She sucked in a breath as the words sank into her skin, like fresh rain after a drought. And then she did as Ruben had asked and shut the damn door.

She heard his chair slide against the thick carpet as he stood. He walked over to her, and then his hands settled on her waist, and he turned her around, and pushed her against the cool wood.

“God,” he said, a little smile curving his lips. “They really made a mess of your face.”

She huffed out a laugh, as if her heart wasn’t beating a mile a minute. “I look half-dead.”

“The prettiest zombie I ever saw,” he murmured wryly.

She smiled. And he closed his eyes, frowning as if he were in pain.

“It’s been days since you smiled at me. For real, not for someone else’s benefit.” He opened his eyes and studied her, his face more serious than she’d ever seen it. “I’ve been thinking a lot, since we got here. About… the things I’ve valued in my life. And the things I’ve allowed to define me.”

Cherry swallowed down the lump in her throat, forced back the all things she wanted to say, and let him talk. His hand tightened on her waist—and then he pulled back as his fingers brushed her skin through the open zipper.

“You’re not dressed,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Of course I am. Just doesn’t fit.”

He shook his head, his gaze latching on to the slice of bare skin exposed by the gaping fabric. She wanted him to touch her again, but he moved his hand away.

“Cherry,” he said softly. “I know I messed things up. Twice. Probably more than twice, but I’m too clueless to keep track of these things effectively.”

She laughed. “You’re not clueless. Okay?”

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know. I’m sure it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m not a victim. Not anymore.” She wasn’t sure what Ruben was talking about until he went on. “I made a choice to stay in this twisted situation, and I’m starting to realise it was a bad one. I give Harald power over me and feel like I’m holding power over him because… Because it kills him that I’m even here. But it’s a pointless cycle. It’s childish. It’s not me.”

Cherry rolled her lips in as she tried to sort her thoughts, tried to put this in a way he’d understand. “I don’t pity you, first of all. I mean, aside from being literal royalty, you’re very gorgeous and very rich and you have a loving family—”

He snorted. “No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Agathe is your family. And so is Demi, and so is Hans. So no, I don’t pity you. I would like to kill everyone who has ever hurt you, but I don’t pity you.” He smiled slightly at those words, and Cherry felt like she’d done something right. It gave her the confidence to keep going.

“When all of this started, I didn’t understand why you were so caught up in what the media thought, in your family name and your brother. I understand now. I do. But I also think that you’re strong enough now to let that go. Your brother is so desperate to convince you that you’re unworthy, because he knows you’re a better man than he will ever be. And I never met either of your parents, but if five years with them turned you into the kind of child who could grow up with Harald and survive, and care about people and… feel things, then they must have been amazing. And they must of loved you really fucking hard.”

Ruben wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the safety of his broad chest, burying her face against his shirt. Her eyes closed as she drowned in the familiar, soothing scent of him, as she felt his hand come to rest against her hair.

“The other night,” he whispered, “I freaked out because I decided a long time ago that I couldn’t have a family. Especially not children. I see all the ways children are vulnerable, even children who are loved, whose families want to protect them. And I’ve never been able to handle it. I just couldn’t. But when I was with you, and I thought there was a chance that I could get you pregnant, I thought—I thought, ‘There’s no need to panic. She might be on the pill, or something.’ But I didn’t want you to be. I had this idea, for all of a half a second—I must have lost my fucking mind. But I had this idea that you’d be pregnant and then you’d be stuck with me.” He laughed. “Ridiculous, I know. And then I panicked. I didn’t understand what was going on in my own head.”

He shrugged, and Cherry pulled back, just enough to see his face. He looked rueful and more than a little embarrassed. “Oh, so you’re saying you want to knock me up?” She teased.

He rolled his eyes. “Stop that. You brat.”

“You said it, not me.”

“It was just…” He waved a hand. “Instinct. A reflex. I don’t know. Forget about that. I’m trying to apologise, here.”

“You’re doing very well,” she smiled. And she meant it. “But, seriously, Ruben. I like you.” Understatement. “A lot. And even though I understand, I really don’t know if this is a good idea. I don’t think I can keep my feelings separate from whatever this is.”

He slid a hand under her chin, tilting her head back until she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “I don’t think you should keep them separate,” he said. “I’m not. I can’t.”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, pushing away the hope that was desperate to run rampant. “What does that mean?”

“It means I have feelings for you. It means that after tomorrow, if Harald doesn’t somehow take my title, I’ll fucking give it up. And no-one will care about who I sleep with or who I’m engaged to, but… I’ll still want to be with you.” He found her left hand, raised it to his lips. And then he kissed the ring he’d given her with such reverence that she knew it wasn’t the trinket she’d assumed.

“What is this?” She asked, nodding towards the arrangement of sapphire and diamond.

“It was my mother’s,” he said softly. “My father gave it to her, and she left it to me.”

She forced herself to ask. “Why did you give me this?”

And he said, completely calm: “Because I love you.”

Cherry bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard, she was surprised it didn’t bleed. “You can’t—“

“Stop,” he said. “Don’t. I love you. Okay? You can do whatever you want with that information, but you can’t change it.”

She smiled, even as she felt tears trailing down her cheeks. “Okay.”

He tutted, sweeping his thumb across her cheekbone. “Even I know you’re supposed to use waterproof mascara. What kind of makeup artist did Magda bring you, anyway?”

“Oh, God. I look a mess.” She swiped uselessly at her cheeks. “I don’t know much about balls, but I have to warn you, this one will probably be a disaster.”

“Oh, I know,” he said cheerfully. And then he pressed his ear to her lips and whispered, “If Lydia agrees, we’ll leave that night. Everything is in place.”

She nodded. She’d seen the fire in his eyes when he realised that Lydia was facing what he’d once been through. She didn’t doubt that he would pull this off.

As long as Lydia felt safe enough to agree. Would she? Suddenly, Cherry’s chest was a storm of anxiety. “I should go,” she said. “I have a lot to do.”

He released her waist and stepped back, out of her space. She felt oddly bereft. Still, she forced herself to leave, because there was a ball tomorrow night, and that should be her greatest concern. It had to appear to be her greatest concern, at least.

But as she stepped out of the room, Cherry gave in to the urge to look back. He was watching her, something soft and warm in his gaze, and that gave her the courage to speak. “I have feelings for you, too.” She sounded stilted, robotic, but she wasn’t used to this. Not at all. She was used to being adored and feeling no inclination whatsoever to return that sentiment. She wasn’t used to caring, to craving a man’s affection.

To grappling with huge, impossible concepts like love.

From the smile on his face, though, you’d think she’d confessed her undying devotion. “Good,” he said, and for the first time since they’d met, his barely-there accent thickened. “Good. You will keep it?” He nodded down at her hand. At the ring. She heard the rest of his sentence, the words he’d left unsaid. After? When all this is over and the pretence falls apart?

She tried to hide her smile, but it fought free. Just a little. And she murmured, “I’ll look after it for you.”

His face lit up like the sunrise.

* * *

Ruben sat beside his youngest niece’s bed, studying her sweet little face in the glow of her nightlight. Hilde was nine, but still afraid of the dark. He didn’t blame her. He’d been afraid of the dark as a child.

He hoped that was the only similarity between them.

The child’s bedroom door creaked as it was pushed open by gentle hands. He looked up to find Lydia in the doorway, her face resigned.

“You’re here,” she said.

He smiled. “Don’t say you’re surprised to see me.”

“How could I be? You’ve been chasing me all week.”

Ruben stood, holding up his hands. “You know I want to help, Lydia. You used to help me. Remember?”

She swallowed. “Of course I remember.”

“Then you understand why I can’t leave you here. I never should have left in the first place.”

She shook her head. But she approached without fear, walking past him to look down at her daughter. That was something. The first time he’d gotten her alone, she’d been afraid of him.

And he’d understood.

“It didn’t start right away,” she said softly. “Things were fine for the first few years.”

“Fine?”

“Well.” She shrugged. “As fine as things can be with a man such as my husband. But eventually he turned on me. I expected it, in the end.”

“Lydia,” he whispered. “I don’t understand why you won’t let me help you.”

She smiled up at him, tired but gentle as ever. Hopeless, and yet so kind. “You’ve always been reckless, Ruben. Fearless. I admire that about you, but I cannot become you. I am a mother. I will not have my children running from their own father, their king, without protection or safety—“

“I will keep you safe,” he insisted.

But still, she shook her head. “Safety lies in certainty. If I go along with this plan you have devised, is the outcome certain? Certain enough that I should stake the safety of my family on your word? This is one small island, ruled by corrupt officials, easily swayed by Harald’s money and influence. You have—what? A private jet, a loyal faction of the royal guard on your side? I’m sorry, Ruben. It’s not enough.”

Ruben swallowed. He understood, and yet…

“I can’t give up on this,” he said.

She smiled. “I know. I know you, little brother.”

It was the first time anyone had ever called him that with love in their voice. For a second, he could barely breathe.

Then she turned her back on him, ghosting a hand over her daughter’s golden head. “Leave us, now. The nurse might come.”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Any time. Say the word, any time.”

She didn’t reply. He left.

* * *

He arrived at the room he and Cherry had shared uneasily for so many nights, and found her waiting for him.

She was curled up in bed with the lamp on, wearing that damned Dolly Parton T-shirt, the blankets pulled up over her lap.

“You’re turning me into a Dolly Parton fan,” he said.

“Good,” she replied. “I have at least four of these T-shirts.”

He moved towards the bed as if it might disappear at any moment. A small part of him worried that it could. That the sight of Cherry waiting for him, smiling at him, as if this was normal and natural and forever, must be a fucking mirage. He felt like a beast in comparison to her beauty, to the way she sat there, utterly composed, watching him with a gleam in her endless eyes. This was nothing but a fairytale. A fantasy. It had to be.

But he sat down, and it was real.

She pushed the blankets aside and crawled over to him, and sat on his lap. She helped him fumble with his tie, laughed when he lost patience with the buttons of his shirt and tore the whole thing off over his head.

Then she kissed him. Soft and slow and sweet, like a blessing. A blessing that set his blood alight, left him both satisfied and insatiable.

He pulled back, cradled her face in his hands, looked her in the eye. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The way I want you. The things I need from you. Do you think I’m fucked up because of—“

“No,” she interrupted sharply. “No. I don’t. My childhood was fine. Perfect, really. And I want this just as much as you do. It’s just the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He didn’t need convincing. He already knew that, had decided long ago. But the idea that she might think otherwise had hit him like a truck, and he’d needed to know.

“Good,” he said. He kissed her again. “Good.”

Then she kissed him. She appeared to be enjoying herself. He let her take control for a while, but eventually, the need became too great.

He lifted her up, turned and threw her down against the bed. If they’d been in darkness, he’d have focused on the tiny exhalation she made—almost a gasp, but not quite. Only they weren’t in darkness, so instead he drank in the way her full lips parted, the wideness of her doe eyes.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

She smiled, flashing those damn dimples at him, looking so sweet and so sexy all at once. And then she did as she was told.

He couldn’t play games tonight. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but sink into her—into her arms, into her body, into the sense of fulfilment that only she could provide. Kissing her felt like a rebirth. Every touch was fresh and light and clean; even when he slid between her thighs and whispered filthy things into her ear.

When she came, he whispered, “I love you.” And then he couldn’t stop saying it. Not when she came a second time, not when she bit his shoulder and clawed at his back, and definitely not when he came, so hard he saw stars.

He loved her. He loved her.

Nothing could go wrong.