The Dare Collection September 2018. Stefanie London

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

       CHAPTER FIVE

      Damien

      A SOFT KNOCK sounds on my door, and at first I ignore it. Despite having been home for a month now, the palace still feels foreign—like it isn’t my home anymore. I guess had I not been left for dead in an alley behind the Royal Edenvale Hospital, I wouldn’t have been welcome any time soon. The notion rankles, like lemon pressed to a long-festering wound.

      Whoever is out there knocks again.

      “What is it?” I shout with annoyance, then wince. My three broken ribs are healing, yet still tender.

      When my intruder doesn’t enter, I rise uneasily from the safety of the plush leather chair, put down my book and make for the door.

      “What?” I ask, throwing the door open to find a tall, dark-haired man with a kind smile that makes my stomach turn. Not because I cannot stand his benevolence but because it’s like looking into some sort of funhouse mirror—some semblance of the me I could have been had my life gone in any other direction but the one it has.

      “Benedict,” I say, greeting my older brother, the one who gave up a life in the priesthood for Evangeline Vernazza, an artist from Rosegate. “To what do I owe this brotherly visit? Here to bring me another book? Or to tell me again that I need to give Nikolai time, that he’ll eventually speak to me?”

      I don’t mean to spew my bitterness at Benedict. He’s been nothing but concerned since they found me in the hospital—nothing but caring since I returned to the palace. But I doubt I’ll ever prove myself worthy of Nikolai’s forgiveness. And I can’t say that I blame him.

      Benedict sighs. “No pep talks today, brother.” He looks me over and chuckles softly. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you’ve—looked better.”

      I run a finger down the scar from my temple to chin—the one from the car accident years ago. My beard bristles against my fingertips. I gingerly touch the bridge of my nose, but even that sends pain rocketing to my skull. When it didn’t set correctly the first time, the doctors had to re-break it so I could breathe correctly again. Both my eyes are still rimmed with a mixture of purple and yellow. Then there’s the new scar running the length of my right eyebrow.

      This time I’m the one to laugh, a rare occurrence these days. My hand flies to my side, and I brace the other on the doorframe.

      Benedict places a steadying palm on my shoulder.

      “Are you okay?” he asks. “Should I ring the doctor?”

      I straighten carefully СКАЧАТЬ