Royal Mistake #4 Read online

  When Lady Clarissa was done, my father dismissed her without taking his eyes off of me.

  “I will have words with my son,” he said to her. “And then I’ll tell you what I’ve decided.”

  I was only remotely aware of Lady Clarissa leaving the room. My entire attention was focused on my father, who was staring at me with fury the likes of which I’ve never seen before. I’ve never seen him look like that at anyone, not even Leopold.

  For a long moment, he couldn’t even seem to bring himself to speak. I took the opportunity to try and explain myself.

  “Father, I—”

  “Do. Not. Speak.”

  I straightened, tightening the blanket before me. It was hard enough to face that stare of his, but harder still to do bare-chested and bare-footed. Shame coursed through my entire body.

  “I would have expected such behavior from Leopold,” my father said finally. “But it is unacceptable coming from you. Unacceptable.”

  “I understand, Father. And—”

  “And you will stay quiet and listen. It was your decision to hold this pageant, Andrew. I trusted you to conduct yourself with some decorum, not turn around and fuck the reporter—”

  “I know I have behaved shamefully. But I’ve come to a decision, Father, and—”

  “And what did I say about staying quiet? You do not get to make decisions anymore. You’ve made it clear that you can’t be trusted to make decisions befitting of the future king.”

  I swallowed. So many responses were bubbling up inside of me, but I forced myself to bite my tongue. I did not want to make this worse.

  “We’re lucky Lady Clarissa decided to come to me before going to the press,” my father said. “Can you imagine how disastrous that would have been? You should be on your knees thanking God that she hasn’t tarnished your good name. I won’t have my heir behaving like some sort of reality television star. Have you no respect for your country?”

  I said nothing, waiting for the hammer to fall.

  “Since it’s clear that I must dictate how this ends,” my father said finally, “here is my decision—you will marry Lady Clarissa, as I originally suggested.”

  I went rigid. “Father, I—”

  “This is not up for negotiation. It is the only way to resolve this without having Montovia become a laughingstock. That still leaves the matter of King Maximilian and Princess Justine, of course, but I may have another solution to that dilemma.”

  I frowned, not understanding. “What solution? Has he agreed to compromise—?”

  “You will not be privy to that information, since clearly you cannot be trusted to act in the best interest of this country. In fact, all of your roles within our government will be suspended until you have proved to me that you are prepared to act in a way befitting your station.”

  My stomach was a knot. My entire life was dedicated to Montovia—I made one mistake, thought I might make one choice for myself, and he thought me unfit to fulfill my duties. I’d never thought I’d pay so dearly for taking one liberty.

  “We won’t insult the other ladies by sending them home so soon,” my father continued. “But you will make an announcement tonight that you will marry Lady Clarissa. I want the wedding to happen within the month—just in case some unfortunate rumors should leak to the press. Once you are wed, you may resume your duties within the government.”

  I couldn’t move. I was trapped somewhere between horror and fury, straining to lash out at him but afraid of what further consequences he might bestow on me.

  An image flashed in my mind—of Victoria. Victoria, who only an hour ago had been in my arms, kissing me with a hunger that made my entire being come alive. Victoria, whom I’d left on the floor in her bedroom.

  A fresh wave of shame washes through me. God, I can’t even imagine what she thinks of me right now, leaving her like that.

  I looked up at my father. “Victoria—”

  “Will no longer be handling this story. In fact, I think we should make arrangements for her to return home as soon as possible. I won’t tolerate her behavior under this roof. For someone of her status to seduce you—”

  “She hardly seduced me,” I said. “If anyone is to blame for what happened, then I will take full responsibility—”

  “This is not up for debate. She will submit what notes she’s made on the story so far—every last one of them—and then she will cut all ties with this family. We no longer require her services.”

  “I won’t have her punished for my actions,” I said.

  “She’s not being punished. She’s being reassigned.”

  “Father, I—” I cut myself off. If I told him the truth, if I confessed how I truly felt about her, I would only make it worse for her. At least at the moment the brunt of his fury was focused on me—I wouldn’t draw any more attention to Victoria. I could spare her that much.

  “Fine,” I said finally. “I agree.”

  “This doesn’t require your agreement,” my father replied. “You have no choice in the matter.”

  It’s been a few hours since that conversation, but I still remember the cold indifference in my father’s voice as he laid down my fate. I have no choice in the matter. His will is law, and I must respect it if I am to become the king Montovia deserves.

  I look down at the city below. I haven’t returned to Victoria yet—I don’t dare cause a scene, not with Lady Clarissa right next door. She was willing to interrupt us once before, and I have no doubt she would do it again in a heartbeat. I sent William to tell her the news—in part because I knew Victoria and William have formed something of a friendship and she must need a friendly face right now, and in part because I cannot bear to face her myself.

  I have no choice in the matter. My father said it, and I feel it deep in my bones—but haven’t I always known that? My life has never been my own—it has belonged to Montovia from the moment I was born.

  So why does that knowledge suddenly feel so heavy? Why do I feel like I’m suffocating?

  I step toward the edge of the roof, looking down at the palace grounds below. The paths are lit with lanterns, but I’m so high I can’t see any details on the ground. It’s a long way down. Just above my head, the official flag of Montovia flaps in the wind, whipping back and forth. The wind tugs at me, too, pulling at my clothes and threatening to blow me right over the edge of the roof.

  You do have one choice, I find myself thinking. You could jump. End all of this right now. Never worry about duties or desires ever again. As much as the thought terrifies me, I also feel a slight thrill in my chest—if I jumped, I’d finally be free. Free of the chains of obligation. Free of the shame. Free of the fear that I will never be enough—not for my father, not for Montovia, not for Victoria. My country deserves a king who is willing to sacrifice everything for them. Victoria deserves a man who is willing to sacrifice everything for her. I cannot be both. But I can be free.

  You’re a coward, I tell myself. You’re afraid of failing your country. Be a man and do what you need to do to serve Montovia. Marry Clarissa. Let Victoria go. You’ve prepared for this your entire life. Don’t let yourself falter at the finish line.

  A dark little voice in my mind is speaking. But it would be easier to jump. Think of the thrill of falling—of flying—and knowing you’ve finally broken free of everything. In those moments you won’t owe anyone anything. You’ll simply be yourself, for the first time in your life.

  But that’s not quite right—it won’t be the first time I’ve been myself. I imagine it would feel very much like how I feel with Victoria in my arms—like nothing else exists, like the rest of the world is far, far away.

  It doesn’t matter. You can’t have Victoria, not if you stay.

  I put one foot up on the stone ridge at the roof’s edge. Then the other. I’m only a little higher than I was a moment ago, but the wind feels even stronger here. Like it wants me to go over. I spread my arms, letting it rush around my fingers. My sleeves flutter again
st my arms.

  I have a choice.

  My gaze falls back to the ground below. It’s so far, and I feel dizzy just looking. But think of those long, thrilling seconds of freedom you’ll have before you hit the ground.

  But what happens then? What happens when they find my body? What happens when the people of Montovia hear again, in a matter of weeks, that I am dead?

  Slowly, I raise my eyes to the city in front of me. I can’t see the roof of the Academy from here, but I know it’s there. I know Viktor is there, and the other children. What will happen when they hear I’ve killed myself? That the thought of dedicating my life to them was too much for me to bear?

  And not only them—what will happen when my mother finds out? Or my little sister? Or Victoria?

  I feel ill. For the choice I have to make. For the people who will hurt if I choose to end this now. For the life I will be giving up if I step off this ledge. There will be no more smiles from Viktor. No more silliness from Sophia. I’ll never have the chance to give Montovia everything I have to give. I’ll never have the chance to hold my own child in my arms.

  Of course, I will be giving up things if I choose to live, too—I’ll be giving up the freedom of choice. I’ll be giving up all claim to my own desires or needs. I’ll have to commit to a life with Lady Clarissa—and resign myself to the fact that my future child will be hers, not Victoria’s.

  Can I do it? Do I have the strength and courage to do it?

  I close my eyes. The wind feels even stronger when I take away my sight. It tugs at me, dragging me forward.

  Be free, it whispers in my ear. Take a step. Be free. Let it all go.

  I want to listen. My entire body aches from the inside out. I want to go. Want to jump.

  Without opening my eyes, I lift my foot. Hold it out over the drop. My other leg trembles beneath me. All I have to do is shift my weight and I’ll fall.

  Let everything go. Fall.

  Fly.

  But just as I’m starting to lean forward, the image of Victoria fills my mind again. Even now, the mere thought of her fills me with a warmth, a hope, a pleasure I never thought I’d know.

  I can’t go now. Not without seeing her at least one more time.

  But it’s too late—I’m already losing my balance, falling forward. My eyes snap open, and I desperately try to throw my weight back and away from the edge. Instead, my other foot slips out from beneath me.

  I fall.

  Not forward—thank God—but my feet are still dangling over the edge as my back slams down against the decorative stonework at the edge of the roof. I groan and twist, reaching desperately for something to hold onto before my weight carries me completely over the edge.

  My fingers latch onto the stones. With a grunt, I haul myself up and forward, bringing myself completely onto the roof again. My chest is heaving. My head is fuzzy. And there’s a sharp pain in my back where I hit the stones that will probably be a nasty bruise later.

  But I’m alive.

  As long as I’m alive, there’s hope. I might not be free, but at least I won’t be hurting the people of Montovia.

  At least I get to see Victoria one more time.

  That’s the thought that helps me climb to my knees. She probably hates me for everything I’ve put her through these last couple of weeks. But she’s here. She’s alive. And I get to see her again.

  Right now, that’s the only thing that matters.

  Victoria

  When I hear the soft knock on my door a few minutes later, I figure William must have forgotten to tell me something.

  Like maybe Lady Clarissa is already knocked up with a royal baby.

  My stomach twists into a hard knot at the thought. She hasn’t been here long enough to actually have a pregnancy test come back positive, but it would at least explain her possessive behavior. And maybe even explain Andrew’s reluctance to do anything about it.

  And why haven’t I considered that before now? Andrew has never made any promises to me—he’s never said a word about what we have being exclusive. He may have said something about his moral obligations, but those seem to go out the window when his cock gets hard. And obviously, he was feeding me a line of bullshit when he told me he had chosen me.

  What the hell was that for, anyway?

  He didn’t stand up for me when Clarissa had come into my room uninvited. He dropped me—literally—instead. I guess the whole situation was so surreal I hadn’t seen it before this moment. I should have been a lot angrier. I shouldn’t have stayed in my room, waiting for Andrew to come back to me like some white knight. I should have barged in on their dinner, told everyone in attendance what an asshole Andrew is, and turned on my heel and left.

  I’m seething by the time I reach the door, but at least I won’t be here much longer. This nightmare will be over before I know it and I can go home. And maybe I can figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life, falling for a man who is unobtainable. Having actual fucking feelings for someone as cold and heartless as Andrew.

  A sound I don’t recognize comes from my throat—some deep, animal sound from the pit of my gut—and I slam the door closed when I see he’s standing at my doorway.

  I march into the bedroom and slam that door closed, too, for good measure.

  Every muscle in my body is shaking and my hands clench and unclench, ready to hurl a punch at him if he so much as comes near me.

  When my bedroom door opens, I turn to face him. I should walk to him, slap him, and leave. Let him have his precious Lady Clarissa. Let him have every fucking thing he deserves. Maybe let myself have a chance at happiness while I’m at it.

  But when I look in his eyes, he isn’t looking back at me. His gaze is turned downward. His shoulders are hunched and he’s holding himself much differently than he usually does. Gone is the regal, almost rigid stance. Instead, he looks as though he might crumple to the floor if he so much as breathes wrong.

  Seeing him like this takes some of the wind from my angry sails.

  He collapses onto the end of the bed. He almost folds over, his head in his hands. He’s shaking, too, but it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with rage—nothing like what I’m still feeling.

  I blow out a long breath and watch him, hoping he’ll at least tell me what the hell is going on here—why he’s here at all now that he’s made his real choice. But he sits there for so long, almost as though he’s unable to move, that I finally sit down next to him—only close enough that he can feel my presence. Definitely not close enough for him to try anything.

  I glance at the door when I think about him trying something like he had in our earlier shower. I’m halfway expecting Lady Clarissa to come storming in here again. My closed doors didn’t seem to stop her before, so I’m not sure why they would this time.

  Andrew runs his hand through his hair so roughly I’m almost afraid he’s going to pull a large chunk of it out. He rubs the back of his neck—his head is nearly in his lap, he’s bent so far over.

  He finally sits upright and looks over at me, but can’t seem to meet my gaze. His chin is quivering in a way I’ve never seen before and I would swear his eyes are wet.

  His brow furrows and his eyes fall closed—he looks like he is in physical pain. “Victoria.” He opens his eyes, his gaze still on the floor. His voice is ragged—almost hitching in his chest. “I have no right to ask for such a thing, but…but…”

  I swear he’s trying not to sob. Whatever is happening to him, it’s clear he’s suffering. And it’s making my chest ache hearing it in his voice.

  I edge myself closer to him. “You can ask me anything, Andrew.” I’m not sure what possesses me, but I reach out and rub his back.

  He trembles beneath my touch. He turns, pulling my free hand into his, but still not meeting my gaze. “Do you…do you think it would be possible for us to lie together? I…I…” He lets out a shaky breath. “Of course, I would understand if you were to refuse. I’ve…I’ve treated you so poorly.
And I have no excuse. No right to ask for such a thing.”

  After everything that’s happened tonight, I should be disgusted at his request. I should want to take my hand away from rubbing his back and punch him in the kidney instead.

  But I don’t. I can’t explain it—not even to myself—but something in his voice is so broken. So wrong.

  I don’t answer him. Instead, I pull my hand from his and crawl up onto the bed, lying back onto the pillow and I reach out for him, almost beckoning him into my arms.

  He never even looks up, never makes eye contact at all. He crawls up onto the bed and starts to lie next to me. I expect him to lie on his side—to pull me into his arms, pressing my back to his chest—the way we’ve always been together.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around my waist and lays his head on my chest as though he’s listening to my heartbeat.

  I wrap my arms around him, curling one hand into his hair while the other rubs his back slowly, up and down and back up again.

  It seems like it might be a million years that we lie there. His breathing finally slows, evening out into something more regular than the shallow, ragged breaths that seemed like they were barely holding back his sobs. And he sleeps, his ear pressed to my heart, for the rest of the night.

  I must drift off to sleep at some point, because I’m awakened by a loud knock on the door to my suite.

  Andrew stirs and sits up. He makes eye contact with me for the first time since he arrived in my room last night. But he says nothing.

  The knock sounds against the door again and Andrew slides off the bed and strides over to answer it.

  I follow after him, almost having to run to keep up. A sense of dread washes over me when I think about who might be on the other side of the door. Clarissa? The king? William?

  If it’s Clarissa, at least we aren’t naked this time.

  The deep aching in my chest starts again at my thoughts of that woman. I suppose I could have asked Andrew about it last night—I could have made that a condition of allowing him into bed with me, but it didn’t seem right. Or necessary. Whatever happened between Andrew and Clarissa, it’s pretty clear it’s causing him more suffering than I can possibly understand.