His good mood didn’t last.

Ruben was on his way to breakfast—and already late for his lunch meeting a city over—when Demi appeared out of nowhere to grab his arm.

“Jesus Christ, woman.” He slapped a hand over his heart, leaning against the hallway wall. “Where the hell did you come from?!”

“Study,” she said shortly. “I need to talk to you.” And then she dragged him off into the study he never used, displaying far more strength than was natural for a woman of her size.

He shut the door behind them and frowned down at her. She looked like someone had died.

Then she said, “The king has summoned you.”

The last of Ruben’s good cheer evaporated. “Tell him I said get fucked.”

“Oh, really? That’s what you want me to do?” Demi threw herself into the chair behind the room’s huge desk and gave him a look, her face purposefully blank. “Shall I email his assistant, or call to pass on the message directly? And while I’m at it, would you like me to invite your sister over for tea? Since apparently you’re trying to make your life hell?”

Ruben pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been awake less than an hour, and already his head was pounding.

Fucking Harald.

“I thought we had another week,” he said finally.

“We did. He’s trying to mess with your head.” Demi stood, and her face was almost unbearably kind. “Don’t let him.”

“It’s really not that simple.” Ruben ran a hand through his hair, looking around the room with unseeing eyes. “He controls almost everything I do—“

“As long as you retain your position in the royal household, sure.”

He looked up sharply. “I’m not giving it up.”

“Ruben…” She sighed. “You know what Hans and I think. You’ll always be your parents’ son, title or not. He can’t take that away from you.”

Ruben swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You have no idea how many things that man has taken from me. I’m not giving up anything else.”

She said something, but he barely heard the words. He was already leaving.

* * *

Waiting around for a man wasn’t really Cherry’s thing. So she told herself that she wasn’t waiting at all; she was eating breakfast, and if Ruben happened to turn up, so be it.

It’s not like she was breathless with anticipation or anything. Aside from the moments when her mind wandered from cinnamon muesli and coffee and the sound of Agathe humming to settle on thoughts of his smile, of the scent of his skin in the morning. Then she got kind of breathless.

The sound of rapid footsteps tore Cherry from her mooning and Agathe from her task, which appeared to be bleaching the sink. Cherry was pretty sure the older woman had done that twice yesterday, but to each their own.

Demi appeared in the doorway, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her brow furrowed.

"Demetria?" Agathe frowned. "What is the matter?"

“Ruben isn’t in here?"

Cherry's concern spiked at the worried tone of her voice. “No. I think he’s upstairs. What's going on?"

Demi shook her head, turning to go, but then Agathe said in a voice of iron, "Demetria. Tell me. What is the problem?"

The two women shared a look before Demi said, "Harald has run out of patience. Either he’s brought the ball forward, or he gave us the wrong date on purpose. Whatever the reason, we’ve been summoned." She hurried off down the hall, leaving those words behind her like a bomb.

Cherry frowned. She already knew that Harald was, frankly, a grade-A cunt. But Agathe's usually ruddy face had turned grey at the news of his so-called ‘summons’. The old woman wrung her hands with uncharacteristic worry in her eyes, hunching over at the waist.

"What?" Cherry demanded.

The other woman looked up sharply, injecting brightness into her voice and forcing a smile onto her face with obvious effort. "Nothing. It is just, Ruben hates the palace, and he'll be angry."

"Ruben's never angry."

Agathe gave Cherry a look. A look that said, Don't think you know him. You don't.

Something was going on here. Something Cherry didn't fucking like.

"I know Ruben and his brother don't get on," she said. "And I know they kept him away from you."

Agathe flinched as if she'd been hit. When she looked up, her eyes were dark with anger and... something that looked like shame. “They took him away,” she said heavily, “but I let them.”

Cherry took a moment to adjust the implications of that statement. “You… you didn’t want any contact?”

“That’s not it. That’s not it at all. It is only—“ Agathe broke off, her face grave. “You know, my family was never wealthy, not before my Freja married Magnus. Ruben’s father. But we were always happy. Children were always loved. Always cared for. And I believed—" her voice caught, but she cleared her throat, shook her head. Pressed on. "I believed that everyone would be that way. Especially royalty." She let out a little laugh. "My mistake.”

Cherry pushed her breakfast away and leant against the kitchen island, dread pooling in her stomach like liquid concrete.

“I should not have allowed it,” Agathe said, almost to herself. “But I was selfish in my grief, too weak to fight for him." She kept on wringing her hands, the movement jerky. "So a year turned into two and then three, and I thought, what claim do I have on him? He will have forgotten me anyway, by now. If they don't want me around him, perhaps they are right."

There was a pause as Agathe swallowed, shook her head. "If I had used my brain, I might have realised. My Ruben, he represented everything that boy had lost. That boy who became king." All of a sudden, the emotions written across her face disappeared, studied blankness left behind. She slapped her hands against her thighs and drew herself up tall. "Well," she said briskly. "Never mind all that. You will go to the palace, and you will see. You will see for yourself."

Cherry opened her mouth to push, to ask, desperate for information she didn’t deserve—but Agathe snatched up a cloth and firmly turned her back.

There was a moment of silence before Cherry picked up her half-eaten bowl of cereal, heading to the sink. But Agathe just waved one reddened hand and said, "No, leave that. I will do it. Go and find my grandson."

"But—"

"You are wrong, you know. He is often angry. But only with himself."

Cherry thought about that for a minute. And then she went to find her fiancé.

* * *

He was in his bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, revealing a slash of cool wood floors and a low bed, covered in white linens. A pair of bare feet were visible, resting at its very edge. Cherry hovered at the door, peering through the gap, and caught sight of the ankles attached to those feet. And then the calves. And then the powerful, hair-sprinkled calves.

Ruben said, "I know you're there, Cherry Pie."

She bit back a smile and pushed the door open, stepping inside. "I told you, you have to stop calling me that."

"Fine," he said. He was lying against his bed, arms folded behind his head, his broad chest still bare. His legs were bare too. He wore only tight, blue briefs, and she kept her eyes very firmly away from his crotch. "I'll call you Cherry Tart," he said. "I bet your dad never called you that."

"Shut up." She came towards the bed, hesitating for just a moment before sitting down on the edge.

He snorted and reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Come here. What, you can't lie with me in the daylight?"

There was something in his voice, something she didn't hear often, if at all. An edge she didn't like, a sharpness that wasn't usually there.

He pulled her down beside him, tucking her under his arm like she belonged there. She let her head rest against his chest and tried not to think about the marks her makeup would leave or the fact that her hair was probably tickling his face.

"Did Demi talk to you?" She asked.

He laughed. She felt the sound as much as she heard it, rumbling deep within his chest, but there was no light to it. No humour. "Yeah, she talked to me. You don't need to worry, love. I'm fine."

Carefully, she said, "What's wrong with your brother?"

He sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at Cherry with confusion in his eyes.

"Why would you say that?" He asked, his voice hoarse. "What's wrong with Harald? Why would anything be wrong with Harald?"

She cocked her head. "He summons you and Demetria panics, your grandmother almost starts spilling family secrets—"

"What did she say?" He demanded, his voice sharp.

Cherry held up her hands. "Nothing. Don't be angry with her."

"I'm not," he sighed, deflating before her eyes. "Of course I'm not. I'm angry with him. I'm angry at the way he can disrupt a perfectly good fucking morning from miles away, and I'm angry at myself for letting him."

"Don't be." She bit her lip, unsure of herself with this new, darker Ruben, the comfort they'd grown into seeming distant now. But then she pulled herself together and decided to be brave. She reached for his hand, and he met her halfway. Their fingers twined together, his palm dwarfing hers, his skin oddly cold. "Listen," she said. "Emotions are natural. Reacting is a part of living. What I’m asking is... What is it about this guy that causes such chaos? You can't tell me there's no reason. I mean, it's not like he really has any power—"

Ruben cut her off with a snort. "You're smarter than that, Cherry. Don't think that just because this is the modern age, a man with wealth and a title and endless connections and centuries of good fucking breeding is powerless."

"Fair enough," she murmured. "But aren't you the same?"

He let go of her hand. "No. I'm not the same." For a minute he looked so bleak, his features so drawn and harsh, that she thought she'd said something terrible. But then, all at once, his face smoothed out and he gave her something approaching a smile. "Don't worry about all of this, Cherry. I'll need you to pack again. I'm sorry to keep moving you around. But the sooner we introduce you and see what else he wants, the sooner we can come home."

She tried not to think too hard about the fact that, when he said home, this place sprang to mind before her old flat did.

No. Not this place. Her bed, in the dark, with him in it.

"Now?" She asked. "We have to go now?”

“No. The monarch has legal power over the rest of the royal family in a lot of areas—including marriage, by the way.” He frowned, shook his head. “Not that we’re getting married. What I’m saying is, if I don’t come when he calls, there’ll be consequences. But…” He settled back onto the bed, pulling her down with him. “I don’t have to come immediately. I’m not a fucking dog.”

Funny. It sounded like he’d said those words before.

“Tomorrow,” he said finally. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

Cherry stared up at his ceiling. He didn’t have a grand, four-poster bed like she did. His room looked almost normal. She put her hand against his chest, felt his heart beating, and said, “Okay. Do you think Agathe will look after Whiskey?”

“Of course.” Ruben smiled slightly. “Although that creature doesn’t need much looking after. I barely see her.”

“She is the queen of stealth.”

“Right.” He chuckled, but then his humour faded. “I’m supposed to be getting ready for work,” he said.

“Seriously? You’re going out today?”

“I’ll have to rearrange a shit-ton of meetings while I waste time pandering to my brother’s whims, so yes. I’m going out. I might be late back.” He pulled away from her, gently enough, but it hurt just the same. “Demi can help you pack. She mentioned the two of you ordered some clothes?” He got up, leaving her behind on the bed, wandering over to his wardrobe.

“Yeah,” Cherry said, sitting up. “For court. Or whatever. Most of it’s already here, so…”

“Great.” He pulled out a steel-grey suit, looked at it for a moment, then shrugged and threw it on the bed. “I’m sorry about this, Cherry. I really am.”

She shrugged. Tried to smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“I do,” he said darkly. Then he sighed and forced a smile of his own. It was strained, too bright, too wide. He reached for her, and she came, because maybe that would help him shake off the worry he wore like chains.

He pulled her into his chest and buried his face in her hair, his arms iron bands around her body. For a few long minutes, she wondered if he’d ever let go. And if she even wanted him to.

But then, with a sigh, he released her. Kissed her forehead. And said, “Can I come and see you tonight? When I get back?”

If she’d had to describe the way that question made her feel, Cherry would have failed. There were too many emotions, hitting her too fast, merging into one another to create a maelstrom of pure feeling, the kind she’d never experience before.

The only thing she was sure of was her answer.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Good.” He kissed her. His hands cradled her face, his lips gentle and searching. He touched her with every inch of his formidable focus, as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Then he pulled away and said, “Leave the lights on. Okay?”

She licked her lips, tasted the ghost of his desire. And she said, “Okay.”