CHAPTER ONE
Asher
Asher Tarrington stared out over the balcony as his latest lover was chauffeured from the Winter Palace in the family’s black limousine. Last night’s companion had been blonde, voluptuous, and willing. Their night together very well might inspire his fantasies for the rest of his lifetime.
The only problem, Ash reflected as the car moved beyond the gates and down the winding mountain road, was that he couldn’t remember her name.
Since his parents’ deaths a month before, he’d responded to his grief the way any single, rich man in his twenties might. He chose to have a string of affairs with all sorts of women—those both at or beneath his station. He’d made a point of varying everything about them, from their nationality to their skin color.
But they never stayed with him more than a single night. He treated them extremely well—they were people, not playthings, after all—and any one of them would probably have had an interest in becoming a permanent part of his life.
Yet, Ash didn’t feel anything for them other than a fond affection.
He wanted to. He just couldn’t feel anything. Not joy, sadness, fear, hate . . . Lust seemed to be the only exception to his emotional drought. Yet, even that temptation had waned lately. He couldn’t help wanting more.
Despite the revolving door to his bedchamber, being a crown prince was . . . isolating. It seemed as though his life of seclusion would become his new normal.
If one had to be trapped, Ash supposed he couldn’t have asked for a better view. The tall mountains which guarded the Winter Palace of Florico seemed to reach the sky, their peaks pierced the clouds. In the distance, the glorious coastline faded gently into the pale blue Adriatic Sea. Florico’s landscape was as vast and diverse as its people.
And one day, he would be its king.
Admittedly, the tiny Mediterranean country fell under Parliament’s rule, not his family’s. Yet, he would ascend to the throne after his grandmother, Queen Vanessa, either stepped down or passed on. Ash didn’t like to think about the latter, because, as of last month, he’d moved up in the ranks of succession. He was closer to becoming king than ever before.
A car pulled to a stop outside the Winter Palace. A moment later, a passenger exited, wearing a powdered wig. Someone from Parliament, though Ash couldn’t tell who.
A knock sounded at his door, and he abandoned his half-assed spying. “Come in.”
One of the palace’s many butlers pushed the door open a crack. Ash had often thought of them as a group of penguins, lying in wait. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. The Queen wishes to see you at once.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. Not only would this meeting require getting dressed, but he’d also be expected to stay awake. “Get me some coffee, please.”
Ten minutes later, Ash entered the gardens, coffee mug in hand, to discover his eighty-five-year-old grandmother, a.k.a. Queen Vanessa, facedown, her bottom in the air. Her yoga instructor was in the process of checking the queen’s posture.
Ash would never view Downward-Facing Dog the same way again.
“Grandmother, was it really so important for me to attend your morning lesson?” He didn’t bother to keep the dry tone from his voice. He was more than a bit annoyed. She had a different lesson every day, it seemed. Origami, painting, creative writing, skydiving…. She’d hired instructors for everything as though his parents were still alive and the last month had never happened at all.
Yet, when she righted herself, her eyes were red-rimmed, her face wearier than he’d ever seen it. At least, since his grandfather’s death.
“That will be all.” The queen gestured to the instructor, who quickly rolled up her yoga mat and departed. Once they were alone, Grandmother’s hawk-like eyes zeroed in on Asher, but they weren’t hunting him. They were trying to see through him.
He didn’t blame her. He’d grown fairly good at hiding his true self—one of the reasons the media viewed him only as a careless playboy.
The difference was, when she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, Grandmother simply demanded he tell the truth. Apparently, it was good to be the queen.
“How are you, Asher, darling?” She patted his cheek. That was as touchy-feely as his family got. A pat on the cheek or the head, but it meant more that way.
“How are you?” he asked, deflecting the question the way she’d taught him.
The queen dismissed him with a wave. “I’m crap, as anyone might expect. My wonderful son is dead, and so is my equally wonderful daughter-in-law. All because some terrorist decided to crash a party they’d attended on a whim.”
“That makes it worse somehow, doesn’t it? As if their deaths don’t mean as much.” Asher didn’t mind opening up since Grandmother had laid out her status.
“Yes, it does.” She frowned, guiding him to one of the tables where an invisible servant had laid out tea. At least, that’s how Ash had always thought of them, since he rarely caught sight of anyone doing anything. Penguins aside. “I called you here because the Keeper of the Privy Purse requested an audience as soon as possible. I thought, given your father’s absence . . .”
“That I should be here. Of course you did.” All traces of annoyance toward his grandmother faded.
“Your Majesty,” one of the penguins announced from the doorway. “The Keeper of the Privy Purse.”
He stepped aside to allow the tall man in the powdered wig entrance. The gentleman bowed briefly before tugging at his shirt collar. “Please forgive the early hour, Your Majesty, Your Highness. If I could have a moment of your time?”
“Very well, Walter,” the queen said, gesturing to a chair at the table. “Take a seat.”
Walter did as she suggested, resting an iPad on the table’s metal top. “Thank goodness. I’ve been up half the night reviewing Prince Asher’s parents’ holdings.”
“You honestly had nothing better to do on a Saturday night than review my parents’ accounts?” Ash joked.
He realized his mistake at once. Walter wasn’t used to that sort of interaction from a member of the family. He had no idea how to respond. Grandmother cleared her throat and nudged Ash in the ribs.
“My apologies,” Ash said, regrouping. “A poorly timed joke at so early an hour.”
Lord. How long would this meeting last? He only hoped he’d be able to stay awake for the duration.
“Oh, a joke! Good one, sir!” Walter laughed, but the purpose of their visit must have trickled back into his mind, for his smile faded.
“Walter, please. It’s early. Why did you call this meeting?” Grandmother asked.
“I see, ma’am . . . well . . . as to the purpose . . .the Crown Estate has been jeopardized.”
Ash vaguely remembered overhearing his father saying something about the Crown Estate being the royal family’s accumulated property holdings. Since Ash had never needed to know, he’d never paid much attention. It seemed foolish now.
“What do you mean, jeopardized? By whom?” asked Grandmother.
The older man offered the queen the iPad, which displayed a spreadsheet with a startling amount of red on it. Walter’s bushy white eyebrows aimed downward as he considered his next words. “It’s gone, ma’am. All of it.”
Grandmother froze in her chair, her back ramrod straight. “I beg your pardon,” she said.
Ash must have heard Walter wrong. When Grandmother remained silent, he spoke. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.”
“Let me see if I can explain this, delicately.” Walter cleared his throat, as though he were working up to a pronouncement. “Your mother had a love of cards, shall we say”—he glanced about the gardens before leaning forward—“at the gambling tables.”
Those last four words in combination had the effect of sobering Ash in a way no cup of coffee could. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me Mother gambled away all of our estates?”
“Not just Princess Rania. Prince Vicktor . . . helped.” Walter seemed even more uncomfortable than when he’d arrived.
“You can’t be serious. I knew Rania gambled, but she played to win and she did.” Grandmother seemed offended by the mere mention of her daughter-in-law losing at anything.
Walter pursed his lips. “It seems her luck ran out. Before last month, only the small holdings had been impacted. I’d just learned the full extent of things yesterday.”
Ash’s mouth dropped open a fraction. He’d been close to his parents. His mother and father had been doting and involved in his life from the very beginning until their last moments. Moments when they’d managed to text their love to their only son before their deaths.
Yet, on such a seemingly normal morning, a horrible habit of theirs had been brought into the light—one he’d never known about. They’d obliterated his inheritance. That was no way to show love.
“Are there any properties remaining which haven’t been gambled away?” Ash asked.
The queen gripped the arms of her chair.
“The Winter Palace is all that remains. Of course, with no income to support the family. . .” Walter fidgeted in his chair. There was quite a bit more fist clenching.
Ash didn’t need to hear anything else. “We won’t be able to operate it.” It took a tremendous amount of money to maintain a palace. He had no idea how much. Still, the salaries of the staff, upkeep for its many rooms, and feeding and housing everyone cost money.
“Are you saying we’re going to lose the palace? Lose our home?” Grandmother asked.
“Oh, no, Majesty.” Walter thrust his palms toward Grandmother, as though to halt any confusion. “The mortgage was paid in the 1700s. The palace remains in the Crown Estate. In addition, the royal family is tax exempt, so you won’t need to pay taxes.
“Your family has typically spent eighty-five thousand florins per year on the upkeep of the Winter Palace, however. This year, that money is no longer available.”
Weariness washed over Ash. What had his parents been thinking? “So, we won’t lose our home, it will just slowly fall apart around us.” He didn’t possess the ability to fix so much as a dim light bulb. This did not bode well.
Walter pursed his lips, but then brightened. “If you were to sell the palace to the Florican Historical Society, they would maintain the premises. They have been offering to buy it for, oh, going on ten years. You could probably negotiate so you could live here indefinitely. You’d be a big tourist draw. The proceeds from the sale of the property might help flush your accounts.”
“Would you like to be a big tourist draw in your own home?” Ash asked, hating the sound of it.
“I suppose not.” Walter shook his head, his face seeming more worn out than when he’d first arrived. His long night catching up with him, perhaps.
“This will bring utter shame and ruin down on our family,” the queen said. “You mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Do you understand me?”
“Of course, Majesty. I would never.” Walter actually crossed his heart. If it had been under any other conditions, Ash might have laughed out loud.
“We’ll figure something out. Some way to save the palace, Grandmother.” Ash had no idea what that would be, but he had to think of something.
Walter frowned, his mouth pursed. “I beg your pardon, Highness, but unless you are intent on getting a job, there may not be a way.”
“A job! I’m entirely too old for such matters.” Grandmother drew herself up, cocking an eyebrow.
“That’s a good idea, actually,” Ash said. There had to be something he could do to bring in extra income.
“You want me to work like a commoner?” Grandmother asked. “All of the calm from my morning yoga is now gone. Thank you very much, Asher.”
Ash took his grandmother’s hand. “Not you, me. Remember all of my university studies? The courses I took in graphic design? I could find a job doing that type of work online.”
The queen shook her head. “What if they find out it’s you? We’d never live this down.”
“This is our home we’re talking about—our family’s history. Don’t tell me you’d be willing to let that all go?” Ash asked. “I can do something to help fix this.” And for the first time in at least a month, excitement coursed through him.
“You could really keep this a secret?” The queen’s face seemed hopeful
“Yes. I believe I could.” Adrenaline zinged in Ash’s veins. He’d never imagined getting a job. His new circumstances, however, might grant him the opportunity to know what it was like to earn a living—he was . . . intrigued.
“That’s settled. We must hire someone to write your résumé at once.” The queen tapped her foot, making the already skittish Walter jump.
Ash shook his head. “No, Grandmother. We’re paupers now. I have a better idea.” He pulled out his phone. “Google.”