Some part of me hates myself for coming here tonight. Until I heard him whisper those words into my hair as he drifted off to sleep.

Thank you.

I might have questioned why he was thanking me, but it’s the same reason I could thank him. Whatever this is—this relationship, if you can call it that—is completely fucked up. But neither of us can seem to be without the other, not if we hope to sleep. And as screwed up as this is, we both know it isn’t something we could ever ask of the other.

Andrew’s breathing slows almost immediately and his hold around my middle loosens slightly. It doesn’t take long before sleep finds me, too.

I awaken early—it’s still dark outside. Neither Andrew nor I moved during the night—his arm is still wrapped around my waist and I’m still nestled with my back to his chest.

Part of me wants to wake him up—to rub myself against him, let him know how much I want him. But I don’t. I can’t get the memory of the way Lady Clarissa rubbed herself all over him last night, for one thing. And how he didn’t stop her.

But the main reason I need to get away from this—whatever this is—is because I can’t keep doing this to myself. I’m not even sure why I came here last night—I have a full bottle of sleeping pills on my nightstand now, after King Edmund insisted I be examined by the palace medical staff yesterday.

A mild case of post-traumatic stress disorder. It seems like nothing—no big deal. Nothing a few nights of sleeping pills won’t cure. I could have brought them here—I could have shared them with Andrew and both of us could have slept peacefully drugged through the night. But haven’t we just accomplished the same thing without pills?

Andrew’s breaths are still slow and steady. I’m not about to wake him from his restful slumber, even though I somehow know this will be the last night we spend together. I guess I wanted one more night with his arms wrapped around me. One more night where I was the one who could soothe him to sleep. Maybe one more night of lovemaking.

Not that what happened yesterday was lovemaking of any sort. It was more like both of us trying to fuck our demons away.

I carefully slide out from under his arm, but I don’t reach the end of the bed before I hear his groggy voice. “Where are you going?”

I turn to him and force a smile. “The same place I did yesterday. I’m going to go for a run before I go back to my room. It gives me a pretty good excuse for being a mess in case anyone sees me.”

“Mm.” His eyes fall closed again. He’s only silent for a second. “Come lie with me a little longer. You promised me…” His voice trails off as sleep finds him again.

I have to force myself to not return to the bed. To not tear off my clothes and let him have his way with me—regardless of whether he’s fucking the demons from himself or not. Part of me longs to feel him inside of me one last time. To have him remind me once more how our bodies seem made for each other.

But I’ve already fallen in too deep. My body is already tense with jealousy, thinking about how I’m going to have to watch Andrew with Lady Clarissa again in only a few hours. It would be far better to end this now—to get ourselves back to some semblance of a professional relationship again, if that’s even possible.

Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure there’s no way to shove that genie back in the bottle.

This pageant of his can’t go on too much longer. I can tell even he is getting tired of it. I’m halfway tempted to write the rest of the stories from home—I don’t even need to see these bogus dates of his to know how to write about them. The only thing stopping me is the thought of getting on an airplane again. And knowing I won’t have Andrew by my side when I do.

Right now, I need to get away from this. I need to force myself not to do this again. I got my one last night with him—it may not have been the same night of passion as it was the night before, but that wasn’t why I came here. I’m not really sure why I had come, only that I needed to feel his arms around me again. It’s stupid, really. I can almost understand why I might have wanted him to have me one more time and thinking about it now, my body is starting to ache with that particular need again. But that wasn’t the reason I had come here last night. It was for the connection. It was to be held. It was to be understood.

And I can’t keep expecting him to do that for me.

What was I thinking, anyway? That this relationship could somehow go on after he chooses a wife? That maybe he’d put me up in this gardener’s cottage—that he’d sneak away from his wife once in awhile to come fuck me senseless? That someone like Andrew with his sense of duty and obligation would even consider an arrangement like that?

And what does it say about me that I want any of those things?

I don’t even turn around again. After I pull on my shoes, I go back outside. The crisp fall air bites at my skin—I should have thought to wear a sweater here last night. But I don’t think about it long—I hear movement inside the house and I head back out to the gravel path.

And I then run.

There’s a note waiting for me in my room when I return.

---

Meeting in the office of King Edmund at 7am.

---

It doesn’t give me much time to get ready—and it makes me feel a little idiotic, not having received it until so close to the meeting time. If I had stayed in my room last night, I would have seen the note already. I would have had plenty of time to prepare for whatever this is about.

But I don’t have time to chastise myself for long. I take a quick shower and dress—I have to run, but I get to the office about one minute before the appointed time.

And Andrew is outside waiting, too.

His eyes widen with surprise when he sees me. “I… Good morning, Victoria. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

I go to stand on the other side of the door to wait, not responding.

His voice lowers. “You shouldn’t have come here. I didn’t mean to imply last night that you were invited—”

I lift a brow, interrupting. “I was invited. There was a note waiting for me in my room that said to meet here at seven o’clock.”

He frowns. “Oh.” He pauses for a moment. “I can’t imagine why my father would want an audience for this particular conversation—”

The opening of the office door, precisely at seven, interrupts him.

The same man who came to my room last night to remind me of my fencing date with William opens the door. He nods to both of us, swinging the door fully open. “His Royal Majesty will see you both now.”

Andrew’s shoulders drop and there’s some expression in his eyes that I can’t quite place. He almost looks sad, but that isn’t quite it.

He motions for me to enter first and I follow the stout man through a small office space and through another doorway on the other side of the room.

The office on the other side is much larger and much more ornately decorated. The dark paneling on the walls makes the space seem warmer, somehow.

King Edmund glances up at me and then over at his eldest son, who has followed close behind me. The king motions for us to be seated, but says nothing—his focus goes back to the papers he’s working on.

“Father, I—”

The king holds up his hand, still not looking up at either of us. He finishes reading whatever it is in his file before he slams his fist against his desk, looking up at Andrew.

Andrew’s mouth falls open, but no sound comes out.

“Where is he?” The king speaks through clenched teeth. His jaw is so tight that his eye is twitching.

Andrew’s brows draw together and his words are slow, calculated. “Where is…who?”

“Your brother.” The king is almost bellowing now. “I know he left last night—he and that woman. I imagine you’ve heard about my meetings with the senate, Andrew. Did you share that information with Leopold? Is that why he chose now to disappear again?”

“I…” Andrew glances at me then turns his gaze back to his father. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re speaking of, Father.”

The king pounds his fist against the desk again. “You don’t know what I’m speaking of? And yet, you were there, Andrew. You. Of all people, you were there in Prague when Leopold gambled away the most important symbol of our monarchy.”

Andrew’s mouth falls open again.

“How could you have let this happen? How could you have let your brother do this? It was bad enough when I thought that he had taken part in a night of illegal gambling. It was why I sent him to South America—and when he nearly destroyed our good relations there, it was why I sent you. And then I find out that you were there in the room when it happened? And you did nothing to stop it?” His voice is getting more agitated by the second, bellowing louder and louder.

“This is a public relations nightmare, Andrew. And to think that you’re in the middle of this…this pageant.” He groans, running a hand through his hair—almost exactly how Andrew does when he’s frustrated.

“Father, I—”

“Did you tell your brother about my meetings yesterday?” The king glares across the desk at Andrew.

Andrew shakes his head. “I’ve barely spoken with Leopold since my return. I… We haven’t spoken about anything of significance since I’ve been home.”

King Edmund sighs and runs another hand through his hair—his eyes are wild and bloodshot. It doesn’t look like he’s slept in days, either. But his voice lowers, and there’s almost a sympathetic tone in it now. “Were you there? In the same room with him in Prague?”

Andrew nods. “Yes, Father.” He presses his lips together and almost gulps. “Father—”

“Do you know what he’s asking? Prince Reginald’s father—King Maximilian?” The king shakes his head. “He wants you to marry his daughter in exchange for this gambling debt. His daughter.” He shakes his head again. “I’ve told him it’s impossible. That you’ve already set your sights on another.”

Andrews’s cheeks turn a few shades of pink. “Father—”

“He insisted. And the girl is here now. Your mother is helping her to get settled, but you both are to meet with her at breakfast. Explain to her about the pageant that is going on. King Maximilian wanted nothing to do with some sort of contest—he wanted a guarantee that you will marry his daughter.”

“If it will help Montovia—”

“Andrew.” The king’s voice is flat. “Even I would never ask you to sacrifice like that. Not for this princess. Not when you have a perfect mate in Lady Clarissa.”

“Father, I do not believe that I and the Lady—”

He shakes his head, holding up his hand. “I’m meeting again today with the senate. If it were up to me, I would force Leopold to marry the girl, as it was he who has brought such shame to our country. But I doubt the girl would want a bastard child to raise…” The king’s gaze meets mine for a moment. “Forgive my language, Ms. Simpson.”

I don’t get the chance to respond before Andrew interrupts.

“About that night, Father. There’s something you should know.” He glances at me for a second. “It wasn’t Leopold—”

King Edmund holds up his hand. “It doesn’t matter. Your brother has brought shame to our country for the last time. Exiling him to another country isn’t even going to be enough this time. After my meetings with the senate have completed—after we’ve come up with some sort of agreement with King Maximilian that does not include your marriage to his daughter—you and I will sit down and chat about the proper course of action for dealing with Leopold, once and for all.”

Andrew blinks a few times. It’s hard to tell if it’s disbelief or something else he’s blinking back. But he nods. “Yes, Father.”

“Good. Now both of you go to breakfast to meet this young woman. Princess Justine. Make her feel that she at least has a prayer of winning your hand. I wouldn’t want her going to her father to tell him otherwise at this point.”

“Of course, Father.”

The king smiles and lets out a long breath. “I can’t say this is how I’d hoped you would choose your wife, Andrew, but I am glad that you’ve finally decided to search for her.”

Andrew nods before he stands, motioning for me to do the same.

“Oh, and should you hear from Leopold, tell him he’s to return home at once.”

Andrew gives his father a shallow bow. “Of course, Father.” He motions for me to exit the room and he follows me closely behind.

We’re well out into the hallway and down the corridor before I stop and turn to him. “What was that?”

He stops and turns to me, lifting a brow. “What do you mean?”

I tilt my head, frowning. “I think you know exactly what I mean.” I lower my voice, in case anyone might be listening. “Last night you said there was something you needed to tell me. Something…untoward, I believe was the term you used.”

He presses his lips into a line and says nothing.

“It was you, wasn’t it? The night of illegal gambling in Prague? Whatever he thinks Leo did?”

He stares at me like he’s trying to bore a hole through my head, but says nothing.

“I’ll take the silence as an admission of guilt.”

Andrew turns and starts walking down the hall again.

I catch up to him, walking with him in lockstep. “What did you do?”

He lets out a long breath, turning to look at me for only a second. “It’s exactly how my father said. Only Leopold was not the one who was gambling that night. He had met a model in the casino and had taken up with her. They had already gone back to his room—he told me I needed to keep myself occupied.” He shakes his head. “I had too much to drink that night. I don’t remember all the details. But before I knew what had happened, I found myself in a back room game with two ambassadors from rather large countries, a prince from the middle east, and Prince Reginald, Princess Justine’s brother. We all wagered things we shouldn’t have.” His shoulders drop and he turns to me again. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you that Prince Reginald won. He said he would be collecting when the time was right.” He shakes his head and presses his lips together, trying to hide whatever emotion it is he’s feeling. “I suppose that time is now.”

I want to hug him—pull him close to me and tell him that we all make mistakes. That everyone does stupid things from time to time and that he’s no different from anyone else. But I can’t—I can’t risk touching him out in the open like this and I can’t chance anyone overhearing me speaking to him with anything other than absolute professionalism in my voice from now on.

“I’ve met her once—Princess Justine.” Andrew starts walking down the hall again. “She’s quite a lot younger than me, if I remember correctly. She might have been eight or nine when I met her last and I was an older teen, I think. I believe she’s been studying abroad in America for the past seven or eight years.” He turns to me with a forced smile. “Perhaps the two of you will have more to talk about than you and Lady Clarissa.”

I force my own smile. “I hardly think that I need to have anything to talk with her about. You’re the one who will be spending time with her. I’m only the one who will be watching.”

His smile falls a bit and he nods. “I suppose that’s true. Though I do care about your opinion of her, Victoria. I know that seems difficult to believe. It’s equally difficult for me to admit. But nothing would please me more than having you approve of the woman I choose to be my wife.”

My stomach twists into a knot and I have to blink back the tears that sting at my eyes at his words.

But I barely get the chance to feel sorry for myself. We turn a corner and walk into another of the many dining rooms, this one small and brightly lit. One side of the room is glass and overlooks a fountain on one of the back lawns.

The table is set for five—it only takes me a second to realize there is no place set for me. A place for the queen, one for Sophia, one for William—and of course, a place for Andrew and the new girl.

I stand to the side of the door, unsure of how this is supposed to work. It seems weird to just stand here and watch everyone else eat.

I’m about to walk out when William walks through the door. He turns to me and grins, giving me a deep bow. “Lady Victoria, I trust that you slept well.”

I nod, smiling. “I did. Thank you for asking. And I’m not a lady—”

I swear I hear Andrew growl from the table.

William glances over at him, but his smile never leaves his lips. “You are my guest for breakfast this morning. You didn’t have to wait to be seated, however.” He motions to the side of the table across from Andrew. “Come, sit next to me.”

“I…” I clear my throat. “What about Sophia?”

William tilts his head, gazing at me for a moment before he glances at the table. He turns back to me. “The seating arrangements are either an oversight or a sign my sister will not be eating with us. In either event, you are joining me.”

“Oh.” He takes my hand in his and leads me to the table, pulling out my chair for me as I take a seat.

Andrew lifts a brow in my direction but says nothing. Instead, he pulls his napkin off his plate and slams it onto his lap.

Queen Penelope and a young woman are at the door a moment later. We all stand from our seats when they enter.

The young woman looks uncomfortable, as though she’d rather be anywhere but here.

I can relate to that.

The queen smiles and motions at the young woman with her hand. “This is Princess Justine. She’ll be joining us for the next several days.”

William and Andrew bow and the princess curtsies in return.

The queen smiles at me. “I’m so thrilled you’re able to join us this morning, Victoria. William tells me you had quite the duel last night.” She sits and the rest of us take our seats.

William places his hand on the back of my chair, his fingers brushing against the skin of my neck. “It was quite exhilarating, Mother. You should have come.”

“Perhaps I will another night.” She turns her gaze to mine. “William tells me you’ve agreed to fence with him as your schedule allows.”

I force an uncomfortable smile and nod. Did I agree to that? It’s hard to remember now—my brain was pretty scrambled with jealousy over witnessing what Lady Clarissa had been doing to Andrew last night.

She grins, her eyes twinkling. “I think it is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful that you two have so much in common.”

Andrew’s eyes have narrowed to slits, almost like he’s trying to shoot darts at his brother through them.

The queen turns her gaze to Justine. “Ms. Simpson is here to record the details of Andrew’s search for a wife. She’s also a writer.”

The young woman smiles at me and gives me a knowing nod. She’s beautiful with long, flowing black hair covering her shoulders, pale skin, and chocolate brown eyes.

Andrew turns to her. “You’re a journalist?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ve just finished my degree in English literature. I’m writing poetry now.” Her English is perfect—she almost sounds American.

“She’s had two collections published already and she’s only just finished her undergraduate studies. It’s impressive, wouldn’t you agree, Andrew?” The queen lifts a brow in his direction.

He nods, the corners of his lips curling into something of a smile. “I would. It’s quite impressive.”

Our breakfast is served and the queen chats with William as we eat. Andrew and Justine haven’t stopped talking to each other—or looking at each other—since the meal arrived at the table.

William tilts his head to whisper into my ear. “He likes her.”

I have to force my head not to snap around to be able to glare at him. I keep my eyes instead on the couple across from me.

William’s hand brushes against the top of my back and he whispers again into my ear. “Look at his mouth while he’s talking to her. See how the corners are twitching, like he’s trying not to smile?” He pauses for a moment. “And look at his hand—he’s trying not to reach over to touch her.”

His hand grazes the back of my neck and his finger trails delicately across my skin, making goosebumps rise on my arms. He tips his head to mine again and he whispers in my ear. “Watch his hand—I know my brother. I know what he’s going to do next.”

William’s fingers dance over the skin at the back of my neck as we watch the couple across from us. He tilts his head once more to mine. “If he touches the top of her arm, that’s it. That’s his tell. Like in poker—do you know poker?”

I give him a quick nod, unable to move for fear of his fingers moving anywhere else.

He nods again, tipping his head to mine to speak into my ear. “If he touches the top of her arm, caresses her skin there—it’s all over. She’s the one—the one he’ll choose to be his wife.”

Memories of every time Andrew has touched my arm like that come rushing back to me. The first time—the first time was when we were in the cave in the middle of the torrential rainstorm. He did it again the next day. And at the cabin—he definitely did it at the cabin. And at the hospital. And on the airplane. How did I not know that was his tell?

Has he done it since we’ve been at the palace? My brain is a wreck—I can’t remember. I can’t remember the last time he touched the top of my arm. And does it even matter? He had sex with me night before last. Surely that means more than how he touches my arm. Surely that means something—

William squeezes my shoulder and trails his fingers back to my neck, nudging against me with a chuckle.

I look across the table. Andrew is mesmerized in his conversation, a genuine smile on his lips for the first time since I’ve met him. He laughs—I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh. And his gaze is locked with Justine’s like there’s no one else in the room.

My stomach twists into a knot and I know I need to leave.

Andrew’s hand—his fingers…it seems like they’re moving in slow motion, even though I know it’s only me. My stomach is hard and I want to run.

Andrew is caressing the bare skin at the top of Justine’s arm.