I’m exhausted when I finally return to the suite. I couldn’t help myself—I had to go into the city to be sure our citizens were safe. Most of the areas suffered only minimal damage—broken windows and the like. But there are those who suffered more than their share. Those without homes, who were already cold and starving, did not fare nearly as well as those who had roofs over their heads.

Of course, I know many places have ongoing issues with providing for all their citizens. It’s an unspoken secret among many countries—the problems with homelessness. Rosvalia has suffered greatly the past decade or so, making our problems even worse than they were. We’ve slashed budgets wherever we could—even the palace has narrowed its budget to near nothing.

Except for Father’s budget for the Royal Guard. That has not suffered at all.

I’ve no need to think of my father or whatever it is he’s hiding in the east wing of the palace. As far as I know, it is some pet project of his that he wishes to keep secret, at least from me. I’m sure Reginald knows about it, though my mother may or may not. For all its loveliness, Rosvalia still holds a very misogynistic attitude toward its female citizens, myself and my mother included.

I just want to take a long, hot shower and wash this day from me, and afterward, sleep for as long as I’m able and try to forget everything I’ve seen today, at least until I wake up tomorrow.

William must be asleep by now, I think. I can sneak in, take my shower and slide into bed without him ever hearing me. He likely won’t be in my bed, anyway. Even if I might want him to be, he made himself perfectly clear earlier—he’d rather sleep outside in a storm than share a bed with me.

It’s fine, I remind myself. There are only ninety-six days left of this sham of a marriage.

Yes. That is what I need to keep reminding myself. America isn’t much better than Rosvalia as far as the homelessness problems—and even the sometimes misogynistic views—but at least I’ll be free of my father and my brother. And of William.

I tiptoe into the living area, quietly closing the door behind me. William isn’t on the couch, at least. I set down my things and peel off my rain jacket—I’m still soaked to my skin. I should just strip here—William is likely outside or he’ll have found himself another place to sleep tonight. Even if we can’t have another room officially until tomorrow, he might have made himself at home in one of the nearby sitting rooms or library couches.

The French doors to my bedroom are closed—the curtains covering them block out the light, so it’s impossible to tell if it’s dark in there or not, even though the window is still broken with merely a sheet of plastic covering it.

Oh, who am I kidding? William will not be waiting for me.

I take off my blouse, leaving my bra on as I open the door to the bedroom.

And William is there, shirtless. He’s lying backward on the bed with his head hanging off the end, a book in his hand.

I press my wet blouse to my chest and walk over to him, taking the book from his grasp. I suppress my growl when I see he’s found another copy of my book of poetry. But my growl is quickly released when I see three of my journals lying on the bed next to him.

He rolls onto his stomach, looking up at me with a grin. “Welcome home, Princess.” His gaze drifts over my body. “You should come home like this more often.”

I press my blouse closer to me. “I asked you to leave it alone, Your Highness.”

He arches a brow, his grin widening. “And why would I do that when it’s so fun to see you blush?”

My cheeks must be on fire, but I can barely feel anything but my rage. “Because I asked it of you—”

“You might be a princess, Princess, but that doesn’t mean you’re in charge.” He chuckles. “Besides, reading such timeless lines as When our two bodies became one…” He shakes his head. “You really know how to write poetry, don’t you?”

Something about his words… Or maybe it’s his tone… I’m not sure what comes over me—perhaps it is only the emotional extremes I’ve been through today—but hot tears well in my eyes in an instant.

I can’t let him see me like this—vulnerable like this. I simply can’t. I edge around the bed and dart for the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me and sliding the lock an instant later.

“Princess.” William’s voice is close—he must have followed me to the door. “Princess, don’t be angry. The imagery in your poetry is…something.” He chuckles. “I’m not sure how some of that made it past whoever published it—”

“Fuck. You.” My voice is trembling, and I’m sure he can hear in my voice the tears that are now streaming down my face.

“Now that’s the kind of vocabulary that gets published, Princess.” He chuckles again. “If you’d merely talked about fucking instead of joining or whatever the hell it was you said—”

I open the door and throw my blouse in his face. “Fuck you, Your Highness. Let me know when you have your first works published so that I may shit all over yours, too.”

He pulls the soaking blouse from his face and tosses it to the floor. His jaw drops and he stares at me for a moment before I slam the door again.

This time I lock the door and walk away, stripping the rest of my wet clothing from my body as I start a steaming shower. I allow myself to cry, releasing the pent up emotions from this stressful day.

It isn’t bad enough that I’ve had to see my people suffer. My own husband wants me to suffer. I’ve been a bitch, certainly, but I don’t believe I’ve done anything to him to deserve such treatment. He doesn’t seem to grasp the concept that he took my life from me. That he stole any chance at happiness that I might have had in Rosvalia. Instead, I’m going to have to run away to America—away from my home—to be able to start a new life. And I’m going to have to suffer like this for three more months? Be the butt of his insufferable jokes for three more months?

I think not.

I’ll speak to my father in the morning, as much as I find the idea distasteful. I’ll see if he can speed up the process of whatever it is he has planned for William and allow me to pursue a life on my own terms. I just do not believe I can take another three months—or even three days—of this torture.

As soon as I finish in the shower, I realize I didn’t bring any nightclothes with me to change into. There’s a robe on the back of the door, but it is oversized. Even if I wrap it around myself and tie it as tightly as I’m able, William will still likely get an eyeful as I walk to the closet. And for as big of an asshole as he is, he’ll likely follow me into the closet to watch me dress.

It’s a little surprising, now that I’m thinking about it, that he didn’t try to pick the lock to watch me shower.

I decide to make do with the robe—I finish combing out my hair and walk back out into the bedroom, hoping against hope that William will have either fallen asleep or will have taken the hint to leave.

But he’s still there, sitting on the edge of the bed. At least he isn’t reading any of my journals—God only knows what he’d find to make fun of in them.

He looks up at me, frowning. “Princess—”

I hold up my hand to interrupt and quickly remember why I’m holding the robe shut at my chest. I pull the thing closed again. “Don’t. Just…don’t.”

“I’m sorry, Princess. I… I didn’t mean…” His voice trails off and he stares up at me.

“With all due respect, Your Highness…” I straighten and narrow my gaze at him. “Go to hell.” I don’t wait for his response—I walk across the room to the closet. I walk in and pull the door closed behind me.

Unlike the bathroom, this door has no lock. And I realize how unfortunate that is when William opens the door a moment later.

I shake my head at him as I grab a nightgown from the bureau. “So, let me get this straight, Your Highness. You have no respect for my poetry. No respect for my happiness. And clearly…” I motion at the door, forgetting again that my hand grasping my robe at my chest is the only thing keeping me from flashing the man standing before me. His gaze seems to drop to my chest instantly before I’m able to recover. “You clearly also have no respect for closed doors.”

“On the contrary, Princess. I have nothing but respect for you. If I hadn’t, I’d have bedded you on our wedding night.”

“As I recall, Your Highness, I offered to let you bed me on our wedding night. It was you who declined.”

“A mistake I regret more than you can imagine.” He frowns. “Justine…I was only teasing. I never meant to hurt your feelings—”

I interrupt with a shake of my head. “I don’t really want to hear it, Your Highness. And you aren’t fooling me by calling me by my given name. Call me Princess, call me bitch for all I care. I will never, ever—”

He closes the distance between us in an instant and loops his arms around my waist.

My hand doesn’t move from my chest as I step back, trying to break his grasp on me. “Putting your tongue down my throat also isn’t going to change my mind about you, Your Highness.”

He grins, stepping back with me, almost as if we’re dancing. “Allow me to try, Princess.”