The next morning, Ella woke up dead. At least that was how it felt. Her tongue was thick and fuzzy, her ears were ringing, and her head felt like a colony of very dedicated miners had taken up residence inside. She groaned, rolling out of bed and onto the floor. Stupid champagne. Stupid two glasses of champagne. Usually she wasn’t such a lightweight.

She swung her feet out of bed and then paused. Two glasses might’ve been enough to give her a hangover, but they weren’t enough to wipe her memory. She’d watched the moonrise with the king last night, just the two of them on a hill beyond the Summer House. She smiled despite her pounding headache. It had been the most romantic thing anyone had ever done with her.

And now she had to help him marry another woman.

Her smile fell. She was going to need coffee. Lots of coffee.

By lunchtime, her desk was covered in spreadsheets and she’d concocted a rubric and grading system for the girls, skewing it only ever so slightly to push her stepsisters to the forefront. Ella was in her element. Over the years, she’d become quite the task manager, partly due to her innate love of organization and partly because her loving but self-involved stepmother wasn’t the best at remembering day-to-day tasks when there was always some scheme to get a new man, dress, or party on the horizon.

She paused to polish off her third cup of coffee. Once she got everything laid out, how was she supposed to tell the king? Should she send a request to see him through the footman, or would that be rash? She didn’t want to give anyone, especially her stepmother or the Queen Mother, the wrong ideas about them.

Like an answer to prayer, a knock sounded at the door. When she opened it, an expressionless guard handed her a letter sealed with red wax and then pivoted and walked away before she could ask any questions. She closed the door, turned the letter over in her hands, and opened it. It started off “Dear Ella” and ended with “Best, Phillip,” and her heart leapt. She knew this was strictly business, likely about the project she’d proposed, but she always had loved a handwritten letter. She sat down to read it.

---

Ella fanned herself with the envelope, grinning. Oh, he would bring the champagne, would he? She dug in the desk drawers and found some parchment and sat down to scrawl her reply.

Proud of her flirting skills for once, Ella folded her letter in half and found an envelope to seal it in. She was on her way to the door to call for a guard when her gaze fell on one of the printouts on the desk, the one with her stepsisters’ pictures on it. Guilt froze her steps. What was she doing, sending a flirty letter to the king? It would only lessen her chances of succeeding at her most important reason for being here. That was the whole reason she wasn’t attending the party as an eligible girl herself even though she was technically as qualified to become queen as Daphne and Anna.

Torn, she struggled with herself for a moment before lifting her chin and walking the rest of the way to the door. It would be a shame to waste her wit and charm—what she had of it, anyway—by not sending this beautifully flirty letter to Danovian royalty when she had the chance. She would stop flirting with the king immediately after it was sent. It would be fine.

But even as she stepped into the hall to search for a guard, she couldn’t help grinning again at the prospect of getting more correspondence from Phillip. Handwritten letters felt like a delicious secret between the two of them, almost as good as cuddling up against him on the bike last night.

Maybe a little more flirting wouldn’t hurt.

Phillip reined his stallion toward the stables, thankful that this ride was finally ending. Not that the ladies accompanying him—Anna and Daphne, Ella’s bosses—were terrible company. In fact, they were decent riders, and not too bad at conversation either, although for her part Anna seemed more interested in the flora and fauna of his country than chatting about the obligations of queendom. But he’d hardly been able to think of anything besides Ella since he’d sent her that letter an hour ago, and even though riding usually calmed him, now he couldn’t focus enough to enjoy it.

Damn it, why couldn’t Ella be nobility, or at least willing to stay in Danovar instead of trying to escape it? No other girl had ever affected him to this degree.

“Are we back already?” Daphne asked, smiling at him. She’d been doing some kind of slow striptease during the ride back, taking off her jacket and then her vest until she had to be freezing in the crisp morning air.

He gave her his official king smile, full of lips and teeth and no sincerity. “Indeed,” he murmured. His instincts told him neither of these two were the right match, but he was considering keeping them around for the rest of the party anyway. If they stayed, so did Ella.

He reined his stallion into the stable yards and dismounted, waving goodbye and leaving his stallion with the groom while he hurried into the shelter of the stables. Once alone, his shoulders relaxed and he let himself blow out a breath.

“My King?” said a wry voice. Phillip turned; it was Drake, holding out an envelope. A letter from Ella? Pulse quickening, he accepted it and scanned through it, grinning in victory at the flirtatious tone. She did feel the spark between them and, judging from this letter, she might be open to letting things develop further.

He had to write a reply. He couldn’t wait another second. Duties and eligible ladies be damned, he was going to ask Ella to have a fling with him. He wanted one last hurrah before his country demanded he get married to someone he didn’t love, and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather it be with than her.

“Drake, do you have any—” he started, but the head of security was already holding out a blank piece of parchment and a new envelope, one sardonic eyebrow raised. “Good man,” Phillip said, taking them and searching for a nearby flat surface. There was none. Unable to fathom waiting long enough to walk all the way to his office, he motioned at Drake to turn around and used his back to write on instead.

“I’m positive this wasn’t in the job description,” the guard muttered, but good-naturedly.

Phillip ignored him, too busy writing.

He folded the letter, stuck it in the envelope, and sealed it. This was a terrible idea, but still his heart was racing at the idea of sparking something with Ella. She could be here in minutes. He could bring her up to the hayloft, where they wouldn’t be interrupted. He could take her up against the wall—or maybe she’d like it in the hay, a little bit dirty, a little bit rough. They had all day, and he’d be more than happy to keep trying things until he figured out what made her moan the loudest.

Or maybe she’d like to take it slow, get to know each other first. That was okay too. He could see them taking long afternoon rides across the grounds, on his bikes and on horseback too, if she knew how to ride. The picnic she’d mentioned sounded great. He was up for anything, as long as it meant spending more time with her.

Damn, he had it bad.

Drake cleared his throat and Phillip refocused, realizing the man was still standing in front of him. “Yes?” he asked.

Drake hesitated. “There’s probably something you should know, sir,” he said, and then stopped.

Phillip’s smile vanished. He knew that tone. Something was wrong. And from the way he was holding that letter, it was about Ella. “Go on,” he said, though he wanted to snarl at him to shut up. He didn’t want whatever was wrong to ruin what was just coming to life between him and Ella.

“I did some digging after you asked about her yesterday,” Drake said. “And it turns out Ella’s last name is Fernstone.”

Phillip blinked. The puzzle pieces came together one by one. “Same as Daphne and Anna,” he said slowly.

Drake nodded confirmation. “She’s the daughter of Nathan Fernstone and his first wife, Bethany. Ella actually inherited the title of marquess herself upon his passing.”

Phillip let it sink in. This could be perfect. Ella was a member of the nobility, which meant she was just as eligible as her stepsisters to become queen. If she felt the same way about him as he did about her, all his problems could be solved in a better way than he’d ever thought possible.

But…why hadn’t she told him? Had she planned to lead him on, seduce him with a forbidden tryst in hopes of bypassing the competition? The thought of her betrayal soured his stomach. He eyed the letter still in Drake’s hand, considering whether he should take it back, rip it up, cut his losses. But the thought of turning his back on Ella was torture, so instead, he found himself taking back the pen and another piece of parchment, and slowly writing a second letter.

He would ask for an explanation. Maybe she had one. If she did, perhaps all his problems could still be solved. And if not…well, best to know now, before he got in too deep.

But as he finished writing, sealed the second envelope, and sent Drake away with both letters, he couldn’t help but think he was already in so deep that he might never find his way back.