My Royal Hook-Up. Riley Pine

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СКАЧАТЬ king and queen could have hanged me. Instead they hastened plans for the wedding—to tomorrow. So naturally, I ran away. Again. But this time I did not bother with any sort of lie. It wouldn’t have mattered. I’ve been under lock and key ever since that weekend, every meal taken either with the king and queen or alone in my chamber. Each night my governess watched me place a sleeping tablet on my tongue—and each night when she left me, I retrieved the tablet from under my tongue and sent it down the toilet.

      Last night when Elsie, the serving girl, brought my teapot, I asked that she join me. And because a servant cannot refuse a royal, Elsie drank a cup, but not before I distracted her and poured in two crushed sleeping tablets.

      Soon after, I escaped out the window. No handsome prince climbed my tower and saved me. I did it myself.

      My hand settles over my belly, still flat. No sign of the secret inside.

      Maybe I fell fast and hard for a prince who fed me nothing but pretty lies full of tenderness and wonder, but now there is no choice. Our time together resulted in unexpected consequences. Ones he needs to answer for. Ones he needs to protect.

      “Ah, here we are,” the driver says, pulling up at the guard tower. “They’ll fix you right up and give you palace security clearance.”

      “Thanks very much,” I say, and slide out, tugging my suitcase with me.

      Once I had a kingdom. Now I own two dresses, four pairs of underwear and a toothbrush.

      But I’m free.

      At the guard tower, the royal officer barely looks up from his newspaper. “State your business.”

      I untie the scarf from my hair and shake out my long locks. “I am Juliet de Estel, Princess of Nightgardin. And I demand an immediate audience with the Edenvale royal family.”

      The man’s jaw nearly hits his ample belly. He clears his throat twice, his lips flapping soundlessly before managing to rasp “one moment, ma’am. I mean, miss. I mean, Your Eminence.”

      He doesn’t pick up the phone beside him. Instead, he hits a red button on the wall.

      “Yes?” A deep masculine voice says in a crisp accent.

      “Mister X, sir, you’re going to want to come to the servants’ entrance, right away. There’s a...diplomatic situation unfolding here at the post.”

      Two minutes later a dark-haired man in a black suit appears, his eyes hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. He doesn’t give me more than a passing glance before walking into the guard booth.

      “The heir to the Nightgardin throne is at your post,” he says.

      “That’s what I was trying to say. But more subtle-like,” the guard replies.

      The man removes his sunglasses and regards me with a look of cool appraisal. “Subtle indeed, Bartholomew. This is most unusual protocol for a state visit,” he says.

      “I’m a most unusual woman,” I snap, refusing to be intimidated by his hooded gaze.

      That earns me a ghost of a smile.

      “Indeed.”

      “And since you know me, might I have the pleasure of an introduction?”

      “I’m called X, Your Highness. Head of Edenvale’s Royal Secret Service.”

      “X?” I chuckle. “X what?”

      The guard Bartholomew joins in my humor. “That’s what I always say. We have a running bet on what his real name might be.”

      “And it pains me to give you nothing but disappointment,” X says wryly before reaching out to take my bag. “Will this be all?”

      I nod.

      “I need to speak with all members of the royal family... Prince Damien especially.”

      Something flickers in his enigmatic eyes. I get the sense that this is a man who has seen it all and then some. I am the daughter of his kingdom’s worst enemies, and he barely batted an eyelid. And yet when I say Damien’s name I get a reaction that I’d almost be tempted to describe as sympathy.

      “You’re acquainted with Prince Damien?”

      The strange way he says the prince’s name sends a chill down my spine. I remember the driver’s words. What has happened to Damien? The last I saw of him he was screaming that he’d find me–that he’d stop at nothing. Then two months of radio silence.

      “He made me promises and broke them all,” I announce. “And for my impetuousness, my mother ensured that I was broken in ways few can imagine. I didn’t escape to rekindle a failed romance. I did it because a mother lets nothing—nothing—not solitary confinement, not interrogation, not hunger—stop her from protecting her child.”

      X’s gaze follows my hand as again I lay a palm over my abdomen, as if the small gesture can protect the tiny spark inside. My now-solitary reason for existence, for having the courage, for risking everything.

      “I see.” And I can tell that in some strange way, this odd man does see. Relief sweeps through me as I feel protected for the first time since being ripped from that hotel room two months ago.

      “Now take me to see him at once,” I snap, recovering the royal imperiousness I wear as a second skin.

      X gives a curt nod. “Follow me, Your Highness. I’ll assemble the royal family in the west wing.”

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