Viktor

Fragile is not a word I ever would’ve associated with Peach, but despite the bright smile on her face, I fear she may crack in two at any moment. There’s no light in her eyes, her shoulder blades are sharp enough to slice the rope that tethered the heart-shaped hot air balloon to the ground, and her voice is strained with every greeting she utters to the guests.

The diamonds and sapphires spilling about her chest and dangling from her ears sparkle in the late afternoon sunlight. She refused the tiara, and her hair is quite mussed from the wind, but no one here seems any the wiser that she’s under any strain.

As they shouldn’t be.

Her makeup is flawlessly hiding the dark circles that have plagued her eyes this past week, the soft blue of her dress is making her eyes brilliant even without her natural light, and the jewels add a regality to her bearing that I know better than to mention for fear of losing my bollocks in my sleep.

The Duke of Aragorn—soon to be the only duke of Amoria—is bent over Peach’s hand, admiring the sapphire and diamond ring she selected from the palace’s jewels this afternoon. He’s speaking in rapid Italian, which Leonie is translating, all complimentary, if borderline intrusive.

I’m about to clear my throat when the woman behind him in line does it for me.

The duke moves on, and a slip of a woman in a red dress, a sea of wrinkles, and white curls peeking from beneath her heart-shaped hat drops a deep curtsy.

“Your Majesties, may I present Ms. Fiona Aurora, Amoria’s Love Laureate,” Leonie says quickly. “Ms. Aurora has the distinction of being the most successful matchmaker in Amorian history. His Majesty King Roland bestowed the title upon her after witnessing her remarkable talents in person.”

Peach stifles something that might be a cry for help or a snort of laughter—or possibly both—whilst I extend a hand to Ms. Aurora. “Thank you for your service to our country,” I say to her in German.

Because gods above, we’re in trouble if she can speak English. I’m rather beginning to suspect this entire garden party is an ambush.

Her shrewd brown gaze drifts between Peach and me. “Your crown has fallen off, Your Majesty.”

“I’m the same person Viktor fell in love with whether I wear the crown or not,” Peach replies with a smile that’s gone even wider than necessary.

So much for small miracles. Ms. Aurora is squinting suspiciously at her now.

“You speak English?” I inquire. Of course she does, though I’d prefer to change the subject. To anything else.

“Love transcends all languages, Your Majesty. And I have clients around the globe.”

So this is worse than I feared. “How lucky for us, then, that you call Amoria home.”

“Lucky for you that you get to as well.” She smiles and leans closer. “I always did like your grandfather. Your father seemed deeply in love with your mother as well. My sympathies on your family’s losses.”

“Thank you, madam.”

“It’s an honor to have lived long enough to see the rightful heir of Amoria back on the throne. And with such a lovely bride to boot. You were a successful business woman before becoming queen, Your Majesty?”

Peach nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“How lovely to have accomplished royalty running our country.”

Peach smiles.

It’s a beautiful smile, with no visibly clenched jaw, no arrows flying out her eye sockets, no posture so tense that I wonder at the state of her bowels.

This is the woman I would oftentimes catch chatting with Miss Gracie and cooing at baby Sophie. Carefree. Happy. Generous.

I suddenly can’t remember exactly why the woman ever annoyed me.

“How did you manage to snare such a winning creature?” Ms. Aurora asks me, and my opinion of her rises.

As does my suspicion, as I’m not one to fall into the traps of complacency.

“We met the day my friend Gracie almost killed herself making dick cookies,” Peach answers quickly.

I choke.

Leonie chokes.

The earl behind Miss Aurora chokes, and his wife elbows him sharply.

Miss Aurora, however, nods, and her wrinkled lips spread in a wider, conspiratorial smile. “I shall, of course, refrain from asking specifics,” she says.

“That’s probably for the best. We were all feeling a little ugly that morning.” Peach’s accent is flaring again.

“We were, weren’t we? I do believe that was the day you threatened Prince Manning with a disembowelment,” I say dryly.

Peach beams and turns to Ms. Aurora. “He told me he fell in love with me that very minute. Viktor—I’m sorry, His Majesty—has a high regard for people who are loyal enough to their friends that they’re willing to risk prison time to protect them.”

“So lovely to see young people in love,” Ms. Aurora says, her smile growing until several new wrinkles form in her cheeks. “And how is the intercourse?”

“Just the way I like it,” Peach replies without hesitation. “But His Majesty is far more modest with talking about it, and we shouldn’t make him uncomfortable. That would completely ruin my night, if you catch my drift.”

“I do indeed, Your Majesty. But I’m still concerned at the rumors floating about today that you wed merely to claim the kingdom, King Viktor.”

And there’s the volley I’d hoped would not come. “You’ve no reason for concern, Ms. Aurora.”

“His Majesty was forced to remove the Duke of Prievia from the palace this morning when the duke was quite inappropriate and rude to Her Majesty,” Leonie interjects. “While I should never speak ill of a peer, I would perhaps suggest that there is a long history of division within the country over the rightful heirs to the kingdom.”

“And I understand you’ve not planned a wedding yet?”

Peach starts.

“As we’ve already wed—” I begin.

The elderly woman snorts. “A courthouse in America,” she sniffs. “A king should have a proper wedding.”

“Ms. Aurora, our first priority is the people of Amoria,” Peach interjects. “We owe you far more service to earn the privilege of having all these big to-dos before we could impose on the people for more ceremony for us.”

She smiles.

Ms. Aurora frowns. “Are you unwilling to declare your love for our king in a public forum?”

I open my mouth, but am suddenly also the recipient of a sharp elbow to the side. “I assure you, Ms. Aurora, I would not have quit my job, left my friends, and moved my family halfway around the world to live in a land where I don’t speak the language if I were afraid to stand up in a public forum and declare my love for Viktor.”

“Oh, that’s most wonderful.” Ms. Aurora claps her hands. “The international attention and tourism dollars a royal wedding would bring in will go such a long way toward improving our roads and our schools. But do plan it quickly. Before…” She trails off with a meaningful look at Peach’s stomach.

“It’s been lovely to—” I start, but a scream from the rose bushes interrupts me.

I grab Peach and Ms. Aurora both, putting them behind me while Leonie leaps in front of all of us.

Guests are scattering.

Someone crashes into the table bearing a tiered cake, and it topples to the ground.

More screams.

Half the guards run toward the roses.

The other half race to me as I’m attempting to herd Peach and Ms. Aurora toward the abbey.

Peach tries to wrestle her way out of my grip while I try to shove Leonie out of the way.

“Your Majesty—Oh my gracious heavens,” Leonie gasps, still trying to block us.

Six brown-and-gray creatures streak before us, running in circles, as panicked as the rest of the party.

“Oh, they’re so cute!” Peach says, which is diabolically annoying of her, because the woman has never once called anything, not even baby Sophie, cute in my presence.

And polecats are not cute.

They’re—

“Oh my god,” Peach gasps.

Yes.

They’re wretchedly smelly creatures, much like skunks in America.

We all clamp our hands to our mouths and noses as the smell of rotting corpses and decayed elephant excrement pollutes the air. I shove a handkerchief at Peach.

One of the polecats squeals, turns, and aims its derriere at us.

“Oh, no, you don’t, you little fucker!” Peach shrieks.

Before I can stop her, she’s yanked off a shoe and flung it at the animal.

“Peach,” I bark.

“Your Majes—” Leonie breaks off with a gag as three more animals join the original half-dozen, all of them spraying anything that moves.

Peach’s other shoe goes flying.

Ladies are screaming.

“Not the jewels!” Leonie gasps out.

I grip Peach by the upper arms to stop her from yanking off the royal family’s ear baubles and using them as her next weapon, and I nearly gag at the wall of stink infiltrating my nostrils. My eyes are watering, but I blink and clear them, looking for the nearest escape route. Palace and abbey staff are running amok, some trying to save the tables of hors d’oeuvres, others covering their mouths with napkins or aprons and attempting to shoo the putrid animals.

There must be thirty of them, all dashing about the abbey’s gardens as though they’re drunken monkeys hell-bent on causing as much destruction and mayhem as possible.

“What is that?” Peach demands behind her hand while I assist the guards in crowding us toward the palace vehicles. “Smells like a skunk.”

“Far worse, my lady,” I tell her.

A guard takes a swipe at one with his ceremonial sword.

The rabid animal goes up on its hind legs and hisses at all of us.

“Shoo. Shoo, you mangy asshole!” Peach shrieks.

It scampers away.

“I’ve never seen so many in one place,” Leonie says between retching noises.

Peach and I lock eyes.

Her shoulders sag.

My mouth is set so tight my teeth ache.

“I’ll handle it,” she sighs.

Then she gags.

Quite rightly, as the putrid smell is sticking to us as though we’ve been doused in rotten eggs whilst wearing dead ferrets.

Two guards usher us quickly into the SUV. It’s not until we’ve pulled away that I realize two things.

One, Ms. Aurora is still with us.

And two, we shall have to burn our clothes.

And possibly all the hair off our bodies as well.

“Lovely party,” Ms. Aurora says. She’s swallowed by the rear-facing captain’s chair she’s claimed, still holding a lace kerchief to her mouth. “Could we open a window?”

“I hope the palace has gallons and gallons of hydrogen peroxide,” Peach says after she gags again. “And that your mama didn’t want any of these jewels, because I think that smell just clouded them all over.”

Leonie stifles another wretch, and despite the guards’—and my own—objections, we return to the palace with the windows open.