Royal Mistake #4 Read online

  Royal Mistake #4

  Ember Casey

  Renna Peak

  Casey Peak Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

  1. Victoria

  2. Andrew

  3. Victoria

  4. Andrew

  5. Victoria

  6. Andrew

  7. Victoria

  8. Andrew

  9. Victoria

  10. Andrew

  11. Victoria

  12. Andrew

  13. Victoria

  Royal Mistake

  Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

  Also by Renna Peak

  Also by Ember Casey

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations or incidents are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Ember Casey and Renna Peak

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Edition: March, 2017

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  Victoria

  It’s been eight days since I left the palace in Montovia. Eight nights since I’ve slept.

  The sky is only now beginning to brighten from the sun rising behind the nearby hillside. I don’t need to look at the clock to know my replacement at the shit convenience store job I’ve taken will be here soon and I’ll be able to go back to my motel room.

  Working at night doesn’t seem to make much of a difference—I don’t sleep any better during the day than I do at night. I even made a trip into town to buy a bunch of pillows, thinking that maybe if I had something in my arms it would be enough. But even stuffing enough pillows under the covers to make it feel like there’s someone else in bed next to me isn’t enough. Every time I close my eyes, I only see Andrew. And every time sleep finds me, some disaster strikes—my plane crashes, I fall from a building, or some animal is chasing me through the forest. After the nightmares wake me, it’s pointless to even try to close my eyes.

  Who needs sleep, anyway?

  I’m leafing through the latest edition of Celebrity Spark Magazine—my first story about Andrew’s weird bridal pageant is in there. There’s no attribution though—my name is nowhere to be found in this week’s magazine. I guess Andrew was listening to me after all. He never did hear a fucking word I said, but he was listening to that part, at least.

  The front door jingles and I don’t look up—it has to be Ray, the guy who works day shift. It’s so rare that anyone comes in here at this hour—at any hour, really—that there’s no reason for me to think it would be anyone else. Considering my aunt and uncle took out the gas pumps several years ago, no one stops here much. If they didn’t own the land and the building, they probably would have gone out of business a long time ago.

  I flip another page of the magazine, ignoring the portrait of Lady Clarissa that stares back at me. The person who’s entered walks up to where I stand and slams something on the counter in front of me.

  I blink a few times when I see what it is—a medicine bottle. I look up at the man—it doesn’t take me long to recognize it’s Andrew, but he’s wearing sunglasses and a backward baseball cap.

  I laugh—it might be the first time I’ve laughed in weeks. “What are you wearing?”

  He glances over his shoulder, his expression guarded. “I can’t risk anyone recognizing me.”

  My smile widens. “Who would recognize you? There’s no one here.”

  He sets his jaw. “I realize that. But one can never know who might come in at any moment. Should someone recognize me, they could easily capture a photograph—”

  I interrupt with a roll of my eyes. “Well, Your Highness, I’m willing to bet that even if someone did come in, they’d think you looked a little like Prince Andrew. They wouldn’t think you were Prince Andrew. Because what the hell would Prince Andrew be doing here in this podunk town?” I stare at him. “What are you doing here in this podunk town?”

  He pulls off his sunglasses and glances down at the pill bottle on the counter. “These pills do not work.”

  “I think you might have me confused with your future sister-in-law.”

  He lifts a brow. “Meaning?”

  I shake my head. “Meaning, I’m not a doctor. What do I know about your pills?”

  “It is the same medication the palace physician gave to you. He said it would help me to sleep. It has not.”

  “Well, you didn’t need to come all the way to Oregon to tell me that. We do have telephones, you know. And, as backward as I found Montovia, I expect they probably have other doctors there for second opinions.”

  He stares at me. “Are they helping you to sleep?”

  “You think I’d be working night shift at my uncle’s convenience store if they were?”

  He frowns. “Then you, too, should have sought a second opinion.” He pauses. “Or perhaps you shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”

  My stomach twists at the memory of what happened the day I left Montovia. “Sorry, Your Highness. You seemed a little busy for a farewell. And you were pretty clear about how you felt about me that morning, so I didn’t see the point.”

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He finally opens his eyes again. “You do not understand what is happening. I need your help.”

  “I very much doubt that, Your Highness—”

  “And while I have you speaking to me again, I would very much like it if you would stop with the formalities.” He pauses. “Victoria.”

  I close the magazine and put it back in the rack next to the register. “How did you even find me? It’s not like I left a forwarding address.”

  “No, you did not. Your editor had an address in Oregon as your emergency contact information. It took some doing, but I was finally able to find a phone number yesterday. And when the woman I spoke with—your aunt—confirmed your location, I came straight here.”

  I lift a brow. “You flew? Yourself?”

  He shakes his head. “No. It was the same craft that took the two of us to Montovia the last time.” He glances at the bottle of pills. “I took two of these before I left. And drank two glasses of brandy afterward. It did nothing.”

  I nod. “I think the airplane I was on has permanent indents where my fingers dug into the armrests the entire flight.” I lift a brow. “And I took three before I drank my two glasses of wine.”

  He nods. “My flight home would be infinitely more pleasant if you were to join me.”

  I shake my head and motion around me. “And leave all this?”

  His lips curl up the tiniest bit. “I realize it’s a lot to ask. I’m willing to double your salary.”

  “Hm.” I can’t help but smile. “You realize, of course, that doubling zero still makes my salary zero.”

  He nods and a small smile finally forms on his lips. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Simpson. I suppose I can offer you quadruple your salary, then.”

  I laugh, but my smile falls as soon as I see he’s serious. “I’m not going back to Montovia, Andrew. I’ll be happy to talk to you about writing your stories, but you don’t need me there to do it. Yo
u can send me the details and I can write them from here. It isn’t like I have much to do in my off time. And I can write them the way you want. I’ll make everyone care.”

  “I need you in Montovia.”

  I shake my head. “You do not need me for anything more than writing your dumb story. And I can do that in my sleep.” I frown. “If I slept,” I say under my breath.

  “Everything is falling apart. I need you to assist me with several things that can only be dealt with in Montovia.”

  “No. You’ve already said I mean nothing to you, Andrew.” I stare at him. “You don’t need me.”

  “On the contrary, Ms. Simpson—”

  He’s interrupted by another jingling of the front door. Andrew’s eyes widen and he grabs the pill bottle, shoving it into his pocket before he puts his sunglasses back on and turns to pretend he’s looking at the magazine I just put back on the rack.

  Ray, the dayshift cashier, lifts a brow. “Everything okay here, Vicky?”

  I nod, forcing a smile. I grab my bag before I head out the door—I don’t even give Andrew another glance.

  He follows me out and strides up beside me as I walk down the sidewalk. “Vicky?”

  “Don’t even think about calling me that. Only a very small number of people are allowed to call me that anymore.” I look over at him. “And no one in my professional life.”

  He lifts a brow, but says nothing.

  We walk down the block in silence. There’s a small park next to the motel where I’m staying, and I lead us there, finally stopping at a picnic table.

  I sit down and motion for Andrew to do the same.

  He sits and takes off his sunglasses again. He looks up. “I don’t believe I have ever seen trees so tall.”

  I smile. “Redwoods. Tallest trees in the world.”

  He gawks at them before he looks back at me. “I thought the redwoods were in California.” His brow furrows. “Are we not still in Oregon?”

  I nod. “They grow here, too. The little seedlings we sell in the store say they’ll grow anywhere.”

  “Ah.” He smiles. “Then I can purchase the lot of them and grow my own redwood forest in Montovia?”

  I shrug. “I suppose.”

  He nods. “Then that’s what I shall do. And perhaps these trees will be well suited to Montovia’s climate. Perhaps they’ll grow even larger there than they do here, and we can have a claim of our own to the world’s tallest trees.” He smiles. “And it would be lovely to see my children playing under their canopy in the hot summers.”

  “Probably not your children. Probably your…hm. Tenth or fifteenth great grandchildren? They take about four hundred years or so to grow to maturity. These…” I motion to the trees. “These trees are probably all around six or seven hundred years old. So, you know, probably not your children.”

  He frowns. “Pity.”

  I press my lips into a line. “Why aren’t the trees already growing in Montovia enough for you? The shade they provide isn’t good enough?”

  “It isn’t that. We’ve imported many fine things into Montovia to make them our own. Grapes from France that in our climate make the finest wines in the world. Black currants from Asia that we make into the finest jams. Strawberries from—”

  “I get it. You want the best of everything. But aren’t the things that are right in front of you worth something, too? Can’t the trees that are already there provide you with world-class shade?”

  He frowns. “I see we’re speaking in metaphors again, Victoria.” He sighs and his shoulders drop. “You don’t understand. My only duty is to my country. To do what is best for its people. If I thought for even a moment that my country would accept—”

  “A commoner. If they would accept a commoner…” I shake my head. “Do they not accept your mother, Andrew?”

  The line between his brows deepens. “That is a completely different situation. And life has not been easy for my mother—she would be the first to tell you.”

  “It must have been hard for you, Andrew. Being raised that way.”

  He frowns. “What way?”

  “Being told the only reason for your existence is for the people of Montovia. Did your parents even let you play when you were a boy? I mean…” I motion to a nearby swing set. “Did you get to swing? Or slide? Or is a future king too valuable to be allowed to risk his life that way?”

  He tilts his head and the look of confusion deepens on his face. “Of course I was allowed to play. That has nothing to do with anything.”

  I lift a brow. “Really? You think your life belongs to the Montovian people. Are you so sure they feel the same way? Would they really want their king miserable? Choosing a wife based on their wishes instead of his own?”

  He winces. “Of…of course they would want to have a say. The woman I choose will be their queen.”

  “But your mother isn’t good enough for them? She isn’t high-born, or whatever you call it.”

  “Noble born. And it is a very different thing. My father married for love, not for duty. But he also was not raised to be the crown prince. His childhood was very different from my own.”

  “How so?”

  He frowns. “I don’t know. He didn’t have the same responsibilities. He didn’t have the same expectations.” He splays his hands on the table in front of him. “You do not understand, Victoria. You’ll never understand because you are not from Montovia.”

  I shake my head. “That’s just it, though. I don’t have to be from Montovia to understand. Maybe…maybe I have a little more perspective than you. A little more objectivity.”

  “Impossible.” He almost growls under his breath. “I did not come here to have this discussion again.”

  “Then why did you come here?” I motion to the motel next door. “I have a room over there. If you want a quick and dirty fuck, I’m in. As long as we can sleep the rest of the day. But then you go, Andrew. And I don’t ever want to hear from you again.”

  Andrew

  I frown. “Perhaps it would be best if we went somewhere private. Just to continue this conversation.”

  She stands, her face blank. “All right. Follow me.”

  She leads me over to the motel, stopping in front of the door with a brass number “3” dangling by a single screw. I glance around as she unlocks the door. Why is she staying in a dirty place like this? If I’d known she was here, I would have put her up in a nice hotel nearby.

  The inside isn’t much better. The lingering scent of old cigarette smoke fills the small, cramped space, and there are some questionable stains on the raggedy carpet. I’m still trying to hide my disgust when I glance over and see Victoria removing her shirt.

  I grab her arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting undressed.” Her face is still unreadable. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To get naked?”

  “No. Not at all. I mean—” I run a hand through my hair. “Not that I don’t want to, you understand. But first…I need to speak with you, Victoria. And I wanted to do so where I could be certain no one else would hear us.”

  She drops the hem of her shirt, letting it fall down around her waist again. “Go ahead, then. Talk.”

  I rub my face. I don’t even know where to begin. It’s clear that, even now, Victoria doesn’t understand why I make the decisions I do, but there is no one else to turn to.

  “The pageant is now public,” I say finally. “You may have seen they published your story in Celebrity Spark.”

  “I did.”

  “Three more potential suitors have arrived at the palace in the last few days—Lady Charlotte, Duchess Theodosia, and Lady Adelina.”

  “Good for you,” she says, crossing her arms. “Any drama yet?”

  “Actually, I made it clear to each of them when proposing this arrangement that none of them would win. They will be well compensated, of course, and they were all chosen because I knew they would appreciate the publicity. Lady Adelina, for example, wanted to get mor
e visibility for a humanitarian project she’s organizing.” I level my gaze at Victoria. “I am not entirely heartless, you see. It was never my intention to mislead anyone—I simply wanted to use the press to my advantage. And to fulfill my duty in the process.”

  I can tell by the look in her eyes that none of this is getting through to her, so I rush on.

  “I find myself in something of a dilemma,” I say. “Two dilemmas, actually. You see, after further discussions with King Maximilian, my father has discovered the truth of the matter—that I, not Leopold, am to blame for the loss of the royal scepter to Prince Reginald.” Admitting that out loud makes shame pulse through me. “And my father is starting to see the value of a marriage between Princess Justine and me.”

  Victoria shrugs. “How is that a dilemma? Isn’t that what you want? Princess Justine is a hell of a lot better than Lady Clarissa.”

  “Lady Clarissa is precisely the problem,” I say, turning away from her and rubbing the back of my neck. “The day you, uh…rushed out…”

  “You mean the day I decided to stop dealing with all of this bullshit.”

  She has me there.

  I clear my throat. “That day, there was little I could do to persuade Lady Clarissa that what she stumbled on was innocent.”

  “It wasn’t innocent.”

  “No, I suppose it wasn’t.” I let out a long breath. “But I tried. I wanted to do the right thing by everyone, to—”

  “If you’re trying to morally justify this crap, you can save your breath,” she says. “I don’t want to hear it. The only reason I let you in here is because I desperately need some sleep.”

  I desperately need sleep, too, but not until I explain everything.

  “I’m not trying to justify anything,” I say, turning back to look at her. “I’m trying to explain. Lady Clarissa made some fairly significant threats after you left my office.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Threats?”