OFFICIAL PRESS RELEASE
WATERFORD PALACE
On this day, the Fifteenth of April in the Year of Our Lord Two-Thousand and Twenty
HER ROYAL MAJESTY EMILIA VICTORIA LANCASTER OF GERMANIA AND LORD ALDEN NOTTINGHAM STERLING OF WESTGATE ARE ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED
Her Royal Highness the Reigning Queen of Germania is delighted to announce her engagement to the honorable Alden Sterling, heir to Westgate.
Their forthcoming union was officially made public this afternoon, at an intimate engagement party at Waterford Palace. Attendees included Germania’s ranking aristocrats, family members, and friends close to the royal couple.
The wedding ceremony will take place this August at Windsor Abbey in Vasgaard, with a formal ball to follow at Waterford Palace.
I stare down at the press release, feeling curiously numb. Sliding the paper back to Simms across the gleaming wood of the conference room table, I rise to my feet in a fluid movement. The pale blue skirt of my engagement dress swishes around my knees.
“It’s suitable. You can send it out.”
Simms clears his throat. “Your Majesty…”
“Yes?”
He blinks at me, his double chin quivering with each short breath. “It’s just…”
I sigh impatiently. “What is it, Simms? Guests will be arriving shortly for the engagement announcement. I need to go greet them with Alden in the Great Hall.”
“I know, My Queen. My sincerest apologies. It’s only…”
“Simms. Spit it out, already.”
“Are you quite certain you want to go through with this? With the announcement? And… with the engagement?”
I press my eyes closed. I can’t believe what I’m hearing — from Simms, of all people.
“A little late for cold feet, isn’t it?” I ask wryly, waving my left hand at him. The massive sapphire engagement ring sitting on my fourth finger glitters in the early morning light. It’s quite heavy — its physical heft a perfect match for the weight I feel inside my heart whenever I allow myself to dwell on the upcoming wedding.
“Perhaps it isn’t my place to say anything, but I feel it is my duty as your advisor to let you know it’s not too late to change your mind about this match, Your Majesty.”
“Change my mind?” A scoff of utter disbelief pops from my mouth. “Aren’t you the one who’s been pushing me into this for the past few weeks?”
“Well, yes—”
“Aren’t you the one who briefs me daily on the delightful Ludwig von Strauss and his ever-growing band of supporters? You know, the ones calling for me to abdicate my throne — quite loudly, I might add?”
“Yes, I suppose I have done so, but—”
“And aren’t you the one who has repeatedly assured me that, despite my canonized status amongst the common people as Emilia the Liberator, there are still plenty of members of the nobility plotting against me at this very moment? None so much as my former stepmother and prospective in-laws?”
Simms clasps his hands together. “Your Majesty, I do realize I have been the foremost champion of this union. But, over the past few weeks, I would be remiss if I said I have not noticed a marked change in your demeanor…” His eyes avoid mine, examining the tabletop with determination. “You have been withdrawn. Quiet. Pale. Quite unlike your normal self. Lady Morrell has remarked on it, as has your sister. Even your guards have expressed concern.”
“What is it you want from me?” I ask tiredly. “Should I be skipping down the halls, whistling a merry tune? Perhaps doing cartwheels? Jumping for joy at the prospect of a loveless marriage to a man whose entire family loathes me?”
“No, that’s not—”
“Should I do what the nobility so clearly wants? Abdicate my crown? Allow Octavia Thorne to run the throne by proxy?” A sarcastic edge stains my words. “Surely, that will lead Germania to time of peace, prosperity, and equality.”
“No, Your Majesty, that’s not what anyone wants. You are our true sovereign. To remove you from the throne would be to remove the beating heart from our country.”
“Then why question the engagement? Why sabotage our well-planned political strategy at the last moment?”
Simms swallows nervously, looking a bit flushed. “I apologize if I have overstepped. I merely thought someone should say something or… Or give you the opportunity, at the very least, to change your mind.”
“I’m not sure whether that’s condescending or comforting, but I appreciate the sentiment, Simms.”
“Your Majesty… I do support your marriage to Alden Sterling. I believe it is the right move for you — politically, fiscally, and socially. I did not intend to cast doubt on this alliance; merely to shed light on its finality.”
“For once in your life, just speak plainly, Simms.”
“Very well.” His worried gaze finds mine. “Once this press release goes out, there will be no taking it back. There can be no breaking a royal engagement. To do so would destroy your public image. So… you must be certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this is what you want.”
I stare at him for a long beat. Weighing his words. Allowing their mass to solidify and settle inside my heart, adding to the burden that’s been building there for the past two weeks, since the day the referendum passed. Since the day Ludwig crept from the shadows and started his campaign against me, with Octavia pulling his puppet strings from behind the scenes. Since the day I left Hightower — and my dreams for a different future with a different man — behind.
For good.
You must be certain.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt.
This is what you want.
“Simms.”
“Your Majesty?”
“Send out the press release.”
Without another word, I leave the room.
I have a fiancé to track down. Guests to greet. An engagement to announce. And no time to look back at all the things that might’ve been.
“Your Majesty, Lord Sterling — warmest wishes to you both for your coming marriage.”
“Thank you,” Alden says, shaking the hand of a pompous man whose title I can’t for the life of me remember. “We so appreciate your support.”
I smile stiffly as the man bows and finally moves along, already bracing for the next well-wisher.
We’ve been greeting people for nearly three hours — a never-ending parade of nobility who’ve come to the castle to pay their respects at our engagement announcement. A fleet of official palace photographers click their shutters as we stand on the dais, our feet slowly going numb as hundreds of Germanians murmur congratulations and express their happiness.
A royal wedding, how exciting!
And soon after… a royal baby!
I lock my knees to keep upright and beam like it’s the happiest day of my life. Periodically, Alden glances over at me with concern, seeming to sense my unease, but he says nothing. He is too busy greeting his future subjects to question the mental state of his future wife.
Wife.
What an odd word.
I can’t say I ever thought I’d be married at twenty-one. Then again, I never thought I’d be a queen at twenty-one. Or an orphan at twenty-one. Or, according to Chloe, the most-followed social media user in the entire free world at twenty-one.
Life takes strange turns; all you can do is hold on tight and hope not to crash. To cope with your circumstances the best way possible.
For me, that means what it has for so many royals who’ve come before: a strategic alliance, forged through the bonds of an arranged marriage.
I look over at my husband-to-be — his chiseled, almost delicate features. His trim waist. His clean-shaven jawline.
He looks dashing in his custom-tailored suit. His tie is pale blue, a perfect match for my dress. His platinum locks are parted with extra care, not a strand out of place. He looks every inch the future royal.
The future king.
Sensing my gaze, he glances at me with a soft smile. It’s the same look he wore when we finalized our marriage agreement one week ago, under the careful supervision of Simms, Lady Morrell, and two legal advisors.
Calm.
Comforting.
Composed.
“How are you holding up over there, my dear?”
I shrug. “As well as can be expected.”
He takes one of my hands in his, his skin soft and warm. I hear camera shutters click as he interlaces our fingers.
How tender.
How sweet.
How authentic.
“Only another hour or so,” he assures me in a low voice. “Then it will be over. For today, at least.”
I sigh.
We both know it will never be over. For the rest of our lives, this will be our reality. Posing for the press. Shaking hands. Smiling wide.
The perfect royal couple.
I extract my hand from Alden’s as another couple steps up onto the platform to congratulate us, a greeting poised on my lips.
“Baroness Nye, how good of you to come…”
And on and on it goes.
Confronted with a sea of cagey smiles and falsely-bright blessings for our nuptials, I can only hope this strategic move will work; that the wolves circling in this room will cease their support for King Ludwig, now that I’m marrying into their blue-blooded circles.
The commoner-queen no longer.
Ludwig himself is here, somewhere, wandering around amidst the canapés and cater-waiters. It’s the first time we’ve been in the same room; the first time we’ve been introduced in any official capacity.
I must confess, he is not what I was expecting. Absent is the charisma of a leader, the spark of a revolutionary. His personality is dull as the dishwater-brown hue of his hair.
With a soft, quivering voice — and a body type to match — he stood before me like a bashful child, barely able to meet my gaze or mutter a proper greeting. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was actually frightened to meet the Lancaster Lioness.
I felt almost sorry for the man — a hapless gazelle, no match for these political schemes he’s found himself embroiled in. Without Octavia to prop him up as a viable candidate for my throne, he might just crumble beneath the weight of his own inadequacies.
Unfortunately, not all of my enemies possess such weak constitutions. Like a she-devil delivered straight from the innermost ring of Hell, Ava Sterling sidles up to the dais, a malicious smile already affixed to pink-painted lips.
“Sister,” Alden says stiffly in greeting.
“Brother,” she sneers coldly back at him. “What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Mother and father are quite beside themselves.”
“I assume they sent you here to express their disappointment?”
“Naturally. It’s not as if they could come themselves — you’ve placed them in quite an uneasy predicament by aligning yourself with the imposter queen.”
“The only imposter here is you, sister. Why did you really come?”
“To express my sincerest congratulations!” She laughs. “Oh. No. Wait. That wasn’t it. I suppose I came to warn you.”
“Spare me the pleasure, Ava.”
Her eyes narrow. “I told you before, brother. I own you. You think you can escape that, merely by relinquishing your title? You think you are any safer from me, now that you’re moving into the palace? We both know I could destroy you with one interview.”
“And our family’s reputation, in the process.” He shakes his head. “We both know you’d never go that far. Taking me down will ensure your own demise as well.”
“Don’t test me, Alden. I promise, you won’t like the results.”
My eyes are zinging back and forth between siblings, attempting to decipher their volley of words. It is conversational ping-pong; a threat-laden sparring match full of subtext I cannot understand.
“You should be happy — with me out of the way, you’ll inherit,” Alden reminds her. “You’re the heir to Westgate, now.”
She scoffs. “A pittance, when I was meant to be the queen.”
“Why can’t you ever be satisfied?” he asks.
“Satisfaction is for fools. You should know that better than anyone, Alden — you’ve never been satisfied a day in your life. But how could you be, when you’re living a lie?”
“Ava,” he snaps. “That’s enough.”
She laughs again. “You aren’t the king yet, brother. You cannot command me to be silent.”
“What is it you want? Hmm?”
She leans closer, her eyes locked with his. “I want you to know you are making a mistake of the highest magnitude.”
“That is a matter of opinion.”
“That is a fact.” She shakes her head. “Going against me? Unwise. Going against your family? Unforgivable.”
Alden steps closer to me, his posture stiffening. “Emilia is my family now, Ava.”
She laughs bitterly, her icy hazel eyes finally sliding my way. “Is that so? She doesn’t seem your usual type.”
“Don’t make a scene.” Alden’s teeth are clenched. “What would mother and father say?”
“Oh, trust me, if they were here they would have some choice words for you. Their golden child, their prodigal son… How very sharp your fall from grace has been.”
I snort, unable to keep silent any longer. “Only a Sterling would consider becoming the King Consort of Germania a social misstep.”
“No one asked you.” Ava turns to me, her sneer intensifying. “You think you’re clever, because you’ve tricked my brother into this alliance? You aren’t. You’ve merely assured his downfall along with your own. I hope you’re quite happy together, when it all falls apart at the seams.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, highly aware of the attention fixed on us from all sides. “Your threats are growing thin, Ava. I met your precious Ludwig. He has all the authority of a wet mop. There’s no chance in hell he can pull off this power-coup, even with the financial backing of your family. If you try to take me on, you will fail. And then you — not your brother — will have tarnished the Sterling name beyond repair.”
Her smile widens, reminding me of a shark. “You think you’re so high and mighty now, don’t you? The Lancaster Lioness. Emilia the Liberator. Looking down on everyone from your sad little throne, feeling safe because there’s a crown on your head.” She leans in, whispering. “A far cry from the meek mouse you were when our paths first had the misfortune of crossing.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound almost impressed, Ava.”
“Impressed? No. Amused? Certainly.” She clucks out a tsk sound with her tongue. “You think you’ve won this round, but you don’t even understand the game being played here. Nor do you realize you’ve aligned yourself with the most dangerous player of all.”
“Ava,” Alden growls in warning.
She ignores him, still staring into my eyes. “Allow me to let you in on a little secret — you know, since we are to be sisters soon.”
“Ava,” Alden snaps again, harsher this time.
She doesn’t heed him. “My brother may appear the perfect gentleman — the perfect husband-to-be — but I know him better than anyone on this planet. Trust me when I tell you that beneath his sweet smiles and kind words, he is made from the same fabric as me, stitched with the same tendencies you so loathe.” Her pale brows arch. “You think this marriage will protect you? It will not. And I, for one, cannot wait for the day you realize the man you’ve chosen as your salvation has wrought your ultimate destruction.”
A chill shivers down my spine as Ava turns on her designer heels and walks away, her words lingering in the air around us like smog.
Alden moves closer, his arm brushing mine. “Do not let her upset you,” he murmurs. “My sister is like a cat — when feeling cornered, she lashes out with sharp claws. Her venom is a symptom of our victory, nothing more.”
His words are meant to be a comfort, but I cannot shake the uneasiness Ava stirred inside me.
“Right. I know,” I lie. “Of course.”
I paste a smile back on my lips and turn to greet our next well-wishers. But for the duration of the engagement party, Ava’s words are never far from my mind.
You’ve aligned yourself with the most dangerous player of all.
As I peek at my fiancé from the corner of my eye… smiling warmly at a pudgy couple from Lund, laughing kindly at a poorly-timed joke… I cannot help wondering whether it is, in fact, possible for two siblings raised under the same roof, by the same awful parents, to turn out so radically different.
One good and genuine.
The other cold and calculating.
Ava Sterling is a liar, I think, staring at my future husband. A man I know to be sweet and steady. A man who offers stability and surety where, before, there was only chaos and uncertainty.
He would not deceive me.
He would never hurt me.
I wish I could somehow erase the seeds of doubt now sewn into those words.
By the time the engagement party ends, I’m thoroughly worn out. Hours of fake smiling and forced greetings have depleted my social reserves to the dregs. I bid Alden goodbye, allowing him to plant a lingering kiss on my cheek and promising to see him tomorrow.
More photo-ops.
More publicity tours.
More posing as the perfect couple.
My footsteps ring out in the abandoned castle hallways as I make my way from the throne room to my chambers. It’s bizarre to think they won’t be mine for much longer.
With the wedding rapidly approaching, we’ve officially broken ground on the new East Wing — a replacement for the one that burned down in last fall’s fatal fire. Construction will take several months to complete… but it should be done by the time Alden and I exchange vows.
A new wing for a new king and queen.
It’s difficult for me to imagine sharing a bed with Alden. Kissing him. Touching him in a way that extends beyond occasional hand-holding or brotherly forehead kisses.
I try not to let my mind wander to inevitable truths — that we will, eventually, need to produce an heir. That, in the absence of immaculate conception, we will be doing more than sleeping side by side in our marriage bed.
My eyes pressed closed, shutting out the thoughts.
Why does even the prospect of sleeping with another man feel like the ultimate betrayal?
I climb into bed, trying not to think about Carter but failing miserably.
He’s back in Switzerland by now. Living his life. I wonder if news of the engagement has reached him yet. If he is tossing and turning beneath his own sheets, consumed by the same rage and sadness simmering in my veins.
A soft knock at my door has my eyes springing open.
“It’s Chloe.”
“Come in,” I call, sitting up against my pillows.
A second later, a warm body lands on the bed beside me, snuggling beneath the covers.
“Hi,” she murmurs.
“Hi.”
“Figured you might want to talk. We didn’t get the chance to debrief, earlier, with all those people here. How are you feeling?”
I sigh. “It was a long day. I’m exhausted.”
“I meant emotionally.”
“So did I.”
Her head hits my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, E. I promise.”
“You don’t think I made a colossal mistake?”
“I don’t.” She pauses. “I think, as usual, you are putting your country’s needs before your own. That’s honorable. It’s brave.”
“I just hope it’s enough to keep Ludwig off the throne.”
“It will be. Did you notice, my lovely mother was too scared to put in an appearance? Even the Sterlings didn’t dare show their faces.”
“Ava was here.”
“I saw.” Chloe sighs. “I’m guessing she was full of warm wishes.”
“Oh, totally. I’m thinking of asking her to be a bridesmaid.”
A snort pops out of Chloe’s mouth. “What a good idea.”
“Speaking of bridesmaids…” I trail off.
“Mmm?”
“Would you be my maid-of-honor?”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Oh, E! Of course I will!” She pulls me into a rib-cracking hug. “I’ve never been in a wedding party before.”
“Me neither. Certainly not as the one getting married.” I pause. “When I was a little girl picturing my wedding day, I didn’t exactly envision… this.”
“Well, as grooms go, you’re hitting the jackpot with Alden. He looks like a Ken doll from the Barbie dream bridal set.”
“It’s not just about the groom, though. It’s also…”
“What?”
“Not having my Mom there to button my dress and bustle my train and give me a pep talk if I get cold feet…” I blink rapidly to keep my eyes from watering. “And also… not having a father there to walk me down the aisle.”
“If your Mom was here, she would be so proud of you. So would Linus.”
“You think?”
“I know.” She elbows me softly. “And I realize this wedding won’t be the perfect day you dreamed up as a kid. You won’t have your parents by your side. But, for whatever it’s worth… you’ve got me. I’ll help button your dress and bustle your train, whatever the hell that means. And I’m more than happy to kick your ass down the aisle if you get cold feet. I’ve got your back, sis.”
I laugh. “Even if Octavia makes a leap for my crown and Ava tries to trip me?”
“Especially then.”
I put my head on her shoulder and allow her to stroke my hair. “Thanks, Chloe.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Has…” I swallow. “Has the news of the engagement spread outside Germania, yet?”
Chloe’s hand freezes in my hair. “You mean… has the news reached Switzerland, specifically?”
I press my lips together. She knows what I’m asking, even if I can’t voice the question.
She sighs. “The news is trending worldwide on every news channel and social media outlet. I’m sure… certain people… in Switzerland… have heard by now.”
So he knows.
I wonder why that knowledge affects me so strongly.
“E… he was going to find out eventually.”
“I know that.” I suck in a sharp breath. “I just didn’t know how hard it was going to be. How much I’d want to reach out to him.”
“Love doesn’t go away simply because you put a national border through the middle of it.”
“Will it ever get easier?”
“Do you want the honest answer? Or the one that will make you feel better?”
“Honest.”
She’s silent for a long while, gathering her thoughts. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“In a lot of ways, I think walking away from true love is like being an addict in recovery. The craving — it never fully dies. Not with space. Not even with time. No matter how over it you think you are, no matter how much you’ve moved on… once you’re hooked on someone, you’ll never be free again. A lifetime might pass without seeing them, but then… you bump into them in a coffee shop or on a street corner, and suddenly you’re right back where you started. Desperate for the fix of their touch. Aching for just one hit of their company. Addicted all over again.” She shakes her head sadly. “There isn’t a twelve-step program in the world that can cure you of true love. That kind of soul connection… it’s a life sentence.”
The following weekend, Alden and I make our first public appearance as an official couple, attending the Easter Sunday services at Windsor Abbey — along with what appears to be half the kingdom. When our limo rolls to a stop at the curb, I’m taken aback by the size of the crowd. There must be three hundred people huddled on the sidewalks, pressed up against the crowd-control barriers my security team has erected.
Quite the turnout, even for Jesus.
Come to find out, most of them are there to snap photos of the new royal couple making their entrance rather than actually attend the sermon.
“It’s them!”
“Queen Emilia!”
“Lord Sterling!”
“Over here!”
They swoon and squeal when Alden offers me his arm to lead me out of the car, cheering for us with unabashed enthusiasm. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I slide my hand over his tailored blue suit sleeve and attempt to smile naturally as cameras flash at us from all sides.
“Ready?” Alden asks, arching blond brows at me.
I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
My guards form a tight perimeter as we make our way up the abbey steps. One at a time, a slow march upward, stopping periodically to wave and nod to our supporters. I’ve grown so used to doing this alone, it’s odd to have a partner by my side — someone else to bear the brunt of public attention.
Welcome to the new reality.
The ornate Windsor Abbey spires jut upward into a robin’s egg blue sky. It’s a beautiful building — one of the most renowned cathedrals in the entire world. Tourists travel from all over the globe to see its stunning stained glass windows and domed roof. They wait in line for hours to take guided tours of the fresco ceiling murals, to light a prayer candle, to breathe the holy air that saturates the inner sanctum.
No one has been married here in a generation — not since King Leopold and Queen Abigail tied the knot nearly three decades ago. According to Chloe, that was always a bone of contention with her mother: the fact that she and Linus were not permitted to put their union on display in this grandest of chambers.
If not for the fire, it would’ve been Crown Prince Henry and Ava Sterling exchanging rings this summer — rather than her brother and me. The next time I’m walking up these steps, it will be in a wedding gown, on my way to say ‘I do’ to the man walking by my side. The thought is startling enough to make me stumble on the steps.
Alden steadies me instantly, his hold tightening on my arm. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“Fine,” I lie weakly. “Just these new heels, tripping me up.”
But I’m not fine.
Not at all.
Images of white veils and flower bouquets are flashing through my head as camera flashes go off around me without reprieve. I try to breathe through the sudden sensation of panic overriding my system, but now that I’m here — climbing the same steps I’ll traverse on my wedding day, just four short months from now — my heart is slamming against my ribcage like a battle axe.
I am getting married.
To my wedded husband.
Till death do us part.
I wish Chloe were here. With one pithy comment she’d be able to calm me down. Unfortunately for me, my sister — Chloe “Jesus Isn’t Really My Thing” Thorne — decided to stay home this morning, opting to binge-watch the latest season of our favorite trashy teen vampire show instead of taking in a church service.
Hauling fortifying gulps of air in through my nose, I focus on making it to the top of the steps, leaning on Alden the entire way. Things are somewhat tamer inside the church. Instead of overeager Instagrammers, the pews are full of well-dressed elites in elaborate fascinator hats and understated floral dresses, accessorized with the entire spring handbag collection from Paris Fashion Week. We step through the doors and they part before us like the Red Sea before Moses — a fitting analogy, given our current location.
At least in here, no one is snapping my photograph or live-tweeting my every move for their followers. It makes it easier to excuse myself for a moment.
“I’ll be right back,” I assure Alden, disengaging my arm from his when we reach the front pew, which has been reserved for the royal family since Windsor Abbey was first constructed. “I’m just going to run to the restroom before the service starts.”
“Do you want me to escort you?”
“That won’t be necessary.” I catch Galizia’s eyes and she nods in understanding, seeming to read the panicked look on my face. “I have my guard.”
Alden smiles at me. “All right. Hurry back, my dear.”
I pivot and do my best not to bolt for the side aisle. I just need a moment without all these eyes on me. Somewhere I can gather my thoughts, until the m-word — Married! Married! Married! — stops blazing through my mind.
Galizia leads me out of the main cathedral into a small hallway. We round a corner, passing the coat check area, and finally make our way into an empty back room. The engraved gold placard on the door mocks me.
BRIDAL SUITE
“Perfect,” I mutter, stepping inside with a laugh. “Just perfect.”
“Is something wrong?” Galizia asks.
“No. No, I’m fine. Promise.”
“You look pale.”
“Sorry. I just…”
“Needed a minute?”
I nod. “Mmm.”
“Take your time. I’m sure they’ll wait to start the services until you return.”
“That’s only slightly mortifying.” I groan into my palms. “God, I don’t know why I’m suddenly panicking.”
“I could guess, but psychology isn’t really my realm.”
“It’s just, being here at the church… I started thinking about how the next time I’m here, I’ll be…”
“Married.”
“Yes. Married.” I shake my head. “Why is that so scary to say out loud? I was fine the other day, during the engagement party.” I pause. “Okay, maybe not fine, but at least I wasn’t having a full-blown anxiety attack.”
“Toying with the idea of something and facing the reality of it are two very different beasts to slay.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I thought psychology wasn’t your realm.”
“It doesn’t take a shrink to realize why this might send your head spinning.” Galizia’s lips twist. “It’s not as though you’ve agreed to a private country wedding with six close friends and a bohemian minister, Your Majesty. You’re facing a ceremony broadcast live to the whole world… with the entirety of polite society in attendance… plus dignitaries from foreign countries… and a horse-drawn carriage ride through the streets when it’s all over…”
“Is this supposed to be making me feel better or worse? Because I’m about to start hyperventilating, here.”
“Just… sit down for a minute,” she orders sternly. “There’s a kitchen through there; I’m going to get you a glass of water.”
At her orders, I collapse into a nearby armchair and press my eyes closed. Galizia disappears deeper into the suite, presumably to fetch me a refreshment. When I hear the door swing open a second later, I reach out blindly for the glass… but it’s not my guard’s voice that greets me.
“Having another PTSD-incident, are you?”
My eyes spring open.
The woman who’s just slithered into the bridal suite is a serpent in a Prada pantsuit. Her coiffed auburn hair is shiny and perfect, her features twisted in her typical haughty expression.
I push to my feet, chin jerking higher to meet her stare. She’s got four inches on me, even in heels, but I refuse to be intimidated as she sidles closer to me.
“Octavia. What an unpleasant surprise. ”
“Oh, come now — is that any way to greet your stepmother?”
“Perhaps not. But it is the way to greet the bitch who’s been actively calling for my abdication on every news channel and radio broadcast for the past month.”
“So sensitive! It isn’t personal, darling daughter of mine.” She pauses. “Actually, I take it back. I suppose it is quite personal. Seeing as you have ruined my life, it’s only fitting I return the favor.”
“I ruined your life?” I snort in disbelief. “That’s rich. Seems to me it’s been the other way around since the first moment we met. Or have you not made it your mission to delegitimize me since the day Linus claimed me as his child?”
Her eyes flash at the mention of my father. “Don’t you even say his name. You are unworthy of it.”
“He was my father!”
“He never should’ve claimed you in the first place. It was the beginning of his downfall.”
“Don’t you dare insinuate his death was my fault,” I hiss, feeling my anger rise to a boil. “That’s low — even for you, Octavia.”
She takes a step closer to me, her blue eyes narrowing to pinpricks. For the first time, I feel slightly uneasy at her proximity. I’ve never thought of Octavia as dangerous before. Malicious? Definitely. But never an actual threat to my safety.
Seeing her like this, though… there’s a bizarre light in her eyes I don’t like. Not one bit.
Where the hell is Galizia when I need her?
“You were a plague on his life from the first instant you became a part of it,” my former stepmother seethes. “I should’ve—”
“Should’ve what?” I snap. “Taken care of me when you had the chance?”
“Trust me, it was not from lack of trying! One bloody sip!” She is practically quivering with rage, her breaths coming short as she spits the words at me. “But you, much like a cockroach, seem to be impossible to eliminate!”
I blink, slowly processing what she’s just said.
Not from lack of trying.
Octavia seems to realize, too late, that’s she’s said too much. That, unwittingly or not, she has admitted something she never intended to. I watch her throat work as she swallows down a sharp inhale, the muscles moving beneath her heavy gold pendant.
One bloody sip.
I feel strangely calm as realization moves through me, pieces of a puzzle clicking together into a complete picture that has long remained a mystery. I suddenly know, without a shadow of a doubt, what happened.
I can feel it in my bones.
“Enlighten me, stepmother.” My voice is colder than ice as I advance on her. This time, she is the one backpedalling. “When, exactly, did you attempt to kill me?”
“I— I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, the time for lies is long over. You’ve practically admitted it already.”
“You’re hysterical. You misheard me.”
“Tell me the truth or, so help me god, I will allow my guards to interrogate you within the full extent of the law.”
She swallows again when her spine hits the far wall. I have effectively backed her into a corner. And I cannot pretend the sight of this evil woman brought to heel is one I will not savor for the rest of my days.
“One bloody sip,” I murmur softly, smiling as I see the fear flash in her eyes. “That’s what you said, is it not?”
Her jaw locks.
“You won’t answer? That’s fine. You can just listen while I tell you what I think happened.” I lean in and she actually flinches. “You wanted me gone. Out of your life. Away from Linus. And you saw the perfect opportunity — the champagne toast at my coronation ball.”
She tries to avoid my eyes, but I lock onto them, pinning her in place like a bug against a cork-board with my gaze.
“You were the one who laced the glasses with curare.”
She stops breathing. “No.”
“Oh, yes.” I continue. “Maybe you figured you could take out me and my father in one fell-swoop… leaving you to rule alone. Queen Octavia of Germania. Not merely a consort, but a regnant in her own right.”
“That’s not true!” she screams, eyes flashing with wrath. “Linus was never supposed to get hurt! He took the wrong glass! The poison was only ever meant for you!”
I smile at her as the admission spills out.
She goes pale, realizing what she’s done. “I mean— That came out wrong—”
“I think it came out exactly right, actually.”
“Your Majesty,” she murmurs. It’s the first time she has ever used my title sincerely; likely the last, as well. “Please, listen to me. You must understand—”
“I do. I do understand.”
“You do?”
“I understand that you attempted to assassinate me — the Crown Princess of Germania — at her coronation ball. I understand that, in doing so, you nearly killed my father, the reigning King of Germania. I understand that this attack weakened his health — perhaps making him more susceptible to the stroke that eventually claimed his life.” I lean in even closer, my whisper laced with such anger, each word shakes. “I understand that you, Octavia Thorne, are guilty of conspiracy to murder and treason against the crown.”
She slumps back against the wall, as though her legs have given out.
I glance left, to the doorway where Galizia has been hovering for several moments, watching this family affair play out with vigilance. When our eyes meet, my guard nods somberly and says something into her headpiece.
In seconds, Riggs and three other guards burst into the room. It’s clear they’ve been at the ready this entire time, an invisible safety net, fully prepared to step in if the scenario escalated.
“Take her into custody, Riggs.” I turn on one heel and head for the door. “I want her out of my sight.”
“It wasn’t me!” Octavia wails as the guards close in on her. “It was all Bane’s idea! He was the mastermind behind everything!”
I pause and look back at her. Just once. “I do hope you like the color orange, my dear stepmother. You will be spending the rest of your life wearing it in your jail cell.”