Spending hours in a car with a woman who hated him was painful. Spending hours in a car with a woman he loved to distraction—a woman he knew from the coils of her hair to her pink-painted toe nails, a woman who hadn’t always hated him but certainly did now—was torture.

Ruben really fucking wished he’d given her the ring before now. But they couldn’t meet his brother without it, and in a few short minutes, they’d be there. At the palace. The backdrop to all his nightmares.

“Cherry,” he said, cracking the thick slab of silence between them.

She turned her head from the window and looked across the limo’s dark interior to meet his eyes, her movements robotic. She didn’t reply. Just looked, her gaze burning, beautifully furious and breaking his fucking heart.

His hands clumsier than usual, Ruben fumbled with the pocket inside his suit jacket for a few heavy seconds before producing the ring. There was no box; he didn’t know where the original one was, and he didn’t particularly care. The ring was all that mattered, and his mother would want Cherry to have it.

He wanted Cherry to have it.

But Cherry was looking at down at the diamond and sapphire ring in his hands as if it were a poisonous snake.

“You need to wear it,” he said gently. “For Harald.”

“Fucking Harald,” she muttered, holding out a hand for the ring. He wanted to smile at the sound of his own personal refrain on her lips. She hadn’t even met the king yet, but she already hated him.

It almost made Ruben forget that Harald wasn’t the only royal she hated right now. Almost.

As the car slowed, the sense of panicked urgency that had been choking Ruben all morning—since last night, in fact—swelled to its crescendo. He must’ve lost his mind for a moment, because instead of handing her the ring, he reached out to take her hand in his.

“Cherry,” he said, his voice low. “Listen to me, okay? Just listen.”

She glared, tried to tug her hand away, but he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“Please. Please let me explain. Last night—”

“I don’t want to talk about last night,” she said sharply. Her mouth, so lush and full, was pressed into a hard, thin line. And he caught something vulnerable in her eyes, a wariness he’d put there. The sight threatened to tear his heart in two.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he said. “It had nothing to do with you. I’ve always been like that. I can’t bear the idea of children—”

“You love children,” she said, and for the first time he caught a flash of hurt in her voice. He’d known it was there, but hearing it…

She heard it too, because she looked horrified for a second, and then completely blank. When she spoke again, her voice was hard as steel. “It doesn’t matter. It’s ridiculous. I just don’t think it’s wise for us to keep blurring lines like this.”

“I hurt you,” he said. “I know I did. And that’s the last thing I wanted to do, because I don’t think of this as blurring lines, Cherry. That’s not what we’re doing. Being with you is a gift.”

The car came to a stop, and Cherry gave him a mutinous glare, tugging at their joined hands. “Stop this. Just give me the fucking ring.”

He wanted to blurt out the fact that he loved her, but she’d probably punch him in the face. So he released her with a sigh, and gave her the ring, and she shoved it onto her finger as if it were an afterthought.

For all she knew, it was fake, something he’d had Demi order for the purpose of this twisted charade. She had no idea how much that ring meant to him, and no idea how much she meant to him.

But he’d tell her. He’d make her see. Somehow. And he’d tell her about the thoughts that haunted him, about the anxiety that suffocated him whenever he thought of children, of creating another soul that might one day end up like him: vulnerable. Alone. Abused

The car door swung open and an anonymous hand reached in to help Cherry out, part of the security team. He heard her greet the man with her usual charm, her sparkling laughter floating into the car within seconds. She was already working her magic. And Ruben was frozen in time, struggling to breath. Because it had just occurred to him that he might fail. He might not get through to her. He might not prove his feelings or win back her trust.

And then, when the year was up, she’d leave.

* * *

Ruben was used to having Hans at his back. He wasn't used to having Cherry by his side.

But there she was, striding down this gilded fucking hall with him, matching him step for step. Though her steps were more of a strut.

The corridor leading towards his brother's receiving room was as splendid as the rest of the palace, which made it fucking abhorrent to Ruben. But he wasn't going to pretend that vaulted ceilings and marble cherubs and velvet tapestries were a fucking hardship on anything other than his taste. No, it wasn't the luxury that sent a bead of sweat crawling down his spine beneath the fancy fucking dress uniform he wore.

It was the memories.

"Good morning, Ruben. Are you ready for your lessons?"

Five year old Magnus blinked up at his older brother. "I already had my lessons, Harald. Who is Ruben?"

"You," his brother said in a voice Magnus didn't recognise. A voice he didn't quite like. It reminded him a little bit of when his daddy would tell him off. But when Daddy told him off, he was never afraid.

"When is Daddy coming back?" He asked.

Harald's face hardened. "He is not coming back, you little idiot. You don't come back from the sky."

Magnus felt tears begin to pool at the corners of his eyes. "Why not? God is nice. God will let Daddy and Mummy come down to see me—”

All at once, Magnus felt his feet lifted from the floor. It made his stomach flip, the way it used to when Mummy picked him up and swung him round. But then the flip went away and was replaced by pain. His back and his head slammed into the wall, and Harald held him tight with hands that felt hard as stone.

Magnus felt his tears stream over his cheeks, but he was too breathless to scream out at the pain. As he gasped for air, he saw his brother sneer.

"Crying like a baby," he spat. "Be a man. Men don't cry."

Magnus couldn't stop himself from sobbing. The pain in his back and his head was searing, burning, the worst thing he'd ever felt, and Harald was scaring him, his face all twisted up and his hands so hard.

"Ruben!" Harald snapped, and shook him, hard.

Magnus cried out, "That is not my name! My name is Magnus! My name is Mag—”

"Harald." The door shut with a sharp click, and light footsteps pattered across the floor. Magnus knew that voice. This was his sister, Sophronia. She would help him. She would fix his head. He held out his arms towards the sound of her voice, his vision blurred by the tears that he still couldn't stop. "Sophy! Sophy!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Harald. We talked about this."

Magnus didn't know what that meant, but he knew Sophy would help him. She was the one who always played with him and Daddy, whenever she came to visit. She was always smiling and sweet. She would take him away from Harald who had become so mean.

"You can't leave marks on him," Sophy said.

"I didn't. He's crying for no reason. He’s spoilt."

"Someone will hear him screaming."

"Let them. He needs to learn. Don't you, Ruben?" Another shake, harder than the first, and Magnus's head rang and rang like a big church bell, pain spreading out like a spider's web.

Still, he cried, his voice halting and choked, "My name is Magnus!"

Then he felt his sister. Her cool, soft touch against his cheeks, wiping away the tears until his vision was clear and his breath was calm. He looked up at her with gladness in his heart. She was so pretty, different to Mummy, but a little the same. Mummy was pretty too.

But she didn't take him away. She glared at Harald, but then she said to Magnus, her voice firm, "You mustn't cry, Ruben."

His face crumpled and the tears returned. "No! No Ruben! My name is Magnus!"

"Shush," she said briskly. "Stop that. Be a big boy. Now, listen: one of your names is Magnus, but that's Daddy's name. We can't call you Daddy's name, now, can we?"

The tears slowed slightly as Magnus thought on this. He looked at Harald. Harald was staring up at the ceiling, his expression bored, like it was when Daddy used to talk to him about school work and things. His grip was still hard, but he wasn't shaking Magnus or shouting anymore.

Warily, Magnus turned his eyes back to Sophy. "Why not?" He asked. "Daddy said—”

"Never mind what Daddy said. Harald is in charge now, and he has decided that you are called Ruben. Ruben is your second name. It would make me very happy if you used it. Alright?"

Magnus nodded slowly. "Okay," he whispered. "I will try."

"Good." She turned away, sweeping from the room in her long dress like a fairy princess. But wait—why was she leaving him?

"Sophy," he called. "Come back. My head hurts."

She paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at him. And she said, "Grow up, Ruben."

Then she was gone.

"His Royal Highness Prince Ruben and his fiancée, Miss Cherry Neita."

Ruben didn't recognise the head butler, the tall, gaunt man who introduced them. But that didn't mean he hadn't met the man. It was just, his vision felt slightly blurry and his head ached just a bit.

He hesitated on the threshold of the receiving room, suddenly disorientated. But then he felt a soft hand clasp his. He looked down to see Cherry's sparkly pink nails standing out brightly against the back of his hand. Felt the cool band of his mother’s ring on her finger. Then he looked up and locked eyes with the most formidable woman in the world.

His vision cleared. The ringing in his ears faded away. He clutched her hand and set his jaw and walked into the fucking room.

The door shut behind them with a hollow thud, echoing in Ruben's mind like an omen. The room was quiet, its walnut furniture and ice blue walls creating an impression of calmness that Ruben couldn't buy into. In front of the window, through which bright, winter sunlight streamed, the family sat like something out of an old-fashioned photograph.

The children sat on the floor, their skirts arranged around them. Girls, both. And didn't Harald hate it. They betrayed a flash of excitement at Ruben’s appearance before schooling their expressions, bowing their golden heads over some sort of board game.

Above them, settled into various plush sofas, were the adults. Sophronia, dressed as if ready for a debutante's ball in pink silk, a ransom's worth of diamonds glittering over her chest. Harald, his bored gaze on the ceiling, attired in only a velvet smoking jacket and slippers.

A mark of disrespect, of course. Ruben had expected it, but not the sharp fury that cut through him at the sight. He was used to this sort of thing.

But he didn't like the idea that Cherry was being disrespected too.

Lydia sat on Harald's right, the only adult of the bunch who was appropriately dressed. Her airy, navy-blue skirts fluffed out about her knees, her hair in a neat bun. Ruben resisted the urge to smile at her, or at either of his nieces. It would only cause trouble.

"Harald," he said, his tone dancing on the edge of respect, as always.

Harald tore his eyes from the ceiling and flicked them over Ruben as dismissively as he would a dust mote beneath the bed. Then Ruben waited, holding his breath, to see what treatment Cherry would receive. He realised in an instant that if it was anything less than she deserved, he might do something ill-advised.

But Harald made an attempt to look enthused as he came to Cherry. He stood, as a gentleman ought, and held out his hands in a gesture that belied the pinched, disdainful look on his face.

Ruben wouldn't hold that against him. It was his natural expression.

"Miss Cherry Neita," he said, his voice somewhere between surprise and fascination. “Taler du dansk?”

"I'm sorry," Cherry said. "English is my only language, I'm afraid." And then she smiled. It was so fucking beautiful, Ruben thought for a second that he might pass out. Her were dimples deep, her ruby lips were lush and full, and her eyes held that indefinable sparkle that said, I know. I really am something. The sparkle that drew people to her like flies.

Harald blinked as if he'd been hit over the head. Sophronia stiffened, sitting up a little straighter. And Lydia, bless her, smiled back, as unaffected as ever.

The children ignored everyone.

Cherry started forward, tugging on Ruben's hand subtly, leading him into the room.

Pull yourself together, man. Good lord.

He kept his eyes on her, as if her brilliance could protect him from the ugliness of this situation. This place.

Her outfit was modest, simple—a dress with a low, sweetheart neckline and a skirt shaped like a bell, the ivory bright against her brown skin. And yet, she looked as decadent, as sinful as ever.

She reached the cluster of family and furniture and executed a perfect curtsy, nowhere near low enough to seem outdated, but a little more than the modern head nod. With that same, sunny smile she air-kissed Sophronia's proffered cheek, then Lydia's, then took Harald's hand and lowered her head over it, ever so slightly.

Ruben stood and watched, something close to awe-struck. The rambling, pathetic advice he'd been capable of giving in the car was atrocious. And yet, she had everything right.

"What delightful girls," she trilled, looking down at the golden heads still focused on the floor. "How very beautiful." She sounded utterly convincing, as if she could actually see their faces.

"Thank you," Lydia smiled. Sophronia gave a graceless snort. Clearly, his sister was uncomfortable.

Usually, the title of most beautiful woman in the room went to her.

"Please, sit," Harald said grandly.

Cherry did, sinking into a free sofa with the kind of grace usually found on the stage. Then she looked up at him with the sweetest smile, the kind of smile that old, married couples share, and said, "Sit, love."

He swallowed, and sat.

"How wonderful to meet you," Harald said, turning on the charm as always. "Tea?"

"Yes, please," Cherry said, just as charming. So much pleasantness in one room, and all of it false.

Harald didn't ask his wife aloud, or even look at her; Lydia poured the tea automatically, with practiced efficiency. None for Ruben, though. She knew he wouldn't want any.

But then Harald said, "Serve my brother, Lydia."

Ruben frowned. "You know I don't—"

"Lydia," Harald said again, his voice iron. "Pour Ruben some tea."

Ruben could feel Cherry's eyes on him, probably confused, but no doubt hiding it well. He could hardly turn and explain that his brother liked to watch his hands shake. That the older man fed off of any sign of discomfort like a parasite. Ruben had dropped his cup once, scalded himself and stained his trousers, firmly embarrassed himself in polite company after one biting word from Harald, the significance of which no-one else had even understood. Harald rather shamelessly lived for the day that the occurrence might repeat itself.

It wouldn't, of course. Ruben had been a young man then, still under his brother’s thumb.

And yet, he’d allowed the mental scars his brother had inflicted to push Cherry away. Harald still had the power to destroy everything Ruben held dear. So things hadn't changed much at all, had they?

"We're very pleased to be introduced," Lydia said, pouring Ruben's tea. She took care not to fill it too high, because she was kind to a fault, and she knew exactly what her husband wanted.

How Lydia had ended up trapped with a man like Harald, Ruben still wasn't entirely sure.

"How did the two of you meet?" She asked as Cherry sipped her tea.

Ruben cut in. "Cherry works in the educational sector," he said. Hoping that would be enough.

"Still rescuing urchins, brother?" Harald murmured. "It's good to stay in touch with one's roots."

"Yes," Cherry said brightly, lowering her cup. "I agree. Charity is so noble. It’s the perfect occupation for the son of a king." Her words stained the air like red wine across white silk. With barely a breath, she moved on. "I met Ruben in a professional capacity, but he pursued me outside of work, of course." She gave him a warm, teasing look, as if they were sharing a secret joke.

With a jolt, he realised that they were. The memory of marching into her staffroom and dragging her off for lunch brought a smile to his face. And then, somehow, even with the weight of his brother's presence crushing his lungs, Ruben managed to laugh.

"Something like that," he said, and she grinned, and he felt like himself. He felt like himself. What a fucking gift.

As the meeting went on, stilted and awkward and dogged by Harald’s jabs, Ruben held that blessing to his chest, and it became his shield.

* * *

After a, painful half-hour, they were finally released. Cherry smiled politely as they excused themselves, and she left clinging to his arm as if they were joined at the hip. She stayed that way as an assistant led them through the halls to their private quarters, as they were shown their suite and informed of the dinner hour—like Ruben didn’t know it.

But as soon as the door to their quarters swung shut, hiding the outside world, Cherry let go. She stepped away from him. And the laughing intimacy she’d shown him moments before, the smile on her lips and the warmth in her voice, disappeared.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “I didn’t think we’d have to share.”

Ruben tried to hide the way those words hit him, like fists to the gut. They were right back where they’d started. She didn’t want to be alone with him.

“We’re engaged,” he said. “Of course they’d put us together.” Then he realised that he’d said precisely the wrong thing.

The glare she gave him could’ve felled a fucking tree. “How could I forget?” She drawled. “And where the hell is Demi? Or Hans, for that matter?”

Ruben shrugged. “I try to keep my brother unaware of my personal connections.”

For a minute, her gaze softened, and she nodded. But then, as if remembering herself, she set her jaw and turned away from him. “I’m taking the bedroom.”

He watched her storm off through the suffocatingly luxurious parlour, heading towards the huge bedroom they were supposed to share.

He had a feeling that wouldn’t go so well this time around.