The charity auction is held at the Germanian Museum, which boasts the finest collection of artwork, historical artifacts, and interactive exhibits in all the kingdom. The stately columned building sits on the banks of the Nelle River, surrounded by a network of sprawling gardens. Tonight, as we pull to a stop at the front entrance, its facade is illuminated by thirty-nine pale blue spotlights — a tribute to the Vasgaard Square bombing victims we’ve come to raise funds for.
The museum is closed to the public during the event, but at least a hundred of Germania’s most well-endowed members of society are expected to attend. Nearly that many members of the Queen’s Guard will be here as well, judging by the fleet of SUVs I saw rolling out the castle gates earlier; Riggs isn’t taking any chances with my safety, especially after the reporters’ crazed reaction to my speech on the steps outside Parliament this afternoon. I am ensconced in a net of invisible yet impenetrable security.
The stone steps are lined with a red carpet, adding a touch of glamour to the atmosphere. There are already several dozen guests making their way up to the entrance. They stop and pose at studied intervals, their tailored suits and designer dresses practically dripping money. Even my eyes, which are more accustomed to The Gap and Zara than they are Emilio Pucci and Ted Baker, can’t miss the obvious show of wealth.
“Oh, Christ,” Chloe mutters, pressing her face up against her window. “I think that’s Simon Haldorff. He’s been on a mission to ruin my life since archery camp at age fourteen.”
“Why?”
“He may’ve… possibly… caught me hooking up with someone else while we were seeing each other.”
I shake my head. “Poor guy.”
“And the someone else may’ve been his twin sister.”
“Chloe!”
“I know, I know. I’m terrible. But in my defense… you haven’t seen how hot his sister is.” She grins wickedly. “Hey, maybe she’s here, too!”
“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?”
She just laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ll avoid him. I should warn you, though: the odds of Haldorff being my only ex in attendance are decidedly slim.”
“Just remember, we’re trying to keep altercations to a minimum if possible.”
“Me? What about you, Miss Millennial Feminist Icon? After the stir you caused at Parliament, you’re trending on Twitter again,” she reminds me. “I doubt anything I do tonight could possibly top that.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a challenge?”
She smirks.
“Chloe!”
“Oh, chill.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Hashtag buzz kill.”
I sigh. Impending drama notwithstanding, I’m thankful to have her by my side as we exit the Rolls-Royce. Not only will several of the ministers I sparred with earlier be here tonight, there’s a large contingent of press gathered, snapping photographs of the attendees as they arrive and ascend the stone steps.
When Galizia pulls open my door and I step out onto the flagstones, I’m hit with a crushing wave of sound. Six months ago, it would’ve made me flinch. Now, it’s as familiar as breathing.
“Queen Emilia! This way!”
“Look over here!”
“Love the new hair, Emilia!”
“Is there any significance to the purple streak?”
“Planning to bid on anything tonight, Your Majesty?”
“What designer are you wearing?”
“Smile for us, Queen E!”
“Can you comment on your plans for a referendum?”
I keep a demure smile on my face — the one I’ve perfected after countless days in front of the camera. Chloe walks by my side, stopping occasionally to strike a pose, hamming it up for the paparazzi like we’re celebrities at Cannes Film Festival. It’s so nice to see her in good spirits, I find myself grinning with genuine joy as she tosses her long red hair dramatically.
“That’s right! Chloe Thorne in the flesh!” She plants a hand on one hip of her strapless black gown. “Make sure to get my good side, boys!”
After a dozen or so more poses, we finally make it up the stairs and through the row of massive columns, Galizia trailing us closely. Away from the press, the museum is blissfully silent. Our high heels echo against shiny floors as we enter the space, its ceilings soaring so high they give the Great Hall a run for its money.
I haven’t been here in about two years — not since the random afternoon Owen and I ducked inside to avoid a rainstorm and wound up wandering the galleries. After-hours, the museum evokes an entirely different vibe. Gone are the bustling groups of schoolchildren on field trips; absent are the lines of impatient visitors waiting to purchase tickets; the overwhelmed mothers struggling with strollers at the coat check room.
The overhead lights have been dimmed. A classic Frank Sinatra song croons through the air. The customer service desk has been transformed into a full-service bar with uniformed servers mixing cocktails and pouring hundred-dollar bottles of champagne into glass flutes. On the far side of the room, orderly rows of chairs face a small platform with a waiting auctioneer’s podium.
There’s over an hour until the auction begins, so no one has yet taken their seats or claimed their bidding paddles. Germania’s glitterati mill about, making small talk and trading gossip, their eyes constantly roving in their sockets as they scope out new arrivals and appraise fashion choices.
A low-frequency chord of curiosity reverberates through the air as soon as we step inside.
She’s here.
The queen.
It’s her.
Every head swings our direction. There was a time when the sheer intensity of their attention, the way they seem to pick apart my every detail — from the fitted lavender cape dress to the matching streak in my hair to the heeled suede booties on my feet — would’ve been enough to bowl me over.
That time is gone.
My shoulders are square. My eyes are level. I meet their stares with calculated confidence, waiting until their heads bow one by one, a customary show of respect for the arrival of their reigning monarch.
“I don’t know why I worried anyone would be gossiping about my recent drama tonight,” Chloe murmurs under her breath. “I might as well be invisible, standing next to you.”
“Take it as a blessing.”
“Oh, trust me. I do.”
Before we can take a single step, a middle-aged woman in a burgundy suit materializes in front of us, her head deeply inclined in deference.
“Your Majesty, thank you for coming. It’s an honor to have you here. I’m Melinda Sears, Executive Directer here at the Germanian Museum and organizer of this little event.”
“It’s my pleasure to attend. I appreciate your efforts to support the victims’ families.”
“I hope you’ll take some time to enjoy the exhibits before the auction begins. We have a fascinating new collection of early Renaissance paintings, along with a rare Picasso on loan from the Louvre… if you’re interested, I’d be more than happy to take you on a personal tour. We have such exciting plans for future expansion, including a new wing of traditional Germanian art… With your royal patronage, we could turn those plans into a reality.”
I smile at her thinly-veiled money grab. “Oh, we couldn’t possibly monopolize you — I’m sure you’re very busy tonight. We’ll find our own way around.”
“But Your Majesty—”
“Thank you again for the invitation, Director.”
“Y-yes, of course…” she says weakly as I step deftly around her and start walking.
“You’ve gotten better at this,” Chloe notes, falling into step.
“At what?”
“Swimming with the sharks.”
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter. My options were either get eaten or grow teeth of my own.” I nod gratefully as Galizia hands me a glass of much-needed champagne — no doubt already scanned and sampled for all manner of neurotoxins. It tastes like stars on my tongue.
It’s strange to think I’ll never blindly sip anything again. Being poisoned never once crossed my mind in the two decades I lived before becoming a Lancaster. Not when I was taking a tequila shot from the well at Hennessy’s, not when I was popping a free sample into my mouth while wandering the grocery store aisles, not when I bought tacos from my favorite food truck on campus after a late-afternoon psychology class.
But since the night of my coronation, when an unknown assassin spiked the royal champagne with curare, every morsel that crosses my lips is as closely monitored as the rest of my existence.
Chloe accepts her seltzer water with a wink. “Thanks, Galizia.”
“No problem, Lady Thorne.”
“Really?” Chloe’s nose wrinkles. “Still calling me Lady Thorne? I’m wounded! I thought you were my friend, B.”
“If by friend you mean professional bodyguard obligated to protect the queen and all members of her entourage, then yes. We are friends.”
Chloe looks at me. “Does she ever loosen up?”
“Only when Riggs is flirting with her.”
Galizia looks mortified. “Your Majesty—”
“Oh, save the outrage for someone who’s buying it. You two trade so many sexually charged glances, I’m surprised my hair doesn’t stand on end with static every time I visit the Gatehouse.” I tilt my head at her. “I just don’t get why you’re so resistant to the idea of being with him, Galizia.”
“Agreed,” Chloe says. “He’s hot. But not in a cocky way. In that casually confident way that lets you know he’s seriously packing heat in more ways than one. If you catch my drift.”
“A deaf mute would catch your drift,” I tell her, rolling my eyes.
“Subtlety is strongly overrated, E.”
“Know what else is overrated?” I glance back at Galizia. “Continually shutting down a man who’s crazy about you for no good reason at all.”
“A man with BDE, no less,” Chloe adds.
“BDE?”
“Big dick energy.”
Galizia’s teeth are gritted in a scary smile. “Lady Thorne. Queen Emilia. I urge you to keep in mind that Commander Riggs can hear every word you’re saying via the comm-piece in my ear.”
Chloe snorts into her seltzer. “Oops.”
I wince. “At least we were being complimentary…?”
My guard continues to glare at me.
I turn to Chloe. “Quick, let’s go look at some art before she kills us.”
“Or before any more vultures make a grab for your royal patronage.” She pauses. “That sounded like an innuendo but, for once, I was totally serious.”
Our spirits are high as we wind our way through the loop of galleries specially curated for this event, passing priceless oils and watercolors dating back hundreds of years. Several acquaintances stop us along the way for bouts of tepid smalltalk.
Lovely to see you.
Wonderful to make your acquaintance.
And so it goes, on and on and on, until my eyes are half-glazed over. I thank my lucky stars Chloe’s beside me, since keeping track of the names and titles of every aristocrat in the kingdom is about as easy as threading a needle in a pitch black room… while wearing mittens. Her lifetime of rubbing elbows with these people comes quite in handy.
“Incoming, on your left,” she whispers when we stop in front of a baroque-period statue. “Baroness Nye of Jaarlsburg. She’s old money. Like… Germanic Wars old. Loves to let everyone know it, too. Just wait — she’ll bid on the most expensive item later, even if she has no interest in it. Guaranteed.”
“Have I met her?”
“Probably. She attends all the society-set events. She was at Lady Sterling’s afternoon tea a few months ago.”
I turn just in time to see a hawkish, haughty-looking woman glide to a stop beside us. Her chin is so high in the air, when she nods I can still see up her nostrils.
“Your Majesty.”
“Baroness Nye.”
“So very good to see you again. It’s been a long while. We were starting to wonder whether all was well at Waterford Palace.” Her brows furrow, a faint line of displeasure appearing on her Botoxed forehead. “It was unfortunate you did not attend our gala in Jaarlsburg last month. We had quite the turnout.”
The smile on my lips grows strained. “Unfortunately, I can’t attend every event to which I receive an invitation.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. I merely hope next time you’ll consider working us into your busy schedule. I would like nothing more than to introduce you to my son, Charleston Nye — perhaps you’ve heard the name?”
I shake my head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Ah. Well, you haven’t been around all that long, I suppose.”
I arch a brow. “Oh?”
“No offense implied, of course. I simply meant you haven’t been a member of Germania’s more… elite… circles, until quite recently. It’s understandable you wouldn’t know Charleston’s name, despite his status.” She smiles without teeth. “He’s recently returned from a few years in Australia, managing our conglomerates in the southern hemisphere. He spent his formative years here, of course, amongst the pinnacle members of society.”
I take a slow sip of champagne. “How lovely for him.”
“It may be forward of me, but… I believe you two would be a remarkable match, Your Majesty. Had I known you were coming tonight, I would’ve dragged him along to make an introduction.”
I take another sip, wishing suddenly my glass was full of something far stronger than champagne.
The Baroness titters stiffly, perhaps realizing she’s overplayed her hand. “Oh, I do wish I’d brought him along. He’s simply a marvel with a bidding paddle, my son!”
Chloe snorts, stepping up beside me. “I didn’t realize spending obscene amounts of money took actual skill. Let me guess — it’s all in the wrist?”
The Baroness’ eyes narrow a shade as they slide to my sister. “Ah. Lady Thorne. Naturally you’d be here. Where the royals go, your family is never far behind, it seems. I did always admire that about your mother — how little she regarded the rules of polite society in her pursuit of power. It seems you’ve inherited that rather… untoward quality.”
“I wasn’t aware there was anything at all to admire about my mother.” Chloe’s smile is more grimace than grin. “In the off chance we ever speak again, I’ll be sure not to tell her. I wouldn’t want her ego to get as big as yours, Cornelia. We Thornes may be social-climbing opportunists, but you Nyes are condescending, self-important nitwits, the lot of you. Your precious Charleston most of all, if my memory serves correctly. Tell me — can he tie his own ties yet, or do the maids still do it for him every morning?”
The Baroness, whose face has gone stark white, places a hand over her heart and gasps. “In all my life I have never been thus insulted. How dare you insinuate—”
“If you’ll excuse us,” I interject. “Please enjoy the auction, Baroness.” Smiling weakly, I grab Chloe by the arm and drag her away before she can further scandalize the woman.
“I thought you were going to behave,” I hiss under my breath.
“That was me behaving.”
“Chloe.”
“That hag is trying to buy her way into the Lancaster family! Did you hear her going on and on about her son?”
“You mean my future fiancé, Charleston — bidding-paddle marvel of the world?”
Chloe blows out an exasperated puff of air. “She must be out of her mind.”
“I don’t know, he sounds like a real catch. And who wouldn’t want such a lovely woman as their mother-in-law…”
Giggling, we round a corner and find ourselves on an open-air terrace strung with lights. It’s sparsely populated — only a handful of people have braved the cold, smoking cigarettes and sipping steaming hot toddies under the stars. The steady blast of heat lamps isn’t enough to ward off the chill entirely, but we head out anyway, eager for a momentary reprieve from the crowds. If I catch one more miffed Minister of Parliament glaring at me from the shadows, I’ll scream.
Leaning against the stone railing, we look out over the sprawling museum gardens. They’re beautiful in the summer when everything is in bloom; now, in the dark, they look like a hedge-maze in a haunted tale. Only the faint light of a crescent moon and a few wrought-iron gas lampposts illuminate the winding paths and meticulously-pruned topiary.
Chloe glances over at me. “All jokes aside, E… Don’t go out with Charleston Nye. He’s dull as a box of rocks and his eyes are set just ever-so-slightly too far apart. Like a trout.”
I gasp, faux-outraged. “He is a pinnacle member of polite society, Chloe. Don’t you realize how rich his family is? Don’t you know money is the second-most important quality I look for in a partner?!”
“What’s the first?”
“Overbearing mothers. Obviously.”
“If that were true, you’d have married Alden by now. The Sterlings are the wealthiest household in the kingdom and Lady Sterling is a nightmare.”
“A family trait, it seems. His father isn’t much more palatable, judging by our interaction at the National Assembly this afternoon. And don’t get me started on Ava…”
“Mmm. Honestly, it’s amazing someone as kind as Alden actually shares their gene pool.”
“Agreed.”
“Have you spoken to him lately?”
“Not since his birthday party.”
“Do you want to talk to him now?”
“Now? What do you mean—”
“YO! STERLING! OVER HERE!”
I gasp as Chloe’s voice booms like thunder in the quiet night. My head whips around to a familiar blond man in an impeccable suit on the opposite side of the terrace. He’s already crossing to us, a glass of scotch in one hand. His platinum hair looks pure white in the moonlight. There’s an onyx ring on his finger, glinting darkly. I usually find jewelry on men rather effeminate, but he’s attractive enough to pull it off.
“You boomed, milady?” he says wryly, winking at Chloe.
“Alden Sterling, as I live and breathe!” She grins at him. “It’s been ages.”
“That’s because someone never accepts my requests to visit the castle.” He shoots me a pointed look. “You’re looking lovely as ever, Queen Emilia.”
“It’s nice to see you, Alden.”
“Is it?” he asks, sipping his scotch.
“Of course.”
“Then why haven’t you been returning my phone calls?”
I swallow. “I’ve been a bit busy…”
“But she’s remarkably free right this moment,” Chloe interjects. She lifts her empty seltzer glass and shakes it. “Would you look at that? I’m out. I’m going to run and get a quick refill…”
“Chloe. Chloe!” I call, but she’s already gone — striding across the terrace and disappearing back inside the museum. I can only hope Galizia’s keeping an eye on her, as I instructed earlier. Open bars and unsupervised addicts are not a great combination.
Alden chuckles lowly at the expression on my face. “Is it so terrible?”
“What?”
“Being alone with me.”
“Oh! Of course not. I just think I should go with Chloe, so she isn’t alone…”
His hazel eyes fix on mine. “You always seem to be running off when I manage to get you by yourself.”
“It’s not you, I promise,” I assure him weakly. “I’m just…”
“Not comfortable at this sort of event.”
“Is it so obvious?”
“No, actually. Not to anyone else. You’re quite a natural. But… I know you.”
I’m silent.
“Does that surprise you?” he asks softly. “That I think I might know you?”
“A little,” I admit.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say… what I do know about you, I like. And I’d like to know more.”
“I…”
“Go on a date with me.”
I suck in a gulp of air. “What?”
“A date. You. Me. Food. Candlelight.” He smiles that megawatt movie-star smile of his. “I promise it will be enjoyable. And if it isn’t… well, then we’ll know.”
My brows lift. “Know what?”
“Whether this could work,” he murmurs, still watching me carefully. “You and me. Together. As a couple.”
“Alden, I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes. Please, before what little remains of my pride evaporates.”
“I’m not looking to date anyone right now,” I tell him gently. “It has nothing to do with you personally. I just can’t handle a relationship on top of everything else I’m juggling. One more ball in the air, I’ll drop them all.”
“And yet, if the monarchy is to continue, you will have to date — to marry — eventually, Queen Emilia. Your position requires it.”
My heart seizes inside my chest. “I know that.”
“Do you? Truly? There are many people in the kingdom who believe you should be wed within the year, so you can start producing heirs as soon as possible. The Lancaster bloodline is in a perilous position.”
“Right.” I scoff darkly. “And who cares about catching terrorists or grieving the loss of loved ones? Who cares about championing equal rights or calling for referendums? I’m just a breeding mare, after all…”
Moving slowly, Alden sets down his glass on the railing, then reaches across the stone until his hand is resting just beside mine. Not touching, but dangerously close. I’m too surprised to pull away; too fixated on his face as he leans in closer.
“You are so much more than that, Queen Emilia. I know you have been through an excruciating ordeal. I know the first few months of your reign were marked by suffering. But if you’d let me walk by your side… I would do everything in my power to ensure the path you follow from this point onward is an easier one.”
“Alden…”
“And if you and I were to marry one day,” he continues intently. “You wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.”
“I’m not alone.” My words sound defensive even to my own ears.
“Of course. You have Chloe by your side. But is that enough? One surrogate sister? Don’t you want a family of your own? Don’t you want love? A support system? Children?” His hand is suddenly grasping mine, so hard the bones crunch together. There’s an expression on his face I’ve never seen before — so different from his ever-polished calm, it’s hard to fathom he’s the same man I’ve come to know. “I can give that to you, Emilia. All that and more. You just have to grant me the chance.”
I’m silent, struggling to find an appropriate response to this unexpected declaration. As he waits for me to speak, Alden’s fingers tighten around mine almost to the point of pain. I gasp softly as I jerk my hand loose.
The sound jolts him out of a daze. He suddenly seems to remember his manners; the intent glint ebbs from his eyes, his jaw slackens, his throat convulses on a swallow. “Forgive me…”
Flexing my fingers to regain circulation, I force a laugh to diffuse the sudden tension between us. “I thought you were asking me on a date. It feels like you’re asking me something much more significant, Alden.”
“If I’ve gotten ahead of myself, I apologize. We so rarely have a chance to talk like this — just the two of us. I didn’t want to miss my opportunity to express to you how seriously I take our relationship.”
His sheepish smile should be reassuring but I still feel strangely unsettled as I examine the familiar planes of his face, now arranged in a mask of contrition. His flip from adamant to apologetic is startling in its suddenness.
I clear my throat. “I do appreciate your candor, Alden.”
“But?”
“How do you know there’s a but?”
He takes a long sip of scotch. “Let’s call it a gut instinct.”
“I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for,” I say bluntly. “I’m not ready to get married. Not to you or anyone else. And frankly, I don’t care if that ruffles societal feathers. I don’t care if the aristocracy doesn’t approve. Becoming a wife — becoming a mother — is not something I would ever do for political reasons. If you really knew me, you’d recognize that.”
“Queen Emilia—”
“Would you mind getting me a glass of water?” I cut him off before he can say anything else, seizing upon the first excuse I think of. “I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”
He tenses at the wall of formality I’ve thrown up between us, but doesn’t attempt to knock it down again. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll be right back.”
With a stiff smile, he bows and walks away. I hold my breath as I listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps. Only after he’s disappeared inside the museum am I able to breathe properly again; my lungs seem to loosen inside my chest, inexplicable tension falling away in a great whoosh.
I glance around the terrace and see it has emptied completely during the course of our conversation. I wonder if that means the auction is beginning. I should probably head inside to find out for myself, but I can’t bring myself to — not just yet.
Taking a sip of my champagne, I revel in the momentary solitude. I’m so rarely alone these days, especially at functions like this one. And after Alden’s little speech, I need some time to gather my thoughts.
A marriage proposal.
Was he serious?
Did he actually think I might say yes?
I’m not naive enough to deny the truth behind his words; there are many Germanians who would feel far more at ease seeing their queen settled down, a husband by her side, a new heir on the way. And yet, I cannot bring myself to contemplate such a reality. Not now. Not for a long, long time.
Not while my heart still beats for a man I can’t ever call mine.
The sound of approaching voices jolts me out of my thoughts. Someone is coming out onto the terrace. Several someones, judging by the high-pitched feminine cackles washing out the museum doors as they step outside, heels clicking against the stone. To my horror, I recognize one of the voices instantly.
“Did you see that horrendous streak in her hair? How tacky can she be? I swear, it’s bad enough having to call a low-class guttersnipe our queen… she could at least make minimal effort to look the part…”
Ava.
She and her posse are the last people I want to see right now — alone, without any backup to fend off their nasty words. A few more steps and they’ll spot me standing here by the railing, totally exposed.
I have to move.
My eyes dart around, seeking somewhere to hide. Nothing materializes. No alternate exit doors or emergency escape hatches. The terrace is sparsely decorated; nothing but open air, with the exception of a few evergreen trees in large decorative vases scattered around. And crouching behind one of those in my bright purple dress won’t keep me concealed for long.
I eye the terrace railing with desperation.
Could I jump it?
How long is that fall?
Fifteen feet?
Twenty?
For a crazy instant, I actually contemplate hiking up my skirt and hopping over the stone railing, taking my chances with a sharp tumble into the frozen gardens… in all likelihood, landing in a razor-thorned bush of some kind…
I am so not wearing the right outfit for that.
“Ava, that’s a little harsh… Give her a break.” Ava’s friend pauses smugly. “You can’t buy class, after all. Even the royal jewels aren’t enough to disguise trash.”
They laugh again, sounding even closer this time. Any second now, they’ll see me. Time has frozen and, with it, my body. I am paralyzed in place. I cannot run. I cannot hide. I cannot do anything but brace myself for their inevitable arrival.
“Too true. There’s simply no accounting for proper breeding…”
I can practically already hear the gloating sneer in Ava’s voice… can almost see the gleeful malice in her eyes as she stumbles upon me…
“Come on.”
I jolt at the sound of a low male voice from the shadows. Before I can even turn to look at him, a large hand clamps down on my bicep and tugs me sharply left. I gasp as my body is man-handled roughly away from the railing toward an ivy-covered wall, but I don’t struggle against my captor.
Because he’s not a captor at all.
He’s a savior.
I recognize him without seeing his face. Unsurprising; it’s the one that haunts me every time I close my eyes. Too-blue eyes and a jawline sharper than a blade. A man made of a savage sort of grace. Unfortunately, whether he’s leading me to salvation or ruination remains to be seen.
I should’ve jumped when I had the chance.