your skin is like ice.” He rubs my arms. “We need to get you inside.”
“I don’t want to go back, yet.”
“Too fucking bad. This isn’t up for discussion.”
“Please.” My voice splinters on the word. “Don’t make me go back in there. Please, Carter…”
He sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes blaze in the darkness, thoughts I’m afraid to decipher swimming in their depths. And I know it’s wrong… but right now, I’m feeling weak enough that it doesn’t seem to matter. Winding my arms around his back, I lean forward and soak him in.
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