Royal Fools

After narrowly escaping an assassination, a new king in disguise escapes to his childhood home only to discover that his unwanted betrothed has been living there for months with her cheerful, eccentric cousin.***

When King Emory of Sutherland receives news that his betrothed is on her way to Sutherland, he sends her away before even laying eyes on the woman he has no intention of marrying. Months later, after a narrow escape from an assassination, he flees to his childhood home where he discovers a massive problem. Due to an unfortunate mishap, his betrothed has not left Sutherland. She’s been in his secret estate all along.

Grand Princess Florence Paulet of Gavaria and her cousin, Lucy, thinks her arrival in Sutherland will be easy. She doesn’t expect that her betrothed, King Emory of Sutherland, will send her straight to an empty estate on an island where they fend for themselves for months. And when he finally shows up, he has the audacity to fool her by introducing himself as someone else. After having killed dozens of chickens with her bare hands to stay alive, and with lying as her ultimate weapon for survival since she left Gavaria, what else can an annoyed, blithe, and audacious Florence do? Of course, she has to return the favor and make him twice the fool.

He thinks he’s fooling her, and she finds fun knowing it’s the other way around. As the harsh winter traps them in the estate, lies, little accidents, and undeniable attraction draw them together stronger than the snowstorm.But not as much as Florence’s true reasons for leaving Gavaria, which are also making their way to Sutherland.

*This story is part of the Sutherland Universe

I. Once There Was A King

1815

The room was unassuming and dark, and the woman lying naked on the bed was something to be desired. She had pleasured him the entire night, had been since they met six months ago. However, tonight was the end of it all. It was good while it lasted, Emory thought as he dressed, dreading nothing but the thought of coming home.

Unlike his lover’s villa, where the walls were painted to match her lively character, and the furniture bold as she was, his home was nothing but empty halls filled with tragic history.

Hearing his movements in the dark room, Miss Tatiana Temple rolled her head to the side and asked in a croaky voice, “Why are you leaving so soon?”

He took his time buttoning his shirt, then his trousers. Grabbing his coat, he walked to her bed and sat beside her. “I’m not coming back.”

She was still for a moment. Compared with his past lovers, he didn’t have to prepare for tears or furious flying porcelains because Tatiana was different. And she proved it by finally letting out a sigh. “You warned me.”

He smiled, bending low to kiss her cheek. “Goodbye, Miss Temple.”

She smiled back. “I’ll see you around then?”

“Mayhap,” he said, rising to his feet. He watched her beautiful face in the center of the bed, her dark mane sprawled around her. She was a magnificent lover, perhaps the best. She was kind, even when she didn’t have to.

But she loved her freedom too much. She could not be tied down, and she had made that known from the very start. There was no love between them. Not in the romantic sense, at least. There was respect and understanding of each other’s needs.

“I hope you don’t pick Ethel for your next lover,” she said. “She’ll grab every chance to shackle you.”

He laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m serious, Emory. She’s cunning.”

“I will keep that in mind.” He gave her another kiss. “Thank you for everything.”

She sighed and sat in bed to watch him shrug into his coat. “You know,” she said, giving him pause. “Sometimes I pity you.”

“Whyever?”

“You have everything save for a woman’s heart.”

He laughed. “I should say the same for you, my dear friend.”

She fell back onto the bed. “Lucky for us, we love it.”

A gentle half-smile played on his lips as he stopped at the door. “Good night, Miss Tatiana Temple. And goodbye.”

“Goodnight, Your Majesty,” she sleepily replied, closing her eyes. “And goodbye.”

---

It was a rule. Six months with a lover and nothing more. He could go on longer without one, but he could not go longer with one. Giving a woman the power to control him was not on the agenda, even for someone with a practical mind like Tatiana Temple.

There were several reasons, of course, one of them being his own mother. It was petty, and his own friends would say the same, but they did not know what it was like for his father. The man married the woman betrothed to him by his family with no idea that her family, the Vandenbergs, perfectly schemed his fate to the throne. They dethroned a king, forced his entire lineage out of Sutherland, and crowned the gullible Louis as the new king. Just so his wife could be queen.

But evil things could not reign forever. Three years ago, the truth prevailed and war almost broke out. Worse, in the middle of it all, the crown prince died. To maintain peace, his father was forced to step down, and suddenly, Emory, the second son, the spare heir, had to rule a kingdom.

Thus far, it was terribly boring.

“I see you’ve ended things with Miss Temple?” asked the black-haired man who strode into his bedchamber that morning. Henry Vandenberg, a cousin from his mother’s side, could not assume any royal position because of what that side of their family had done to Sutherland. His role in Emory’s court was to act as the unsolicited adviser and royal pain in the arse.

Emory looked up from the winged chair, a fresh copy of the Grimes in one hand. “How can you tell?”

“You’re still in the same clothes you were in yesterday. You’re relishing the last traces of her.”

Emory made no comment as his gentlemen of the bedchamber filed into the room. He stood and let them strip him down. His cousin smiled when the servant carried the soiled clothes out, along with it the last hint of Tatiana Temple. Turning to the washbasin, Emory said, “It’s just another day, cousin, nothing more.”

“I fancy a hunt today. What do you say?” Henry claimed the seat Emory vacated and picked up the copy of the Grimes, rolled it and playfully tapped it against his palm. While Emory was tall and slim, his cousin looked slightly different. His shoulders were broad, and he carried himself with the same Vandenberg pride as the previous queen, his posture erect and confident. His inky black hair and deep-set black eyes screamed so much of the Vandenberg blood in his veins.

Emory looked weak in comparison. He had no striking features befitting a king. His dark blond locks, which he preferred to be left alone unless they needed trimming, never succumbed to any type of taming and made him look paler and sickly. He did not have enough muscle either, his built considered lanky by many. He could bring himself to fight an enemy if his mind willed it, but there was no guarantee of victory for him. The only thing he could strike with precision was a log for firewood.

Many questioned his ability to rule Sutherland because he was not particularly interesting. As the second son, he wasn’t even supposed to be king. A spare rarely seen , as people would say. And even now as king, he would not show himself in functions, which frustrated his advisers.

Albert, from the day he was born, was groomed to replace their father. But his brother was a Vandenberg in mind and spirit. If only he did not turn out to be such a crazy bad egg and if only their mother’s family were not the ambitious bastards they were, Albert would still be alive and Emory would be in an estate in the mountains gathering woods for winter without the weight of a crown.

He knew he was wiser than Albert. He knew he had always been the more capable one. The only advantage Albert had was his inflated sense of worth. He worked hard to be liked. He was the charming prince while Emory was quite satisfied in the shadows of the crown. But Albert was also very dead.

The family was left with no choice after the Belcourt Conflict. Emory could have ignored the throne and all its responsibilities, but he was also someone who had to do all the work when everyone else was being a bloody idiot.

“Are you listening?” Henry asked, raising a brow as gentlemen dressed Emory. “We can hunt for two hours before you meet with the ministers.”

“No,” he said, his mind already rushing to important state matters. “We have security concerns to discuss with the Circus.”

“Is this about the murders in that ladies’ club?”

“Yes. The first victim is a member of the royal family of Monaco. They’re bound to ask questions. But that’s just one problem. There are others.”

Henry looked at him for a moment. “You realize you don’t have to be present in all meetings, do you?” With a wave of his hand, he added, “You look at the mirror every day, but I don’t think we’re seeing the same thing.”

“Which is?”

“You see a king, I see a corpse.”

Emory noticed one servant purse his lips while staring straight at the opposite wall. “I’m in completely good health.”

“You’ll be dead as Albert before you can sire an heir,” Henry droned. “You’re killing yourself, Emory, and that’s not you. You’d rather be lazy than slave yourself.”

His jaw tightened. He was confident that Henry was not like the rest of the Vandenbergs, and that his cousin would be the last person to betray him. They grew up together and knew each other’s secrets. But he was king now, and Henry should recognize boundaries. However, he couldn’t bring himself to draw the line. “Why are you even here?” he asked instead.

“Good question.” Henry threw the Grimes to the side and jumped to his feet to reveal a piece of paper. “I’d like to see the look on your face when you read this.”

Emory took the letter from his cousin and read while the servant carefully knotted the cravat under his chin. A scowl replaced the frown as his gaze jumped back to Henry. “Is this a bloody joke?”

“I’m afraid not. It also came with supporting documents and we have verified all of them to be true,” Henry said, stepping back with an irritating grin. “She made a brief detour in England three months ago and is now headed here as we speak. The ship will dock tomorrow.”

He threw the letter to the side, which a servant dutifully picked up. “Get rid of her.”

Henry looked like he was on the verge of saying something when he stopped, Emory’s words registering. “Forgive me—Did you say get rid of her?”

“Send her back to Gavaria.”

“I don’t think that would be a very royal thing to do, cousin.”

His brows dipped lower. “What do you want me to do with her?”

“As said in the letter, she is your brother’s betrothed—”

“If she prefers to live the rest of her young life in a coffin, we can arrange a wedding between a corpse and—”

“The agreement is clear. The grand princess of Gavaria shall marry your father’s heir. Which means, cousin, that she is promised to whoever becomes king. Which, as it unfortunately turned out, is

you.“

“I did not agree with this.”

“You didn’t have to. They have the documents to prove it.” Taking the letter from the servant, Henry studied it. “It’s a wonder, however, that I didn’t know about this.”

“Because that agreement was done before my father was king. I shall not honor it.”

“Why?”

“Thirthy-four years ago, my father was desperate to be king. He would have kissed anyone’s feet to get more support to dethrone Reginald.”

“It’s still an agreement.”

“I shall not honor an agreement conjured by greed and power. Times had changed. I’m sure Winchester will understand.”

“It won’t be good to disappoint the man. Gavaria is quite an influential empire. No one can just refuse its princess.”

“But I’m not just no one . I’m the king of Sutherland.”

Henry opened his mouth, then closed it. “Indeed, you are.”

“Send her home. I’ll deal with her father when the time comes.”

Henry sighed and walked back to his chair. “The next ship to Gavaria is in three weeks.”

Emory cursed under his breath.

“Should I arrange for a special trip?”

“Of course not,” he sputtered. “We’re not wasting resources for a mere princess.” Henry waited as he thought of a solution.

“Perhaps the best thing to do is to meet her yourself. Tell her, ‘I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t want you. Is there anything you’d like other than to be queen?’”

Emory rolled his eyes. “Do I seem like the king who has time for this?”

His cousin’s eyes veered left and right. “I don’t believe you don’t have the time. I think you simply refuse to face this problem.”

“Or perhaps because there are angry Frenchmen on the loose trying to get to me and I truly have no time for this nonsense.”

His statement took Henry aback. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he gritted out. “And the moment the word gets out that my betrothed is in Sutherland, she’ll become a target, too. Take her far from Coulway as soon as she arrives and keep her out of sight until the next ship to Gavaria.”

“At least tell me where to take her.”

He truly had no time for this, he thought, so he said, “Birchfield.”

Henry’s face filled with understanding. “This is absurd. Winter is harsh in Birchfield. What would Winchester think if he finds out how you’ve been treating his daughter? What would his allies think? Sutherland’s reputation outside the kingdom is not very pleasant at the moment after what our family did. This betrothal will help you rebuild it.”

He sighed. “Just get her out of Coulway the moment she arrives. That’s an order.”

Henry shook his head. “How will she survive Birchfield in winter?”

Emory shot his cousin a quick smile. “Simple. By hopping on the first ship back to Gavaria. You recommend I don’t refuse her, so I shall make sure she will.”

II. Chicken in the Kitchen

Two months later

…

A disguise, if done correctly, can be quite effective. However, it cannot fool an arrow.

The realization hit Emory as soon as it flew past his head. The blade grazed his skin before it went through the opposite window of the carriage. It was merely a second, but it felt like it carried with it his entire life. They flashed before his eyes in an instant—everything from his childhood and the things in between that led to this moment. A hand pushed him to the floor. A body followed, tight and strong, covering him from above. Shouts from his guards, the hooves of the horses, and the speeding wheels of the carriage drew him back. Apparently, he was still alive.

It seemed to last forever, and for a time, the body of his guard felt heavier. Was he dead? He pictured the man with arrows stuck on his back. But the carriage eventually slowed down and the weight pushed itself off him.

“Sir, are you hurt?”

Emory heard the question, but he could not bring himself to answer. He almost died. Just another inch and he would have been killed.

“Sir!”

He heard the carriage door open. More voices. Orders shouted. Footsteps running. They pulled him out of his carriage, dragged across piles of snow. The next thing he knew, he was thrown into another one.

“Apprise the Black Clover,” someone ordered as they sped down the cold-hardened road.

It was at that moment that he snapped into focus. His eyes darted around the carriage, from one guard to another. “Did you catch them?”

“No, Sir. They disappeared before we can.”

He peered through the window, but before he could make out the view outside, his guard pulled him back. “Stay low, Sir.”

Emory let out a shaky breath. “Did you not check this road?”

“We did.” A short pause. “They seem to know the terrain.”

His jaw tightened. “They have help.” He closed his eyes and scoffed. The bastards thought it would be funny to take him down in the same road their comrades were trapped and killed three years ago during the Belcourt Conflict.

He remembered that night too well. He was there when they ambushed the French soldiers who intended to take over Sutherland. And he was there when they hanged those who survived.

They traveled straight back to Cloveshire. It had been his prisoner since they plucked him out of his childhood home.

When he was born, his mother hid him away in Birchfield. To keep him company, they sent along Henry, and together they had a taste of a perfect world. Until, of course, reality came a decade later to take them back to Coulway because he was, after all, part of the royal family. Since then, he had not left. He returned to Birchfield at every opportunity, but always, he would have to go back to Cloveshire.

Members of the Black Clover, a group of men and women he formed after the Belcourt Conflict, arrived for an emergency meeting shortly after he arrived.

“They’ve found allies in your enemies here, which—I’m sorry to say, Sir—is quite a lot,” said Lady Eastwell, the representative from Belcourt. She was with other ladies wearing the same green cloak.

“This is serious,” said Blackwood, Duke of Eaton and leader of the Royal Circus. “You cannot take this lightly. You’ve stripped many people of their titles three years ago. They were the same men who frequented your court. They know your movements and every place you visit.”

“You’re suggesting I commit myself in the palace like a bloody prisoner, Blackwood. I refuse to do so.”

Blackwood shook his head. “You’re not safe in Coulway at the moment. We have to check the palace first.”

“Then where should I hide myself while the lot of you clean my little prison?”

“A safe place. An estate not associated to you.”

“We have villas around Sutherland,” Eastwell offered . “We can take you to one, and it’s going to be surrounded by our trusted Soldiers.”

“No.”

Eastwell’s brow arched. “You don’t trust Belcourt?”

“No, but I’d rather stay somewhere familiar,” he said before his eyes fixed on Blackwood. “Is this necessary?”

“Until we’re certain the palace is not compromised, yes.”

He looked around and his eyes landed on his most trusted guard, Marius. “I have a place in mind.”

“Where?” Blackwood asked.

Emory grinned at the man. “As I said, I’d rather stay somewhere I’m familiar with. All I can say is it’s in Herst.”

“An island is a good place to hide, but it’s also the worst to be in if you’re under attack,” said Blackwood.

“I’ll be with my trusted guards, Blackwood.” He turned to Marius, who nodded and left the room. “I’ll leave tomorrow. I prefer to travel in daylight. If you need to send word, have them delivered to St. Vincent in Herst. I’ll have someone drop by once a week.”

“At least let the Clover send men with you,” Blackwood said.

“If you want me to hide, I’ll do so in my own terms.” Turning to another of his guards, he ordered, “Send for Henry and tell him to pack.”

Facing the members of the Black Clover once more, he said, “I want this matter dealt with as soon as you can.”

“We shall,” promised Eastwell as she stood and bowed. “We’ll be investigating everyone who may have been hurt by you.”

Emory scoffed.

“And we’ll clean the palace,” Blackwood added. “But we cannot do our job if you don’t stay safe.”

Emory grinned. “Hiding is my forte, Blackwood.”

---

Emory could think of a number of reasons Henry would not want his company. Living in the palace changed him. Now, he was a perfectionist. Everything had to be planned ahead of time. For his cousin who preferred adventure, Emory had long ceased to be the best companion. Rarely would he let himself relax with others he could not trust. Most especially if it was around family.

As the second son, and the spare heir, Emory had the privilege to lead a private life secluded from the eyes of society. He always thought it was an advantage, and today, it proved to be so. Even now as king, the common folks had not laid eyes on him.

When they were children, they created a little game. He and Henry would dress as each other. His cousin would take his clothes and Emory would guise himself as Henry. It didn’t matter that they didn’t look alike because for people who never laid eyes on them, it was just the garments that mattered.

However, on this trip to Herst, they were dressed the same. The four guards were not wearing their stiff uniforms. To those who may have joined them on the journey to the island, they were just a group of traveling men.

Birchfield Manor was located in the only mountain in Herst. It was small and meek, a far cry from all other estates his family owned, but it was quiet. Calm. It was far enough from the sea where the air was sticky, and near enough the lake where he and Henry spent many afternoons when they lived there as children.

Winter was harsh in this part of Sutherland. The roads were hard and slippery, the land strikingly white, and it extended to the birch trees that surrounded the estate.

“We’re here.” The carriage rode into a tunnel of birch trees and emerged into a small driveway. The small stone manor stood quiet as they stopped in front of it, but Emory saw the white curtain on the second landing fall close when he looked up. “No, you stay here a moment,” Henry said, stopping him when the guard opened the carriage door. “Someone’s here.”

“That’s just Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”

“No,” Henry said, blocking his exit with one arm. “Stay here.”

Emory waited impatiently inside the carriage for five minutes. Five more later, he was outside, stretching his legs, pacing by the carriage with his hands on his hips, his guards spread out nearby.

Marius met his scowl with a shrug. Patience overdue, he turned on his heels and stormed to the front doors.

“If I’ll ever be dead, it’s because I froze to death, Henry,” he announced as he emerged into the hall, brushing snow off his sleeves.

At the sound of his voice, Henry appeared from the kitchen with a curious look on his face. “You did not order Mrs. Fitzwilliam to prepare supper, did you?”

“No. I could barely send my own valet an order these days. Why?”

Henry pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Something is stewing in the kitchen.”

Emory sighed, just as Marius and the three guards stepped into the hall. “Check every room,” he ordered. As the men climbed up the stairs and disappeared, Emory’s brows arched at his cousin. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam may be a witch, after all. She knew we were coming.”

But before his cousin could say a word, a small figure rushed through the open front doors, her muddy boots leaving two straight wet lines as she skidded to a stop in front of Emory.

Her wide eyes looked up at him and the words she was about to say turned into a sharp cry for help when she slipped on the wet trail behind her and the chicken in her arms flew straight at him.

“What in the devil!” he cried out as the woman scrambled to her knees and then her feet. And flew past him to run after the chicken.

Henry’s surprised chuckle echoed in the hall. Emory snapped his head to his cousin, who laughed harder.

“Please forgive me, Sir!” the woman said behind him as she appeared in front of him again, this time with the chicken tucked under one arm. Her giant smile dominated nearly half of her small face. She was small, standing just as tall as his chest. Her short blond hair stopped just under her jaw, the cut uneven as if she did it herself in front of the mirror using two left hands. “But may I know who you are?” she asked. “We were not told about visitors. We’ve been here two months and never had any, save for the Fitzwilliams, of course. And the milk boy.” She stopped talking and her eyes rounded even more when she realized he was not amused.

This woman thought they were visitors .

As Emory stood there in disbelief and confusion, the woman boldly asked, “And who might you be, Sir?” When he only continued to frown at her, she let out a nervous chuckle. “Please don’t tell me I just threw a chicken at the king.” When he remained silent, she stepped back with a nervous laugh. “Are you—Are you the king?”

Still astounded by her boldness, he twitched his jaw. “No,” he heard himself say. “I’m one of his advisers, Daniel Stanton.”

III. The Cousin

Motioning his head toward his cousin, he added, “He’s Henry Vandenberg. We’re here under the king’s orders.”

The woman turned to Henry with a frown. “Henry…” she said, frowning. “The one who sent his men to take us here?”

“Yes,” Henry said, eyes flickering to Emory in confusion.

“Who am I speaking to?” Emory asked, eyeing her from head down when she faced him again. He frowned. This woman was looking at him with wonder, scrutinizing his face openly as if they were equals.

“I’m Lucy,” she said, her wide grin returning. She managed a clumsy curtsy, the chicken in her arm clucking as she fought another slip. “Lady Lucy Paulet.”

Then it all clicked. The letter two months ago. The betrothed.

His eyes went to Henry, who must have realized the problem at hand. He’d deal with his cousin later, he thought, as he looked down at the woman again. “I assume you are here with your cousin?” he asked.

“Oh,” Lucy said, blinking at him with a slightly worried look. “She’s indisposed, I’m afraid.”

“And why is that?”

“She’s… sick,” Lucy said. “Caught a flu. She’s been working hard since supply had run out. We had to fend for ourselves, see? And she’s not used to doing menial tasks.” She smiled, adding, “Being a princess and all…”

Emory shot Henry a look. His cousin cleared his throat and looked away. “Fend for yourselves?”

Lucy blinked three times, smile bordering sarcasm and coldness. “There were no servants when we got here.”

“You didn’t have your own entourage?”

“The Grand Princess didn’t think it was necessary. We expected a full house when the king sent us to this place.” She waved her hand around. “It’s quite a long story, and I’m afraid I don’t know how it came to be, to be honest with you. Well, anyway…” She let out a sigh, and her mouth curled into a tight smile. “We had no choice but to work. Cooked and washed our own clothes, cleaned this place…”

Emory looked around, seeing no sign that the place had been cleaned at all.

“And as I’ve said, my cousin’s bound to the bed. The Fitzwilliams try their best to help, but they’re quite old and we hate to impose on their generosity. But three nights ago, we had to ask for help. Mrs. Fitzwilliam called for a doctor who strongly told us Florence needs uninterrupted rest.”

He pursed his lips. “I think your cousin can trouble herself with a quick trip out of bed.”

“Perhaps you can wait for a few more days?” Lucy asked. “After all, my cousin and I have been waiting two months for someone from the palace to see us.” As she said the last words, the smile completely disappeared and her honey brown eyes glinted with hidden ire before she blinked and faced Henry. “You’re His Majesty’s cousin?”

Henry, who looked like he genuinely did not know why the woman was here, absently nodded.

“Then I’m certain you know your way around.” Her cheerful tone returned, and so did her wide smile. “I have to slaughter a chicken. And don’t bother. I’ve mastered the task by now.”

“Slaughter?” Henry snapped his head toward the chicken.

“Yes,” said Lucy, throwing Emory a glance. “After being left here on our own devices, we had to divide the work in the household.”

Emory blinked a few times, speechless and at a loss.

She gave Emory another big smile. “We don’t blame the inconveniences to the king, of course.” Before he could open his mouth to defend the king , Lucy said, “May I go now, gentlemen? I don’t wish to give the poor chicken false hopes.”

He scowled at her and then at the chicken before stiffly nodding his head.

“You’re staying for a few days, I presume?”

Emory did not answer, but he saw Henry nod.

“Perfect. I’ll see you for tea after you’ve settled. Good day.” She skidded to a stop and asked, “Did you, by any chance, bring supplies?”

“Enough,” Henry replied.

“Splendid. And servants?”

“None.”

She blinked once, then frowned. “Why?”

“The king doesn’t allow any in Birchfield.”

“It couldn’t be helped then,” Lucy said, lifting her chin as she whirled away.

When she disappeared into the kitchen, Emory rushed to Henry and hissed, “What in the bloody hell is happening?”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you to get them to the next available ship to Gavaria.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Henry cleared his throat. “You did not follow-up. I’ve been quite busy. I was away in Birth for a month.” Henry scoffed in amazement. “Good Lord. Did we forget about them?”

“Bloody tarnation,” he cursed under his breath and raked his fingers through his hair. “She was carrying a bloody chicken.”

Henry snorted. “Apparently, we’ll have that for dinner.”

“That woman’s not serving us anything. They’re going away today.”

Henry grabbed his arm and dragged him to the doors. “The princess is sick, Emory. You can’t just force her to leave. No, don’t speak. Let’s talk outside. We need a plan.”

Emory allowed his cousin to lead him back to the carriage.

“Why did you introduce yourself as someone else?” Henry whispered under his breath.

“Why couldn’t I?” he asked back.

First, because no one else was supposed to know he was here. Second, seeing how that woman ran around his estate as if she owned it made him realize Florence Paulet must think she was now the mistress of the place.

So, why, in God’s name, would His Majesty, King Emory Louis Frederick Vandenberg Davercher of Sutherland, make these people feel even more welcome by gracing them with his presence?

Lucy Paulet muddied his floors with a chicken under her arm, and Lord knew what else they had done to this place in two months!

No. They could not meet the king. They never shall have the privilege.

---

The woman turned around from the window when she entered the door. “How did it go?”

“Not as planned, but I think we bought us enough time,” she replied with a wicked grin. “At least for a few days.”

Her cousin peered through the curtains, long brown tresses falling off one shoulder. “They’re in the carriage talking.” Then she paused with a slight frown. “Bought us time? What do you mean?”

She stepped back and brushed her fringe off her forehead. “I told him I’m you.”

Lucy blinked a few times. “You did what? Why would you do that?”

Florence’s shoulders shook with mirth. “Well, he lied to me, and I instinctively did the same.”

“What are you talking about, Flo?”

“He introduced himself as Daniel Stanton, an adviser to the king.” With a snort, Florence joined her cousin to the window. “The fool thinks I’m too ignorant not to recognize him.”

Lucy frowned. “Why would he do that?”

Florence shrugged. “How would I know? Sutherland welcome custom? He’s here for a different reason. And I’m most definitely sure they forgot about us.”

“So you had the marvelous idea to pretend as me,” Lucy wryly stated.

“I’m sorry. It just came out of my mouth. We’ve done nothing but lie for the past year. It came naturally.” Her breath misted the window. “Do you reckon he’d honor the betrothal?”

“I can’t act as you, Flo,” her cousin insisted without answering.

Florence sighed, taking the lady’s hand and tilting her head up because her cousin was too tall. “Lucy, you’re sick. He doesn’t have to see you.”

“But he will eventually want to!”

“We’ll figure it out as we go along.”

Lucy groaned. “This is why I think coming here is a terrible idea. You can’t make plans.”

“Of course, I do. I plan to stay here and marry the king.”

“By lying to him at the first meeting?”

“Don’t talk like he didn’t start it. I gave him two chances to tell me who he is—two! He’ll forgive me for lying if I forgive him for doing it first.”

Lucy sighed. “You just made our situation worse than it already is.”

Not hearing Lucy, Florence’s eyes narrowed. “How could they forget about us? They didn’t even bring servants.”

Lucy groaned. “I don’t think we should be fooling a king, Flo. We should come down and apologize.”

“I’m the Grand Princess Florence Paulet of Gavaria. I didn’t come all this way to be thrown into an old manor, fend for myself, and then lied to by my betrothed.”

“We also didn’t come all this way to be beheaded!” Lucy groaned. “If not by them, then by your father if he finds out what you’ve done!”

Florence turned away from the window. “You’re right. I think it’s best I tell him the truth.”

“Now.”

She just smiled.

“Flo. You tell him now .”

She shrugged. “After he reveals himself, I shall.”

“Not everything is a game, Flo. You just lied to the king of Sutherland!”

“And he just lied to the Grand Princess of Gavaria. If I am to marry him, I have to make sure he can be honest with me. And if he were to marry me, he should want me for who I am.”

“Do you really think that, or did that just pop into your head?”

“It’s quite romantic, don’t you think?” Her lips stretched into a grin.

“You don’t believe in romance.”

“Of course, I do.”

“You don’t even believe in love.”

“Yes, because I’d rather have fun and entertainment.” She looked down the window. “And I think this will be terribly amusing.”

IV. A Game of Fools

“We should at least wait until the Grand Princess is well enough to travel. You’ve left her here for two months, Emory, for God’s sake. With no servants!”

“Who would have thought she didn’t bring any?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She needs to go.”

Henry sighed. “At least pretend some compassion. Settle this gracefully, like a bloody king.”

“I’ve dealt with far worse negotiations than this.”

His cousin regarded him doubtfully. “You’ve negotiated with murderers, people of power, and heartless lovers. You don’t know how to deal with a princess—and I know because you avoid the likes of them. So, please, forgive me if I say you don’t know a thing about these types of women. Remember that we’re dealing with the Grand Princess of Gavaria. They’re not as powerful, but they have powerful allies. We don’t want them angry over how we treated their bloody princess.”

He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “She’s just one of the dozen other children Winchester sired. Don’t talk like everyone bows before her.”

“Well, that’s the point. They do!”

Emory rolled his eyes to the right. “They could be spies.”

His cousin blinked at him in disbelief. “Spies?”

“Don’t you find it curious? Someone out of nowhere suddenly comes to Sutherland claiming to be my dead brother’s betrothed.”

“Your betrothed now,” his cousin corrected. “They have the papers, we checked them, and they are authentic.”

“But is she?” he challenged. “I don’t see a line of servants outside the door. Do you? Her cousin, a bloody princess is running about my estate with a chicken she’s intending to murder!”

“Then go,” Henry said, waving at the door. “Throw them out into the snow.”

“Don’t provoke me. I might just do so.”

Henry shook his head. “We’ll send word to Gavaria if you wish and verify the matter.”

“We should have done so months ago.” He motioned his head toward one guard. “Send one guard to Blackwood. Tell him I want this matter verified by the Black Clover.”

“And while we wait?”

He looked his cousin in the eye. “I want them gone from this place.”

Henry sighed. “Very well. Where shall we throw them to, Your Majesty? Have you another estate in mind?”

They stared at each other for a while. Emory knew he was the only one thinking, his mind racing in all directions for the best solution, while Henry was probably just enjoying the display of frustration.

“A hospital. She’s sick, isn’t she?”

“Genius plan, cousin. Bravo.” Henry sardonically said, hand at the door. “Let’s try persuasion first—entice them to Coulway. A luxurious villa with a full staff. No live chickens they need to kill for dinner. But we’ll have to do it gently.” When Emory didn’t answer, Henry prodded, “Emory.”

He let out a curt nod, eyebrows fused in a line.

Henry stared at him for a while before eventually shaking his head. “Daniel Stanton my arse.” He pushed the door open and stopped Emory when he moved. “You’re not a king here. Remember your own bloody lie.”

“I don’t have to be a king to deal with royals,” he retorted, brushing his cousin’s hand off. He jumped off the carriage and fixed his coat. With a mocking smile, he added, “In fact, I’m ready to join one of them for tea!”

---

“I should look presentable,” Florence said as she dipped her hands into the washbasin and ran her palms over her hair to tame the stubborn tresses.

Lucy grimaced as she watched. “Maybe if you didn’t chop off your hair, you’ll have a chance.”

Florence rolled her eyes and brushed her damp hair flat against her head. “Nothing a few pins and pearls can’t do,” she murmured, a pin stuck between her teeth as she worked. The more pearls she added on the side of her face, the more her cousin’s face crumpled.

“He should like me,” she said, turning to tap powder on her face. “Oh, I think I put on too much.” A puff of white surrounded her head for a moment.

“Like is too ambitious. Try forgive .” Lucy approached her, fanning a cloud of powder as she approached. “Just dress as you are and kneel before the man, Flo. Tell him the truth.”

“That he’s a liar? A deceiver? That in Gavaria, it is a grave crime to lie to a royalty?”

’Flo, you know what I mean.“

Ignoring Lucy, she reached for the silver cachou box sitting on the dresser. “Should I paint my lips?”

“You’ll do it anyway, so why should I bother reminding you they don’t typically do that here?”

She shrugged and dabbed a small amount on her lips, giving them a transparent rosy glow. Then she smiled, the dimple on her cheeks now very prominent. They were her greatest assets, her mother used to say.

Remembering the woman, her smile slowly faded. She missed her. If there was anything she regretted the most since she left Gavaria, it was not saying a proper goodbye to her mother.

Blinking, Florence’s smile returned. There was no time for regrets now. She was finally here in Sutherland and she was just one step closer to her goal. There were some minor mishaps, with the deception and everything, but they could be easily corrected at the right time. For now, she had to make sure that the king would accept her. Marry her. Make her queen.

Lucy’s face told her she had overdone it with the powder and the pearls, but she actually liked them. The pearls hid the uneven cuts, and the powder evened out her skin. The painted lips looked stunning in her opinion.

“Do you even like the man? You look like you’re dressing to prove the opposite.”

“I don’t need to like him. I just need to be queen, and I can’t be if you oppose me at every turn.”

“It’s because you’ve finally gone mad!”

“I’ve always been a little mad. Ask my sisters.” She paused and gave Lucy a gentle smile. “Lucy, you know you can always go home. The option is always there.”

“And leave you here alone? Don’t be mad.”

She grinned. “Now, for the dress,” she said, whirling around to attack her trunk, throwing dresses over her shoulder, checking one after the other with excitement.

“That’s a ball gown,” Lucy pointed out, picking up a light blue dress from the pile on the floor. “Try this one.”

“It’s too plain.”

“You’ll look like a clown if you put on anything more.”

She laughed, unbuttoning her muddy dress. “You’re right. Let’s reserve the gown for a special occasion.”

“Like our funeral after they hang us,” Lucy wryly said.

“It’s going to be all right, Lucy.”

“You always say that and you always turn out right. But I’m constantly on edge wondering if this is the moment your luck runs out, Flo.”

“Trust me. I always know when things are good.”

Her cousin dropped herself on the bed as she dressed. “Just don’t forget to bring me dinner.”

“Hot chicken stew coming right up, my lady,” she said with a grand curtsy, shoulders shaking with mirth. A pearl fell on the floor. They watched it roll under the bed and laughed.

---

Emory’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling before he pointedly stared at Henry.

“What?” Henry asked. “Just because you don’t know how to laugh, no one should?”

“Sick people don’t laugh.”

“I only heard one laughter. The cousin.”

He shifted in his seat and frowned, feeling something. He reached under and pulled out a brooch. A ruby encrusted in round silver attached to a white ribbon. He gritted his teeth and threw it to the side, his eyes catching something under the table. He bent down and peered, eyes narrowing into slits. “There’s a stocking.”

Henry’s face was suddenly against the carpet. “Are you sure?”

“The only thing I’m not sure about is what it’s doing under the table.”

“They may have been doing laundry and—”

“In the parlor?”

His cousin stared at him from across. “Yes?”

“Or they could have been entertaining strangers,” he murmured.

“And do what? Laundry?”

They both flew from the floor and back into their seats as running footsteps echoed outside. Emory kicked the end of the stocking further under the table and squared his shoulders. The footsteps slowed, followed by a clash. Porcelain shattering against wood.

He gritted his teeth, but stopped when he heard the hissed curse outside. He could clearly picture the scene play behind the door by the sounds she made: Tray placed on the floor. Pieces of porcelain being picked and dropped into a broken teacup. Even Henry was paying close attention, head leaning to the side.

Below, through the gap between the floor and the door, the spilled tea had leaked through. Then the doors opened, and she stepped right over it. His eyes remained on the imprint she left behind. His eye twitched as she stepped over the carpet, her words a faraway sound as his mind tried its best to assure him that a tea stain was the least of his worries. “Apologies. Little accident. Nothing I can’t fix.”

His eyes flew toward her and he froze.

Why did she look like she just jumped off a theater stage to serve them tea on a tray with one good teacup and a shattered one?

“I’ll be right back,” she said, dropping the entire tray too early over the table, spilling more tea.

“No!” Emory’s order reverberated, halting her steps and freezing Henry. He let out an exasperated breath. Henry cleared his throat, threw him a look of warning.

Lucy, with her powdered face and pearl-encrusted head, swallowed. Her honey brown eyes shook as they jumped from Emory to Henry, then back. Her posture was stiff as a board, but there was something about her that simply did not sit well with him.

She wasn’t afraid. She simply knew how to look afraid.

“Is something wrong, Lord Stanton?” Her tone sounded almost like a challenge, not meek as what she tried to show. “I was just going to get you another cup of tea.” Her eyes did not leave his as she added, “Since there are no servants to do so…”

“No,” he said again, this time in a more controlled tone. “No need to compromise another priceless porcelain.” His brow arched when she stiffened and a flash of anger crossed her eyes. But she broke into a smile and laughed, and even then, he couldn’t tell if the flush in her face was out of embarrassment or contained fury.

“Very well,” she said, approaching the settee across from his. “May I know the purpose of your visit?”

“Yes,” Henry said, clearing his throat once more when Emory scowled at her last word. “This visit, “ he continued, giving Emory a look, “must have surprised you and we apologize.”

“It’s no bother,” Lucy said, smiling sweetly. Emory looked away because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her lips. What did she lather on them? Blood and honey?

“Lord Stanton is here for a very important matter,” Henry said, turning to Emory with a smile.

His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to look at Lucy—and almost closed his eyes at the sight. She looked striking now than earlier when they first met, but in a bad way. To avoid offending her, he looked into her eyes instead and realized they were actually pretty. “His Majesty, the King, wishes for the Grand Princess to join him in Coulway as soon as possible,” he announced. “Even more so now that she’s sick. He would want to have the best doctors in Sutherland to care for her.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Henry nodding, then twist in his direction as he added, “Birchfield, I’m afraid, will only worsen her condition. Worse, she may likely die without proper care and treatment. Winter is harsher here than anywhere else.”

Lucy reached for the only good teacup on the tray. For once, he saw a graceful side as she maintained a good posture as she sipped. She took his words way better than Henry did. This woman knew nothing about chores, but was certainly adept in social etiquette. Now that he thought of it, she talked to them as if they were her equals—or even beneath her. Emory had to remind himself that he was in the presence of another royalty, or at least someone who knew how to act like one.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Lucy said after she set her cup down. She folded her hands on her lap and looked him straight in the eye, a small smile curling her lips. “My cousin will only get worse if she travels in this weather. Until she’s better, she cannot travel.” She paused and looked Henry again. “And since we do not have servants at our disposal—”

“Stop it with the servants—” He stopped, closed his eyes, and took an even breath. Giving her a mocking smile, he tried again. “This estate is special to His Majesty. It’s one rule is to have no servants.”

“But his betrothed is sick and requires care.”

“It’s a rule we cannot break, I’m afraid. However, if you’ll have all the servants you need once you reach Coulway. The best doctors in Sutherland are there.” She opened her mouth, but he raised his hand, adding, “But should you insist on staying until the Grand Princess is well, I’m afraid we’ll all have to endure together.”

She blinked at him. “Will you be staying here with us, then? You said you’ll be here a few days.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And the men outside?”

“They’re guards.”

“For whom?”

Emory gritted his teeth. “Advisers to the king are provided with guards.”

“They can’t do chores?”

“They’re guards.”

Her shoulders dropped, and she looked down at her hands. “I’ll have to feed more mouths apart from taking care of my sick cousin.” She looked up at him with a tight smile. “I’m quite capable, of course, but I would require help at the very least.”

“We don’t expect to be served by you, my lady,” Henry immediately answered. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Lucy nodded. “Then I’m very much grateful, my lord.”

“Please. Just Henry.”

“Of course, Henry.” She stared at Emory next, brows arched expectantly, but he just stared back without a word. “Very well,” she said with a sigh. “Lord Stanton, Henry, if you’ll excuse me.” She stood, hands folded before her. “I have things to do.”

As she walked to the door, a pearl fell from her hair and rolled forward. She paused, looked down and, to Emory’s silent chagrin, kicked it to the side. She gave them one last smile, which, to Emory, looked more interesting than her eyes. Her next words, however, took his eyes off the dimples. “I suggest you prepare your dinner early, my lords.” One finger pointed to the window. “It’s getting dark outside.”

“Incredible,” Henry said as soon as the door closed. “Did she just convince you to let them stay?”

Emory stood and said instead, “You’re in charge of dinner.”

“And where are you going?”

“The Fitzwilliams.” He stalked to the door. “They should have more information on our visitors.”

V. The Winter Fairy

Emory walked the familiar path to the Fitzwilliams. Marius followed from afar, but having been around the king long enough as his most trusted guard, he knew how paramount it was to remain unseen.

It had been years, but Emory still couldn’t get used to having men around him at all times. He grew up in Birchfield with a certain freedom his other siblings never enjoyed.

Every morning, he and Henry would wake up with little to no lessons, and were lucky to have had the Fitzwilliams as part of the small group tasked to watch over them.

Mr. And Mrs. Fitzwilliam had a younger daughter, Eliza. The first time they met, she told them she was a winter fairy from the woods.

“But your hair is black. Shouldn’t it be white?” Emory had asked her.

“The mud nymphs painted it black,” was her reply.

He remembered her leading them everywhere, saying the woods were her home. She showed them the lake and glided over its hardened surface like the fairy that she claimed she was. After everyone who had gone out to look for them finally found them, the fantasy was shattered, exposing her childish lies.

But the magic remained. When they met again, she was a witch in training. And the next day, she was a pirate from a ship that sailed through the clouds.

With Mr. Fitzwilliam, they built a tree house behind the caretaker’s small stone cottage. Ever since then, Emory and Henry would come every morning and spend the rest of the day with Eliza. They’d enjoy Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s meatloaf, and if they were clean enough, she’d let them join them in the kitchen.

With them, he wasn’t a prince. He was whomever he wanted to be that day: a wizard nemesis of the witch; the merman captured by the sky pirate; or the fire demon vanquished by the winter fairy.

His footsteps faltered as he neared the cottage. Pushing his hands in his pockets, he took a deep breath and let it out with a bitter smile.

Eliza didn’t have the chance to join him and Henry in many of their other adventures. Her illness came without warning and took her away swiftly. He still remembered the day they were told they couldn’t visit the Fitzwilliams for a while. They sat waiting in front of their window, hoping Eliza would appear and help sneak them out as the sky pirate or the vigilante thief named Prospero. It never happened.

She joined the angels up in heaven, Mrs. Fitzwilliam had told them. For a pair of five-year-old boys, it was baffling. It took them some time to realize what happened.

A sad smile curved his lips as he passed the dilapidated tree house. During his last visit, he offered to have it taken down for their safety. Mr. Fitzwilliam said he’d do it himself, but Emory knew it would stay here as long as the Fitzwilliams were around.

He looked up and studied the rotten floorboards above. A few fallen pieces were carefully placed against the tree trunk, never to be disposed.

His memories of Henry and Eliza poking their heads out of the little window of their tree house vanished at the sound of laughter from inside the cottage. His smile froze on his lips when he recognized Lucy’s laugh.

“Was she not in the kitchen?” he wondered aloud as he trudged toward the back door that led to the kitchen, only to stop and run to hide behind the tree when it swung open.

“There were more yesterday, but I think the foxes got to them,” Lucy was saying. “I hope they’re enough for your pies, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”

“They are more than enough, dear,” the old woman’s voice replied. “Be careful on your way back.”

“I will. Please say goodbye to Mr. Fitzwilliam for me. Tell him it was rude of him to fall asleep halfway through my story!”

Emory waited as the pair said their goodbyes and Lucy’s footsteps against the snow became distant. When he was certain, he walked out of his hiding place and knocked on the kitchen door.

Her movements were slow, perhaps slower than the last he saw her. But the smile she gave him was just like the first day.

“Freddy!”

He gently pulled her into an embrace and chuckled as her arms wrapped around him. “Don’t smother me too long, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. My coat is cold.”

“Come inside, dear boy,” the old lady said, blue eyes glowing with tenderness as she watched him take off his coat. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“You know I enjoy surprising you.”

“Brew us some tea, will you? I’ll wake the old man. He fell asleep by the fire.”

“No, let him be,” Emory said, already walking to the stove. “You sit down and let me serve you.”

She chuckled and did as he told. “Did you come here for your betrothed?” she asked a while later, as he set a cup of tea for her.

He paused at her teasing smile. With a sigh, he sat down. “You’ve heard about her.”

“Of course, I’d know.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You wicked boy. You sent them here without help.”

“I didn’t realize they didn’t bring any. It was a misunderstanding.”

“And you come here now and introduce yourself as Daniel Stanton?”

He smiled. “No one should know I’m even here, that’s why.” Looking at her disapproving look, he grinned. “You still remember Daniel Stanton.”

“Of course. You were always Daniel Stanton; Henry was always Peter Donovan, and my dear Eliza…well…”

They both chuckled. “She had quite a number.”

“Her pirate name was Terracotta Blue.” Emory’s shoulder shook with laughter at the reminder. “Her winter fairy name was Daisy Dirt, was it?”

He nodded. “She also had a ghost name—Phantom Pam. And do you remember Prospero?”

Her laughter rang in the kitchen. “She got out of a lot of trouble with that name, didn’t she?”

“It was always Prospero,” he said, shoulders shaking.

“She never let you boys get better names, did she?”

“We actually did, but she’d always forget and still call us Daniel and Peter.”

His eyes landed on her hand while she held her cup. Her skin had gotten so old and wrinkly. His gaze flickered away as she drank her tea. The silence replaced the laughter, but the memories lingered. He enjoyed talking about the past with the Fitzwilliams because they held the only memories he would never wish to be replaced. Everything else could be forgotten, but not the years he spent here. Not Eliza and her innocent and dangerous adventures, her carefree laughter and charm, and even her wild imagination. She may not be here now, but her heart was.

“Have the doctor been coming to see you?”

“Yes.”

“And the help?”

“She comes by every Saturday.”

He nodded, looking around the kitchen. “Do you still cook?”

Mrs. Fitzwilliam laughed. “Freddy, are you asking if I’m strong enough to take care of myself?” When he just shrugged, she nodded. “I can still cook. But I’m afraid I can no longer travel to town. The help does the shopping for us.”

“Good. If you need her to come more often, you simply tell her.” As she nodded, he added, “And if you wish, she can stay here with you—”

“No.”

He sighed. He could always try to convince her next time. “As you wish, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”

They talked more about life in Cloveshire, but never about his family. However, she diverted the subject back to his visitors . “They’re very charming ladies.”

He just nodded because he had nothing to say.

“That little princess of yours… Florence,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam continued with a loving glow in her eyes. “She reminds me so much of my dear Eliza.”

Not that Emory had brought women here before—because he never had—nor had he introduced any of his lovers to Mrs. Fitzwilliam, but for the lady to compare someone to her daughter was quite interesting. Even he couldn’t easily do so. Eliza was Eliza. Her spirit was incomparable.

“Truly?” he asked. Well, he was here to know more about his betrothed . He might as well get it from someone he trusted more than his mother. “In what way?”

“Oh, in so many ways. Even Charles had said so.” She leaned closer and whispered, “And he rarely mentions Eliza. You know that.”

“I have not had the chance to meet her,” he said. “She’s sick.”

Mrs. Fitzwilliam frowned. “But she just left.”

Now, it was his turn to frown. “Do you mean her cousin Lucy?”

“No.” Her brow furrowed even more. “Or was that dear Lucy?”

“Your eyesight is failing you, woman,” he teased.

She continued to look confused as she asked, “And you say Florence is sick?”

“She’s currently confined in bed.” He frowned. “I thought you knew.”

“Well, Lucy was sick first. Or was that Florence?”

“You’re scaring me, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. You shouldn’t be forgetting things.”

She laughed. “I’m getting old, am I?”

“And now you’re a liar,” he said. “You have never aged a day since I met you.”

They let their laughter ring around the kitchen. “I hope you’ll take care of her. And protect her,” she said. “That girl has too much spirit in her. I can imagine her getting into a lot of trouble.”

“I can’t wait to see this spirit you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you will. Just you wait.” She sipped her tea. “You should hear about their adventures, too.”

“What adventures?”

She threw him a mischievous grin. “I can’t spoil you. Those stories are best heard from them.” Her smile wavered ever so slightly. “Eliza would have loved them. They would instantly be best friends.”

“Three Prosperos will be a nightmare,” he said, standing. He stopped the woman from doing the same. “You stay. I’ll see myself out.” He peered out into the next room and smiled. Turning to leave, he kissed Mrs. Fitzwilliam on the cheek. “Tell Mr. Fitzwilliam I’ll come by another day.”

“He will look forward to it. Be good to those girls, will you? You’ve been quite mean, leaving them here all alone.”

Later, as he walked back to the manor, he started to wonder more about Florence Paulet, and it made him even more intent on meeting her.

---

Emory walked into the kitchen wearing a coat. Florence wanted to ask where he’d been, but she was too busy rescuing what was left of her stew. She had left it too long in the fire, and now, there was nothing there but burnt chicken meat and vegetables. The water had all evaporated.

“What happened?” he asked, scowling at her.

She pushed her hair away from her face. The last of the pearls dropped to the floor.

“Nothing, my lord,” she said, looking away and down at the pot.

“And what are you doing?”

She was about to answer when Henry spoke from the other side of the kitchen. “I enjoy chasing many things apart from chickens, so I took liberty grabbing this meat from our supplies.”

Emory, completely ignoring her, stood beside Henry and loomed over the meat. “What do you intend to do with it?”

“I’m quite unsure,” Henry murmured. “You tell me. You’re the bloody cook.” When he just sighed, Henry asked, “Should we ask the guards if they can spare some of what they’re having? We can plan our meals tomorrow. I’m honestly too tired for this.”

He moved, pushing his cousin to the side, and stood before the untouched meat. “Get the herbs,” he ordered as he took off his coat. Henry eagerly jumped and grabbed the coat, giving Florence a triumphant smile before turning away to find the herbs. Emory clucked his tongue and reached for the herbs hanging on the wall. “Forget it. Go boil some potatoes.”

“Right away, Sir,” Henry said, grinning widely, happy to do the menial task.

“And what are you doing?” Emory’s almost irritated voice asked.

She blinked, realizing the question was directed at her. He rolled his sleeves as he looked at her. “Lamenting the loss of my dinner,” she replied, then broke into a smile. “But fret not, my lord. I can rescue it.”

The deeper his frown grew, the more she realized she might need more time getting fond of this man. Just a few seconds ago, she was impressed. He seemed to know his way around the kitchen, which, for a king, was beyond impressive. Yet now, there he was, judging her for doing a terrible job. “Do you also intend to feed the Grand Princess with that?”

Florence was adding water into the pot as she shrugged. Lucy wasn’t sick, and she wouldn’t mind eating whatever she cooked. They had eaten worse than salvaged stew.

She didn’t have to follow her shrug with words because he just as quickly turned away and ignored her. While waiting for her stew to thicken over the fire, she witnessed Emory work, giving orders to Henry and then doing them himself if it wasn’t done right. Not once did he spare her a glance. What amused her was Henry, who was obviously intentionally doing a poor job to avoid doing anything. He’d even engage Florence in small conversations while Emory silently prepared the oven.

But when Henry left to set the table in the other room, Florence felt the heavy weight of silence. She waited impatiently by her stew, while Emory stood still by the oven, one hand on his waist, completely comfortable doing nothing.

She had many things she wanted to ask or say, but she stopped herself. For some odd reason, she was irked. Was he even bothered that he lied? Should she tell him who she was? Maybe it would make things better. Maybe he’d come clean and beg for her forgiveness.

When he moved and shot her a look, she instantly regretted feeling guilty. He looked at her like she was a cobweb that shouldn’t be there, and one he could easily brush off. She pursed her lips and turned away, doing her best to ignore him.

But then, she quickly schooled herself. If she wanted to be queen, she had to tolerate the man. And to be queen, she had to first tell him who she truly was. At the thought, she realized the problem Lucy had been trying to tell her since the start. If Emory found out the truth, he might refuse her (if not punish her). Or worse, he’d send her back to Gavaria.

As she started to panic, she could hear Lucy’s voice telling her, “This is what I’ve been talking about!”. But the matter was done. The lie was told—and it was even entirely her fault. He was lying to her, too, wasn’t he? They were both in the wrong here.

While she fought an internal battle of pride and moral, Emory had left the kitchen, giving her enough time to pace and murmur a series of arguments to herself. The only conclusion she came up with was that she needed to woo the king. Nothing too grand, of course. He had to like her as she was. Not as the Grand Princess of Gavaria, but as a woman. Someone who he wanted despite the foolish lies.

But was that even possible? Was she even capable?

Her thoughts came to a halt when she heard footsteps. Just as she was pouring two bowls of thick, brown stew, Emory entered the kitchen, followed by Henry.

Again, he ignored her and walked straight to the oven. Henry joined her and winced at the stew. “You can share our dinner. We have more than enough.”

“I’d hate to impose.”

“You wouldn’t. It would be our pleasure. Am I right, my lord?” Henry asked.

Emory took out a heavenly tray of roasted meat and set it on the table. “Let it rest first,” he said, wiping his hands. His eyes landed on her. If she’d someday be his queen, she’d have to work on that look of his. It wouldn’t be healthy for their future children. They’d die of fright. “The Grand Princess needs good nourishment,” he simply said.

Did that mean she could only get a serving for the princess? “Thank you, my lord. I’ll get just enough for my cousin.”

“But—” Henry started, but she smiled at him and added, “I’m not that hungry, anyway. The stew is not that bad. It would be a waste to throw it away. A chicken’s life has been sacrificed for it.”

Henry laughed with her. “Well, you can help yourself with as much serving as you like, my lady. I’m sure the chicken can forgive you.”

Emory had exited the kitchen as his cousin spoke. Florence stared at the roast. “I’ll just get a plate for the princess, Henry. Thank you for the offer. You’re too kind.”

She stared at the empty doorway, then smiled at Henry. To subtly woo a king, she might just need the help of the only person who knew him best.

VI. A Bloody Murder

“Are you sure you’ve already eaten?” Lucy asked halfway through her meal.

Florence tore her eyes off the roast and potatoes. “Yes, I told you. I already ate.”

Lucy just shrugged and smiled as she chewed. “It’s quite tasty. Don’t you agree?”

She couldn’t because she didn’t know what it tasted like, but she could tell it was as good as it looked. “Yes.”

“And you say the king cooked this?”

She nodded and walked to the washbasin. “He did everything. It was actually impressive.”

“It’s quite amazing.”

Florence washed her face vigorously.

“You’ll rub your face off if you keep doing that.”

“Well, it’s itchy.”

Lucy chuckled. “You always complain about the same thing, but you keep painting your face at every chance.”

The towel muffled her reply. “I like feeling beautiful.” She frowned when she saw Lucy looking at her mildly. “What is it now?”

Her cousin shifted in her seat to face her. “Flo, there’s a chance they’ll find us here.”

Throwing the towel to the side, she sat on the bed. “I know.”

“And if that’s the case, he’ll be here in no time.”

Florence knew they were having a serious talk now. More than the lie she told Emory, or the crazy and impetuous things they did in London. They never discussed the subject, perhaps because Lucy knew she wasn’t ready. But her cousin was her best friend for a reason. She was more level-headed than Florence was and would always pull her down from the clouds. Maybe being locked in this room for a day gave Lucy more time to mull over things Florence ignored.

“Flo, if he finds you here, you know he won’t let you escape again.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I know.”

“So why should we stay?” Lucy asked. “Why don’t we leave before that happens?”

“Because I can’t!” She opened her eyes and looked at Lucy. “I can’t let what happened in London repeat itself.”

“Flo, nothing’s going to happen to me. I survived, didn’t I?” Lucy asked, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands. “If King Emory wanted to honor the betrothal, he would have already done so. He doesn’t want to. That’s clearly the reason he lied to you about who he is. Let’s just leave. I’m sure there’s somewhere we can go.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “We have nothing else, Lucy. What we have left cannot take us far.”

“We have another cousin in—”

She shook her head. “I cannot bring any more trouble to others.” She squeezed her cousin’s hands. “I’ll take care of this. The king will have to marry me.”

Lucy looked at her for a long time before letting out a sigh. “I still don’t see how you can make him do something he doesn’t want to.”

“I have to make him fall in love with me first.”

Lucy stood and turned away. “Oh, Lord, have mercy. You don’t even believe in love. And do you think a man like the king knows love?”

Florence grinned and chuckled as Lucy returned to her food with an incredulous look on her face. She squared her shoulders and confidently said, “No, but I know he believes in honor.” She stood to change her dress. “And he’s a man. I’m quite certain he knows lust.”

Lucy choked. “What in the devil has gotten into you?”

“Desperation, cousin.” She let out a sigh and looked at herself in the mirror. “I know I’m not the prettiest there is, but I have beautiful eyes. They say they’re the window to one’s soul.”

She saw Lucy nod through the mirror.

“My body is not to be desired…” She didn’t finish her statement as her face flushed.

“But?” Lucy urged.

“I have a womb.” Lucy snorted. “And it can shelter the kingdom’s heir, and therefore its future.”

Lucy shook her head in awe. “How your mind works constantly amazes me, Flo.”

“And that’s another wonderful trait, yes?”

“If he likes eccentric things, then you should be perfect.”

“Well, I have a feeling he does.”

---

Emory took the master chamber on the opposite wing of the manor. Marius insisted, saying he should be safe from whatever infection the Grand Princess was suffering from. Henry took the next room. One guard roamed around the estate. The manor was quiet.

However, he couldn’t sleep, thinking about the problem he left in Coulway. He should be glad he had men and women taking care of his safety, but he couldn’t shake off the nagging thought that he should be there. He knew the Clover was capable, but he had trouble trusting anyone nowadays. One mistake and the kingdom could crumble.

His train of thoughts halted at the sound of creaking floorboards. The manor wasn’t large enough to dampen the sound of the one broken step in the stairs. He got up and poked his head out the door.

“Just Lady Lucy, Sir,” Marius, posted outside his door, answered before he could ask.

“What is she doing at this hour?”

“I didn’t ask, Sir.”

He shrugged into a coat and walked out, holding up a hand to stop Marius. “You stay.”

“But, Sir—”

“You know my rules in Birchfield, Marius,” he said.

His guard pursed his lips and stiffly nodded. “Very well, Sir.”

Climbing down the stairs, he skipped the broken step and looked for Lucy. He didn’t have to search long. The ruckus she created in the kitchen led him to the right place.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She yelped in surprise, eyes wide in fright. But the moment she recognized him, she relaxed. “Oh, it’s you. Did I wake you, my lord?”

Ignoring her question, he frowned at the pot and the vegetables. “I thought you said you’re not hungry?”

“I wasn’t. Now I am,” she said, turning around to cut potatoes.

“Shouldn’t you wash them first?”

“I already did.”

He walked closer. “Did you brush them?” When she just stared, he let out a sigh. “Let me.”

“No, I can—”

He gave her a look, and she paused, letting him grab everything from the table to the washbasin.

“Your coat…” Her hand pulled his sleeves high. That gave him pause. No one touched the king without permission. She grinned at him as she stepped back. “Are you married, my lord?”

He blinked. “No.” She looked better oddly now that she washed off the powder. He looked away to scrub the potatoes. “Why do you ask?”

“You know your way around the kitchen. You either learned from your mother or your wife.” She studied his task with interest. “But you don’t seem to be a man with a mother who cooks either, which leaves the latter option.”

He didn’t reply right away. He rinsed the vegetables and placed them all in a bowl. “I learned on my own.”

“Why?”

He couldn’t tell her he spent a large amount of time holed up in this manor, so he simply chose to ignore the question. “Boil some water.”

“I can do it from here,” she said, pouring water into the pot.

“That’s too much.” When she frowned at the pot, he clucked his tongue and snatched it, pouring half of the content back into the bucket. “You clearly don’t know how to cook.”

“No, I don’t, but I think it is mainly because no one bothered to teach me. Instead, I’m pushed to the side because they think I can’t do it. Or because they can do it better.”

He paused and looked at her. She fashioned an innocent smile, but the one arched brow said it all. “Fine.” He placed the pot down. “Wait until the water boils before you add these.”

She jumped and took the pot to the fire. “All of them at once?”

He wiped his hands dry. “No. The longest to cook comes first.”

“The potatoes then?”

When she blinked at him with innocent curiosity, he nodded and looked away.

---

As she waited, an awkward silence followed. Why wasn’t he leaving? Did he think she’d set the kitchen on fire? That almost happened a month ago, but she was careful now. She had a pail of water behind the door in case of another incident, and another of dirt for good measure.

She didn’t mean to, but the question just slipped out of her tongue. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

Then why are you still here?

“Then…” She cleared her throat and shifted on one foot. “Do you need anything?”

He shook his head. “I’d like to ask a few things,” he said.

“Are these questions from you or the king?”

His jaw twitched. “The king.”

“And are these questions for me or the Grand Princess?”

The way his eyes scrutinized her could make anyone cower, but she had met men like him before. In fact, she was surrounded by them since she could remember. Nothing could make a Gavarian princess shiver at the sight of a man, whatever his demeanor may be, because they were reared to tolerate them.

“You.”

She smiled. “Very well. What do you want to know, my lord?”

“How long have you known the princess?”

“We were born the same year. We grew up together.”

He slowly nodded. “And how is she your cousin?”

“I’m the daughter of the emperor’s younger sister.”

“And the Grand Princess is his eldest daughter with his first concubine.”

She shouldn’t be surprised he knew. Every detail was on the papers. “Yes.”

“And she has other siblings?”

“From the emperor’s other wives, yes. Why do you ask about my relationship with the princess?”

“The king knows everything about the Gavarian family, but he doesn’t know everyone.”

“I’m just a tiny dot on the family tree. Not even a leaf.” She let out a dry, awkward laugh. “It is a rather large family, you see. The wives alone create a forest.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes remained deadly serious. “I know.”

“Do you have more questions?”

“The water’s ready.”

She jumped and grabbed the potatoes, dumping them into the pot too hastily. She cried out when some hot water splattered on her hand. Again, he clucked his tongue and caught her wrist. Before she knew it, he dumped her entire hand into the bucket of cold water. “Are you always this careless?”

“Yes. Servants always have to tail me around the palace because—” She stopped, realizing the slip. “I mean, whenever we’re in the palace. Or even at our home, which isn’t a palace, of course. But…” The rest of her words drifted as he let go of her hand and returned to the pot to drop the rest of the potatoes.

“Is there anything you can’t eat?” he asked as he walked to the wall of herbs.

“Thyme. I hate it.” He plucked three herbs, skipping the thyme, and stopped when she added, “And garlic.” He let go of the garlic and returned to the pot.

“We still have some roasts left. Are you fine if I drop some in here?”

“Y-Yes.”

He disappeared from the kitchen and returned with a cloth-covered plate of roast. She could finish that thing now if he offered, to be honest.

“You’re too kind,” she said as he cut the roast into smaller pieces.

Instead of an answer, he asked, “Does the princess have any reservations about the betrothal?”

“None,” she hastily replied. “She’s quite excited.”

He didn’t move for a moment, just stood there in front of the pot. When he turned around again, his face was unreadable. “How is she faring?”

“Getting better.”

“Then I can meet her?”

“Maybe in a day or two. She may still be infectious.”

“But you stay in the same room as her.”

Blazes. “Well, yes. In case she needs me.”

“And you haven’t gotten sick.” Before she could reply, he added, “Tell the Grand Princess I’ll meet her tomorrow.” As she opened her mouth to object, he walked away. “The stew should be ready as soon as it thickens.”

And without much of a goodbye, he was gone.

---

Lucy sighed and rolled on the bed. “I’ll just meet the man. See what he wants. I won’t talk much,” she said as Florence paced the room, biting her nail.

Florence stopped, ran her fingers through her short hair, and tugged. “I shouldn’t have lied to him. How do we tell him the truth?”

Lucy didn’t say anything, which made it even worse.

“I’ll just tell him I wasn’t sure who he was. That I was just being cautious.”

“That’s actually a good reason.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes. I think it’s the best idea you’ve come up with in recent months.”

She slowly nodded. “Very well.” Her hands rested on her hips and her eyes glared at the floor. “With that reason, we can extend the lie.”

The pillow muffled Lucy’s groan.

“I just don’t see why we have to tell him the truth while he’s still pretending to be someone else.”

“That’s his problem, not ours!” Lucy hissed.

“He should tell me the truth first.”

“Can we go back to your previous train of thought? It sounded sane.”

“And he has to like me first—” She frowned at the sound of someone shouting downstairs. She rushed to the window and looked down to find the milk boy with a horrified look on his face.

“What is it, Johnny?”

The nine-year-old boy looked up and pointed with his finger. “My lady! Henrietta!”

“What about Henrietta?”

“S-She—” The young man pointed again. “She’s dead!”

“What do you mean?”

“Murder!” the boy cried out.

“What in the bloody hell are you talking about, boy?” Henry’s voice asked from out of sight.

Florence dashed out of the room and breathlessly arrived in the courtyard, skidding to a stop before she bumped into Johnny. Two of Emory’s guards also rushed in to see the problem.

“It was him! I saw him!” The boy pointed at Emory, who just walked out from the back carrying a bloody knife. “He killed her!” This time, his finger pointed at Henry.

Her frantic eyes jumped from Emory to Henry, who stood in bewilderment, holding a hen by its feet.

Florence gasped in horror as she stared at the limp and dead form of the one chicken absolved from execution—her darling Henrietta.

VII. Peace Offerings

“When she cracked out into the world, I knew she was special.” She sniffled, wiping tears with the pads of her fingers. “By then, I was on the verge of madness, you see.” Henry slowly nodded, a look of schooled empathy on his face. “We were sent here with no one. Forced to fend for ourselves. No servants…” She moved her hand as she talked, and for a reason, it stopped in his direction just long enough to make him feel it was all his fault.

She let out a shaky breath. “But just as I thought about giving up, she came into our lives. She reminded me of myself. She was in her little shell. She was safe there. But she dared crack it open and found herself in a much bigger world and survived it. The other chicks picked on her, but she didn’t mind.” She stopped, crying even harder.

Emory frowned, slowly losing patience. Why did he have to sit in the parlor listening to this?

“Since then, I’d look forward to every morning. I saw her grow and adapt. And I did as well. Or at least I tried to do the same.” Her eyes slanted toward him, sharp and unforgiving. “Each time I’d come to the coop, she’d greet me tenderly. And whenever I collected her eggs, she didn’t mind. But I’d bring them to Mrs. Fitzwilliam because I couldn’t bring myself to eat them.”

This was getting ridiculous. The first time they met, she was carrying a bloody chicken she meant to slaughter. And now she was crying because he did.

Emory stood and finally spoke. “Once more, I’m sorry for your loss, my lady. I didn’t know the chicken was dear to you, nor was I aware they were yours .”

She pursed her lips and wiped more tears off her cheeks. Henry threw him a look of warning.

“But I have lunch to prepare,” he said.

“But not Henrietta!” Lucy cried out.

“No, not Henrietta, of course,” his cousin hastily replied. “Lord Stanton will find something else to prepare.”

“I’ll hold a little funeral for Henrietta,” was all she said as she rose to her feet.

Later, through the kitchen window, they watched her kneel before a small mound of dirt. “She’s really crying, isn’t she?” he asked aloud.

“Everyone’s not as heartless as you are, cousin,” Henry said with a sigh. “She has a pure heart, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Pure? No. Odd, mayhap.” He turned around to return to kneading a dough. “Tell her I’d like to personally deliver the Grand Princess her meal.”

“You insensitive bastard. She’s grieving.”

“She can cry all she wants as she climbs up the stairs to inform her cousin about the meeting.”

Henry sighed and walked out of the kitchen. Emory watched through the window as his cousin approached Lucy.

His gaze fixed on her face as she listened to Henry. She looked lost, trying to keep her composure. Her eyes veered toward the window and onto him. He almost looked away, but he held himself steady until she spoke her reply.

As his cousin nodded and turned away to return to the kitchen, Emory caught his eyes. Henry gestured a slicing motion with his hand across his neck.

“Because of a bloody chicken?” he mouthed in frustration.

Henry nodded and shrugged.

---

The next day, Lucy was apparently still grieving , and as he learned from Henry, the Grand Princess learned of Henrietta’s passing and refused to see the man who killed her. Frustrating as it may be, Emory tried to be patient.

For two more days, he left them alone. However, on the fourth day, he had enough.

He waited in the courtyard early that morning. When she walked out, dressed in a simple light blue dress, hair still a little rumpled from bed, and face still puffy, he leaned away from the wall and met her. She walked past him without a glance and straight to the chicken coop.

“Good morning,” he greeted, following behind her. He caught the gate and slipped inside the coop as she walked around, holding the top layer of her dress in front of her to hold the eggs she carefully collected. He looked away and cleared his throat, looking up at the clear sky.

Snow crunched under his feet as he shifted his weight. “The Grand Princess should be well enough to see me.”

“She’s sleeping, my lord.”

He stopped when she did, watched her steal two eggs before walking away again. “When she wakes, I’d like to see her.”

“I’m not sure. She’s still a little upset.”

“About the chicken?”

“Henrietta wasn’t just a chicken. She was family.”

“I’m sorry about the chicken, but I’ve given you enough time to grieve, as you call it. Now, it’s time I meet the princess.”

“I’ll see what she thinks.” She gave him a quick smile. “But no promises.”

“Then I’m afraid that I must impose.”

She faced him fully, frown on her face. “Unless you’re the king, the Grand Princess cannot be imposed .”

“I am here in the name of the king—”

“And how certain am I that you are who you say you are?” she interjected, looking him up and down.

She never bowed to him, not even once. She freely left any room as she wished, without regard for his presence. The way she eyed him, it was as if they were equals. If she only knew who he was, and if he cared for such things, she had done enough to be thrown to the gallows.

How she acted was confusing him. It was as if she was more than who she said she was, but he could also see what she was: the cousin without responsibilities; the one who could just give up on anything without consequences; who could just walk away from it all if she wished. Just like Henry.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he said, replying to her question.

She smiled at him, as if she could see through his soul. For a brief moment, he wondered if she knew the truth. Had they met before by chance? But surely, he would remember this woman if they did. “Of course, you don’t.” She smiled wryly. “I’ll tell the Grand Princess you insist on seeing her.”

“Today.”

“I’ll try,” she said as she walked away.

“My lady, please don’t make me demand—”

“I’ll pass your message as soon as I’m done with my tasks, my lord.”

He ran after her. “And when will you be done?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re deliberately avoiding it.”

“I’m deliberately trying to survive the day as efficiently as I can, and you’re slowing me down.” She talked as fast as she walked. “Are you going to keep following me?”

Emory looked around and realized they had already exited the back of the manor. “Where are you going?”

“To deliver eggs to Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”

“I’ll accompany you,” he said.

“You don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“It won’t make me do my tasks faster if that’s your intent.”

“I have nothing else to do.”

“Well, if you insist. But I warn you that the Fitzwilliams call me Florence now and again. Poor eyesight or memory.”

“They have the sharpest memory as far as I can tell.”

“You know them?”

He nodded, adjusting to her pace. It was a miracle she had not yet slipped on the icy ground. “I’ve been here a few times with the king.”

She said nothing for a while, but when she spoke again, her question almost made him fall back. “Does he not intend to honor the betrothal?”

“What?”

Her face was serious as she threw him a look. “The king. Will he not marry Florence?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because that’s the reason we are here.”

“To marry the king?”

“To claim a promise.”

His jaw tightened. He stopped walking, but she didn’t. For a while, he just stared, thinking of an answer. “I’m not sure about what he wants.”

She stopped, turned. “What did you say?”

“I’m not sure the king knows what he wants.” It was probably the most honest answer he had given anyone. “After all, he has not met her yet.”

“Does it matter?”

He walked up to her and they continued down the path to the Fitzwilliams. “What do you mean?”

“In Gavaria, marriages are arranged left and right. Many brides don’t see the groom until the wedding.”

“And how do those things turn out most of the time?”

“A flood of tears, most often fear and disappointment.” She leaned closer and whispered. “The men aren’t always young and clean.”

He pursed his lips to contain a smile.

“You can laugh. We do the same.” She chuckled as she remembered something. “Do you know that in Gavaria, it is the groom that walks down the aisle?”

“Yes.”

“One cousin of ours fell asleep because her groom had trouble walking toward her.” She paused just long enough to add, “He was seventy-eight.”

“You’re lying,” he said as her laughter rang through the woods.

“I swear on many of my cousins’ husbands’ graves I’m not.”

That finally did it. He chuckled, shoulders shaking. “And you? Why are you still unmarried?”

She looked away, and the smile on her face instantly vanished. “I’m fortunate enough to be unwanted.”

He frowned. “Unwanted. Interesting.”

“You know Gavaria. We don’t get to choose. We are chosen.”

“You mean women.”

She nodded and her breath puffed thickly in front of her as she sighed. “And they can choose as much as they want.”

“The men.”

Again, she nodded. “But now that I’ve spent more time outside Gavaria, I realized it’s somehow the same everywhere.”

“Of men choosing as much as they want?”

“Yes. Like choosing whichever chicken they fancy.”

He groaned in frustration. “I already said I’m sorry, Lucy.”

“In Gavaria, we don’t just say sorry. We do something about it.”

“I can’t revive a chicken, if that’s what you want.”

She shrugged, walking faster.

He scoffed in disbelief. “What do you want in return?”

“For Henrietta’s life?” she asked over her shoulder.

There was a moment of hesitation because he couldn’t bring himself to say the name. “Yes, for your chicken’s life.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I’m a Gavarian woman. I’m not used to being asked what I want.” She turned and continued walking backward. She had a smile on her face, but he could tell that her words came from a place of pain and bitterness. “The men do whatever they think is enough.”

---

“It’s too cold to be doing this, to be honest,” Henry muttered, his breath puffing out with each word. “We’ll be buried in snow if we don’t go back, Emory.”

“Quiet,” he ordered, eyes locked on his target. Ignoring the cold, he willed himself to be still, finger on the trigger. He didn’t blink until he took the shot, which broke the silence of the open field.

The bird fell down from the sky and he heard Henry thank the heavens as he got up.

“The last I checked, we have enough meat for the next three weeks,” Henry complained.

“We’re having partridge for dinner,” he said as they walked to gather the bird. “Invite Lady Lucy to join us.”

Henry stopped and stared at him. “You refused to share our meals in the last few days. What changed?”

“Apparently, in Gavaria, peace offerings are also customary.”

“You—offering peace through partridge? Since when?”

“Since I killed Henrietta.”

Henry fell a few paces back before catching up. “You don’t cook for peace, cousin. You’re planning something. What is it?”

He smiled. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

---

When Florence climbed down for the unexpected dinner wearing her favorite lavender dress, her face powdered and lips painted, hair pinned with pearls she salvaged from around the manor, she thought she finally found her footing where Emory was concerned.

Earlier, she made him laugh. And even though he didn’t join her inside the Fitzwilliams’ kitchen, he waited outside by the broken tree house with Mr. Fitzwilliam and walked back with her to the manor. There was no further mention of seeing the Grand Princess. They had a pleasant conversation, mainly of her telling him stories of her cousins, which he found hard to believe.

She shared her progress with Lucy, and for the first time since Emory arrived, her cousin was a little hopeful. Maybe this could work. Maybe the king would grow to like her.

She could confess about the lie later. For now, she simply needed him to see her as a woman. She could always tell him she lied because she was wary and needed to test him.

And if this evening went well, she might invite him to join her in town tomorrow to post a letter.

She skipped the last stair step with a smile and eagerly walked into the dining room, only to come to a halt. Henry and Emory were there, but not alone. There was an old gentleman at the table.

“Lady Lucy,” Henry said, clearing his throat. “I’m not sure if you’ve met Doctor St. Vincent.”

Her eyes went to Emory, whose face was unreadable. “No. It was Doctor Campbell who came here last.”

“Doctor St. Vincent is one of Sutherland’s best doctors.” Emory said, motioning his hand for her to join them.

She did, only because her body was so used to being told what to do. Mindlessly, she returned the doctor’s greeting.

“I’m retired. My son is now the best doctor in Sutherland.” Doctor St. Vincent warmly said as Emory helped her into her seat. “Nowadays, I’m easily pushed around, hence I’m here.”

“You jest, Doctor,” Emory said with a slight smile before he settled at the head of the table. “I invited Doctor St. Vincent to see the Grand Princess.”

She stiffened, and her heart hammered hard against her chest.

“He shall determine whether she is well enough to leave her room or accept visitors,” Emory added, giving her a smile that told her he’d finally get what he wanted.

VIII. Swooning Schemes

Florence stood stiffly in one corner while the doctor checked Lucy’s pulse. Her cousin threw her a quiet look of concern and she swallowed, clearing her throat.

“She was a little feverish this morning,” she told the doctor.

The old man only nodded.

“And she’s too weak to walk around the room.”

Again, he just nodded.

“She also had trouble breathing.” At that, Lucy widened her eyes at her. “I’m afraid that if she’s exposed outside or to more people, she’d catch something.”

“Hmm.”

She gritted her teeth. The man asked Lucy to sit on the bed. When she opened her mouth to speak again, her cousin threw her a look of warning. Enough . Florence clamped her lips, fingers crossed behind her.

When Doctor St. Vincent finally stood, she walked closer. “Well?” she asked.

He looked around. “This room is too dark. She should have more sunlight.”

“It’s nighttime.”

“She needs to have sunlight.”

“She has ample in the mornings.”

“She needs to exercise.”

“But I just told you—”

“Outside,” he interjected. “She’s pale, not because she’s sick. She is because she has been confined in this room for too long.”

“Then I can go outside now?” Lucy asked, rather too eagerly. When Florence threw her a look, she coughed. “I can go out?” She coughed again.

“Of course!” Doctor St. Vincent said, voice booming. “You’ll live. I see no signs of infection.”

“But—”

He turned to Florence, shaking his head, stopping her next words. “No buts. She’s well enough to go outside.” He frowned when the two ladies shared a look. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I’m sorry, doctor, but we don’t know you. You must understand.”

“I came from a family of doctors, dear. I had seen far worse than the Grand Princess’ case, which I believe is nothing but a recovering flu. She will fare better by returning to usual activities. She should go out when the weather permits. Nature is the best healer.”

Florence sighed and slowly nodded. “Very well. If you say so, Doctor.”

The old man simply chuckled with amusement and said, “I’ll be downstairs.”

When they were alone again, Florence rushed to Lucy. “We’ll need a plan.”

“And the plan is for me to get out in the sun. I’ll die if I stay another day in this room.”

She opened her mouth, then stopped herself. Lucy was right. They couldn’t postpone this any longer.

“Now, tell me,” Lucy said, taking her hand. “If the king comes to see me, will I be Lucy or will I be Florence?”

Her shoulder lifted in a shrug of defiance. The man tricked her again. “That depends on whether he is Emory or Daniel.”

---

“Well?” Emory asked St. Vincent.

The old man simply chuckled as he sank into a winged chair. “Perfect. I’ve always wanted to play doctor. I could have impersonated my son, but I thought better of it. Being obnoxious is not in my blood.”

“And the Grand Princess?”

“She’s well. It doesn’t have to take a doctor to know that. I believe the cousin is overly concerned. I’m more fretful for her, to be honest. Her excessive concern for the princess may be hindering her recovery.”

“We can’t blame her. They had to fend for themselves for two months. They know close to nothing on how to survive in this place,” said Henry. “It can mess with your head.”

St. Vincent looked at him, this time seriously. “They say Campbell saw her? I’ll give him a visit if you like.”

“No need.” He took a sip from his brandy. “She’s better than her cousin claims, and that’s good enough. We’ll call for him if her condition worsens. I believe you have news for me?”

“Yes. The clover tracked some questionable entities renting an apartment in Coulway. The men’s papers say they’re from London, but their accent says otherwise.”

“And Cloveshire? How long until it’s secured?”

“They had searched every corner of the place, but they’ll need more time to investigate everyone from servants to courtiers.”

Emory nodded. “And the Artemis murders?”

“There was another murder. However, those investigating believe they’re closer to catching the killer. Officials from Monaco are still demanding answers. They think the husband is involved.”

“Artemis is the first club for women in Sutherland. The murders are not doing good for their reputation,” Henry said.

He was silent for a while. He shouldn’t bother himself with the case, but as Henry said, Artemis was the first women’s club in Sutherland. It took courage and grit from its founders to establish it and Emory would hate if they failed simply because a foreign royal was murdered inside the club. If these murders didn’t get solved, it might take another lifetime before women got another chance to enter the male-dominated business.

“They’ll survive,” he said instead. His eyes locked on St. Vincent. “Thank you for tonight.”

“You’re welcome. I’m always at home with nothing to do. Wife’s back in Coulway to be with the children.” He got up and righted his coat. “I’ll come by if I have more news.”

Henry jumped to his feet to escort the man out of the study. Alone now, Emory emptied his glass, staring in space with a slight frown. Contrary to what St. Vincent believed, Lucy didn’t seem to be overly fretful. His instincts told him she was merely determined to keep the princess from meeting him.

Why?

It couldn’t be because of Henrietta. No. She was adamant to keep her cousin from them from the very start.

---

The next morning, Emory could hear a pin drop when he entered the room, and he could most definitely feel the opposing energy from two sides.

From the darker corner of the room, Lucy sat stiffly, face unreadable. She stuck her chin outward in defiance as he walked in.

On the other side, sitting by the window, a thick blanket covering her legs, the Grand Princess emanated a contrasting energy—not exactly calm, but something weaker. Fear? Anxiety? He couldn’t tell yet.

Sunlight showered her features, which were starkly different from her cousin’s. The long, black, flowy hair made him wonder what happened with Lucy’s chopped blond tresses.

Having been around enough royals, he had learned to lower his expectations. She was beautiful, but not someone Emory would consider extraordinary. However, he didn’t expect her to be quite tall. Somehow, he imagined her to be as short as Lucy.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he greeted, bowing slightly.

“Good morning,” Florence replied. Her voice shook a little, and her eyes jumped from him to Lucy. “You must be Lord Stanton.”

“Yes.” He approached her, ignoring the dark, heavy force from the other side of the room. “I’m glad you are doing well.”

Again, her eyes flickered in Lucy’s direction. “Are you here to take me to Coulway, my lord?”

“The king is currently occupied with important matters of the state. He sent me here to check on your welfare—” From her corner, Lucy scoffed softly. Emory’s jaw tightened as he forced a smile at the princess. “And supervise your transfer back to Coulway.”

“And he shall meet us there?” Florence asked.

There was no confidence in her gaze. There was a constant need to lean toward her source of strength, which was her cousin. While Lucy could stare him down despite her height, Florence couldn’t even hold his gaze long enough to for him to recognize their color.

This woman could not be his queen. And somehow, before he entered the room, a small part of him hoped he’d be impressed. That the meeting could change his mind. So far, he was more inclined to send her home.

“He will meet you there.” No, he wouldn’t. They’d be shipped back to Gavaria on the first available ship.

Florence nodded slowly. “I see—”

“He can come here,” Lucy interjected, voice forcefully bright. The smile she gave him was equally mocking. “We didn’t wait two months here for nothing. Is that right, Your Highness?” she asked her cousin.

Florence blinked at her, then nodded, tresses of her black hair falling off her shoulders. “Y-Yes.”

“Please deliver a message to the king,” Lucy told him. “The Grand Princess is not leaving Birchfield until he comes for her.” He scowled, Lucy grinned. “I told you, my lord. In Gavaria, the men who come to the women.”

“He is the king. You simply cannot order him to—”

“And she is to be his queen,” Lucy said with a wave of her hand. “Unless he doesn’t wish to honor the betrothal. And if that’s the case, then he should be man enough to come here and tell the Grand Princess himself. Only then shall we leave.”

He turned to Florence, who slowly nodded. “Tell him I’ll be waiting here.”

“We can have more negotiations later, my lord. The Grand Princess needs to rest,” Lucy said, already walking to the door.

As he turned to leave, Florence spoke again. “Please tell His Majesty that I’m looking forward to meeting him again.”

That gave him pause. He frowned at her. “Again? You have met?”

Florence nodded, a small smile on her face.

---

Florence froze beside the door. She shot her cousin a look of warning, but Lucy couldn’t see her. Or chose not to.

“Ever since I was a child, I was told that I’m betrothed to a future king from a faraway land.”

Florence gritted her teeth as she shot invisible daggers at Lucy. What in the hell was she trying to do?

“I met the king once when we were children. I liked him.”

Her eyes shut in frustration and shame.

“You must be mistaken. Maybe you met the king’s late brother, Albert.”

Lucy shook her head. “No.” Her eyes met Florence’s, a teasing, secretive smile curling her lips. “I’m sure it was Prince Emory. I mean King Emory.”

“Let’s not bother Lord Stanton with that story, Florence,” Florence said through her fake smile.

“That’s interesting,” Emory said, stepping closer to Lucy with interest. “He should remember meeting you.”

“Oh, I’m certain he doesn’t. I barely remember it myself. But I recall crying to my mother, saying I wanted him to be my future husband. But she told me I had to marry the other brother.” Silence followed her statement. “I’m saddened by Prince Albert’s death, but I choose to believe that things happen for a reason. Emory ended up to be the king after all,” Lucy finished with an even bigger smile. “It must be fate.”

Emory slowly nodded while Florence fumed by the door.

“The king doesn’t believe in fate, but I’m sure he’ll find your story fascinating.” Lucy rolled her eyes at his words. “Please join us for luncheon later. Both of you,” he added, turning to her with the slightest smile he could muster, which she returned with the brightest she could fake.

When he left, Florence locked the door and rushed to Lucy. “Why did you tell him that stupid story?” she hissed.

Lucy laughed. “Well, it’s true. It happened. I remember you bawling the rest of the evening.”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“You should be thankful I didn’t tell him about London.”

“I’ll kill you if you do.”

When her laughter died down, Lucy asked, “How is it going with the cousin?”

“Henry?” Lucy nodded. “We’re becoming good friends.”

“Has he shared anything about the king?”

“He gives me details now and then.”

“Bad details, I assume, seeing how you have trouble making the man like you.”

“That’s only because he killed Henrietta and he called for that doctor without telling me.”

“The more you provoke him, the more you’ll lose the chance of marrying him, Flo.”

She sighed and fell into the bed, arms spread wide. “I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

“Be nice to the man for once. Get close to his cousin. He could very well be your greatest ally when the truth of our lies comes out.”

She smiled. “You’re right.” Rolling to her side, she grinned at Lucy. “Henry and I should be best friends.”

---

“And what did you say?” Henry asked as he chewed a piece of freshly baked bread.

Emory stopped chopping the tomatoes and frowned. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. She talked fast and gave no room for argument.”

Henry tore another piece of bread and froze. Eyes wide with disbelief, asked, “ You let someone silence you with an argument?“

“I barely had the chance to argue. She started making demands.”

“Please clarify. Are we talking about the cousin or the princess?”

“The cousin,” he grumbled under his breath. “We have to think of something to make them want to go to Coulway,” he murmured.

“Hmm.” Henry nodded as he chewed. “How do you intend to do that?”

He resumed his task with the tomatoes. “We’ll have to work on the cousin.”

“Lucy?”

He nodded. “The princess follows whatever she says.”

“And how do you plan to get through her?”

He took the bread away just as Henry reached for it. “Since you are of no help around here, you do it.”

His cousin blinked a few times before realizing what he meant. “You want me to seduce Lucy?” Henry hissed, aghast.

“All I’m saying is you should spend more time with her.”

“B-But…” Henry looked around incredulously. “Lucy?”

“I know she’s not like the typical women you keep for company, but she can be quite interesting. Just be your charming self.”

Henry scoffed in disbelief. “Why don’t you just waltz in there and present yourself as the king and get this over with? Tell them you’re the king and you don’t want a queen. ‘You can go home to Gavaria now. I’m sorry and farewell.’”

“And then what? Put them on a ship and have them tell everyone where I am?”

Henry paced the kitchen, deep in thought.

“I’m not asking you to woo the woman. All I want is you take her away from the princess. I don’t care how you do it.”

Henry frowned at him, then slowly smiled. “I see what you’re trying to do. You want to work on the princess.”

“I have more chances of persuading her alone than with her cousin around.”

His cousin let out a sigh of relief. “Good. If keeping Lucy away is what you want, I can easily manage that.”

“I suggest you do it right away. They’re joining us for luncheon.”

“The princess, too?”

He smiled. “Yes.” He handed the bread to Henry. “Lucy typically does more chores in the afternoon. Why don’t you join her while I have tea with the princess?”

Henry shook his head. “You sly bastard.”

IX. Chores

Lucy caught Florence’s hand. “You can’t leave me.”

“It will be all right,” she whispered back as she smiled at Henry, who was waiting for her by the door. “You’ll survive the man.” Her eyes swiveled to the corner of the room where Emory sat, a steaming tea set in front of him.

“What do I say to him? He probably invited me for tea to get to know me .”

“Then divert the subject. You tell him everything good about me. Sell me to him.”

“Just join us.”

“I have chores to do,” she said. “And it’s convenient that Henry offered to help.” She grinned and leaned closer. “I’ll get to know the king through Henry, and you’ll make Emory more interested in me. Don’t keep him waiting. Go.” She caught Lucy’s hand to add, “And don’t forget—You’re still a little weak from the flu.”

Lucy swallowed and nodded. As her cousin walked away to join Emory, she approached Henry with a smile. “I’m utterly grateful you offered help, Henry.”

Henry smiled. “It’s no bother. What should we do first?”

She looked over her shoulder at Lucy and Emory. He was about to take a sip from his tea when their eyes met and she smiled, turning away before he could. Her cousin would do well. With quite a number of brothers and male cousins, Lucy knew how to talk to men on any subject. And she most certainly knew how to lead a conversation.

“We have to gather more water before the well freezes,” she told Henry as she led him out of the parlor. “Are you up for it?”

“I was can’t think of something better to do,” he said, offering his arm. She took it with a chuckle.

---

Emory’s gaze followed Henry and Lucy out of the parlor as he sipped his tea. Putting it down, he stared straight at Lucy and smiled. “How do you feel now, Your Highness?”

“It feels good to finally be out of the bedroom.” She couldn’t meet his eyes for a while, but when she did, she smiled back. “Thank you for your concern.”

He considered his next words. “Your cousin is the most concerned for your health, and it’s completely understandable, given that you both have no one to depend on for the last two months. But we’re here now and the king has given me instructions to see to your welfare.”

She nodded and was silent for a while. “Lucy has always been protective of me.”

“Of course. You’re the princess.”

“No, my lord. It is because we’re family.”

He smiled tightly. “Yes, of course.” He watched her fiddle between her fingers. “However, she’s not a doctor. None of us are.”

“She wanted to be a doctor once,” she said, causing him to blink in confusion. “In fact, she wanted to be a lot of things since we were young.” He was about to say something to veer them back to the subject, but she continued, saying, “Once, she wanted to be a fairy so she could fly. But then she realized they weren’t real, so she wanted to be a bird instead. She also claimed to be a fish and nearly drowned because she thought she could breathe underwater. She had always been a free spirit, you see. That’s why I’m fond of her. She takes me to adventures I would otherwise escape from.”

“I’m certain she does. Have you thought of taking her on an adventure you want?”

“No.”

He gritted his teeth. “But do you want to?”

She shook her head. “Me? Take my cousin on an adventure?”

“Of course. Why not?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t have the imagination or the courage to do so. But Lucy does.”

He leaned back. “Taking the lead is quite rewarding. You should try it sometime.”

“Oh, no. It’s too taxing even for me.”

He shouldn’t push too far, he thought. He had to plant the idea of coming to Coulway slowly. “There’s a fair coming up in Coulway. The king may not come here as fast as you wish.”

“We can wait,” she said, face calm and less nervous now.

“Mayhap you can enjoy the fair with him.”

“Does the king enjoy it?”

“He tries to,” he admitted. “He’d much appreciate your company there.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. The fair might be the perfect opportunity to acquaint yourself with the king.”

She nodded with interest. “I’ll think about it.”

It meant she had to ask Lucy first. “You should. Your cousin might appreciate you taking the lead this time.”

“Lucy prefers the quiet here,” she said. “Things had been a little challenging in London. We had to hop around places and were quite exhausted when we reached Sutherland. But when we got here, it was different. We fell in love with the place.”

“From what she had been telling us, you were miserable.”

“Oh, she was just talking about the things we had to do to survive,” she said, dismissing his statement with a wave of her hand. “She likes it here. Has she been making things difficult for you because of what we had to go through?”

“No, not really,” he lied. “But I have a feeling she doesn’t like me.”

“She’s a challenging character, most especially if you don’t know her. And if she doesn’t know you. She has to trust someone first before she warms to them.”

He forced a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” An awkward silence followed. “Would you like to take a walk?”

She looked out the window.

“It shouldn’t be too cold,” he said.

There was a moment of hesitation before she eventually nodded and stood. “We can walk up to the well and see how they’re doing. I’ll grab a coat.”

They walked to the well, talking about how she and Lucy managed the first week in Birchfield. As he listened, an acute sense of guilt attacked Emory. They spent the first night without food because neither of them knew how to cook. It was only when Mrs. Fitzwilliam visited the next day that they had a proper meal.

“She came by every day at first, but Lucy was worried that she might slip or fall as snow came more frequently. My cousin decided it would be best if we learned to do things on our own.”

He looked at Florence, brows arched high. “So you asked the Fitzwilliams for help?”

She nodded. “Yes. They taught us how to start a fire in the kitchen, told us where the well is, and they gave us lessons about chickens.”

He was about to say something when Lucy’s distant laughter rang in the air, followed by Henry’s. Florence stopped, smiling. He did, too.

“I’ve never heard her laugh like that for so long,” she said. When he started to move again, she stopped him. “No. Let’s not interrupt them, my lord.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m getting cold. Mayhap we should return inside?”

Emory stared at the path that led to the well and wondered what could have made Henry laugh as hard. “Of course.” As they turned, Henry’s booming laughter gave him another pause. He frowned, shook his head, and returned to the manor with Florence.

She claimed to be tired as soon as they arrived and headed upstairs to rest, which left him alone to do nothing. Thinking it wouldn’t be long before Henry and Lucy returned, he prepared supper. He would constantly look out the window to check, but there was nothing there but the coop and the lone path to the well.

When Henry finally returned with two pails of water, cheeks red from cold and eyes glimmering with laughter, Emory asked, “Where’s Lucy?”

“She’s waiting for me by the well.”

“What do you mean—”

“We’ll be back soon,” Henry said, pouring water into the barrel like a child eager to finish his food so he could return to play with his friends.

“Henry, we have enough water—”

“I’ll be back!” His cousin was already rushing out the door.

Once done in the kitchen, he went out to talk to the guards for a while before heading upstairs to his chambers. He had nothing to do there, but at the very least, no one would see him pace. When he thought he heard something, he rushed to the window.

No one. No Henry or Lucy.

It happened a few more times, and when at last he saw them walking back to the manor, he dashed downstairs and into the kitchen. They walked slowly, talking and laughing like giddy children. It even took them quite a while to notice they weren’t alone in the kitchen.

“Oh,” Lucy said, surprised. Her cheeks were flushed as she poured a pail of water into the barrel. Glimmering wide eyes smiled at him. “How was tea with my cousin, my lord?”

“Pleasant,” he said, gaze jumping to Henry. His cousin, who could barely lift a finger to help around the kitchen, told Lucy he’d take care of the pails and she should warm herself before their next chore, which was to clean the coop.

He watched their interaction with quiet interest. Lucy was all smiles, eyes filled with admiration as she thanked Henry. She must think the bastard did this on the daily. As she walked out, she barely spared him a glance.

Approaching Henry, Emory quietly said, “Be careful.”

Henry blinked at him, his smile frozen. “Of what?”

“You didn’t want to seduce the woman and now you’re smiling like a bloody fool.”

“Well, I enjoy her company. She’s perfectly funny.” Before he could comment, Henry continued, “Have you ever met anyone who can deliver tragic stories with so much fun? It might sound bad, of course, considering the stories are indeed tragic, but she just has this way of…” He shook his head as he thought of a word and eventually gave up.

“She has a dark humor.”

“Yes! And it’s bloody hilarious! Do you know about the cousin who had to marry—”

“An old man.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes.” He tightened his lips to stop himself from smiling, the picture too horrifying to be funny.

“Did she tell you about the other cousins?”

“No, not really.”

Henry chuckled. “I’ll tell you, but I think she’s a better storyteller.” When he didn’t get a reply, Henry grinned. “You will face no reluctance from me to keep Lucy away from her cousin. I’d gladly do it.”

Emory merely frowned. He had never seen Henry act childishly excited ever since… Well, ever since they were children.

“Still,” he said, tone serious. “Be careful. I can’t have you acting like a love fool once they leave.”

Henry laughed. “Love fool? Goodness, Emory. I only see her as a friend.”

“If you say so.”

Henry shook his head. “Tell me—Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

Henry smiled, shrugged. “Cynical.”

“Because I’d rather get to my goals fast by trusting only those I can and not waste my time on those I cannot.”

“You always think everyone’s up to something.”

“Everyone’s always up to something. The question is if they benefit me.”

Henry smiled and shook his head. “You’re no longer the innocent boy who played pirates with Eliza and I.” Before he could say a word, Henry patted his shoulder. “A shame, but then, you’re king so who am I to pity you?” Walking away, his cousin whistled a cheerful tune.

---

Emory climbed down into chaos the following morning. He knew from last night’s supper that Henry and Lucy were planning to clean the parlor, but he didn’t know to what extent. Walking in, he stopped, horrified.

“You said you’re only going to wipe the floors,” he said, stopping Henry, who was chasing Lucy across the room.

Lucy dashed toward him with a look of someone who finally found shelter in the middle of a storm. Without thinking, she grabbed his arm and hid behind him. “Henry, stop it!”

Henry kept laughing, stalking toward them. “Just look at it!”

“I don’t want to!”

Emory frowned at the cloth in Henry’s hand. “What is that?” he asked

“Make him stop, please!” Lucy said, half-laughing, half-nervous.

“Henry, what is it?”

“It’s just a spider,” Henry said. At the word, Lucy screamed, hand clutching Emory’s shirt more tightly.

“Stop it,” he said, tone serious as he stepped back, eyes on the cloth. And then the spider.

Henry, remember what scared Emory the most, grinned even wider. “What? Why?” he innocently asked as he stalked them.

“Stop it!” Lucy and Emory screamed in unison as they both jumped back. Emory’s arm came behind him to keep Lucy out of sight. “Henry, I’m warning you,” he growled out.

His eyes sent the message to his cousin, who eventually dropped his hand and laughed. “Fine. I’ll throw it away.”

“Now,” Lucy said as Emory ordered, “Outside.”

Henry laughed as he walked to the window and freed the spider.

Realizing Lucy’s still clutching his shirt, he stared at her hand and said, “You can let go now, my lady.”

“Is it gone?”

He sighed, taking her hand to tear them off him, but stopped, realizing it was cold. She was truly scared. “It’s gone,” he said, gently this time.

She stepped back and reluctantly stepped away from him, pulling her hand away from his as well.

“You said you’re only going to wipe floors,” he repeated his first statement as Henry returned.

“We were,” said Lucy, tucking her short hair behind her ears. “But we thought the view from the chairs is quite boring.”

Henry nodded and gestured to the chairs. “Now, they’re facing the window.”

He could only blink because, as far as Lucy knew, he had no authority over the place. And Henry was having fun seeing him struggle.

“We already made breakfast,” his cousin said. “The princess will be down shortly. You can eat together.”

His eyes scanned the room. He could feel his ears burning, but all he could do was nod and stare at Henry with warning.

Walking out and into the dining room, he gritted his teeth.

As their muffled laughter reached him, he tried to calm himself.

Henry was doing his part well, and he should, too.

He should easily persuade Florence, he thought. With Lucy preoccupied with Henry, and perhaps even enamored, he had to make this work.

As Florence finally joined him for breakfast and told him how Lucy was enjoying Henry’s company, Emory thought he could get rid of the ladies within a week.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what would happen later that day and the ones that came after.

X. Shared Secrets

Emory and Florence quietly played chess in the parlor after breakfast. She was a fairly skillful player, and if it was a different day, he would have enjoyed the game. However, he was distracted since that morning. If he wasn’t checking the window and the open doorway, he would glance at the clock.

“They’ll be back, my lord,” said Florence with a smile.

“It has been two hours.”

“You should know by now how they are.”

“They went out to gather firewood. It shouldn’t take them that long. But if they went deeper into the woods—”

“Lucy wouldn’t. I know her.”

“She can be a little careless.”

“My cousin is impulsive, but never careless.” She paused, gave her words some consideration, before adding, “Well, most of the time.”

He shook his head and stood. “I’ll have one of the guards search for them. They could have gotten hurt or lost.”

He found Marius outside and ordered him to search for Lucy and Henry. Half an hour later, Florence also started to worry when Marius returned to report on his fruitless search.

Cursing under his breath, he said to Florence, “Please stay here, Your Highness,” and then ordered Marius and two other guards to search specific parts of the woods. However, as he was shrugging into his coat to join the search, he heard their voices from outside.

It hadn’t been long, but he was getting irritated. It wasn’t their laughter that irked him so, but the way they disregarded everyone else. They did whatever they wanted simply because they thought it was a good idea. Like the chairs in the parlor.

He was already standing in the doorway as they approached, hands free of a single firewood. “Where in the hell have you been?”

---

Florence came to an abrupt stop, her mouth halfway open in the middle of a sentence. Henry did the same, and they both looked at each other, bemused.

“We went to get firewood,” Henry answered.

“And where’s the firewood?”

Florence blinked and looked down at Henry’s hand. “You forgot the firewood.”

Henry stared at her. “I thought you took them.”

Florence frowned at him. “You offered to carry them!”

“I did?”

She let out a sigh. “I’ll return for them—”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Go inside,” Emory ordered. “Both of you. Now.”

“But we were just—” she started, but his gaze stopped her. “Very well. We can return for them tomorrow.”

“You were gone too long.”

“We bumped into Mr. Fitzwilliam,” said Henry. “He invited us for tea.”

“And we helped him with the tree house,” added Florence. She grinned, eyes gleaming with excitement. “We’re fixing it!”

“Yes. Not much work, actually.”

“Watching me and Mr. Fitzwilliam work is certainly not much work.”

“Now, Lucy, you’re exaggerating. I helped—”

Emory’s eyes snapped to Henry. “You’re fixing the tree house with Mr. Fitzwilliam?”

Henry shrugged. “Why not? We—” His cousin stopped, threw Florence a quick look, before correcting himself. “I mean the king and I spent quite an amount of time in that tree house.”

“I mentioned to Mr. Fitzwilliam that Eliza would love to have it rebuilt—”

“Go inside, my lady,” he interjected, gaze firm and cold. “The princess has been worried about you.” To Henry, he ordered, “Come with me.”

Climbing upstairs to their bedchamber, Florence frowned. That wasn’t the reaction she expected. Knowing he was best friends with Eliza, he should, at the very least, offered help. Was it because he was pretending to be someone else? Or was it because she was doing it with Henry and he was jealous?

Jealous. She scoffed to herself, shuddering at the thought.

No man would ever be jealous over me .

Upon entering, Lucy jumped away from the window and faced her with relief. “Oh, thank God. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Emory—” She stopped, locked the door, and whispered, “The king was utterly worried.”

“We’re fine. Nothing bad happened,” she said, taking off her coat. “But he made it so as if we did something bad.”

“Well, of course! You were gone too long! We were all worried. He was ready to go out and search for you himself!”

“He was?”

“He couldn’t keep still.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s not that,” she said, deep in thought. By now, she was used to him being serious and easily irked, but just now he was cold and dismissive. She wasn’t used to not being able to read a man. With a sigh, she smiled at Lucy. “No matter. I’m sorry. We won’t make you worry again.”

Her cousin sighed. “There I was telling him how you’re not careless and you do this.” Lucy stared at her with a sad smile. “If you want to get to his good side, Flo, you need to do your part. I can’t tell him everything good about you while you prove the opposite at every chance.”

She grinned. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

Lucy shook her head. “I promised the king we’ll help with supper. You should change and join us downstairs.”

Later, dressed warmly, Florence stepped out of their bedroom and coincidentally saw Emory halfway down the stairs. “My lord,” she called, catching up to him. When he didn’t stop, she asked, “Do you have a problem with me?”

He kept climbing down the stairs without a word.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you where we were. It didn’t cross our mind you’d be worried.”

He stopped. She did as well just before she bumped into him. He turned halfway and she could tell he had more to say other than what came out of his mouth. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you certain?” She followed him downstairs.

“Yes.”

“Then there are no hard feelings?”

“None.”

She broke into a big smile. “Splendid!” She jumped beside him and added, “I hope you can bring the king here soon so he can see the tree house. When Mr. Fitzwilliam told me how His Majesty spent many happy days playing there, it made me even more eager to fix it.”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked down at her with a curious frown. “Why would you do that?”

She shrugged. “We all like to be reminded of the brighter days.” She paused, gave him a wan smile. “Before the real world introduced its darkness.”

---

Emory mellowed down. He couldn’t tell them why he was so worked up because even he didn’t know why he reacted the why he did. Henry was doing what he told him to do, and Lucy was reacting as desired. If he could do the same with Florence, they’d be free of the women soon.

Thus, when Henry and Lucy informed them they were going to the Fitzwilliams the following day, he had to consent. He spent the first half of the day accompanying Florence in the parlor, where they talked about books, most of which she liked he had not heard of yet. They also tried to resume their game of chess.

As he watched Florence contemplate her next move, he asked, “Does your cousin enjoy this game as well?”

“No,” she replied, then hastily added, “I’m not saying she isn’t smart enough to win, but the game is too slow-paced for her.” She smiled, shaking her head slightly. “She has to always be moving. Her father had trouble keeping her still when we were younger.”

He nodded, a small smile curving the corner of his lips. “I had a friend like that.”

“They bring a certain flavor.”

Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, he nodded slowly. “They make a dire day interesting.”

Her eyes were on him. “My cousin didn’t have an easy life growing up, but it’s her demeanor toward it that amazes me to this day.”

“But isn’t she part of the royal family?”

“I know what you’re thinking. And no, she isn’t poor. Quite the opposite. She had everything she could ask for.” She paused for a moment, as if carefully thinking of her next words. “I cannot say more because her story is not mine to tell.” Leaning over, she carefully hid her queen.

Emory smiled. “This is going to be a long game.”

She grinned. “And I hope to see it to the end.”

They didn’t. One hour later, they were too drained and agreed to continue some other day. He tried to entice her more about Coulway, and she seemed interested, most particularly with the Artemis club. She had never heard of one and would love to see it one day.

As he prepared supper, he looked out the window. It was nearly dusk and Henry and Lucy had not yet returned from the Fitzwilliams. Not even for luncheon.

He enjoyed the quiet moment. The kitchen was clean and at his mercy. There was no distracting noise from outside. No one hovered over the dough he kneaded, no questions about how to smash the tomatoes. He smiled to himself, imagining the scene if Henry or Lucy or both were around.

Once done, he covered the dough with cheesecloth to rise. Wiping his hand, he absently looked out the window again. He stood there contemplating the idea for a while, letting the silence persuade him to stay. Of course, he was curious. He wanted to see how much work they did today.

Without giving himself time to think, Emory set out to the Fitzwilliams’ cottage. Even before he emerged from the path, he could hear Henry saying, “Be careful.”

“I’m fine,” Lucy’s sharp reply followed.

As he neared the tree house, Emory stopped dead in his tracks. Lucy was up on the tree house, hammering a plank of wood for the roofing. But the scary part was her standing on a small branch with a rope around her waist, the other end held by Henry.

And once more, the now familiar anger he could only associate with the woman surged up his throat. He took a step, opened his mouth, then stopped himself. He might surprise her and cause an accident. Instead, he carefully walked closer and stopped beside his cousin to hiss, “Why is she up there?”

Henry, startled by his presence, let go of the rope.

Emory cursed and caught the rope.

His cousin quickly recovered and snatched the rope back. “She insisted.”

“And you’re fool enough to let her?”

“She’s small and light. I’d be dead if I do it.”

“No. You’ll be dead if she falls and breaks her neck.”

“I warned her,” his cousin whispered back. “But you know Lucy. She is stubborn.”

“Lord Stanton!” Lucy greeted from above, finally seeing him. “What brings you here?”

Instead of answering, he said, “You left your unfinished laundry out in the cold.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Right. I forgot.”

“Step down from there, my lady,” he said, containing his anger.

“I’m fine. I’m almost done.”

“She’s right. She’s been doing well.” Henry said, pushing him to the side. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s been asking after you, by the by.”

He seemed unconvinced at first, looking up at Lucy and imagining her with a broken neck and twisted limbs. But she just smiled and said, “Mrs. Fitzwilliam baked cookies. They’re the best. We’ll be done in no time. And oh—there are folded blankets on the table by the door. They’re in a box. Please bring them out if you can.”

If you can .

Her choice of words could challenge any man. And for some reason, it made one want to prove something. Emory was certain she worded her statement just the way she wanted.

With another shove from Henry, Emory entered the Fitzwilliams’ cottage and found Mrs. Fitzwilliam drinking tea with her husband. Charles’ eyes immediately lit up. “Ah, there is our Daniel Stanton, dear.”

His wife chuckled, shaking her head. Emory grinned, taking the man’s hand. “You heard of my little secret.”

“Naughty secret,” said Isabel, pouring him a cup of tea. “When are you going to tell the ladies that the king they’re waiting for is already here?”

“Until I’m safe. Apparently, there are some people trying to get to me. I can’t just go around telling everyone who I am.” His words caused concern, which he immediately brushed off by saying, “There are people taking care of it. Need not fret.” He picked a cookie and sipped his tea. “But say, old man, you never let me fix that tree house. You hurt my pride today.”

Charles laughed. “Dear Florence can be pretty convincing.”

“You must mean Lucy,” said Isabel.

The pair shared a look before Charles nodded. “My bad. Lucy. Lucy convinced me to fix the tree house.”

“Then can I convince you to make her come down?”

“Why?”

“If you have not noticed, she’s up there fixing the roof while standing on close to nothing. Worse, the only person who can stop her fall will either freeze or let go of that rope.”

The couple laughed. Isabel stood and peeked through the window. “She’s almost done.” She went to a corner and picked up a large box. “Bring these out to Lucy. You can come back to finish your tea.”

He frowned at the blankets folded inside. “These are Eliza’s.”

Isabel smiled. “I lost count of how many times I had to wash these blankets. You children soiled it in that tree house at every chance you can get. I’ve been keeping them for years and now they’re going back to where they should be. Maybe it’s just me, but I can still sometimes sniff a hint of her in them.”

Emory nodded. He couldn’t smell what she claimed, but the distant memory of Eliza and the days they spent together was fresh in his mind, causing a pang in his chest, longing for the days gone and stolen, and the beautiful soul taken too early. He could still clearly see the smile she wore as she stood on top of that tree house, much like the one Lucy gave him earlier.

The last thought gave him pause. Maybe that’s why she irritated him so. She reminded him so much of Eliza.

He brought the box outside and laid it on a tree stump nearby. He looked up at Lucy, her face filled with concentration, and shook his head. Without saying a word, he went back inside the cottage.

---

Florence noticed Emory’s departure from the corner of her eyes. Giving the last nail one last punch, she stopped and looked at his departing frame and wondered how he felt seeing the tree house. The Fitzwilliams told her a lot about Eliza, and how Emory and Henry took her passing hard.

“Done?” Henry asked from below.

She blinked and smiled at him. “Done. Get the ladder.”

Later, as Henry and Mr. Fitzwilliam worked on the rope ladder, she shared tea with Mrs. Fitzwilliam. “Charles slipped earlier and said your name.”

She stiffened. “Oh, no.”

“Fret not. I corrected him and blamed his age. It’s an advantage, I suppose.”

She chuckled. “Thank you, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. For keeping my secret.”

There was a glimmer of a knowing look in the woman’s eyes as she shook her head. “I understand your situation, Florence. You’re only protecting yourself. But I assure you that he is a good man.”

“If he is, he wouldn’t be Daniel Stanton.”

“He has his reasons for deceiving you.”

“And you know his reasons.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam just smiled. “I know it. What is it? He doesn’t want to marry me? Is that it?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“And reveal my deception? He’ll cut my head.”

“He will understand.”

“All I see in him is a cold man, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Not an understanding one.”

“Trust me, I know him better than his mother.”

“You know the boy he was, not the man he became.”

Mrs. Fitzwilliam stared at her for a while. “That boy is still inside somewhere.”

She sighed. “Well, I hope he is. I can’t marry a cold statue.”

Henry’s entry cut their conversation short, but Lucy continued to muse over Emory’s coldness. How much could a person change?

---

That night, snow started falling heavily. By tomorrow, everything would be covered in white. There was something about snowstorms that kept him agitated, which made sleep impossible. And whenever he couldn’t sleep, Emory would find solace in the kitchen. That’s where he found himself that night, heating milk to go with the cookies Mrs. Fitzwilliam packed for him that afternoon.

He was lost in his own thoughts, absently watching the corner of the pan start to simmer, when Marius entered and approached him.

“Sir, she snuck out.”

“Who?”

“Lady Lucy, Sir.”

His eyes darted to the window. “What in the bloody hell is she up to now?”

“Should I follow?”

His jaw tightened. Florence was wrong about her cousin. She was not only careless; she was also apparently stupid. “I know the path better. If I don’t return in an hour, you get the others and start a search.”

Marius hesitated, but seeing his stern expression, nodded and stepped aside.

Cursing under his breath, Emory snatched his coat to find Lucy.

XI. Once There Was a Princess

She cursed Henry multiple times as she fought the icy wind and snow. She had put on two layers of coat, which helped with the cold, but not with her speed. The snow had risen to ankle level, drenching her leather boots. She looked ahead. There was not much visibility, but she could sight the top of the tree house.

Her breath clouding the air in front of her, she finally stopped and looked around, holding the gaslight higher. The cottage was dark and quiet.

No need to bother the Fitzwilliams.

As she scanned the snow-covered ground, she couldn’t help but growl Henry’s name again. She told him to take the box up to the tree house once they were done with the ladder. But then, of course, he forgot. He told her so after supper. He said he’d go back the next morning. Then the storm came.

And here she was, hoping the snow had not yet ruined everything in the box.

“We can’t trust men with anything, can we?” she grumbled, walking over to the tree stump. And there it was, the top covered in snow.

Should she return to the manor without the gaslight? Or should she bring the box to the tree house and return to the manor with the gaslight?

---

The storm had not completely mellowed, but it died down to a tolerable degree. The tree house immediately caught his eye, and he let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the flickering yellow light inside.

He trudged through the thick snow. “Lucy!” he shouted over the sound of the storm. “Lucy!”

In no time, her tiny head popped out of the small window. At first, she was surprised, then her face registered alarm. “Did something happen? Is it my cousin?”

“Something happened, but it’s not Florence.”

“Then what happened?”

“Get down here and I’ll show you what will happen.”

Finally recognizing the anger in his voice, she grinned nervously. “Did you look for me? Why?”

“To kill you,” he growled out. “Come down this very instant.”

“Why would I when you’ll kill me?”

“Lucy, I’m warning you. The storm may pick up again.”

“I’ll take my chances up here.” Then she disappeared.

Gritting his teeth, Emory reached for the rope ladder and climbed. He was already fuming as he scrawled into the tree house, pulling the door open with force because she was trying to keep it closed. “You…” he said through his teeth, “Are in big trouble.”

She pushed herself to one corner. “And why is that, my lord?”

“Are you stupid? Sneaking out in the middle of a bloody storm?”

“First, I had a good reason. Second, I’m not stupid. I was prepared. I put on two coats.”

“Probably the only good decision you made thus far.”

“I tend to make good decisions, my lord, and rarely do they end up badly.” She swallowed, perhaps because he looked like a crawling madman. But as she covered it with a scowl, asking, “Do you always think everyone’s stupid apart from you?”

As she talked, he looked around the tiny space. Emory froze because he was transported back in time.

“Well? Don’t you also think it stupid to go out and search for the stupid girl who snuck out of the manor?” He heard her, but he didn’t find the need to answer. Her beautiful eyes were golden from the gaslight, glinting with a certain kind of power and confidence her cousin lacked.

“May I be honest?” she continued. “I find your coldness and arrogance too taxing. Or perhaps you only show this side of yourself to me, which is baffling. What is it in me that irks you so? Please give me an answer. For once, your honesty will be very much appreciated.”

Emory raised his brows. “Are you done?”

“No, I have more to say, but I’m afraid you’ll have trouble following.”

He pursed his lips. “You don’t irk me.”

She scoffed. “Liar.”

“I am no liar—”

“No, you are.” Her stern reply gave him pause.

“You’re careless.” She nodded, accepting his answer well. “You’re this…” His jaw tightened as he motioned his hand at her. “You’re confusing.”

She blinked. “How so?”

“That’s rather difficult to answer considering you’re—as I’ve said— confusing .”

She frowned. “I confuse you in what way?” He shrugged, and they stared at each other for a while. “Well,” she said, “There are certain people we cannot like for no reason. Maybe I’m that person to you. I don’t blame you. I happen to have a list of names back in Gavaria.”

He blinked. He knew they had strayed off the subject, but he wanted to know. “Why would you have a list?”

“I was supposed to list down the things I didn’t like about them but never completed the task. I simply didn’t like them.”

Shaking his head, Emory sighed. “If I were to make a list, you will not be on the list.”

“Then where would I belong?”

His gaze hovered on her. “It’s too early to find out.”

She scoffed. He had not noticed it before, but her mouth had an interesting shape. The corner of her lips had a natural curl, giving her a permanent smile. He tore his eyes off them and made the mistake of looking into her eyes, where he found himself trapped. “Did I answer your question satisfactorily?”

“It’s confusing,” she said, smiling at her own quip.

Shaking his head resignedly, he asked, “Why did you come here?”

Her lips pursed. “Henry.”

He frowned. “You were meeting him here?”

“No!” She rolled her eyes. “Henry forgot the box.”

His eyes went to the corner of the small house.

“He was supposed to bring it up here.”

He sat up and blinked at her in disbelief. “You came here for the blankets?”

“No, but it’s nice that I also saved them from ruin.” She pulled the box toward her and fished out a notebook. “I came for this.”

Emory froze, recognizing the tattered drawing book.

“Mrs. Fitzwilliam said Eliza also had other things she kept inside the tree house.” Her hand dug into the box and she grinned as she pulled out a miniature of a soldier. “I also had hundreds of these in Gavaria.”

He blinked and looked away. Lucy had laid out a dry blanket, just like they did when they were children. The miniature soldiers were always placed on the windowsill, sometimes as comrades and other times as foes, depending on the story Eliza had in mind.

Emory crawled inside and sat opposite from Lucy. “And what did you do with yours?”

“I still have them. Reference for my picture book.”

His brows arched high. “Picture book?”

“A story. But instead of words, I tell it through drawings.” Emory wanted to know more, was about to ask a question, but Lucy looked down through the window and said, “It would be nice if we can build stairs for the Fitzwilliams.”

He couldn’t reply, lost in the wonder of her expression. So absolutely pure, almost innocent. Her attention was fleeting because everything was interesting.

“But I don’t think they care if they can come up here,” she said with a sigh.

He blinked and cleared his throat at the sound of her voice. “Why do you think so?”

“I think they only want to see the tree house and what it represents.” She looked around the tiny space. “They enjoy staring up at it from the ground more like they used to.”

Emory’s gaze locked on hers. For someone quite childish and reckless, she was introspective. It was hard to look away, but he did, his eyes landing on the notebook. “Did you look through it?”

She scoffed. “Of course.”

He shook his head. “Of course, you would.”

“Her drawings have so much life. Everything moves. She must have been wonderful.”

“I heard she was,” was all he could say.

She smiled at him. “I hope the king will be pleased with what we did to the tree house.”

Emory looked up. “The roofing can do a little more work, but he will be pleased.”

Lucy scoffed and came on all fours. “It’s getting cold. Would you like to stay here a little longer, or would you like to go home now?”

Emory hesitated for a moment. The tree house had become warmer, but Lucy was already crawling out. He moved with a sigh. “I can always return.”

---

The storm had stopped halfway through their journey back, and Lucy started to run. But Emory caught her hand and pulled her back. “Careful,” he murmured.

She frowned when he didn’t let go. Moistening her lips, she asked, “Are you still angry?”

“Not angry,” he said, rolling his eyes to the side to look down at her. “Furious.”

“I hope you’re too furious you can’t kill me,” she said with a nervous chuckle.

This time, he did laugh. But his grip tightened around her wrist when she tried to pull away. “Stop being so reckless, Lucy. Snowstorms in Birchfield is not something you can mess with.”

“Supposing I get trapped in a snowstorm—Not that I’m planning to repeat what I did, of course—what should I do?”

“Find the nearest shelter.”

“Shouldn’t I wait until someone comes to the rescue?”

“And freeze to death?” He shook his head. “You have to know your surrounding. Spot every possible shelter in the area in case of a storm. But prevention is better than anything else.” His eyes locked hers in a firm gaze. “Don’t go out and risk it.”

“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty,” she couldn’t help but tease, laughing when he froze. “Forgive me. Is that a bad joke?”

“Get dry and get warm, my lady,” he said instead, letting go of her hand before walking ahead. “You have a long day tomorrow.”

She froze. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out first thing in the morning.”

---

“What do you mean we’ll have to slaughter a pig?” Lucy asked in horror. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I’ll do the cooking,” Emory replied simply.

She and Henry shared a look. “B-But why a pig?”

“Because we need to store as much resources as we can.”

“The guards—”

“It’s not their job.”

“If enemies barge in, they’ll have to kill them. Isn’t it the same thing?”

He fought a laugh. “Get on with it.” Walking away, Emory heard them start arguing about who should do the killing and the trapping. That lasted for a good portion of an hour before they eventually went to the pen. Even Florence was intrigued and joined him upstairs by the window to watch the battle ensue.

“Is it necessary?”

“Yes,” he replied, and he wasn’t even lying. “It’s best to slaughter it now before the weather gets worse.”

“She will have a hard time.”

“She can slaughter a chicken.”

“Have you ever seen her do it?” Florence asked.

“No.”

“You should. She can make soup out of them with her tears.” Florence sighed beside him with a small smile. “They look good together, don’t you think?”

He frowned. Henry was standing behind Lucy as they approached the pig. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Look at them. They enjoy each other’s company and they certainly get things done together, however long it takes, of course. But they work well together. They can be a good match.”

His jaw tightened. “I hope I can see what you can, Your Highness, but I only see two good friends.”

Florence chuckled. “You are a man, my lord. You’re too blind. There’s something in the way they look at each other when they’re talking, but most especially when they share a laugh.”

He didn’t answer. Losing interest at the scene outside, he turned to her and smiled. “How about a game of chess?”

It took them hours, and to Emory’s surprise, Henry eventually took charge in the slaughter. When he entered the parlor, the front of his shirt splattered with blood, he pointed at Emory and said, “You better cook us a fantastic supper.” As Florence gasped at the sight of him, he added, “And I want the best wine in the manor.”

“The next thing he’ll ask us to do is kill a man!” Lucy’s faint voice was saying as she climbed upstairs.

Emory gave them what they deserved and served a grand meal of roasted pork loin, with all the aromatic herbs and tasty sauce. Lucy, to his surprise, ate with them. As they dined together, Emory took out his best wine from the cellar and served everyone.

“I’m glad I didn’t name it,” Lucy said once they had all settled down.

Henry laughed at her remark and shot Emory a look. “You made us do it because you were jealous, didn’t you?”

He stiffened. So did Florence and Lucy. “Whatever do you mean?”

With a mischievous smile playing on his lips, Henry replied, “Because I’ve been having so much fun and you’re left alone to work in the kitchen to feed us.” His cousin followed it with a laugh. “But I’m also jealous. You get to spend more time with the princess.”

From the corner of his eye, Emory saw Lucy empty her drink. He grabbed the bottle when she reached for it and held out his hand. A wide smile broke her lips as she held out her glass. “You’re so gracious. Please add a little more.”

He looked at Florence and asked, “Can she handle a drink?”

The princess nodded. “Better than me. I can only have one glass.”

When dinner was over, Henry proposed a game of hot cockles. Lucy giddily agreed, her cheeks flushed from the three glasses of wine. Florence joined them for two chaotic games in the parlor—mostly from Henry and Lucy, who both hated losing—before bidding them a good night to rest.

“Are you not retiring?” he asked Lucy, who slumped into the settee facing the window, her eyes blinking slowly.

Thinking the question was directed at him, Henry nodded and yawned. “This is the perfect weather for bed.”

Silence followed. Emory intended to repeat his question, but Lucy looked calm and content, staring at the snow falling gently outside. Pouring himself another glass, he cautiously sat beside her. Close enough to hear a whisper, but far enough to maintain decorum.

But then she surprised him by jumping to her feet. “Where are you going?” She didn’t answer. He followed her to the door. “Lucy.”

She stepped out into the courtyard. From a distance, the guards became alert. He gave them a signal, and they retreated as Lucy threw her head back, eyes closed, smiling as snowflakes melted on her face. He watched her face, wondering what she was thinking. When her eyes opened, he looked away.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, but he looked up. The night sky was a perfect canvas for the falling snow.

She chuckled and he couldn’t help but say, “I think you’re a little foxed.”

“I’m fine,” she retorted, taking a deep breath before sitting on the stone bench. “I wonder what she’s doing now.”

“Who?”

“My mother.” She choked on her answer, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I miss her.”

“I’m certain she misses you, too.”

She sniffled. “Of course she does. I’m her only child.”

“Was it lonely? Growing up?”

She nodded. “But not all the time. There were just too many rules.”

Her statement resonated. Ever since they plucked him from Birchfield to join the royal family in Cloveshire, Emory had to adjust to all the rules of the court. There were too many, and they made certain to engrave them in him, even when he was asleep.

“She’s a prisoner,” she whispered.

He blinked in surprise. “For what crime?”

“Being a woman.” She wiped a tear with the back of her hand.

“I don’t understand.”

She sniffled and wryly chuckled. “In Gavaria, when you’re married to the emperor, you can never leave the palace. Your only purpose is to serve him. Bear him sons.” She moistened her lips and let out a long sigh. “Or a princess.”

It took a while for her words to sink in, and when they did, Emory stiffened, realizing what it all meant. Why the Fitzwilliams kept calling her Florence. Why she had a loud command over Florence.

Because she was Florence.

XII. Then Came the Storm

The butler led him to the back of the manor, on a deck facing the ocean. He traveled with two guards, all of them on horseback. The journey was long, nearly a day. The snow made their descent challenging, but as soon as they reached level ground, everything was easier. The coastal town was blessed with warmer temperature.

“I thought you are in hiding?”

Emory tore his eyes off the distant waves and turned his head.

Simon St. Vincent was obviously surprised to see him. The man’s Winfield estate near the heart of Herst was certainly not the best place to hide from enemies. This was his first time, but Emory had heard about the tragedy that happened in Winfield during the Belcourt Conflict, and the innocent lives they lost one fateful night.

Friends and foes alike knew who owned the place, and there were already rumors, although not strong, of the powerful people the St. Vincents were associated with.

“I won’t stay long,” he said. “Why? Are there activities in the area?”

“None that I know of, but we’re constantly checking everyone who comes in and out of the island.” The man let out a grunt of pain as he sat beside Emory. “I was going to see you in three days, but since you’re here, it’s more convenient. The cold is killing all moving parts of my body.” They waited as his breathing became even. “Did something happen?”

“I want you to send word to Coulway.”

“Is this about the princess?”

He nodded, face impassive. “Tell the Clover to have men at the ready and meet the princess when she docks.”

St. Vincent blinked at him. “She’s coming to Coulway?”

“No. She’s coming home.”

St. Vincent fell silent as he looked at him. “You’re finally getting rid of her.”

“There’s no use having her around if my intentions remain the same.”

“We might have a problem.”

“If you mean the ship from Gavaria, tell Blackwood they don’t have to wait for it. Tell him to have one of my ships ready for sail.”

“No, that’s not it. I was going to see you in three days,” the man said. “To deliver news.” Emory waited for his next words. “Steffan Winchester, Crown Prince of Gavaria is on his way to Sutherland.”

Emory’s brows dipped into a frown. “For what?”

St. Vincent shrugged. “His letter did not say. The Clover is more concerned about security, of course. They suggest that we stop his ship for inspection before granting entry.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Then perhaps we can postpone the princess’ journey out of Sutherland? Maybe she can go home with her brother.”

He thought about it for a while. “I don’t care how she gets home. I’ll send her down from Birchfield in two days. Henry will travel with them.”

“Are you certain about this?”

His jaw tightened. Nodding, he added, “Also, I’ll need a room for tonight.”

---

She woke up with a terrible headache. Rolling flat on her back, she spread her arms wide on the bed, brows fused in concentration. Last night, she remembered crying, but she didn’t know why or how it came to be. Then she had a faint picture in her head of Emory getting up and leaving her outside in the snow and never came back.

Did she say something wrong again?

Or mayhap, just like two months ago, he forgot about her again.

“You were too foxed,” Lucy said from the window. “You fell in my bed crying.”

She rose on her elbow, closing her eyes against the dizziness. “Why was I crying?”

“Your words were garbled. I couldn’t catch a thing.”

Florence moaned, falling back into the pillow. “Have you broken fast?”

“No. Henry is still cooking.”

She frowned. “Where’s Emory?”

“He left very early with two of the guards.”

She sat up. “To where?”

“We don’t know. Henry said it’s official business.”

“But isn’t the roads unsafe?”

“Henry said he knows the terrain better than anyone.” Lucy suddenly joined her in bed with an excited smile. “I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I strongly believe that the king is starting to like you.”

She frowned, remembering his scowling face in the tree house. And she was certain, although the details are quite foggy in her brain, that his face looked dangerously furious when he got up and left her outside the manor. “Why do you say so?” she asked.

“I tested him, of course. I suggested a match between you and Henry and he didn’t like it. He was definitely jealous.” Lucy giddily grabbed her hands. “Maybe the only thing that’s stopping him is he thinks you’re not Florence. In his mind, it’s wrong to like the cousin of his betrothed. Mayhap, if we tell him the truth, he’ll—”

“He’ll kill me.”

“No, he’ll be angry, but then he’ll forgive you.” Lucy squeezed her hands. “Let’s test my theory some more before telling the truth.”

Florence winced, because her confidence had started to wane in the past few days. She grew to like Henry and the friendship they built, and she learned a lot about Emory—What he liked, what he hated the most—and based on those, she was quite convinced she would never be the queen he’d want. She was already contemplating giving up. Leave Sutherland and escape somewhere else.

But now this? A spark of hope? She hated hoping, because that was everything she did since she was young. “You really think he can like me?”

“Flo, I think he already does.”

Impossible. But for the first time since they arrived, she was finally seeing some optimism in Lucy. Mayhap her cousin was seeing something she couldn’t and she should believe it.

Emory didn’t return that afternoon, nor that evening. They waited for him, even worried, but Henry assured them the following morning that of all that he was good at, Emory was best at traveling through the snowy Birchfield road. “Trust me on this,” he said. “That man can reach Birchfield even with his eyes closed.” When they continued to stare, he belatedly added, “Apart from the king, of course.” Florence bit into a smile as Henry struggled to explain. “As the king’s closest adviser, he frequented this place numerous times.”

Afternoon came and there was still no sign of Emory. However, just as they were to retire for bed that night, they heard the horses from outside. Florence rushed to the window and ran downstairs with Lucy, throwing coat over their nightdress. Henry was already waiting in the hall when they arrived.

“See?” he told them. “He’s back.”

The door opened and Emory’s eyes landed on Florence first. Then, with his deadpan eyes, his eyes jumped to Henry. “We need to talk.”

Without much of a word, he brushed past the two ladies. Henry shrugged before following his cousin to the library.

“Well, he’s apparently alive and well,” Lucy said. “You can rest easy now.”

“Whatever do you mean? I wasn’t worried.”

“You pestered our window with your presence since this morning, cousin,” Lucy said with laugh.

“Where do you think he went to?”

“I don’t have the faintest idea.”

“Should we wait for them?” Before Lucy could answer, she shook her head and said, “No, of course not. Why should we?” They walked arm in arm to the stairs. Halfway there, the library door swung open and they both stopped as footsteps neared.

It was Emory. He paused at the foot of the stairs, eyes on Lucy, not her. “You are to pack your things tonight. You’ll travel to Coulway first thing in the morning.”

---

He wasn’t surprised when Lucy, who he now knew was actually Florence, demanded for an explanation.

Emory, despite what everyone thought, hated being angry because he knew what his temper was capable of. He liked balance, and change was his enemy. That’s why he liked to plan. To think ahead and avoid potential problems.

The arrival of the Grand Princess in Sutherland caused quite a stir in his mind. He tried to get rid of her as fast as he could because she was never a part of his plans from the start. Then came the assassination attempt on his life, another incident he didn’t expect to actually come close. Everything he planned for months was put on hold, and he had to come here in Birchfield where his first problem waited to once more rock the balance.

Learning that she had been fooling him from the start was quite an experience. He didn’t know what to do. A part of him told him that she must have her reasons. The other part of him thought he should get rid of her now before she could cause havoc in his peace of mind, which she had been doing since they met.

She was too confusing. Too distracting.

One moment she would act like an entitled princess, making stubborn demands that tempted him to reveal his identity and reclaim his authority. But then she would act like a completely different woman, doing reckless and childish things that tempted him to do things he could only think of when he was with a potential lover. But like his previous lovers, she did not have the sultry smile or the sensual curves. Her laughter was far from seductive, her words even more so.

Worse, his initial response when he discovered who she really was alarmed him. He wasn’t furious. He was relieved. And that very response was what made him furious.

Was he out of his mind? Real problems waited in Coulway, his life was threatened. He didn’t have the luxury to be distracted by a mere princess from Gavaria. And maybe she was sent here to distract him. Who knew?

He listened as Henry did all the talkingg, providing all the safe answers he hastily gave him in the study earlier. He barely gave Henry the time to mull over the fact that he was best friends with the Grand Princess.

“The king wants the princess safe because of the current threat in his life.” His cousin’s words were followed by a short silence. For a few seconds, the study was still. “I will escort you back to Coulway, of course.”

The real Florence stared at Emory. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” he replied. Their eyes measured each other for a while.

“Wouldn’t staying here be safer?”

“The king prefers that you have ample protection in case something bad happens,” Henry provided.

Emory, eyes still on Florence, added, “There’s another reason. Prince Steffan is expected to arrive in Sutherland soon.”

To his surprise, Florence paled, as did Lucy. “No!” Florence said, a spark of fear in her voice. “We have agreed. The king will come here for—”

“We didn’t agree to anything. You made demands and our hospitality has reached its threshold,” he said, eyes locked on hers. He was done playing her game. Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Emory continued. “You have fooled us from the start.”

“What do you mean?”

“We know who you are. But Grand Princess or not, you have deceived the crown. At a very crucial moment at that. This deception just after the recent assassination attempt on the king warrants immediate action.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his hand to stop her. “I am only here to enact the king’s orders. Be grateful the crown only sees you as a threat and nothing more. I don’t care to know your reasons because you shall be questioned in Coulway. The betrothal is considered null. You are to be taken to Coulway where you shall be investigated and can only leave as soon as you are cleared.”

The real Lucy grabbed her cousin’s hand to stop her when she tried to stand. “Florence, please,” Lucy said, begging with her eyes. “Please. Just stop. It’s over.”

“I suggest you listen to your cousin for once. She sounds more sensible.” Emory stood and stared at the two women. “This is not a child’s game, Princess. And this shall be the last time you ever fool Sutherland.”

Florence remained motionless, lips tight, eyes glaring.

He stopped when he heard her voice speak so differently for the first time. “Very well. I demand for a ship be made available as soon as I can leave. I am not waiting for Steffan, nor have I any desire to meet the king.” A slight shiver ran up his spine. Her voice was as sharp and cold as the icicles on the roof outside.

He scoffed, realizing that there was definitely so much more about this woman that he had not yet seen. She didn’t like her brother for some reason, too. It was a shame that he wouldn’t find out why. Wouldn’t uncover more of her. Shaking that thought out of his mind, he focused on her statement. “All the more convenient,” he replied before leaving the parlor.

---

“We are lucky he is not throwing us in the gallows,” Lucy told her the next day as they stood outside for the carriage. The weather was not at its best, but the two large sleighs should be enough to get them to town, Henry said.

They didn’t have enough time to talk last night. Lucy was in disbelief, and Florence had nothing to say as she packed their trunks.

“We’ll leave Sutherland as soon as they clear us,” she said instead.

“Are you not worried? They’re going to question us! They must think we’re part of the assassination attempt.”

“No. I’m more worried about Steffan.”

Marius, the guard, turned to them and Florence walked toward the sleigh without a word. Lucy followed. They sat side by side and waited in silence.

Henry soon walked out of the manor, completely covered in layers of coat.

“Good morning,” he greeted. “These will keep you warm.” He handed them blankets, which they accepted.

Henry stared at them for a moment, looked up at a window on the second landing, then faced them again with a sigh. “This was not how I imagined things to turn out, but this is for the best,” he told her.

He joined them inside the sleigh as one of the guards sat behind the two horses. The other sleigh, driven by another guard, carried their trunks.

Soon, they were leaving. Florence couldn’t help look up. She scoffed as Emory turned away from the window and disappeared.

“Why did you do it?” Henry asked, breaking the silence.

By this time, Florence already considered him a friend. She may have deceived him, but the fondness she had for the man was genuine. He had a small smile on his face as he waited. “Probably the same reason you and your cousin have for deceiving us first.”

He looked stunned for a moment. “I do not think the king or anyone has ill intentions,” Lucy nervously said. “It is mere miscommunication. Right, Henry?”

Florence just continued to smile at Henry. “We are not sure of that, Lucy. We never got his confession.”

“You know,” Henry said, disbelief in his eyes. “Since when?”

“From the very start,” Florence replied with a scoff. “He lied to my face. I had to return the favor.”

“But Lucy is right,” Henry said. “We had no ill intentions for the deception. His life is truly in danger. It is code of conduct to keep his identity secret.” When Florence remained quiet, Henry shook his head slowly. “I’m even more curious about you. You suffered two months in Birchfield. That tells me you want to marry him badly. Why?”

Florence sighed and looked away. Whatever her reason for coming here, Emory or Henry didn’t have to know. The reasons were selfish and they wouldn’t understand.

She wasn’t worried about the investigation, nor was she angry about Emory’s actions. She was more afraid. Now that her brother was on his way to her, she did not have much time. The only way to outwit Steffan was to marry the king or leave Sutherland before her brother arrived. Since the latter was no longer an option, she was left with no other choice.

---

Emory tried to take his mind off everything, and the only way he knew at that time was to keep himself busy in the kitchen. He was halfway through when he realized he prepared too much for himself and the two guards left with him.

Slamming his knife down, he braced his hands on the table to glare down at the cutting board. His jaw twitched.

He should feel good about the whole thing. He won. He finally got rid of her.

He had restored balance. He was alone again. In no time, he would be back in Coulway and things would go on as they should be. But the nagging feeling at the back of his mind wouldn’t leave him. Her proud face flashed before him. Even her terrible powdered face that first time they met. The dreamy look in the tree house. The sadness when she talked about her mother. And the bitterness when she shared stories of Gavaria.

“Sir,” Marius said at the door, snapping him from his thoughts. “You should see this.”

He followed Marius outside where a strong gust of wind greeted him. A blizzard was brewing fast.

“What do we do?” the guard asked.

“How long since they left?”

“Two hours the most.”

Only two? It felt like an entire day had already passed. “They should not be too far down the road. Henry will know that the best option is to turn around and go back.” He stared down the road and gritted his teeth. There was nothing but white. “If they’re not back in two hours, prepare my horse.”

But merely an hour later, he was already putting on layers of coat, ready to leave. Henry was the next best person to survive a Birchfield blizzard.

He

’ll know what to do.

However, as they waited for the two hours to come, they saw two horses making their way to the manor. As they pulled up into the courtyard, his eyes did a frantic search. They left with four horses, but only two returned. There were five humans, and only three came back.

“Where’s Florence?” he asked before anyone could even start.

Lucy’s face was pale as snow from behind one guard.

“She took one horse, Henry another,” Lucy said, eyes already filling with tears. “We were traveling in pairs of horses as Henry instructed, but somehow, along the way…” She choked, the tears finally falling. “We…We lost sight of them.”

XIII. By the Hearth

It was easy to get lost in Birchfield, even without a raging snowstorm. But if you were familiar with the trees like Emory and Henry were, you would always find your way back. The enemy, however, was nature itself.

Even Henry could not stay out in this weather for long. And that’s what Emory was most concerned about. If his cousin was with Florence, and he truly hoped he was, he’d seek the nearest shelter. And the manor may not be the nearest one. But that was only supposing nothing else happened.

He thought of various scenarios that could have played out. The only plausible one was that they got lost. Henry wouldn’t, so it must have been Florence. His cousin would have tried to look for her.

He stopped the horse, trying to see through the blizzard.

Think, Emory. If you were Florence, where would you get lost?

He whipped his head around, already feeling the cold seep through his clothing.

The junction.

He urged his horse to go faster, his eyes on the trees as they passed, and pulled at the reins when they reached the one he had been looking for. It was a birch tree like the rest, but if you looked closely, it leaned a little too far to the right. And two trees away from that was the junction that led to another road.

Anyone not paying enough attention could easily follow that road because the turn wasn’t noticeable.

Down that road was where the Davidsons lived. The only shelter one could have.

Emory considered his options. There wasn’t a lot. He hesitated because if he pursued this path and turn out to be wrong, he’d be killing more time. But he had no other choice.

If you were Henry, where would you go?

Clenching his jaw, he looked up at the distant smoke rising in the sky. Praying he was right, he led his horse toward the Davidsons.

---

Emory had only heard of the Davidsons. Husband and wife farmed and kept to themselves. And like the rest of the villagers, apart from the Fitzwilliams, they didn’t know who Emory was. Nor did they know who really owned Birchfield.

That’s why, when Emory climbed off his horse and knocked on their door, Mrs Davidson asked who he was. And when he told her he was Daniel Stanton, her eyes widened with relief and she said, “Mr. Henry said you’d come.”

That’s when she opened the door, revealing a humble home packed with people.

The hearth, with pots hanging on the side, was the only source of heat. Nearby were three children huddled together and wrapped in blankets. Another man, Mr. Davidson, sat around the small table standing in front of the fire with a steaming drink in both hands, and across from him was Henry.

Both men got up to meet him. Mr. Davidson introduced himself. Emory absently shook his hand as his eyes looked around the tiny cottage.

“She’s sleeping,” Henry whispered. “She was too tired, I guess.”

“Children, please step away from Miss Florence,” Mrs. Davidson whispered to her children. “She needs to rest.”

The three children scooted to the side, revealing Florence on the floor with a little girl in her arms. Both of them sleeping in a cot near the foot of the table, completely unaware. Emory’s eyes scanned her face. Her hair was dry, her cheeks a little pale.

“My little Suzy is teething and has not had a good night’s sleep,” Mrs. Davidson said. “She’s been crying the entire morning, but Miss Florence got her to sleep. Heavens bless her for it.”

“Let me take your coat,” Henry said, helping him off his top layer. “Did Lucy and the others reach the manor?”

He smiled at the Davidsons and nodded at his cousin’s question.

“I’ll make you some tea,” said Mrs. Davidson.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” her husband added before he turned away to gather his remaining children to the other side of the hearth, away from Florence and Suzy.

Henry led him to one corner, but he turned the other way and carefully approached Florence. Coming down on one knee, he held his hand against her forehead. “Is she all right?”

“I hope so,” Henry replied. “I’m not sure. She’s been out in the blizzard longer than I would have wanted.”

He pulled away when Florence stirred and rolled her head into the pillow.

With a sigh, he looked at Henry. “What happened?”

They took the couch in one corner for privacy. “We were traveling in pairs of horses. Lucy—” Henry stopped, shook his head, and corrected himself. “I mean Florence and I rode side by side from behind. It was easier for me to keep track of the rest. I didn’t notice, but she must have taken the junction… You know how it goes. When I realized she was gone, I tried calling out to the others, but the wind was howling and they couldn’t hear me. I decided I couldn’t waste too much time and searched for her…” Henry shook his head, the weariness clear on his face. “The thing I feared most was that she entered the woods, but I had to trust she wouldn’t. I eventually found her here.” His cousin let out a long sigh, then let out a wry laugh. “She followed the smoke.” He gestured at the hearth.

They both turned to look at Florence. Emory didn’t know what to say. All he could think of was that she was safe. He was too tired to even make plans.

“Cousin,” Henry quietly said. “She knows.”

He tore his eyes off Florence. “Knows what?”

“You.”

He froze. “How?”

“From the bloody start.” Henry leaned back with a smirk. “She lied about who she was because you lied first.” As he stared at Henry, stupefied, his cousin quietly chuckled. “You’ve met your bloody match.”

He blinked once. Twice. “She knew who I am and still deceived me?”

“For weeks. Could you believe it?”

“It’s not funny.”

“It is for me.” Henry’s shoulders shook with laughter. “No one has ever fooled you for that long.”

Emory stared at Florence, her face seemingly innocent while she slept. He scoffed and brushed his fingers through his hair. “I could have her hanged for this.”

“But you wouldn’t, because then the world is going to lose another cunning soul.” Henry’s laughter died down. “She’s not like the lovers you prefer, but I think, cousin, that she’s exactly the queen you need. You’re too uptight. Too serious. You need someone spontaneous and funny and smart.”

Emory stared blankly at Florence, his thoughts drifting away at the possibility. Then he shook his head. When an entire kingdom depended on him, when he had people to convince that he was not like his family, and a house full of vultures who would jump at every chance to dethrone him and cause unrest, he couldn’t have the luxury of daydreaming like the boy who grew up in Birchfield.

He had to be the man the kingdom deserved. One who had to right all the wrongs the Vandenbergs made. He owed hundreds of women and children his service. And someday, when he had given them back the lives his family stole from them, he could rest. No Vandenberg would ever have to sit on the throne again.

Tearing his eyes off Florence, he asked Henry, “Can you travel back to Birchfield alone?”

Henry gave him a wry look. “Are you trying to insult me?”

A weak smile crossed his lips. “Inform the others we’re safe. I know Marius. That fool will go searching.”

“Florence said I can wake her up. We can all go together.”

“No,” he said. “Let her rest. I’ll take her back.”

Henry rose to his feet with a sigh. “If the two of you haven’t killed each other by then, of course.” As his cousin said his goodbyes to the family, Emory accepted the tea from Mrs. Davidson, his eyes on Florence and the little girl in her arms.

---

The storm had mellowed, but not enough to let the Davidsons sleep comfortably in their rooms. To show his gratitude, he helped Mrs. Davidson prepare supper and even carved a miniature soldier out of wood for the three boys.

“You’re comfortable with a knife,” said Mr. Davidson. “Kitchen included.”

He chuckled as they watched the children add their new toy to their collection. “I accidentally cut the soldier’s leg, but thank you.”

Mrs. Davidson approached them with a fresh blanket for him. “You don’t have to,” he said to her. “We’re already overstaying our welcome, so please, let the children have it.”

“We have enough,” she said, pushing the blanket into his arms.

Later, as her husband went out to take more woods for the fire, Mrs. Davidson asked him, “She said she’s not from here?”

He nodded.

“She must miss home.” Looking at Florence with a gentle smile, she added, “She said she grew up with a lot of siblings.”

He could only imagine the woman’s horror if he told her the number.

“Maybe that’s how she got her funny streak.”

Emory could only nod. “She can be quite funny.”

“Are you friends?” Before he could answer, the woman chuckled. “I’m sorry. I’m curious when I’m bored.”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Davidson.”

“She said she’s coming home.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off Florence. “Yes,” he answered in a whisper.

“If only I met her sooner. The children already adore her, my Suzy the most,” Mrs. Davidson said with a sigh. “But we can’t have it all, can we?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not even the sunny days.”

The woman chuckled. “God brings back the sunny days.” Her smile died down as she stared at Florence again. “And sometimes, He’d send us beautiful souls for a brief visit. And we never see them again.”

He feeling a jolt in the pit of his stomach at her words.

“You are lucky. I’m certain you’ll get to meet her more in the future.” She leaned closer and whispered. “But if you can, try to entice her back here. We’d love to see her on the sunny days.”

He had no words. He could only smile and clear his throat.

Evening came early, so did supper, which was followed by more tea. Eventually, they dragged the table to the side, and the Davidsons settled in for the night in front of the fire. Never once had Florence and Suzy woken up, both too deep in slumber. She might need to eat, but he didn’t want to disturb her sleep, so he just waited. He couldn’t sleep, anyway.

Sitting on the blanket in a corner near the hearth, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, he watched everyone absently. For a long while, his thoughts drifted to nothing in particular. He thought of Henry, wondered if he had reached home. Then his gaze fell on Florence again as she moved.

This time, however, she woke up. Her eyes opened, and he froze. It was too late to walk away. She looked confused at first, blinking at him as if he was an apparition. Then surprise took over. Her mouth opened, but she noticed Suzy in her arms.

They continued to stare at each other, her golden depths calm with no trace of anger. The relief he felt surprised him. He had anticipated fierce fury. He even thought of words to explain his rash actions.

But he couldn’t.

There was no excuse for what he did.

Ever since he found her in Birchfield, this woman had been constantly driving him insane, all the while fooling him, knowing he was the king. He should be the one furious. But he could only think of applauding her for having the audacity to turn the tables on him.

She had infuriated him enough that he had finally given up. This woman would always be unpredictable.

Florence tried to pull her arm from under Suzy’s head, but the little girl stirred and burrowed closer with a tiny whine, tightening her grasp on Florence’s coat. Her gaze returned to him. Amused, Emory arched his brows in question.

“Will you help me?” she whispered.

He stared at the child. “She’s too comfortable,” he whispered back.

Her beautiful golden globes glinted as she scowled. “I can’t feel my arm.”

He sighed and crawled closer, biting his lips to hide a smile. Reaching her, he asked, “What do I do?”

“Hold her head. Be careful.”

Emory gently lifted the girl’s head, just high enough for Florence to free her arm.

“Her hand,” she whispered.

He carefully laid the girl’s head down on the pillow to unclasp the girl’s grip. “It’s too tight.”

“Try harder.”

“You said be careful.”

She brushed his hands to the side and worked on Suzy’s fingers one by one. “Hold it,” she ordered as she rolled away and quickly took off her coat. Emory held the girl’s wrist and watched Florence roll the coat in a bundle. Knowing her intention, he held the girl’s arm a little higher as Florence placed the coat under Suzy’s arm. They held their breaths until the child hugged it closer, never stirring from deep slumber.

Florence sighed and crawled to the wall. She wrapped her arms around her knees as he settled beside her, taking off his second coat. To his surprise, she let him place it over her shoulders, covering her from chin down.

“Where’s Henry?” Her voice was soft over the sound of the crackling fire.

“Back in the manor. To tell the others you’re safe.”

“Lucy?”

“Should be warm in bed by now.” She just nodded. He stole her a look, uncertain now. Perhaps it was better if she was angry, after all. He was not used to saying his next words, but this was a moment where he had to. “I should have known a storm was coming. I’m sorry.”

She looked at him with a frown. “You couldn’t have.” She looked away and leaned her head back. “You always think you have to know everything,” she murmured. “You’re not that perfect.”

A soft scoff escaped him. Smiling, he asked, “You like slapping the truth to my face, don’t you?”

“I also enjoy lying to your face, as you have recently found out.”

He shook his head, the smile lingering on his lips.

“Did Henry tell you?”

She looked at him with not a flicker of fear in her eyes. Such bravery would not survive a tyrant, he thought. “Yes.”

“You should start making a list, then.”

“List of what?”

“All my crimes.”

He silently chuckled. “Against the crown?”

She planted her chin on her knees. “What punishment will you give me?”

“You’re a princess. Your father would plead for your life and I’ll take advantage of that.”

“What will you ask him in exchange for my head?”

He almost jokingly replied, “You,” but he stopped because his own thoughts stunned him. Recovering, he shook his head. “I’m sure Gavaria can offer something useful.”

“I’d like to defend myself.” He pressed his lips to show her he was trying to be serious. But she was already smiling and he couldn’t help but do the same. “I only lied because you lied first.”

“I’m trying to stay alive.”

She sighed. “I know that now.” A quiet fell between them. “And I also know you came here not for me. You came because it’s safe.”

“Yes.”

“And you were surprised we’re here. You forgot about me.”

His jaw tightened, and she scoffed.

“And because of that, I cannot punish you,” he said.

“Perhaps I should punish you.”

He smiled. They let the silence linger between them for another while.

“Who is out there looking for your attackers?”

“I have reliable men. And women,” he added. “We call them the Black Clover.”

“Special soldiers?”

“Of sorts.” He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How did you know it was me when we first met?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because it wasn’t the first, you fool.” Before he could ask more, she yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. He stiffened, and she laughed. “This is your punishment for forgetting about me,” she said with another yawn.

“A sore shoulder?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry I only have one head.”

Emory chuckled.

“Stop moving. I’m getting dizzy.”

He bit his lips and steadied his shoulder. Then he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The next morning, his shoulder was killing him.

XIV. The Princess Who Swims

The road back to Birchfield was more difficult by the time they said goodbye to the Davidsons. He was leading her back to the manor, which could mean a lot of things.

Would they to wait for better weather? Or, by some miracle, had he changed his mind?

From her horse, she stole him a glance. He didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked calm. And that might not be a good sign, too.

They barely had a conversation. He’d warn her about potential danger on the road, or stop to help her navigate a tricky path, but nothing more. It was as if last night was just a dream.

When they reached Birchfield, and as Lucy embraced her with relief, Marius immediately took Emory to the side. Henry soon emerged and told his cousin, “She’s in the study.”

“Someone’s here,” Lucy told her. “She’s been waiting for His Majesty.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Henry won’t tell me.”

Emory approached them, his face unreadable.

“You should rest,” he told her before turning away to disappear with Henry in the study.

Lucy took her upstairs and helped her with a warm bath.

“Marius said we should stay here until the visitor is gone.”

She stayed by the window, waiting. “Who could it be?”

Lucy shrugged. “She just arrived and demanded for His Majesty. She never left the study waiting for him.”

They both jumped and pressed their noses against the window when a woman wrapped in green cloak walked out into the courtyard. She paused a while to talk to Marius, then, without warning, looked up. Florence and Lucy jumped back in alarm. They only returned to the window as they heard the woman’s horse ride away.

“Who is that woman?”

“I don’t know, Lucy,” she said, watching the green-cloaked figure disappear down the road.

---

“Do you reckon they’ve always known you were coming here?” Henry asked.

“It’s their job to always know,” he murmured, unbothered.

Henry watched him finish his drink. “Are you sure about this?”

“We have no choice. They won’t let me leave Birchfield.”

“How many guards for the villa in Coulway?”

“As many as the Clover can provide without raising curiosity.”

A knowing smile played on Henry’s lips. “And for how long will the Grand Princess be staying there?”

Emory could not give a direct answer. “Until I say so.” Henry chuckled, and he frowned. “Why are you laughing?”

His cousin shook his head. “Everything is always definite with you. This is not like you at all.”

He sighed and took off his coat. “I can be unpredictable, too, cousin.”

They walked out of the study and before he reached the staircase, Florence had already bounded down the stairs and jumped in front of him, looking too serious.

“What’s the matter?”

“We have to talk,” she said, whirling around. He blinked at Henry, who just shrugged and disappeared into the parlor.

He followed Florence to the chicken coop. “We can talk in the study.”

“I prefer the outdoors,” she said, hands on her hips. He assessed her stance with confusion. She looked stern, her lips pursed. It didn’t help that her hair was in disarray, which told him she had been waiting for a confrontation.

“I have been thinking,” she started, pacing in front of him, her feet mixing snow with mud. “At first, I thought it best if I just disappeared. You obviously do not want to deal with me after what I’ve done, which was quite unforgivable.”

“Quite?”

She didn’t hear his sarcastic remark, too focused on her speech. Pausing, she faced him fully. “But then I realized running away would have much more consequences.”

“Definitely.”

“Thus, I’m asking you now. What do you intend to do with me?” He just stared at her. “If you’re trying to convey a message by rapidly blinking, I’m afraid I don’t understand the language.”

He blinked a few more times. “I’m actually speechless.”

“Is my question a little too broad?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “Let me rephrase.” She stepped closer. “Are you going to honor the betrothal?”

Emory’s mouth continued to hang open.

“That is a yes or no question, Your Majesty.”

“I know.”

“And surely, it is not a difficult one.”

Goodness. She was utterly serious. And desperate for an answer. He cleared his throat and swallowed. “Can I be honest?”

“With all the lying and deception between us, I’d prefer your honesty, yes.”

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “This is something I cannot simply decide on a whim. There are things I have to sort out first.”

“The woman in the green cloak?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why was she here?”

“To deliver important news.”

She looked into his eyes and realized what he could not say. “You’re still going to send me away.”

“Important things came up in Coulway, and I have to deal with them here. And while I do so, you can’t be here. Thus, I have arranged for protection for you and Lucy on the mainland. Once things are ready, and as soon as the weather permits it, you can leave Birchfield.”

“Until the winter is over then.”

He laughed. “No, Lori. I don’t know how long this will take, but I need to know you’ll be safe.”

“No one has ever called me Lori before.”

“You’re veering off topic by talking about names.”

Florence rolled her eyes. “You just told me I’m going to Coulway. You didn’t answer my question.”

“And as I’ve said, this is not something I can just decide on a whim. Your safety is currently more important. And with the important things I have to deal with here in Birchfield, being away from me is safer for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This must be another trick.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “This is not another trick. I’m—”

“Then I demand to know your answer.”

“You are making demands I cannot give at the moment.”

“You’ve had months to think. Oh, but wait. You didn’t because you forgot about it.”

“Lori—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He clenched his jaw. “Florence,” he said, backing away. “I’m tired, and so are you. Let me freshen up while you calm down. And maybe we can talk more sensibly later. How does that sound—”

“Henrietta!” she cried out, pushing him away.

Emory looked down, and he felt the blood drain from his face. Apparently, he had stepped on the chicken’s grave. This was not his lucky day.

Florence scowled at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t marry after all.”

His mouth fell open. “W-What? It was an accident!”

“You knew it was here! Or maybe you just forgot. You tend to do that.”

“Now, you are being…” He couldn’t finish. Taking another deep breath, he sighed. “You are angry. Perhaps you need to cool down.”

She looked him up and down, and without a word, walked away.

“God, I liked you more when you were not a princess,” he grumbled.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say the same!” she shouted back over her shoulder.

She disappeared down the road that led to the Fitzwilliams. He huffed and stormed into the kitchen where Henry and Lucy stood by the window.

“What happened?” Lucy asked.

“She’s insane!” he growled as he walked past them.

---

Much later, after he changed into warmer clothes and after a lot of impatient waiting, he realized she would not be coming back soon. Telling Henry to prepare supper, he set out to the Fitzwilliams. Isabel was in the kitchen with an amused smile. “She’s in the tree house.”

But the ladder was not there. Hands on his hips, he looked up at the tree house. “Florence. I know you’re there. Drop the ladder.”

No answer.

“I’ll cut down the bloody tree if you don’t drop the ladder.”

Again, no answer.

“Stop being a child.”

He saw one leg kick out of the small doorway of the tree house. He was merely seconds away from a concussion when the ladder dropped. Gritting his teeth, he climbed up.

“I’m not a child,” she coldly said as he crawled inside.

“You’re acting like one,” he snapped back as he brushed snow off his coat.

She ignored him, flipping through Eliza’s picture book. Emory sighed and crawled next to her. He leaned against the wall, stretching his legs in front of him. She gave his right leg a shove and scooted away. Emory rolled his eyes.

“You have to understand that this betrothal came to me by surprise. It was never part of my plan to marry.” When she remained silent, he continued. “All I’m asking is that you give me time. This is a serious matter. Maybe in Gavaria, marriage is like having an afternoon tea. But not here. Especially not for a king.”

She paused and closed the book. “I know,” she whispered. “You only get one queen at a time.”

“You make it sound like I can have more.”

“Other kings kill their queens for another.”

He blinked and shook his head in disbelief. “Where does your mind go off to?”

She just stared at him. “You made me wait here for two months.”

“And I’m sorry for that.” When she arched a brow, he added, “I truly am.”

She looked away. “And now you’re asking me to wait longer. Do you know how it makes me feel?”

“No.”

“Desperate.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

She opened the picture book again. “Are important people coming here in Birchfield?”

“Yes.”

“And is it about the attempted assassination?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t I stay here?”

“Because we’ll be discussing sensitive matters about the state.”

“And when will this be?”

“In three weeks.”

She was quiet for a while and he waited, barely breathing. “Very well,” she said with a sigh.

“You’ll go to Coulway?”

She shrugged.

Emory stared at her as she flipped a page. “And you’ll wait in Coulway?” His body tensed when she didn’t answer. “Lori, you will wait in Coulway.”

“Is that an order?”

“It’s a request.”

She smiled at him. “I guess you’ll have to find out,” she said. “We don’t know what will happen in Coulway, do we?”

He didn’t like that answer, but he had to settle for that. She could change her mind at any moment. His eyes landed on Eliza’s book again. “Did you bring your picture book with you?”

“No. I forgot.”

“Maybe you can get one in Coulway.”

She turned another page. “It depends on how long I’m staying. It takes a long time to finish a story.”

---

“Why Lori?” she asked, breaking the silence of their walk back to the manor.

“Florence feels odd, considering I’ve been calling your cousin with that name.”

“Flo is fine.”

“It’s still very much Florence.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ve given myself a lot of names in the past, but never that. I should have thought of it.”

“Why give yourself names?”

“I can’t simply introduce myself as Florence every time I escape outside the palace.”

“You roam around the streets on your own?”

“Of course.”

He stopped to stare at her with wonder.

“My father would always say that running a kingdom is like standing on a raft that floats on a swamp. You have to be careful not to let the creatures get to you. That’s why he built walls around the palace.”

Emory smiled. “Obviously, you disagree.”

“Certainly. I don’t see why we have to hide from the commoners.”

“For your protection. Not everyone has good intentions.”

“I understand that. But I refuse to fear the creatures in the swamp.”

He looked at her as they continued walking. “Is that why you go out?”

“I have to dress like them. Learn their ways. So when the time comes—”

“You can attack before they can?”

She shook her head with a laugh. “No.” Looking up at him, she said, “So I can swim with them.”

He continued to look at her as they walked, a small smile lingering on his lips. She looked down and sighed. Emory wondered what she was thinking then. Was she thinking of home? Did she miss it?

Tearing his eyes off her, he looked ahead. “I’m sorry about Henrietta’s grave.”

“It was an accident.”

He smiled, and they walked in silence, finally at peace.

---

Florence could feel her cousin’s eyes on her. “What?” she asked.

“I just find it amusing that you let him off too easily than expected.”

She sighed. “We each tried to fool each other.”

However, Lucy knew her too well. She approached and sat beside her in bed. “What is it that really bothers you?”

“He asked me to wait, Lucy. What if he doesn’t go through with the marriage?”

“Henry and I agree that he will.”

“And let’s say he does, and he finds out the truth. What happens then?”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”

She looked away, jaw set tight. “I don’t think he will.”

“He will because he is not Gavarian.”

A sad smile played on her lips. “He’s not as bad as I thought, you know. I find his internal struggles amusing. It’s as if he doesn’t know what he should be—the king of Sutherland, or the man who cooks in Birchfield.” She paused and sighed. “I think he enjoys being Daniel Stanton. But he always has to go back to being king. And Emory as king is quite scary.”

Lucy wrapped her in an embrace. “I trust that when he learns the truth, the king will follow his heart. Just be who you are when you’re with him. No more pretenses.” Leaning back, her cousin cupped her face and looked into her eyes. “And when the time comes that he has to face the truth, his heart will most definitely recognize what his mind cannot.” When she scoffed, her cousin firmly added, “I know what you’re thinking. You think love is ridiculous.”

“It is. There is no such thing.”

“Oh, Florence.” Lucy sighed, patting her face. “I only pray that love comes to you like sunshine. I don’t think I can bear to see you suffer its rains.”

“Well, I hope for sunshine too. This winter is getting on my nerves.”

---

Much to Emory’s surprise, the following days were quite…uneventful. Peaceful, as Henry would call it. Now that their secrets were out, and he had reached an agreement with Florence about their betrothal, there had not been a single fight.

In fact, they had nothing much to do while they waited for word from Coulway. They would often go out for walks in the woods when the weather permitted, or do chores during the day. At night, he’d invite Florence to the tree house where they’d talk for hours, often her telling him stories from Gavaria.

Winter was ending. The lake had thawed, the snow finally melting into dirt. There would no longer be any reason to delay her departure.

For the first time since they met, Emory was not making plans. No more racking his brain on how to convince her to go to Coulway. No more stupid conspiracies with Henry. Now that they agreed he only had to give her an answer in Coulway, he only had one thing to do: spend sleepless nights thinking, weighing the consequences.

One night, after their peaceful dinner with the ladies, he and Henry sat by the fire in his study. His cousin had a knowing smile on his face as he poured himself a glass of wine.

“What?” he asked, brows arched.

“You’ve been spending quite a lot of time with Florence.”

“Do you mind?”

“She was becoming one of my best female friends. I’m a little jealous.”

He smiled and sat across from his cousin. Crossing his legs, he narrowed his eyes. “Come on, tell me. What is it?” he prodded. “You’re looking at me like you have a lot to say.”

His cousin’s face turned serious. “What do you plan to do with her, Emory? I mean, after the meeting with the Clover and you’re safe to return to Coulway. What do you do with her?”

He turned to the fire, lips pursed. “I don’t know. Yet.”

Henry closed his eyes and shook his head. “You have to bloody make up your mind, cousin. Surely, you haven’t been spending the last five days with her alone simply because you’re bored.”

“Liking her company doesn’t promise a good marriage.”

“From the many marriages I’ve seen, it is more than enough.”

His jaw tightened.

“The first thing you do when you wake up is search for her. You make a lot of excuses to go out into the woods with her. You say you’re teaching her how to cook, but you just want her around the kitchen even though we all agree she’s a disaster in front of the stove. Then you end the day with her in the tree house and God only knows what the two of you do there out in the cold. You’ve been keeping her away from all of us and you say you don’t know what to do with her?” When he just remained silent, Henry sighed. “You’re besotted and you don’t even realize it.”

“I’m not. I simply enjoy her company as much as you do. You said so yourself. That’s why you’re friends.”

“I’m quite certain I don’t look at her the way you do every meal.”

He scowled. “What way?”

“Like Lucy and I don’t bloody exist.” When he rolled his eyes, Henry chuckled. When he remained silent, Henry added, “I’m saying this because I care for both of you. You have to make up your mind, Emory, and I suggest you do it soon.”

“Maybe if you stop pestering, I will.”

“Indeed, she is not like your past lovers. In fact, the only thing she has in common with those women is that she, too, has an expiry date.”

“What do you mean?”

“She only needs to sashay inside a ballroom in Coulway, Emory. One ball and she’ll enchant half of Coulway who has a brain. Do you think she’ll wait for you if she meets a man who will readily take her in front of a bishop?”

That gave him pause. It was possible. Shouldn’t it be convenient? Her meeting someone else?

Then why did it make him uncomfortable?

“Situations like this only ends two ways: bad for one, and devastating for the other. I wager you will be the latter.”

His jaw tightened. Impossible.

He shook his head. “Never. Not for a woman.”

Henry merely smiled and sighed. “You ignorant fool. I’m looking forward to your devastation.”

XV. Ice and Fire

They squeezed into the small window of the tree house, looking up at the clear night sky.

“It’s amazing. I’m seeing the same stars here in Sutherland,” she murmured.

Emory stole her a look, his thoughts drifting to his last conversation with Henry. He didn’t see her like he did his past lovers. She was more like a friend who could tell amazing stories and make him laugh. She was always up to something, always thinking of mischievous things. Restless and unexpected.

But she was different if she wasn’t too excited or in haste. There was gracefulness in her movements whenever she was still, and everything was quiet and slow. Just like tonight, with her attention fixated on the stars, she looked like a floating snowflake. Light, soft, and delicate.

“Was Lucy telling the truth when she said we’ve met before?”

“You and her?”

And of course, she would grab every opportunity to taunt. He lightly rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

She laughed. “Yes. As children.”

He leaned his face further out the window, his shoulder touching hers.

“We also met one more time in London.”

His head snapped toward her in surprise, and her face was right there, too close, just a hairsbreadth away. He would have pulled back, but her smiling eyes froze him. They had never been this close, never shared a breath. And he never would have guessed it would be quite alarming.

He turned his head at the same time she did and he took a moment to compose himself.

He was merely a man trapped in a snowy mountain. He had needs. She was a woman with beautiful eyes and an amazing sense of humor.

That

’s all , he thought.

He cleared his throat. “Where?”

“A party eight years ago.” The memory only she could remember carved a small smile onto her lips. “I followed you around. You caught me.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You wouldn’t. It was a brief encounter.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I pretended to be someone else, and we talked about London food.”

“You must be lying. I’d remember such an encounter.”

Her shoulders shook. “I’m not lying. We argued about gnomes, too.”

At that, Emory blinked.

“Do you remember?”

He frowned because he had a faint memory. It was a hazy picture of a long blond hair and a mischievous smile. “I think so. What did we argue about gnomes?”

“I said they’re good luck. You said they’re evil.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“That’s okay,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “I don’t blame you for not remembering. You didn’t know me.”

He turned slightly so he could look at her. “But you’ve always known me.”

As she smiled at him, bathed in moonlight, her choppy light blond hair almost white, he could only think of one word: incandescent. And it wasn’t just the moonlight. It was her smile and the mischievous spark in her eyes.

But he could almost see the thin wall around her. He wanted to see through that, too. Know how dim the other side was. What secrets and pain were hiding there.

He wanted to know why she wanted to marry him. Why she had put up with him all this time. Someone with her spirit should have just left. But then, it also took a strong woman to have survived what he had put her through.

But he wasn’t ready for everything yet. Not at the moment, at least. He was used to seeing just this infectious side of her that drew everyone in.

He didn’t even realize he had been staring too long. He only had to lean over and he’d discover if her lips were as supple as they looked, or if the slap she would definitely give him would make him regret the thought of ever exploring them.

“What are you thinking?”

“How strong you can slap.”

Her laughter rang around the small tree house. She rolling on her side. “Unless you’re thinking of kissing me, you won’t have to find out.”

He forced out a chuckle. “Do you always think of ridiculous things?”

Her smile disappeared, and she frowned. “Kissing isn’t ridiculous.” Getting up on her knees, she sighed. “Ah. You mean us kissing.”

“No, I don’t think it would be ridiculous.”

Her face had turned flat. She arched a brow as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. “Then what is?”

“That you can think of kissing at this moment.” That was stupid, and he knew that.

“Well, you thought about me slapping you. That’s even more ridiculous.” Her voice was getting sharper by the second.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I’m tired.”

Emory closed his eyes and mentally slapped himself before crawling out behind her.

“You’re angry,” he said, jumping down the ladder.

“Hush. The Fitzwilliams are asleep.”

He chased her down the path to the manor. “You know who you remind me of?” she asked.

“Who?”

“My Uncle Norman.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died a clueless man.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

She scoffed. “Exactly.” Shaking her head, she clucked her tongue. “Clueless.”

Emory gritted his teeth. She was wrong. He knew what she meant. And he knew what she was thinking back at the tree house.

Falling one step behind her, he shut his mouth. The more he talked, the more he made himself look stupid.

Of course, he wanted to kiss her. So much so that it took immense control not to. If they crossed that line, unexpected things could happen.

Unexpected things meant no plans. And ‘no plans’ was what he was at the moment.

“Maybe you’re right,” he quietly told her. “I’m clueless.”

She smiled and waited until he caught up with her. “Of course, you are. You’re not even sure if you want to marry me.”

He wasn’t even offended because she was right.

---

“Then Mariana barged into the room and-”

“Who is Mariana again?” Henry asked through a mouthful of berries.

“The cousin who married the grandson of the Minister of Household,” Emory replied beside Florence.

“Ah, now I remember. The one who just gave birth to a little boy.”

“Girl,” Emory corrected, picking a berry from Florence’s hand.

The four of them-Emory, Florence, Henry, and Lucy-were on their way to visit the Davidsons. With the weather more pleasant, they decided to travel on foot. The guards were nearby, but unseen.

“And then what happened?” Henry asked.

“She saw them kissing.”

Lucy snorted, already familiar with the entire story.

Henry frowned in confusion. “The first wife and the second wife?”

“First and third,” Emory corrected.

“I didn’t ask you,” his cousin snapped at him. To Florence, he asked, “What did Mariana do? Did she tell her father-in-law?”

“Why should she?” Florence asked with a wicked smile.

Henry scoffed in disbelief.

“It’s actually not surprising, considering the arrangement,” Emory said.

“It is also not uncommon,” said Lucy.

Picking another berry from her hand, Emory told Florence, “Tell him about your drunkard aunt.”

“Which one?” asked Henry.

“The one who poisoned her husband.”

“ Accidentally ,“ Florence corrected with a wink.

Henry gaped at her. “Why have I not heard of this?” As Emory smirked, Henry asked him, “I wager you don’t know about Christian.”

Emory looked at Florence. “The cousin who married his father’s seventh bride on their wedding day because the man died on the day of?”

Henry scowled. “How about Bartholomeo?”

“Burned down his house, I believe.” When Florence and Lucy chuckled, he added, “ Accidentally , of course.“

Henry wasn’t looking so impressed. “Polar.”

Emory laughed. “Ah. The parrot who revealed a lot of the palace’s secrets.”

His cousin gasped at Florence. “You told him everything?”

“Not everything. There are others we simply cannot share.”

“Tell me more about the drunkard aunt,” Henry said.

“She’s my favorite,” Emory said before proceeding to tell the story until they reached the Davidsons.

The family of six welcomed them and gracefully accepted their gifts. Suzy was so proud to have received a basket of eggs from Florence, and was equally enamored with Lucy when they were introduced. They spent a few hours with the family and set out for home before dusk.

The stories of the large Gavarian royal family continued as they walked, both women arm in arm and laughing freely as they recounted old tales.

Emory, however, was curious about the stories they couldn’t share. He wanted to know the dark side. One he only had a glimpse of that night she talked about her mother.

He smiled when she looked over her shoulder at him.

He watched as she walked on, content to walk and follow their lead, his smile fading.

---

Florence came down that night knowing she’d find him in front of the fire. He had been staying up later than usual in the past few nights, drink in hand, staring blankly at the fire. She never lingered, but each time he never noticed. However, as the habit continued, she started to worry.

He was losing sleep, probably thinking about hundreds of things.

This time, she knocked on the frame of the open doorway. He turned his head and instantly became alert. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said.

He frowned at her dress. “Don’t tell me you are going out.”

She rested her head against the frame. “I was thinking now that winter is almost over, maybe I can do my winter ritual.”

“What ritual?”

“Just something my sisters and cousins do back in Gavaria. I’ll be at the lake.”

He glanced at the clock. “At this ungodly hour?”

She grinned. “I can build a fire.”

“It’s dangerous, Lori. Whatever it is, do it on the morrow.”

“But it’s tradition. Everyone must be doing the same thing back home. I have to do it.”

“What about Lucy?”

“She fell asleep.”

“You should, too.”

“A night picnic sounds exciting, too, don’t you think? There are better things at night we cannot find during the day.”

“Such as?”

“Stars. Crickets.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You don’t have to come with me. You can stay here and…” She gestured at the fire. “Get bored.”

She smiled when he jumped to his feet and followed her. In the kitchen, as she threw leftover bread and wine into a basket, he asked about the said ritual, but all she said was, “You’ll see.” Then he tried to reason with her. This was dangerous. This was insane. She could do it on the morrow. He continued to do so down the path to the lake as he carried the blankets she pushed in his arms.

And even after he built the fire, and she laid out their food on one blanket, he kept saying he was leaving.

“Stop fussing,” she said, pushing a piece of bread into his mouth. With a chuckle, she opened the wine and drank straight from the bottle.

He swallowed and snatched the wine from her hand. She smiled as he took a gulp. “You don’t have a ritual, do you? You just made that up.”

“Of course, I do,” she laughingly said.

“Where are you going?” he asked when she stood and walked closer to the edge of the lake. “Lori, don’t you dare,” he hissed.

She bent down and touched the edge of the water. “It’s freezing.”

“Obviously, it is, and-Lori, I’m warning you,” he growled when she kicked her boots off.

Florence laughed. “Why do you think I made you build a fire?”

“Lori, it’s not funny-Lori!” He cried out as she splashed into freezing water.

As soon as her body got accustomed to the cold, she moved around in a small circle, never daring to swim further. Emory wasn’t looking so pleased as he stood at the edge, hands on his hips. “Get out now, Lori.”

“This is not my first time. I told you. We do it every winter. Same day, same time.”

“I’m sure you have another story to tell, but I’d much prefer to hear it with you out of the water.”

“There was an enormous fountain in front of my mother’s house inside the palace in Gavaria. And at the end of every winter, as soon as the ice melts, me and my half-sisters, including some cousins, would dare each other to bathe in the pond as quietly as we could. Until this day, no one had ever been caught. It has become a tradition. As the founder, I cannot break it.”

“I’m sure you’re proud.” He impatiently extended his hand. “Now, please, get out before you freeze to death.”

“Come and join me.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, floating on her back to look at the stars.

Then she heard his voice very close to her saying, “If we both die because of this, I’ll follow you to hell to make you pay.” His approach caused a ripple, and he caught her hand to keep her from floating away.

Wading forward to face him, Lori smiled and sprinkled water on his face. “Follow me to hell? You think you’re going to heaven?”

“There’s a special place for men like me.”

As he scoffed with incredulity and ran his wet hands over his face, she frowned at his response. What did he mean by that?

Later, when they both started to shiver, they finally ran back to the fire and shared the remaining blanket. Neither said anything about packing up and heading home. They sat close to the fire, leaning into each other’s side, and shared the rest of the wine.

“You’re still shaking,” Emory said, voice laced with irritation as he grabbed her hands and rubbed it between his.

“You say there’s a special place for men like you,” she said, her breath a thin mist through her lips.

He didn’t answer right away. He continued to rub her hands until they flushed with color and even then, he did not let go. “You must have heard of the Belcourt Conflict.”

She nodded. “Belcourt is the orphanage of young girls your mother’s family created to rear women they later used to manipulate and spy on enemies.”

With his face so close, she realized her eyes were bluer than she first thought. “To put it lightly, yes,” he replied. “You must have also heard of the Royal Circus.”

“The society of powerful men who wanted to dethrone your father to bring back into power the previous monarchy. Gossip travel fast in Gavaria, too, you know.”

One corner of his lips lifted into a smile. “And reliable gossips at that. I’m impressed.” He sighed, his hands absently rubbing hers. “The conflict was quite complicated. There was the Circus trying to dethrone my father, my mother losing her power over Belcourt, who wanted to work with the French, who wanted to completely throw away the monarchy. And there were two of my sisters who did…bad things. And I, too, did things I’m not proud of.”

“But you were able to stop them.”

“Not me. I knew nothing until it was almost too late. It could have ended in chaos if it were not for some men and women who came together to stop it all.” He opened his palms and studied her hands, running his thumb over her fingers. “When it all ended, and I took over the throne, I knew I had to do something with Belcourt and the Circus.”

“So you created the Black Clover.”

He nodded, then scoffed. “To protect the kingdom and its people. From within and outside.”

“And now the kingdom is much safer because of you.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. “That doesn’t erase what I and my family had done.”

“No, of course not.” She smiled at him. “But despite everything, you are a good king.”

His eyes narrowed. “ Despite everything?“

“I never realized you have freckles,” she said, looking closer.

He arched a brow. “Trying to get away from trouble now, are you?”

Her shoulders shook with laughter. “And you have the tiniest mole here,” she said, pointing at his right temple. As she looked up at him, she froze, breath trapped in her throat. His blue, blue eyes were looking at her with a mosaic of softness and intensity that reminded her of their last night at the tree house.

He let go of her hand and cupped her face, spreading warmth through her cheek. His thumb brushed ever so slightly over her lips. A question.

She stayed still. An answer.

For a second, her heart jumped in apprehension as a flash of hesitation crossed his eyes. She held her breath as his gaze traveled down her lips. And finally, with the slowest, most deliberate movement, he leaned lower, his thumb moved aside, and his mouth touched hers.

There was a sudden stillness all around. The crickets, the buzzing, the croaking of the frogs, and the soft rustles in between the trees all died a wintry death. But below, inside her chest, was a growing unrest. She could hear her blood rush through her, an awareness she only experienced when her head was against a pillow. But more than that, she was much more aware of his lips pressed against hers, supple and warm, yet unyielding as they moved.

Then, her world went into a spiral and all she could do was cling to the only substantial thing. She held on to his shoulders as his arm wound around her, the movement swift it took her breath away. His other hand was no longer cupping her face. It cradled her head in a firm hold, taking control, guiding her movement however he meant it.

The air was suddenly not so cold. The blanket dropped around them in their desperate attempt to get closer, to feel the heat because suddenly the fire was no longer enough. She swore she heard herself moan in protest when he pulled his mouth back and his eyes stared down at her. And she would swear on the graves of all her thousand ancestors that the look she saw on his face reflected hers.

She had been tutored to kiss by her mother. She knew everything she had to do to be a good wife. But she never expected it to like it. No. Not like . Want.

She swallowed, breathless from the kiss.

“Your winter ritual?” She didn’t know why she asked that. She was still catching her breath and she needed a distraction.

His hand shifted. A finger brushed strands off her face and tucked them behind her ear.

“No, but it’s better than the lake.” His lips brushed ever so lightly against hers.

Perhaps it was the wine and the lack of good logic that pushed them to cross the gap. Or maybe they thought they should see if they were wrong and the second time would not be as stunning and powerful. And of course, foolish as they were, they made a terrible guess.

The second time was more devastating because then they discovered an insatiable hunger. A need to feel a mysterious void. They found what they both never expected from each other. Desire. And a very potent one at that.

Did she take him here for this?

Maybe.

Did she hope for this?

Most definitely.

Did she expect it to be this alarming and terrifying?

No. And may God help her.

XVI. Spring’s First Day

“Lori,” he called after her.

She slid and stumbled, and his hand caught her by the arm before she fell.

“Don’t walk too fast,” he murmured. “The path is still slippery.”

She cleared her throat. “I know. It’s just the wine.”

He bent to look at her, but she turned away, face heated. She swore he was smiling. Was he laughing at her? But instead of embarrassing her, he asked, “Maybe we can return tomorrow afternoon and have a proper picnic with Henry and Lucy.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“We can gather more firewood while we’re at it.”

“Of course.”

“Lori,” he said, pulling her to a stop. With a finger under her chin, he forced her to look up at him. “What is the matter? You’re not being yourself.” When she just bit her lips, he frowned. A flicker of worry crossed his eyes. “Do you feel you were forced to—”

“No, of course not!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, and forcing out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Was that your first time?”

She scowled because it was true, and she would rather die than admit it. “No,” she lied through her teeth.

“Then what is it?” She didn’t answer because she was too busy looking at him. His face was flushed from the wine, his eyes drooping just slightly with sleep. And the smile stayed on his face longer than the usual. “Did you not like it?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said, turning away. “Don’t you think it odd to talk about it after doing it?”

“I find it more odd that you keep calling a kiss ‘it’.”

“Let’s stop talking. We’re both a little foxed. And it’s embarrassing—”

Suddenly, he was cupping her face, and his lips stole the rest of her words. It was not like the first time, but it still caused her heart to skip like a ball across a room. As he leaned back with a gentle smile on his face, they both swayed. He chuckled, catching her to steady them both. Then he said, “There’s nothing to be ashamed about a kiss.”

“Of course, there is.” Her eyes rolled to the side. “Your guards are hiding behind the trees!” she hissed. Then loudly, she said, “But it’s fine! It was the wine!”

His low laughter echoed around them. He seemed different. Completely stripped of his kingly mien, he was just like a man who had always been here. Was this the real him, or was it simply another Daniel Stanton with a goal?

“My guards know when to look away.”

Taking her hand, he led her down the narrow path back to the manor. They passed the chicken coop, entered the kitchen, and, like children sneaking out at night, they tiptoed up the stairs.

“Good night,” she murmured, turning toward her wing. He pulled her back, looking over their shoulders as he did so, and kissed the tip of her nose.

Without a word, he smiled and let go of her hand, his slightly foxed state a little too charming to leave behind.

She rushed down the corridor and, without looking back, slipped back into her bedchamber. Lucy was asleep in her bed as she stripped off her clothes. It was only when she was finally wrapped in warm clothing did everything sink through her wine-muddled brain.

And suddenly, she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t, so she just jumped into bed and buried her face into her pillow. A sense of giddiness came over her, but from time to time, fear and alarm and suspicions. He seemed to have enjoyed kissing her. But what if it was all a ruse? A part of his plans? Then, just as her thoughts turned dark, she smiled and excitement swooped back like hundreds of wings fluttering inside her stomach.

She rolled on her back, arms stretched out, eyes wide at the ceiling.

Or he was simply a little foxed and he was not in his senses.

She sighed.

---

Things had escalated between her and Emory faster than a snowball rolling down a hill. With her imminent departure looming above them, she couldn’t shoo him away enough. He was constantly there, wherever she was, and if he wasn’t, he’d always pop out of nowhere. Even Henry was getting frustrated.

One day, as they walked back to the manor, after an afternoon with the Fitzwilliams, while Lucy and Henry walked ahead chatting about the Gavarian court, they met the milk boy who scowled at Emory as soon as he saw him.

“Why are you with the man who murdered Henrietta?”

Lucy and Henry laughed along with Florence, who said, “He apologized and I forgave him. We’re friends now.”

Long after the boy walked off with a scornful look on his face, Emory was frowning.

“Steffan is indeed the best among the other princes, but he can be a little difficult,” Lucy was telling Henry. “He can be cold-hearted. He sticks to tradition. I think you’ll enjoy Cassian’s company more.”

“How so?”

“He’s Steffan’s total opposite. When we were children, he’d escape his tutors and play with us. We got into a lot of trouble because of him and Florence, but…”

Emory caught Florence’s hand over Lucy’s story and pulled her back. “What?” she asked.

He placed a finger over his lips as he led her into another path. The forest was coming alive from its long hibernation, the signs of winter melting away day by day. It was still cold, but not as much, that they could now go out without a coat.

Florence laughed behind him as he pulled her down the narrow path. “Where are we going?”

He finally slowed and drew her closer, narrowing his eyes down at her. “You told that boy we’re friends.”

She swallowed, a nervous scoff escaping her lips. “Well, we are. Are we not?”

Since that night, he had not kissed her again. Today, she thought he would, but he stepped back and walked off. “We’ll need more firewood for the stove.”

Florence scowled at the back of his head and grudgingly followed, blowing hair off her forehead in frustration.

It was all the wine, she thought. And maybe he was simply a man in need of a lover. And then she wondered how many he had left behind in Coulway. Probably close to a dozen. Or more. And they must be completely different from her. He was not the most handsome, nor was he the most charming, but he was king. And from what she experienced in the lake, he surely knew his way around women.

It shouldn’t bother her. If he were to honor the betrothal and marry her, she had to expect that he’d seek another woman’s bed. That was not unheard of. As her mother said, men were all the same around the world. Men in Gavaria kept as many wives as they could afford, while men in places like Sutherland kept mistresses.

“The villa you’ll be staying in Coulway should have enough guards to keep you safe. But they won’t be able to do their job if you make it difficult for them,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts.

“What makes you think I’ll make it difficult for them?”

“I’ve heard enough stories from Lucy,” he said, giving her a reprimanding look. “Don’t sneak out.”

“I will not.” She didn’t want to talk about Coulway, but now that they were, she asked, “But I can still go out.”

He took her hand and led her into another path. “You are not a prisoner, but you will have to always go out with the guards.”

“And if I wish to attend a ball?”

She smiled when he hesitated. “Of course.”

“Drink and make friends?”

“Safely.”

“Dance?”

He stopped. “With friends?”

“Yes, of course.”

The smile did not reach his eyes. “If you wish, you most certainly can. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Coulway.”

She grinned with excitement. “I can’t wait to discover what it has to offer.”

Suddenly, his face turned dark. “I’m sure you will,” he said, walking faster. He remained quiet after that, did not talk as much as they walked back to the manor with not a piece of firewood in hand.

“Where have you two been?” Henry asked.

“We got lost,” Emory said, pulling at his scarf.

Henry stared at him incredulously. “You? Lost? In Birchfield?”

“Well, we were,” he snapped.

Henry shook his head with a knowing smile. “Good thing you found your way back then,” he said. “Because St. Vincent just sent word.”

Florence watched as Emory read the paper Henry handed him. When he lifted his eyes and looked at her, she asked, “What is it?”

His lips stretched into a tight smile. “Everything is ready for you in Coulway.”

---

What he really meant was that she had to leave because important people were on their way to Birchfield. Florence could not contend with that. He was a king, and he had far more important things to deal with than some princess in distress from Gavaria.

The party was Lucy’s idea. She and Florence had discussed it days ago, but now that the day had to come, she couldn’t enjoy it as much as she hoped. Yet, she tried because she couldn’t spend their last night with a gloomy note. Their only guests, the Fitzwilliams, brought Florence and Lucy’s favorite cookies, depriving Emory and Henry because they were for their journey. Emory prepared a grand meal of roast and potatoes and even baked Florence’s favorite egg pie.

They talked and laughed around the table. They shared tea in the parlor, and later, some more wine by the fire. Lucy played the piano. Henry asked Mrs. Fitzwilliam for a dance, then Florence, when Mr. Fitzwilliam claimed his wife back.

“Be good in Coulway,” Henry told her as they waltzed. “And don’t make it difficult for the guards.”

She rolled her eyes. “You sound like your cousin.”

He smiled. “Very well, I shall stop. I’m certain you’ve already heard an earful.” He twirled her around and they shared a laugh. “Enjoy Coulway, Florence. You’ll love it.”

She had to admit that a part of her was looking forward to coming to Coulway. But a great part of her wasn’t too keen on leaving. What if he didn’t come for her? What if he forgot about her again? And if Steffan arrived and found her before she could make plans?

She was terrified, but she couldn’t tell these people why.

“May I?” Emory’s voice asked from behind.

Henry gracefully stepped aside. She let Emory take her hand and guide her into the dance. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Henry stand beside Lucy, watching her cousin play. In the middle of the room, the Fitzwilliams danced as if nothing else existed.

“I hope they can stay like that for many, many years,” she said.

Emory glanced at the Fitzwilliams. “I’m sure they will.”

“With their loss, it’s astounding how they still complete each other.”

“It’s their loss that made them stronger.”

She tipped her head back and looked at him. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t ask him again. He already said he’d come for her. And if he didn’t, then she would simply find a way out of Sutherland and forget this ever happened.

They turned toward each other at the same time, their lips a hairsbreadth away. But he leaned away just a little with a small smile.

Florence grew restless. This man confused her more each day. Sometimes she’d catch him looking at her the way he did when he kissed her, and sometimes he seemed to see her as a piece that could not fit his puzzle.

She looked into his eyes and he stared back at her, but she knew his thoughts were miles away. This fool. He could not make up his mind about her.

“While you’re there,” he said in a low voice only she could hear, “Don’t tell anyone why you’re in Sutherland, or your association with me.”

“For my safety?”

He nodded.

“Not so your lovers find out?”

“I don’t have one.”

She let out a snort.

“You don’t believe me.”

She just shrugged. “What else can I not do while in Coulway?” she asked instead.

He gazed at her intently. “I do not have any.” His voice was firm, almost cold.

“If you say so.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Fine. I believe you.” As they whirled, she mumbled, “Not that it matters.”

“I did not catch that.”

“Well, you should catch me,” she said, grinning as she spun into his arms.

He let out a helpless scoff. “And don’t dance like that in Coulway.”

“Too many rules,” she whined.

He squeezed her hand. “They’re for your own good.”

When she offered to accompany the Fitzwilliams home, Emory got up and waited by the door without a word. Leaving Henry and Lucy, they walked the old couple to their cottage—Florence arm in arm with Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and Emory walking side by side with Charles, talking about the fit weather tomorrow.

“Come back and visit us when you can,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said after they arrived.

“If Coulway gets too much for you, we’ll be here,” Mr. Fitzwilliam added, patting Florence’s cheek with a tender look in his eyes.

With eyes moist with tears, Florence embraced him. “Thank you. Eliza had an amazing father.”

She went into Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s arms and murmured, “And an amazing mother.”

Mrs. Fitzwilliam was in tears as she and Emory walked out the door.

Florence stopped at the tree house and looked up. “Can we stay here a while?”

“Of course,” he quietly said.

Emory climbed up and she followed. They sat side by side, legs stretched toward the window. The night was quiet, the wind chilly.

“Don’t make a lot of friends,” he said, breaking the quiet stillness.

She smiled at his words. “That’s a little absurd, don’t you think?” she asked without looking at him.

He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “Not all of them will be good to you.”

“I think I know how to judge a character.” She rolled her head and found him already looking at her. “Lorraine Paulet.”

A small smile played on his lips as he frowned in confusion. “Another cousin?”

She shook her head. “That’s the name I’ll use in Coulway.”

His laughter rumbled in his chest. “And where are you from, Lorraine Paulet?”

“Miss Lorraine Paulet,” she corrected. “I’m from England.”

“And what brings you to Coulway?”

She feigned a serious look. “I ran away from my rich father.”

He was getting more amused, and he snickered as he leaned closer, whispering, “Why?”

“I wanted to join a group of traveling musicians. I heard they’re currently performing around Sutherland.”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “And have you found them?”

“I’m still searching.”

“What is the name of this group that you risked your comfortable life in England for?”

She scrunched her nose. “I have not yet figured out that part of the story. What do you think?”

He grinned. “What if they ask you to sing in Coulway?”

“Easy.”

His eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled at her. “Can I hear it?”

She faced the window again with an impish smile. “I’d rather not, but since you insist…” When he chuckled, she gave him a light shove by the shoulder. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not,” he said, laughter fading into a soft smile.

She cleared her throat, eyes on the silhouette of the trees outside the window.

Then she made up a song, the words flowing with ease in her head, the melody soft and enchanting.

I

’ll meet you on the promised day

When the last snowflakes melt away

I

’ll wait for winter’s last breath

And see you on spring

’s first day

I

’ll run through meadows

With flower

crown

and kisses from a dream

On spring

’s first day

I

’ll wait for you by the stream

When the last note died, there was utter silence. Florence turned to Emory with pride because if there was anything she was confident of, it would be her voice. Everyone in the palace always requested for her talent. Her father would flaunt it around at every chance.

But Emory slept through it.

His head had fallen back against the wall, his mouth slightly open. He must be tired from cooking all day in the kitchen.

She smiled and faced the window again.

This was her last night in Birchfield, she thought.

She didn’t know what would happen in Coulway. She was uncertain if Emory would come for her and marry her. If he didn’t, she had to leave before her brother got here.

Looking at Emory again, her smile slowly faded. He seemed human as he lightly snored. She rested her head against his shoulder, took his hand in hers.

With a sad smile, she traced a vein with a finger. “I hope you’ll forgive me,” she softly whispered.

XVII. Betrothed

Emory stretched his neck as the carriage rolled down the road.

Henry, sitting beside him, frowned at him. “Where did you sleep last night?”

Florence choked on Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s cookie and coughed beside Lucy.

“Did you spend the night in the tree house?” Henry asked. When Emory did not reply, he turned to Florence. “Did you?”

Florence cleared her throat.

“No,” Emory answered, a brow arched at Florence. “She did not.”

“Yes. She was in her bed this morning,” Lucy said. “But what time did you get back? I waited for you.”

Florence coughed a few more times.

“I’d like to know the answer, too,” Emory said, eyes narrowed.

She smiled at Henry and Lucy. “I did not check.” She could feel Emory’s dark gaze from across the carriage.

“You also did not check if you left someone behind,” Emory said through his teeth.

“I forgot ,” she said, taking the opportunity to taunt. “How does it feel to be forgotten?” His lips pursed, and she laughed. “Cookies?” she offered, giving him a cheeky smile.

His jaw twitched as he reached for a cookie. She chuckled, turning to the window. Then her heart hammered, the fear slowly creeping in.

When she arrived in Coulway months ago with Lucy, she didn’t want to stay near the ports too long. And when Henry’s men told them they were taking them to Birchfield, she readily agreed because it meant staying far from reach.

Now, here she was coming back. With no husband, and with her brother’s ship just weeks away.

---

They arrived in Winfield with a welcome. Simon St. Vincent introduced himself again to both Florence and Lucy.

“You’re not really a doctor, are you?” she asked.

“And you’re not just the cousin, are you?” he asked back.

She smiled, turning to the woman standing beside him.

“My daughter, Ellise Dior, Duchess of Calbridge.”

Florence suddenly felt smaller in front of the tall woman. Even more so as she looked down at her with her stoic hazel eyes, gauging her from head to foot before giving a small curtsy. “Welcome to Winfield, Your Highness.”

Florence was too much in awe to give a spoken reply. The woman was in breeches, a white shirt, and a long, dark coat. She was one of Florence’s imaginary heroines in the flesh.

A movement from the corner of her eye pulled her attention from the duchess. A little girl sashayed into the room with a large muffin in hand, her cheeks puffing as she chewed. Then she grinned, crumbs at the corner of her lips.

“And my daughter, Marion,” Ellise said, never taking her eyes off Florence.

“Hello,” Florence greeted, bending low.

“Do you have more of those muffins for the princess, darling?” the duchess asked.

Marion nodded and reached for Florence’s hand.

Florence smiled and turned to Emory, who gave her a curt nod. Apparently, he had matters to discuss with the duchess that were not for her ears.

Lucy joined them, and as they walked away, led by Marion, she looked over her shoulder. Emory was already talking with the duchess, who then led him into another long corridor, Henry and St. Vincent close behind.

“Do you want to see dead rats?” Marion asked them.

“N-No,” Lucy said at the same time Florence asked, “Where?”

The girl stopped and blinked at them. “Muffin first or rats first?”

“Muffin,” Lucy said.

Marion turned to Florence.

“I suppose you want to show us the rats first,” she said with a nervous chuckle.

Marion just smiled and turned.

As they followed, Lucy whispered, “Are we getting muffins or rats?”

“I have no idea.”

---

“Seven from Belcourt, and seven from the Circus,” Ellise reported in an impassive tone as Emory sat with his leg crossed over the other, chin resting on a finger. She stopped, looking even more disinterested than he was. “I know you’re quite upset that we’re taking the convention here, but it’s the only way to keep you safe.”

“By drawing attention to the only place I don’t want anyone else to know about?”

Ellise sighed. “The palace is not completely safe yet. Your other estates are also being checked. If you wish, we can ask Belcourt to accommodate us.”

“They will not allow it.” He said, straightening in his seat. “You’re leaving me no choice.”

“We’ll be discussing important security issues, and Fairborne will provide a more detailed report on the men we captured.”

He froze. “Captured?”

She nodded. “Yes. And you must know not all of them are French.”

“Sutherlander?”

“One.”

His jaw clenched.

“Is Birchfield ready to accept the Clover?”

“There’s no one there apart from a few chickens and a dead one,” he retorted wryly, uncrossing his legs. “And the villa for the Princess?”

“We acquired one near Battleborough Gardens. Two Belles live near the area, and the villa next door is now filled with Soldiers.”

“How far is it from Dury Lane?”

“A few blocks. Why?”

“The princess might want to shop for new dresses.”

“We can send a modiste—”

“You are not to let anyone else enter that villa. Florence enjoys walks.”

“I don’t think it’s safe.”

“That or we increase the chance of her sneaking out. Just have eyes on her wherever she goes. Walking eases her restlessness.”

“Very well.”

“Are there other villas across the street?”

“Yes.”

“Get one and assign Royal Watchers.”

“It shall be done.”

He looked at Ellise and said, “She will also need a few friends.”

The woman frowned. “I’m not the friendly sort.”

“But you’re one of the few I can trust with my betrothed. And you also have friendly friends.”

Ellise scoffed. “Betrothed. So the rumor is true.”

He rolled his eyes. “Where did you hear that from?”

“My brother doesn’t miss a gossip.” Ellise squared her shoulders and looked down at him. “I’ll try my best with the Grand Princess. However, if she demands for better company, I will employ help.”

Emory nodded, satisfied. He had always liked Ellise. Straightforward and reliable. And she did not care who he was. “As long as she’s safe.”

“I’m not done with my report,” she said when he got up.

“I’ll get them from Fairborne. You can rest now, Duchess. You have a long day tomorrow.”

Henry followed him outside. “If they’re not all French, Emory, it means your enemies have found allies.”

“Or they found only those they can pay,” he said, popping his head into the drawing room.

“Where are you going?” Henry asked when he proceeded to the dining room.

“Where’s Florence?”

His cousin sighed. “Of course.”

“I thought they were getting muffins?”

“They should be upstairs in my brother’s old room,” Ellise said, walking past them. “Marion loves to entertain there.”

They followed the duchess up the stairs, down a hall, and before they even reached the last door, they heard Florence and Lucy scream. Emory reached the door first, his heart leaping out of his chest as he sent the door slamming against the wall.

He came to a sudden halt, his alarm replaced by confusion at the scene. When she saw him, Florence flew across the room and hid behind him, clutching his shirt. Lucy was in one corner, back pressed to the wall, eyes wide with horror.

Henry appeared beside him, and the duchess, looking indifferent, sashayed into the room. “Marion, darling, please put that down.”

“Put it away!” Florence cried as Marion faced her mother with a pure, innocent look on her face. In her arms was a large jar and inside was a hand.

“But I wanted to show them. Look. It has six fingers!” She took a step toward Florence.

As Florence cried out in alarm, Emory pulled her completely behind him, where she buried her face in his back. Emory smiled at the girl. “I’m afraid the princess is not as brave as you are, my lady.” Behind them, Henry was chuckling.

“Don’t laugh!” Florence hissed at him.

“You’re done here,” the duchess’ stern voice said, grabbing the jar from her daughter. Placing it on the top shelf, she added, “What did your father tell you about this room?”

Marion sighed with disappointment. “I can’t bring friends here.”

“Exactly.”

Marion pouted. “But this is not his room. It’s Uncle Ollie’s room and Uncle Ollie said I can—”

“I want a muffin!” Lucy piped in, clearly still shaken. She strutted to the door, avoiding all the jars and instruments inside with one eye closed.

The duchess took her daughter’s hand and guided her out the door. “Share your muffins with Lady Lucy, darling.”

“I want to see the jars,” Henry said, grinning at Marion, who immediately lit up with excitement.

Her mother sighed. “Very well.” Turning to Lucy and peering at Florence, who was still clutching Emory’s shirt, she said, “Would you like to join me for tea?”

“Yes!” they replied.

As they walked back downstairs behind the duchess and Lucy, Emory smiled down at Florence. “You should meet the Uncle Ollie,” he said under his breath, taking her hand from his arm.

“I don’t think I want to.”

Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “He has a wider collection in Coulway. I’ll arrange a tour.”

She shoved him aside, and he chuckled, pulling her back beside him.

After tea with the St. Vincents, Emory went for a walk with Florence and Lucy by the shore. Henry and Marion later joined them. The breeze was chilly, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

He stopped when Florence bent down and removed her boots. “It’s freezing, Lori.”

“I know.” She grinned up at him.

Shaking his head, he waited, staring after Henry and Lucy, while Marion ran up ahead. “You always do what you want, anyway.”

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, straightening to full height.

He took her boots from her hand and continued walking. “In life and death moments, it is.”

“You don’t do it often, do you?”

He looked down at her, the color of sunset on her face and hair. “No.”

“You cannot or you won’t?”

“I cannot.” The corner of his mouth curled when she lopped an arm around his, because the movement seemed natural. This woman would always surprise him in such ways. Sometimes she’d wait until he could read her thoughts, other times she would just do it on her own.

“Because you’re king?”

“Because an entire nation is at stake.”

The gentle waves and the distant conversation of their cousins were the only sounds for a while as Florence fell quiet. “Maybe you just need to recognize the right moments,” she said after a while.

He grinned. “Like the right moment to leave me sleeping in a tree house?”

Her laughter was contagious. “Yes.”

“Maybe you should teach me how to be spontaneous.”

“Maybe. But you should be warned.”

“Of what?”

She scrunched her nose. “It can be quite addicting.”

---

They were soon running out of time in Winfield. Florence would have loved to stay longer. The sea offered a different scenery, and she liked the St. Vincents more than she anticipated. The duchess was odd, but so was her father. Marion was also weird in her own little quirky way, and having heard a lot about the Uncle Ollie, she wanted to meet the man, too.

After supper, Lucy finally got her muffin from Marion. Henry played a game of cards with Emory and Simon, while the duchess disappeared to prepare for tomorrow’s journey.

Florence went up to her room while everyone was busy. She checked her belongings, making sure their papers were complete. If they ever had to leave Coulway, everything had to be on hand.

A knock came at her door. She quickly covered her documents and closed the trunk. She blinked and smiled at Emory. “Yes?”

He was wearing a coat, and from it he pulled out a bottle of wine. Florence grinned, opening the door wider. After closing it carefully behind her, she wrapped a shawl over her shoulders and joined him outside on the balcony. Leaning on the top rail of the balustrade, she looked ahead at the darkness of the ocean. The breeze was still, the waves barely moving.

“It feels like we’re back in the tree house,” she said. “Only this time we’re on our feet.”

He drank straight from the bottle before passing it to her.

She smiled. “Is this your idea of being spontaneous?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not the teacher.”

She took a gulp and swallowed, feeling the hot liquid spread across her chest. He took it from her and set it aside. “Don’t drink too much. You have a long day tomorrow.”

She let out a long sigh. “You always have to remind me.”

He turned, facing her, elbow resting on the rail. His eyes were placid as he said, “Please refrain from doing something crazy.”

It was getting annoying. All these warnings made her feel like he only saw her as a child. “I’ll try.”

There was a brief pause. “And you’ll wait.”

For whom? You? For a wedding? Or for my trip back home? She couldn’t voice the questions because she didn’t want to sound desperate. They had already talked about this, so she just shrugged.

“I’ll be in Coulway as soon as it is possible.”

She smiled tightly. “Of course.”

He scanned her face. “Your response is making me uneasy.”

Good. “How so?”

He sighed. “Never mind. Here.” He pulled out a book from his coat. She frowned as she opened the first page. His shadow loomed over her as he stepped closer. “It’s a drawing book.” She smiled as she flipped through the blank pages. “Maybe you can create a new story in Sutherland.”

“It will take a long time to finish a story.”

When she looked up, he had already taken another step, and his hands cupped her face. “You can take as long as you want,” he whispered before bending lower to kiss her. Gently at first, then testily, gauging her response. And when she moved her lips, he let out a breath that sounded like relief.

“Okay,” she mumbled, smiling into his kiss.

Pulling back just far enough to look into her eyes, Emory whispered, “Wait for me in Coulway. Then be my queen.”

Florence stiffened, the warmth in her chest ready to explode. She blinked a few times, words too slow to form in her head.

“I don’t understand blink language, Lori.” With a small frown, he asked, “Are you deliberately teasing me by your silence?”

“You just made me speechless—”

This time, his hand went behind her nape and he pulled her closer. The kiss was different, too. He was not trying to be gentle. In fact, she thought he was punishing her. His hands gripped her waist as he turned her around, guiding her against the opposite wall.

His hands squeezed her waist as his mouth caught hers again. She moaned as his tongue slipped through and the kiss changed into something far more thrilling. Powerful. Alarming.

Her senses were in turmoil, rushing and hurdling and quivering that she could barely keep up. She ran her fingers through his hair, caught his tresses in a grip as he deepened the kiss, his weight pressing her into the wall.

After almost an eternity, he reluctantly leaned his head back and ran a finger across her swollen lips. He tucked her hair behind her ear. The fire in his eyes sent tingles down her fingertips.

“Tell me you’ll wait,” he whispered.

She let out a dramatic sigh. “Very well.”

“And you will not meet a gentleman or—”

“I should warn you that they come and flock wherever I am. I won’t be able to help it—” She received another punishing kiss for that.

“You’ll have more guards around you, then.” He squeezed her waist in warning while she laughed. “Princess or Lorraine Paulet or whatever you’ll call yourself out there, remember you’re betrothed. I’d hate to go home to fight off suitors.”

Florence laughed, overjoyed. “Fret not. I’d rather be queen.”

He scoffed before breaking into a smile, leaning down for another kiss.

This must be what it must feel like—to have the pieces fall into place, Florence thought. It was almost magical.

“Was it hard? Deciding to marry me?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Surprisingly, no, considering this is my first time.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You will not make me regret it, will you?”

Her heart sank at his question, and her eyes filled with tears. “I hope the same.”

He chuckled, wiping the tear off her cheek. “Why are you crying?”

Guilt.

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she lied, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You’re shaking,” he said, smoothing her hair. He planted a kiss on her shoulder and murmured, “Don’t cry.”

But she did cry. She should feel nothing but relief. She finally got what she came here for. Because now, all she could think of was that she had more to fear.

XVIII. The Convention

The carriages were ready before they even broke their fast. As everyone shared their goodbyes, Florence stood with Emory in silence until the group walked through the doors one by one.

“Well, it’s time,” she said, squaring her shoulders. When he did not move, she asked, “Will you not see me off?”

He smiled back and nodded.

Marion and Lucy were already in the carriage with Simon St. Vincent. The duchess was in another carriage, waiting for Florence.

“I’ll see to our carriage,” Henry said to Emory.

“Are you leaving right after?” she asked.

“We have a lot to clean up in Birchfield,” he said, smiling at her. “Have a safe trip, my friend. I’ll see you soon.”

She nodded and smiled when he kissed her hand.

Florence faced Emory. “I’ll see you soon.”

He did not look sad or forlorn. But he looked worried as he cupped her face and sighed.

“If you tell me to be careful and not cause trouble one more time, I’ll scream,” she said.

His shoulders shook with laughter. He kissed her forehead and stepped back, hands behind him. “Have a safe trip, Princess.”

“I’ll see you.”

He nodded.

“Don’t forget to bring Henrietta flowers,” she said, turning away with a smile as he laughed. “And be good to the milk boy!”

He followed her to the carriage and held her hand as she stepped up. He did not let go when she took the seat across the duchess. “What?” she laughingly asked.

He tugged, and she leaned over to meet his kiss. Smiling, he stepped back and closed the door.

“Have a safe journey,” he told the duchess.

The woman merely nodded.

As their carriage rolled away, Florence looked out the window. Emory stayed to watch their departure. When he was finally out of sight, she leaned back, smiling when she saw the duchess’ eyes on her.

“He reminds me of my husband,” Ellise said.

“Truly?”

The woman nodded, a look of disinterest in her eyes as she looked out the window. Florence waited for the woman to elaborate, but when that did not happen, she shook her head, silently laughing. Ellise St. Vincent was probably the oddest woman she had met.

“But you must like him,” she eventually said, prodding. “The duke.”

“Of course. We were friends.”

“Then that is enough? Being friends?”

Ellise looked at her curiously. “No. If it were, we would have remained just friends.”

“Then you love him?”

The duchess looked even more confused. “Of course.” Ellise shook her head and grumbled, “Why do people always think otherwise?”

As they neared the pier, two carriages passed them. A few minutes later, there were two more, both driven by women cloaked in green. She looked at Ellise and asked, “Are you part of the Black Clover?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re tasked with escorting me back to Coulway, are you not?”

“We only came here to take my father to Coulway before he freezes to death alone.”

Florence shrugged. If the woman refused to give her a direct answer, it must be for good reasons.

“Why do you want to marry him?”

The direct question stunned her. “Because we’re betrothed.”

Ellise looked at her for a long while, longer than she was comfortable with, to be honest, and nodded, murmuring, “Fair enough.”

Florence had a challenging ride on board the ship. She had gotten used to being around Emory and Henry, and now that they were getting further and further away, she was getting more anxious. To take her mind off her worries of what awaited her there, she played with Marion and Lucy. During supper, on the dining deck, her cousin asked about the club Emory mentioned to her once.

“Artemis?” Ellise asked.

“Are you a member?” Lucy asked with interest.

“Yes.”

Her cousin smiled at Florence before asking, “Can we join?”

“No,” Ellise replied, wiping her mouth. As she placed her napkin down, she added, “But I can ask for a favor.”

“That would be wonderful,” Florence said, a tinge of excitement bubbling inside her.

Lucy squealed, taking Florence’s hand. “We’re going to be members of a club, Flo. Can you imagine that? A club for women!”

Florence smiled at the duchess. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Ellise said. “You’re actually making things easier for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to keep an eye on you while the king is away. If you spend most of your time in Artemis, I won’t have to bother following you around. I give fencing lessons in Artemis. I understand you are quite the restless kind?”

Florence smiled tightly. “Did he say that?”

“He said you need to constantly be on the move. Fencing might be good for you.”

Florence grinned, her spirit lifting.

“But Artemis has rules,” Ellise said. “With the recent events, it has even more rules.”

“What events?”

“Some members were murdered,” Ellise said. “But that’s been dealt with.”

“Murders?” Lucy asked, eyes wide with fear.

“Fret not. You’ll be safe,” Ellise said. “As long as you follow the rules.”

“We can follow rules,” Florence eagerly said. The club sounded more enticing now.

“I hope you can.”

“We have no problem following rules.”

“I heard otherwise,” Simon St. Vincent said with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, only if the rules are ridiculous.”

Simon’s shoulders shook. “I was also told you’ll say that.”

Florence sighed. “Of course, he’d tell you that, too.”

---

Emory stared out the window of the parlor as the fire crackled in the fireplace, a glass of brandy in hand. Henry quietly entered and joined him in the chaise, letting out a long sigh. Then his cousin smiled. “It was a smart move.”

“Which one?” he asked.

Henry tapped the back of the chaise. “Moving this here.”

Emory stared at the large arched window and at the dead winter view outside. Henry looked around. “It’s awfully quiet, don’t you think?”

“Hm.”

“We have ten guests and you’d think they’d be causing more noise than Florence and Lucy.”

“They’re tired.”

“Florence spends an entire day going around and doing all sorts of things and you could still hear her moving around at this time of night,” Henry whispered. “These people,” he added, pointing a finger upward, “are not normal.”

Emory stayed silent. He understood what Henry meant.

He never expected he’d ever find Birchfield so… different. This place had always given him solace and peace, but now it was just quiet.

“We have a long day tomorrow,” his cousin said, jumping to his feet. “Rest early, will you?”

When he finished his brandy, he got up. They had traveled all day from Winfield, and yet he couldn’t sleep. He shrugged into his coat and walked out the kitchen door. Hands in his pockets, he traced the path to the tree house.

In silence, he stared at it for a while. He shook his head when he heard Florence’s voice asking if he had bought the wine.

Quietly, he climbed and crawled into the small space. He had it all to himself now, he thought, leaning against the wall and staring across the window.

This tiny space should not feel so empty, but it was without her. Reaching for Eliza’s drawing book, he flipped through the pages. A small smile played at his lips, and he sighed. Staring blankly at a page, he thought of his decision.

It might just be his biggest gamble since his reign. A part of him felt that he might have made a huge mistake. He should have stuck to his plan—To reign without a queen. To correct everything his mother’s family had done wrong.

But a part of him also told him that to let Florence go might be the biggest regret of his life.

He closed Eliza’s book and wondered what his dear friend would say about Florence. Then he smiled, knowing exactly what she’d say.

We

’re pirates. Grab what you want and let’s sail away!

---

Emory was ready for the impromptu convention before sunup. Henry, who could not be present, went out to spend the day with the Fitzwilliams.

He was the first to enter the study. The seats in front of the fire replaced by a long table surrounded by chairs.

The door opened and West Blackwood, Master of the Royal Circus, walked into the room.

“You’re early,” Blackwood noted.

“I can’t sleep with strangers in the manor.”

The man scoffed and looked him up and down. “You look healthy.”

“I cook better than the palace cooks.”

Blackwood took his seat around the table. “We have five guards in the princess’ villa, and have also acquired the estate across the street. The princess should be safe during her stay in Coulway.”

“I’m not asking,” he said, sitting at the head of the table.

Blackwood shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I know men like you. Too arrogant, too proud. There’s no shame in showing unease, you know. It doesn’t make you less of a king.”

He scoffed. “Who do you know are arrogant and proud?”

“Myself, of course.”

He smiled, shaking his head. Florence was well-protected, he knew that, but the sense of fear could not be easily shaken off. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to be there himself. To know and see for himself. To always be available if she found herself in trouble, which was quite likely to happen knowing her.

“Unlike your wife, however, my betrothed attracts more trouble. So you have to understand why I’m constantly on the edge.”

Blackwood chuckled. “I see.”

Their conversation stopped as more members of the Black Clover entered the room. Seven women from Belcourt, and seven more men from the Royal Circus. As soon as everyone settled, the doors were closed, and the meeting began.

“It’s good to see you alive and healthy, Your Majesty,” Lady Eastwell, cloaked in green, greeted as she took her seat.

“You’re not aging at all, Eastwell,” he greeted back. “The High Priestess could not make it?”

“Belcourt is dealing with a lot of crimes of late. She sends her regards.”

He nodded, facing the group around the table. “When can I go back to Cloveshire?” Emory asked.

“We are making a final check. It will be ready soon,” Blackwood replied.

His eyes went to Rider Fairborne, Earl of Keene. “I was told you’ll give me a full report. I want names.”

The black-haired man nodded. The women from Belcourt, cloaked in green and purple, turned to listen.

“We all suspect that your sister may be behind the assassination attempt.”

“I know Esther is currently with her husband in the Americas and although I know she’s capable of this heinous act, I’m also aware that I have another sister who has better reasons to want me dead. You’re talking about Ariel.” He leaned back and sighed. “And apparently, she’s still missing since my father banished her from Sutherland.”

“Her last known whereabouts were in Perth.”

“That was six months ago.”

The room got quiet as Emory closed his eyes.

His father had made a lot of mistakes, but mostly from his mother’s manipulations. The one mistake he did on his own was to banish Ariel. And he knew the previous king did it out of the guilt. He fathered a child with another woman and she turned out to be evil. His father would never admit it, but Emory knew he blamed himself for what Ariel had become. He saved her life when he shouldn’t have. And now, she could be back for vengeance.

“What are we doing about this?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“We know who she’s worked with during the Belcourt Conflict,” Fairborne said. “Both in and out of Sutherland. We’re currently looking into all of them.”

“She may also still have a few loyal women in Belcourt,” said Eastwell. “We’re monitoring their movements.”

“And the men you’ve captured?” Emory asked.

Fairborne and Blackwood shared a look before the former stood and laid a parchment in front of Emory. On it were four charcoal portraits, all men.

“Peter Brown is an American who came here with three of his men.” Fairborne pointed at one portrait. “They were captured the same night as Leon Barbet—” He pointed at another portrait “—a former Napoleon soldier who served in the war.”

Emory stared at the faces with a straight face.

“A week later, Barbet gave us the location of two of his men. We found them living in the basement of a Sutherlander, Augustin Strauss.”

Emory’s jaw tightened as he looked at Strauss’ portrait.

“We captured Strauss together with his wife, who is half-French.”

He frowned at the last portrait. “And Craig Martel?”

Fairborne took a moment before responding. When Blackwood shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Emory started to feel uneasy. “Craig Martel was a general of the Gavarian Empire.”

XIX. Ladies of Coulway

Emory stared at Fairborne in stunned silence. For a moment, his thoughts froze, then with a blink, his mind lurched and scrutinized the unspoken statement in the room. Florence’s grinning face was a ghost at the back of his mind, her hysterical laughter a pulsing presence.

He smiled coldly. “I know where you’re going with this.” He dug his finger into Craig Martel’s portrait. “You said he was a Gavarian general.”

“He was. He left Gavaria six years ago. The reasons are unknown, but we’re still looking into it.”

“Then I see no reason for what you’re insinuating. You’re telling me he spent six years planning for this moment? We never had a problem with Gavaria.”

Blackwood spoke from where he sat. “Yes, but they also don’t have problems with the French like we do.”

“We understand that the Grand Princess lied to you when you first met,” Eastwell said.

His eyes snapped at the lady. “Because I lied to her first, and she didn’t like it.”

“She came here without warning.”

“What are you trying to say? That two women from Gavaria came here to lead a bloody assassination?”

“It doesn’t have to take a man to bring down a king,” Greene, another Royal Circus member, wryly said.

“I’m not talking about that,” he snapped. “She presented the papers, and you all determined them to be accurate.”

“They were. But it still does not negate the possibility this might be planned.”

“Your Majesty,” Eastwell said, her voice firm and calm, “We are not treating the princess as a criminal, but we cannot turn a blind eye and erase suspicion.”

“She has to be questioned,” Greene suggested.

“I disagree,” another woman from Belcourt said. “It’s best that we keep a close eye on her. The less she knows, the better.”

Emory scoffed incredulously. “This is absurd,” he told Blackwood.

But Blackwood was not on his side. “I agree with everyone. Coincidence or not, we can’t ignore this.”

He eyed everyone around the table, then he chuckled wryly. “You’ve already set up everything in Coulway.”

“Yes. Only a select few are aware. Those tasked to guard her don’t have a clue.”

“Ellise Dior.”

“Some Belles, too,” said Eastwell. “They’ll have access to venues the princess might go.”

“You’ll be spying on her,” he gritted out. He could already picture Florence’s face once she found out.

“Unless the princess is up to something, she will not notice a thing.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t like this.”

“You know this has to be done,” Blackwood said. And everyone around the table knew that if he told them to stop, they would. But he couldn’t because, as Blackwood said, it had to be done.

“If you are to marry her, we have to erase all doubts,” Fairborne said.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She can’t even touch a spider,” he murmured.

“Everyone thinks the same about the Belles,” Eastwell said.

She was right. Belcourt’s Belles were women who served as escorts to the rich and powerful men of Sutherland. For many years, they were trained by Belcourt to please and seduce men. The perfect spies.

He opened his eyes and ground his teeth. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Eastwell nodded. “We’re afraid so.”

---

That evening, he told Henry. His cousin blinked a few times in disbelief, then snorted and laughed.

“Lucy and Florence? Out to assassinate you?”

As his cousin laughed, Emory gritted his teeth.

“They could not even properly slaughter a chicken!”

Hands clasped on his lap, Emory glared at the fire. “Unless it was all an act.”

“Then they are remarkable actresses.”

“She seemed desperate to marry me.”

“Desperate is too powerful a word, to be honest. Keen is more like it.”

“I’ve always felt she’s keeping a secret.”

“She wants to strangle you sometimes. She told me so herself,” Henry said, chuckling. Then he frowned at Emory. “You cannot honestly believe what you’re saying.”

Emory closed his eyes, remembering their first kiss. All the nights they spent in the tree house. That night on the balcony in Winfield.

He sighed. “No, of course not.”

“Then there’s nothing wrong with letting the Clover do what they have to do. She’ll be found innocent because, really, if she is to commit a crime, it is marrying you.”

His eyes snapped open, and he threw his cousin a sharp look.

Henry guffawed. Then, his laughter died down and a serious look came over his face. “I wouldn’t worry about her innocence if I were you. There are far bigger forces you have to contend with once your betrothal is made known. The Clover’s only concern is your safety. Once they find her innocent, they’ll rest. The Houses, however, will be a different story.” Henry leaned closer. “Once they find out that a former Gavarian general tried to kill you, they will have a problem with a Gavarian queen, Emory.”

“The Houses can go to hell,” he ground out. “They can stay clueless.”

“You can’t be serious. They will have to know.”

“Not if she’s found innocent,” he said. “Craig Martel will remain a mystery until I say so.”

---

Fear constantly plagued her waking hours, and the only thing that offered comfort was the thought that Emory was going to honor the betrothal. There were a million bad things that could happen, but with her future almost certain, she could now enjoy Coulway with Lucy.

Their villa was just as she had expected—grand and very much protected. There were servants now, which was fascinating after having none for months. She was also assigned with a lady companion.

“This is Gabrielle Shaw,” the duchess introduced, waving a hand at a woman with curly red hair. “She will be your companion for the duration of your stay in the villa,” the duchess said.

Lucy looked around, and Ellise Dior understood why. “I’m certain you’re used to having more companions in Gavaria, but I assure you that Gabrielle is more than enough.”

Florence smiled widely at Gabrielle. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Lady Gabrielle.”

“Just Gabrielle,” the woman said, stepping stiffly to the side.

“Everything you do should be known to Gabrielle,” Ellise Dior said. “Any purchases you make shall be arranged by her as well. I understand you need to go shopping?”

They nodded.

“Then you may go on the morrow.”

One of the many things Florence and Lucy enjoyed was shopping, which was, as they found out, something the duchess could not tolerate. She gave the burden to Gabrielle, who barely spoke or complained.

“Where should we mail the receipt?” asked one shop owner.

“The Duchess of Calbridge,” Gabrielle replied, providing the owner a piece of paper.

“Should we go elsewhere or get tea?” Florence asked much later.

“It is getting late,” Gabrielle said. “We should head back to the villa.”

“But the sun is still up.”

The woman looked at her, and then at the boxes in their hands, which were dutifully taken by two more servants. “Very well. But no more boxes for now. The carriage is full.”

“Tea it is, then!”

Gabrielle reluctantly joined them and was forced to answer their questions over steaming teacups. “Where are you from, Gabrielle?”

“Belcourt.”

Florence and Lucy shared a look.

“But I have a family outside.”

“That’s interesting. How did you wind up in Belcourt?”

“That’s too personal a question.”

“I’m sorry,” Florence said, smiling. “I’m curious about Belcourt.”

“It is not open to everyone, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

She laughed. “Oh. Well, that’s a shame. But the king can enter?”

“Yes, of course.”

She grinned. “That’s nice to know. I assume the future queen can do so as well?”

Gabrielle sighed and scoffed. “Yes.”

She grinned mischievously. “I see.”

Two days later, the duchess came by again to finally announce that they were now members of Artemis. “Not permanently, of course,” she said, crossing her legs.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll be considered guests. You can come in and out anytime you wish, but only for a limited length of time. Your permanent membership shall be determined by the members after six months.”

“They shall vote if we can stay or not?”

“That’s how it works with gentlemen’s clubs, anyway,” the duchess wryly said. “I’ll send someone to take you to Artemis on the morrow. A friend of mine will give you a tour.”

“You will not be there?”

“My husband is in town.”

They watched Ellise Dior exit the parlor a few minutes later. “I’m more curious about the duke,” Lucy wondered aloud. “She rarely mentions him. What do you think he’ll be like?”

“I don’t know. I’m still in disbelief that she is actually married.”

Lucy chuckled. “She’s odd, isn’t she?”

“She’s fascinating.” Forgetting about the duchess, Florence jumped to her feet with excitement. “Lucy, we’re finally joining a club!”

---

Now that she had secured a royal wedding, Florence had to change her story. She was still Lorraine Paulet, of course, but she had to maintain a story that was close to the facts: She was one of the hundreds of princesses from the Gavarian Empire, and she was here for vacation.

She was uncertain how much Lady Caroline Durham, Countess of Chalbarth, knew about the truth. As Ellise Dior’s friend, they did not expect the blond woman to be so different. Unlike the duchess, Lady Caroline’s forest green eyes glinted as she smiled each time Florence and Lucy expressed awe in every room in the Artemis Club.

There were four, apart from the courtyard and the hall. Each was called after a goddess. Hestia was the drawing room, Demeter the tea room that opened to the courtyard, Aphrodite the gaming room, Athena the armor room where fencing and fighting lessons took place as scheduled, and the last room was Eris. It was total chaos and very much fascinating.

“We all have frustrations we cannot freely express because people outside this club expect us to behave in certain ways,” said the countess. “Eris is where we can let it all out.”

Florence and Lucy stared at the mess before them. Torn pages of books, dented cabinets, broken chairs and glass. And they could only imagine the screams the walls had witnessed.

“Activity schedules are posted in the hall,” Caroline said, leading them to Demeter, where a table with fresh tea awaited them.

They were introduced as cousins to the other ladies in the room, all of whom immediately taking interest. “I have not met anyone from Gavaria before,” said one.

“I have once, but it was a man,” said another.

“I’ve heard interesting stories about your empire,” another piped in. “Is it true it is not welcoming to strangers?”

Florence and Lucy stared at each other and shrugged. “We cannot say, but now that you ask, maybe you are right. Gavaria is like that one person who has a lot of friends, but never invites them into her home.”

“Exactly!” the woman said, laughing.

“But you only need to ask,” she said. “You can visit Gavaria and see for yourself. We have beautiful landscapes.”

“As I’ve heard. Perhaps I should ask my husband if we can go on a trip.”

When the day was over, Florence and Lucy both agreed that they liked Artemis and they would love to spend more time there. Mainly because of the welcoming atmosphere. And perhaps the interesting gossips.

“I heard one member was murdered inside Eris,” Lucy told her that night.

“How did it happen?” Florence asked with interest.

“Poison, I believe. Someone gouged her eyes out and replaced them with flowers. Her lips were painted with her own blood.”

Florence gripped her cousin’s arm. “I don’t want to hear more.”

“There were other murders of the same nature.”

“All in Artemis?”

“No, of course not. They tightened security after the first murder.”

“Then we should be safe in Artemis, yes?”

“Well, I most definitely hope so! They caught the killer. We’re very much safe.”

---

Safe as Artemis might be after the murders, Florence realized they weren’t safe from Ellise Dior’s curious nature.

Their first fencing lesson was a total disaster. She thought she could handle a sword, but was soon proven wrong. She did not have the grace to do the footwork properly, and even when she had to stand at a stance, she couldn’t because her body would lean over to one side and tip her over.

“You can’t be perfect on your first day,” Ellise said when she expressed her frustration. Spotting Gabrielle standing in one corner of the room, the duchess asked, “How long did it take you to master fencing, Gabrielle?”

“Four years. Two for the bows.”

As Florence and Lucy stared at Gabrielle with awe, Ellise turned to them. “It was longer for me. It takes practice.”

They proceeded to Demeter for tea, Gabrielle choosing to sit in one corner with a book, but Florence knew the woman was aware of everything going on. There was no one around the tea room at that time of day. The ladies had been partying all night and were still probably asleep in their beds.

“Have you been making friends?” asked Ellise, setting her tea in front of her.

“Yes,” Lucy enthusiastically replied. “Florence is actually quite a star. Everyone here loves to hear her sing.”

“It is Lorraine,” she conspiratorially whispered to her cousin. To Ellise, she said, “We like the ladies we’ve met thus far, but we are getting close to Lady Marjorie and her friends. However, I believe we’re only within their social circle because I’m a princess.”

“Is that so?”

Florence shrugged. “That’s always been the case for me. Being a princess means getting the attention of eligible bachelors. And where the men flock, the women follow.”

“You’re probably right. Lady Marjorie and her friends are determined. You should be careful around them.” When Florence and Lucy leaned closer, Ellise sighed. “They’re not bad. But they’re young and immature.”

“Oh. Yes, we’re quite aware of that.”

A brief pause followed as they sipped from their cups.

“I’m curious about your journey to Sutherland,” Ellise nonchalantly said. “You said you were in London for a while?”

Florence smiled. “Lucy and I stayed there to visit a cousin before coming here.”

Ellise arched her brows. “I enjoy London every time the duke and I visit. What did you do there?”

Florence shifted in her seat nervously. “Not much. We’ve been in London before, so there was nothing else we wanted to do. I only wanted to spend more time with our cousin before coming here.”

The longer Ellise’s eyes stayed on her, the more it made her uncomfortable. “It’s amazing how you traveled without an entourage. As the Grand Princess, one would think you’ll have a full staff.”

“I don’t enjoy being followed around,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Servants or whoever. My father, however, assured the king would provide for me once I got here.” She shared a look with Lucy, and they both let out a small laugh. “But such was not the case, as you know.”

“I’m sure it was a misunderstanding that you were sent to Birchfield.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Emory is quite cunning. And forgetful, of course.” Taking the opportunity to change the subject, she asked, “Do you know when he’s coming back?”

For some odd reason, she wanted to see him again. Perhaps she missed taunting him, missed the way he’d get frustrated by her teasing. She liked Coulway and the conveniences it offered, but it wasn’t as fun without Emory.

Ellise was about to answer when she stopped and a woman’s voice spoke from the door.

“Good morning, Your Grace. Fencing lessons?” Florence and Lucy turned in their seats. Florence blinked a few times, thinking that she might have just met the most beautiful woman.

The woman’s black hair was tied halfway, decorated with tiny pearls and a beautiful hairpin adorned with gemstones. Her flawless skin put porcelains in shame. And when she smiled, the sparkle in her eyes was almost blinding. “I’ve heard of new members,” the woman said, eyeing her and Lucy.

Ellise stood. Lucy followed, but Florence remained where she sat because that’s what she was used to. Princesses didn’t have to stand unless facing a monarch. “This is Miss Tatiana Temple,” Ellise said. She then gestured to Florence. “Princess Lorraine Paulet of Gavaria. And her cousin, Lady Lucy Paulet.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tatiana Temple said, looking down at Florence, her long lashes casting a shadow on her cheeks. “A princess from Gavaria. How remarkable.”

“Not if there are hundreds of us,” Florence replied.

Tatiana’s laughter was graceful and genuine. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess,” Tatiana said as she offered a slight curtsy, laughter still in her eyes. Beaming widely, she turned to Ellise. “I have some business to discuss with Lady Stark. If you’ll excuse me.”

Florence stared after the woman with mouth slightly open as she exited the room, gliding over the floor with ease.

“Lady Stark?” asked Lucy, taking her seat.

“One of the owners,” Ellise nonchalantly replied.

“How is she related to Stark’s, the gentlemen’s club?”

“The owner is her husband.”

But Florence was not listening. Her thoughts were still on Tatiana Temple. “She was very beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked the table.

Ellise smiled at her. “Tatiana is quite beautiful, and she is very friendly. She’s not titled, but her father is a very successful businessman both here and in England. You’ll enjoy her company. Unlike most ladies, she is quite mature. But there’s something you should know about her.”

Florence leaned closer and waited.

“She’s the king’s former lover. The most recent, actually.”

XX. Eris

Not only did Florence learn that the gorgeous Tatiana Temple was the latest of the king’s string of lovers, but she also found out that the others were equally beautiful and smart. Three of them were members of the Artemis, the others, she only saw in passing during the first ball she was invited to.

But Tatiana was the one that she could not ignore. The woman was perfect in every sense. The only thing lacking was a crown on her head.

She finished her wine in one gulp as her eyes followed the woman dancing gracefully in the middle of the ballroom, her partner a handsome young lord who looked like he was the luckiest man in the room. Muffling a burp with her gloved hand, she turned away from the lady who heard and gave her a disgusted look.

“She’s not your enemy, cousin,” Lucy whispered beside her with amusement. “Not her or Lady Camelot over there, or Miss Tracey, or who is that woman with the red hair again? The lover from last year?”

“Don’t start,” she warned, giving the room a sweeping glance, trying her best to ignore Tatiana Temple. Even so, unable to contain herself, she gritted her teeth and growled under her breath, “The more I find out more about him—”

“The more you realize you can’t marry him?” Lucy asked, biting a smile.

Her eyes jumped to Lady Camelot, the woman with the perfect blond hair—not chopped like hers was, of course. “No,” she said through her teeth. “The more I want to strangle him while wearing my crown.”

Lucy burst out laughing, causing more guests to look and murmur to themselves.

Florence snorted and sighed, not at all bothered. She had been through worse in Gavaria.

“Cousin, I think you’re in love.”

With a scoff, Florence rolled her eyes and replaced her glass at a passing server. “There’s no such thing.”

“Then why are you jealous?”

“I can be jealous of anyone. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just fond of him. Well, I was in Birchfield. I’m not so fond at the moment.”

Lucy softly chuckled and shook her head. “I’m glad we’re enjoying Coulway. But Steffan is almost here.” Florence ignored her cousin’s words. She didn’t want to think about her brother. “Are you not worried at all?” Lucy prodded.

“Now that I have secured a promise from you-know-who, no.”

“Still, I think it’s best you marry before Steffan gets here.”

“You know we can’t rush a,” she leaned closer and whispered, “royal wedding.”

“Well, if you-know-who is willing, you can.”

She did not have the chance to reply because their new friends from Artemis came over. “Join us in the garden,” the twenty-year-old Lady Marjorie said, pulling Florence by the hand.

As soon as they reached the garden, Marjorie, Karenina and Augustine started talking about men. They shared their dance cards and gave advice on partners—how they smelled, how their feet stepped too fast or slow, or where their hands landed.

Florence and Lucy also shared much needed advice on how to be wiser by not showing too much interest.

Augustine stopped walking, her blond hair sprinkled with gems that sparkled as she looked around. “By the by,” she said, which was a most definite word to make the rest turn and huddle closer to hear the gossip. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” Lucy asked.

“About the king’s betrothed.”

Florence blinked as the other girls leaned closer, eyes wide with interest. “Who?” Marjorie asked.

“I don’t know,” Augustine said. “But they say she’s a foreigner.”

Karenina stared at Florence, who pretended not to see and asked, “From where?”

“I cannot confirm,” Augustine said. “But I heard she’s from London.”

“An English queen,” Karenina said, leaning back with a frown. “I’m not sure I like that.”

“Why? Sutherland is friends with England,” Marjorie said.

“Well, yes… For now. I’d much prefer a Sutherlander queen.”

“I agree,” Augustine said. “Why look elsewhere when there are hundreds of unmarried, suitable ladies?”

“I’ve always thought he doesn’t want to marry,” Marjorie said.

“Why?” Florence asked.

The woman shrugged. “Just look at his past lovers. They were beautiful, intelligent, and graceful. One of them should have been more than enough to get an offer if he has marriage in mind.”

Lucy bit off a smile when Florence’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “A royal match is far more complicated,” she said, most to herself. “There are other things to consider, politics one of them. After all, an entire nation is at stake.”

“You are right,” Karenina said with a sigh. “It’s not just about dowries and titles.”

“My father said something else.” They all leaned even closer to Augustine. “He said the betrothal’s been set long before they were borne.”

They all fell silent. Florence caught Lucy’s wary look and sighed. “Well,” her cousin said, “at the very least, the future queen, whoever she may be, will not have to worry about other wives like in Gavaria.”

The ladies laughed.

“That is bound to cause a lot of trouble,” Augustine said.

“Even more reason to choose a Sutherlander,” Karenina said. “Same culture, same tradition.”

The others agreed with a nod before they moved on to other subjects.

Very much later, as they traveled back to the villa, Florence was fuming. Lucy smiled with amusement and whispered to Gabrielle, “I think the king needs to return soon.”

“Why?” the woman asked.

“Florence does the most outrageous things when she’s impatient or angry.”

“I’m not impatient, nor angry,” she snapped at Lucy. “He can take all the time he likes.”

“The king shall return once it’s deemed safe,” Gabrielle reassured her.

“I said I do not care,” she grumbled under her breath. To Lucy, she added, “If I’m in a foul mood, I wouldn’t have sung tonight.”

Lucy grinned. “The crowd loved you.”

“I just hope they continue to do so once they find out I’m going to be their queen.”

---

Three weeks since the short convention with the Black Clover, two carriages finally came back to Birchfield to announce that he could finally return to Coulway.

Emory was in the kitchen seasoning meat while Henry stood by peeling an orange when Marius walked in with a woman cloaked in green. As soon as she announced that Cloveshire was ready for him, he threw the towel from his shoulder and rushed out of the kitchen.

“What about the chicken?” Henry asked after him.

“You can stay here if you want,” he said over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs. “I’m leaving.”

He couldn’t leave fast enough. Within three hours while the horses rested, he had already said goodbye to the Fitzwilliams with a promise to return to visit with Florence. And when nightfall came, they were on an unmarked schooner crossing the sea from Herst.

The vessel was often used for secret operations across the kingdom by the Black Clover.

“Good Lord, Emory. Stay still,” Henry said, watching him with a frown.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said from where he sat. They were in a small office cabin. They had just supper and now they were waiting.

“You’re rocking the bloody vessel more than the waves do,” Henry said with a chuckle. “You’ll get to Coulway in no time.” His cousin looked to the door before adding, “Although I doubt you will get to see her soon.” Henry held up his hands when Emory scowled. “You know you can’t.”

“You’re not the one to tell me that,” he snapped, shifting in his seat again.

When the door finally opened, he had already finished two glasses of wine.

“Good evening,” Blackwood greeted. He took the seat offered by Henry and waited until his cousin vacated the room. “I’m here to give you a report before we reach Coulway.”

“Finally,” he droned. “You’ve been hiding from me.”

“I did not bother to travel to Birchfield. I was in the schooner the entire time.”

“The report?”

“The Grand Princess and her cousin have been constantly watched since their arrival.”

“And have you found anything?”

“As of the moment, nothing. No letters or contact with anyone suspicious. The only activities she’s been doing is spending time in Artemis, going to parties… and she’s been going around shops, but she rarely procures anything.”

“Coulway’s current fashion doesn’t suit her peculiar taste.”

Blackwood’s lips quirked. “Yes. She stands out in a crowd.”

“Not a trait by someone hiding something, I assume?” he asked, arching a brow.

“No. However, the princess claims that they stayed in London for a while with a cousin before coming here. We are currently validating that. Clover agents in London are tracing and investigating the people she associated with during her stay there.”

“I understand. Although I doubt you’ll find anything.”

“That’s yet to be seen.” Blackwood crossed his leg over the other. “Her brother is also arriving in Sutherland soon. We shall intercept as planned. His ship will be searched, which will take a week or two, and we’ll also have to interrogate.”

“This is not going to be a good impression for my future brother-in-law, Blackwood.”

“He’ll understand once we explain.” The duke looked at him for a good few seconds. “You can’t see her until we’re certain she’s cleared.”

His jaw twitched.

“I know how you feel, but you have to be patient. We’re quite confident she’s innocent, but my instincts or yours do not matter where your safety is concerned.”

“I’m getting more frustrated by all this, Blackwood. You should make the captured men talk.”

“We’re doing our best.”

“And Arielle?”

“We are following a promising lead. Our men are doing their best.”

He gave a curt nod. “And Craig Martel? Have you found out more?”

“Our men are yet to send their reports from Gavaria.”

“You need to question Prince Steffan about Martel. I also want to know how friendly Gavaria is with France.”

“Of course.” Blackwood shifted in his seat. He looked tired and Emory wondered how much the man had been working since the assassination attempt. “You’ll be taken straight to Cloveshire.”

“Where you’ll lock me up, I know.”

“Your advisers have been a little impatient for your return, so are the two Houses. Parliament has been delayed while you’re away, and everyone is eager to start.”

“To kill each other, you mean.”

Blackwood scoffed. “They’re planning to start session in a fortnight.”

“Should we delay it more?”

“We’ve considered it, but we all agree that delaying parliament will only cost us more. This case can go on for months.”

He slowly nodded. “I’ll talk with the chamberlain on my return.”

“He’s already waiting.”

“Good. He has a wedding to plan. And the prime minister?”

“Impatient, but he understands.” When he remained silent, Blackwood added, “Upon your orders, we have not given them information about Craig Martel.”

“He’ll have to remain a secret for now.”

“You know you can’t keep a secret from them for too long.”

“I will until I can’t. Do you know what those bastards will do once they find out that Martel is Gavarian? They’ll use it against the Grand Princess.”

“I understand. But they’ll also use your secrecy against you.”

“I’ll deal with them in time,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re dismissed. And Blackwood,” he said, as the man stood, “Go home to your wife once we reach land. You look like a corpse.”

“I don’t have to. She came with me on this trip.”

He was stunned. “She did?”

Blackwood shrugged. “She wanted some fresh air.” The man opened the door with a smile. “Have a good night, Sir.”

---

The rumor about the king’s betrothed only got louder as days passed. Florence could not go to any rooms in Artemis without hearing a word about it.

One afternoon, Florence had had enough. While the ladies speculated on the identity of the mysterious betrothed in the tea room, she stiffly stood.

“Where are you going?” Lucy asked in the corridor.

Instead, she let her destination give the answer. Lucy raised her brows when Florence stopped outside the Eris room. When she pushed it open, her cousin slipped inside and closed the door.

Walking over to a pile of plates, she grabbed one. Standing in the center of the room, Florence gritted her teeth and threw it toward the wall with a very satisfying smashing sound. As the pieces fell to the floor, she took in a long breath and turned to get another plate.

“They think she’s from England,” she gritted out. “Or even France! Can you believe it?”

Lucy tried her best not to snort, but failed. “You’re overreacting. Of course, they’d think she’s from England. It’s Sutherland’s closest ally. And the idea of a French queen is politically a good move. Lady Alberta explained it well yesterday.”

Another plate shattered to pieces. “That lady with the dirty blond hair said she’d hang herself if the king marries a foreigner. She said it while I was in the room!”

“She doesn’t even know the betrothed is in the room!” Lucy flinched as the wall received another angry plate. “Are you quite done?”

“No.” She went to pick up a shattered book and sent it flying across the room.

“I never thought I’d find you here,” Ellise’s voice said behind them. They both turned and found the woman standing in the doorway with Lady Caroline, who looked amused. “Is the rumor getting to you?”

“No,” she lied.

“Good. They shouldn’t.”

“My family is going to have a party in Brierwell soon,” Caroline said, walking a few steps into the room. “I came to personally ask if you’d like to attend.”

“What party?”

“The Remington Masked Ball,” Caroline said. “We hold it every year for someone special.” She smiled at her and Lucy. “We’ll send the invites to your villa.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Lucy said.

“We’ll leave you to your venting,” Ellise said as Caroline retreated. “Come join us in Demeter for tea once you’re done.”

A few more plates later, Florence and Lucy walked out of the Eris room, the latter much amused and the former still fuming. Before they reached Demeter, however, the door to the gaming room, Aphrodite, swung open. Marjorie and Augustine walked out carrying drinks, and their eyes immediately glowed when they spotted Florence and Lucy.

“Did you hear?” Marjorie hissed.

“What?”

“He’s back!” Augustine said.

“Who?”

“The king,” Marjorie replied. “He’s been here three days.”

Florence froze. “Three days?”

“Yes. Do you think we’ll find out who his betrothed is soon?”

Florence didn’t care about the bloody betrothed or if she would be revealed soon. “Are you sure he’s back?”

“Of course. Tatiana Temple told us herself.”

“Do you think they still see each other?” asked Marjorie. “She always gets firsthand information about the king.”

“I wouldn’t fault him,” Augustine said. “It would be hard to let go of the Tatiana Temple. But I wonder where he’d been.”

“Who cares? But back to the betrothed. I heard she’s on her way to Sutherland…”

Florence could not hear the rest because her ears started ringing. “Excuse me. I’ll join you later,” she murmured to their friends, turning away.

He arrived three days ago?

And Tatiana Temple knew about it?

He saw his former lover while she was here throwing plates?

“Where are you going?” Lucy asked beside her, voice laced with concern.

Florence was too livid to answer as she retraced her steps to Eris.

XXI. Party in Picadilly

Two days later, and without a word from the palace or anyone living there, alive or otherwise, Florence started to simmer down. A little.

Or a little less than little.

“No words from the palace?” she asked Gabrielle that morning as they traveled to Artemis.

“No.”

Her jaw twitched. She glared at the passing shops outside the window. “Everything we shop shall eventually be placed on His Majesty’s accounts, yes?”

“Yes.”

Her head snapped to Lucy and she let out a tight smile. “I need new dresses.”

Lucy exchange a look with Gabrielle. “You said so yourself that Coulway’s fashion sense doesn’t appeal to you.”

“I’ll have the modiste fashion something to my taste.” She fixed her hat. “I also need new bonnets. This one doesn’t sit well on my head.”

“It’s perfect.”

“And gloves and shoes. A dozen stockings, too.”

Lucy let out an awkward laugh. To Gabrielle, her cousin explained in a whisper, “It’s just her talking.”

But Lucy was wrong. After their fencing lesson with Ellise Dior, they went straight to Coulway’s most expensive modiste, where she ordered a dozen custom ball gowns and dresses to be made with the most expensive fabrics she found. They also filled the carriage with boxes of hats, gloves, stockings and shoes.

But she didn’t feel better after their trip. She actually felt worse. Did she just spend an extravagant of money from people’s taxes?

She was silently thinking how many of the items she could return when they arrived at the villa, only to make a sudden stop after walking through the doors. The hall was brimming with dozens of flowers.

“What are these?” she asked the housekeeper, who came rushing with excitement.

“This came with it, Your Highness,” the woman said, grinning from ear to ear.

She stared down at the note.

One day, I hope to see you with flower crown and kisses from a dream.

-Daniel Stanton

Florence pursed her lips to stop herself from smiling as Lucy snatched the note from her hand and squealed as she read. “Flo, aren’t you going to—”

“I’m tired,” she said, walking past the flowers. “We should rest for the party later.”

---

“Are you not being a bit too petty?” Lucy asked later during the party in Artemis. They were sitting in one corner in the hall, quite bored with the same party.

“About what?”

“You know what I’m talking about. He’s been gone too long and is probably very busy as we speak. You should be patient.”

“And him? He was not so patient to meet with—” she stopped, looked around, and hissed “—Tatiana Temple, was he?”

Lucy chuckled. “I know what this is about. You’re jealous!”

She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes.

“Do you truly think he’ll meet with her? I heard he doesn’t go back to past lovers.”

“She is the Tatiana Temple,” she wryly said.

Lucy leaned closer and whispered, “And you are the betrothed. You’ll be his queen.”

“I walked into the gaming room earlier and my eyes immediately fell on her because she lit up that room with just her mere presence. Only a fool would forget a woman like her.”

“Well, you always say he’s foolish.”

Florence shrugged. “And forgetful. He forgot about me again.”

“He just sent you dozens of flowers. And wrote you that lovely note.”

“It wasn’t his. It was mine.”

“What do you mean?”

Too embarrassed to tell her cousin she sang Emory a song, she rolled her eyes and murmured, “Nothing.” Then she sighed. “You think I’m asking too much from him.”

“No, I think you’re expecting too much from him.”

That gave her pause. Lucy was right. She couldn’t expect too much from Emory.

She shouldn’t. She had no right.

“What are the two of you whispering about?” Karenina asked, squeezing between them on the settee. Their friend’s drink spilled over her glass. “Sorry. Clumsy me. This party is quite boring, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” they replied.

“Marjorie just sent word. Her mother is having a boring party, and she invited us to save it.”

“We’re going to Picadilly,” Augustine said, taking Karenina’s drink away. “Need not fret about safety. We won’t be walking the streets. Eight other ladies are coming with us. Poor Marj needs saving, ladies.”

“And did I mention that her brother, who just recently graduated from Butler, is home and has also invited his friends from university?” Karenina asked, wriggling her brows.

Augustine pulled Lucy to her feet. “We need your charming laughter, Lady Lucy.”

Karenina joined them and grabbed Florence’s hand. “And we need your magical voice, Your Highness.”

Florence could not help but laugh and squeal with excitement when her friends looped their arms around hers as they left their drinks behind and rushed to the door.

---

Emory was reading through the documents that had piled up during his absence. He could delay them for the next day, but he had nothing better to do. Sleep wouldn’t come, not while he was aware that Florence had not yet arrived at her villa.

He checked the clock and gritted his teeth.

She had partied the night before. And as far as he knew, she had been doing nothing but shop the entire morning.

He was still waiting for a note about the flowers, which he was certain she saw—because he made certain she couldn’t ignore them—and he was told she read his note.

He let go of the paper and stood, stretching his neck as he walked to the window of his study. The moon cast a blue hue over the empty gardens of the palace.

Was she deliberately doing this? Or was she enjoying Coulway too much?

Hands in his pockets, he paced before the window, brows fused. Then he paused and scoffed at himself.

He should be thinking about her possible involvement in his assassination. If her father had something to do with it. Or her brother.

But here he was spending what was left of his logic thinking of reasons for her lack of response to the flowers, as if he was solving a great mystery. And instead of burning candles reading important state documents, he was thinking of the stupid note he sent her. Was it too much? Too cringeworthy? Should he have written the entire song?

A knock came to the door and Marius slipped inside, approaching him directly. “Sir, the Princess just left Artemis.”

His eyes went to the clock. “It’s about time,” he grumbled under his breath.

“She’s with friends. They’re heading to another party.”

His shoulders stiffened as he scowled at Marius. His jaw tightened, but he controlled himself. This was not uncommon. Parties typically end until the wee hours. But he needed to know something. “Where?”

“Picadilly, Sir.”

That’s when the alarm set in. His heart came to a jolt, and for that moment, he forgot to think. He rushed to the door. “Where’s Henry?”

“In the eastern wing. Sir, she’s with a Belcourt Soldier—”

“She’s in Picadilly,” he interjected, stopping to face Marius, “where a bloody murder happened.”

“But that—”

“Three more robberies in the area in the last month, all targeting women.”

“We are well aware of that, Sir. But again, she is with a Soldier—”

“I don’t bloody care. She can party anywhere but Picadilly. Get Henry.”

“We can send out the guards—”

“You’ve spent time with Florence in Birchfield, Marius. Do you think she’d listen to a guard? I’m the king and you’ve heard me countless times telling her to stay away from Picadilly and where is she now?” Marius did not answer, shoulders dropping in resignation. “Get Henry. She listens to Henry.”

---

Florence sang the last phrase of her song until her breath ran out and was met with a round of applause, mostly from Marjorie’s mother and her friends.

“You have a voice of an angel!” Marjorie’s mother declared, taking her hand as she approached.

“Thank you,” Florence said, smiling at the lady and her friends. “And you have a lovely home, Lady Steward.”

“I have to be honest, dear. Marjorie and her brother have been giving me a terrible headache the entire night, what with the lot of you marching in! Oh, they always do this to me. Always inviting guests at the last moment. But it is fine, dear. Not your fault.”

Marjorie joined them and looped her arm around Florence. “Mother, how are you enjoying your party?”

Lady Steward playfully patted her daughter’s cheek. “Don’t do this to me too often, my dear, or I’ll eventually have a proper faint.” Then alarm registered on her face and she turned away, muttering, “Good Heavens! Do we have enough drinks? Where’s the butler?”

Marjorie and Florence laughed as the woman scurried away to oversee the party.

Her smile slowly vanished as she remembered her mother. She would have gotten a good whipping if she ever pulled off something like Marjorie and her brother did. Her mother always made sure that her parties went beyond expectation, each one was perfectly planned from beginning to end.

“You should apologize to your mother. This must be overwhelming for her.”

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She likes surprises,” Marjorie said with mirth.

She grabbed another glass of wine as Marjorie dragged her across the packed ballroom where their friends had gathered after her song. Nearly half of the women in Artemis had followed them here, all quite foxed and excited because Marjorie’s brother and his friends from Butler, the prestigious school for gentlemen, were abundantly in attendance. And all of whom were as equally eager to meet the ladies.

“Princess Lorraine,” one gentleman called, “May I have your next dance?”

“She doesn’t dance,” Marjorie said.

When the man looked unconvinced, Florence smiled. “I’m afraid my future dances have been promised.” The man stared at her empty dance card. Her smile widened as she raised her drink and said, “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“Is that why you never dance?” Marjorie asked. “You promised them to someone? Who could it be?”

She rolled her eyes. “A forgetful fool,” she replied as they joined their group.

Lucy was laughing at something Augustine was saying to two other Butler gentlemen, and Florence was ready to ask what it was about when suddenly, she was swept off her feet and landed on the floor. Her friends gasped in horror.

The fall barely registered in her head before a giant dog jumped on her lap and licked her face.

“Josie! Stop it!” Marjorie hissed, reaching for the Labrador as a servant came to clean up the shards of glass.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she said, chuckling, finally able to stand with the help of a gentleman.

A servant swiftly guided Josie away with the hysterical Lady Steward crying about casting away children and their pets. Florence had to reassure her from across the room that she was unhurt.

The gentleman handed her his kerchief to wipe the wine off her arm. “Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“I need another glass of wine.” In a blink, four glasses of wine were rushed in front of her, all from eager looking men. She laughed. “I’ll take just one,” she said, taking the nearest glass, “But perhaps my friends would like one as well?” She turned to her friends, and they all nodded, stepping closer as the gentlemen offered them the glasses.

“Lorraine told me why she doesn’t dance,” Marjorie told Karenina and Augustine.

“Why?” her friends asked.

“We are also curious,” said another young gentleman.

Florence felt trapped. She was the smallest in the group, and although she was quite used to it, the attention she was getting tonight was quite suffocating.

“I’d rather talk about my thrilling journey to the floor with Josie,” she said. As her friends laughed, forgetting about her dancing habit, or the lack thereof, she felt a hand squeeze her arm. She looked to her side and smiled at Lucy. “What is the matter, Lucy?”

Her cousin cleared her throat and motioned with her head. Florence followed with her gaze, blinked when she saw Henry making his way across the ballroom, a bright smile on his face. The laughter around her slowly died down, followed by whispers.

“That’s Lord Henry Vandenberg,” Augustine hissed to someone.

“What is he doing here?”

“He’s the king’s cousin. I heard they’re quite close.”

“He’s friends with Marjorie’s brother, isn’t he?”

But then everyone’s eyes shifted from Henry to Florence when it became clear where his direction was taking him. Their curiosity turned to a look of interested when he stopped in front of her, grinning widely.

“My dearest friend,” he said, taking her gloved hand and giving it a small kiss. From the corner of her eye, she saw her friends ogle. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

Florence frowned with confusion as he let go of her hand to greet Lucy. “Lady Lucy.” And of course, charmer that he was, he looked around the group. “Ladies. Gentlemen.”

“Lord Henry,” said Marjorie. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Your brother invited me. When I heard the Princess is at the same party, I couldn’t help myself,” Henry said, facing Florence again. “May I have a moment of your time?”

“No,” she said, belatedly laughing when she saw her friends’ reaction. “I’m with company, my lord.”

Henry turned his back on the others as Lucy tried to distract them and murmured under his breath, “Flo, you know you can’t be near Picadilly. He told you many times.”

She frowned. “When?”

“In Winfield.”

Her mind was too clouded to think, so she shrugged and took a gulp from her glass. “I don’t recall,” she said after a hard swallow.

Her friend narrowed his eyes down at her. “You little vixen.”

“Just go away and enjoy the party, Henry.”

“I’m here to take you out of here.”

“Why?”

“Because, apparently, Picadilly isn’t safe. And after walking in here, I have to agree. This party is total chaos.”

“Says who?”

“You know who.”

She scoffed. “Well, I’m rather enjoying the chaos— safely .”

Henry sighed. “Flo, please. I know you’re having fun, but my cousin is a little too dramatic where you’re concerned. He dragged me out of bed, with no regard for my slumber, and that, my dear, says a lot. He’s going mad.” He smiled at her, eyes begging. “Come now, please. I’ll take you to another party if you like, or I can escort you and Lucy home.”

Florence glared at him. “Why does it matter where I go? He doesn’t care where I go. He’s not even here.”

“Keep your voice down,” Henry whispered. He looked over his shoulder at Lucy. “Lucy, help me here.”

Her cousin came to her side and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“He wants to take us home.” She slapped his hand away when he tried to touch her. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “Just go away, Henry. Fancy meeting you here. Goodbye.”

“She’s foxed,” Henry told Lucy.

“She’s fine. We’ll go home in a while. Is that not right, cousin?”

But Florence was already walking away. The trail of gentlemen that followed her pushed Henry back, and looking over her shoulder, she gave Henry one of her annoying smiles.

“I didn’t know you’re acquainted with him!” Karenina gasped with wonder beside her. Florence watched Henry walk off, her smile slowly dying. “You should have him invite us to one of the parties he goes to.”

“Lord Henry and I are not that close for me to ask for such favor,” she said, finishing her wine.

Lucy was back at her side, whispering, “We have to leave.”

She was ready to leave, actually, but she couldn’t while Henry was here. The bastard would think she left because he told her to. And then Emory would know that she obeyed his orders. “Let’s stay a little longer.”

Lucy sighed beside her, then stiffened, gripping her arm again.

“Lucy, relax. I’m fine. I’m not too foxed. Do I seem foxed to you, Augustine?” she asked, but the woman was not paying attention.

She looked to Marjorie and Karenina, and to the others. Their eyes were fixed on something behind. She sighed, thinking Henry was back, and gulped down the rest of her wine as she turned, ready to shoo him off.

Then she froze, the glass still touching her lips.

“H-His M-Majesty, t-the King!” a footman stammered from the doorway, audibly in haste and panic. And from Lady Steward’s flustered face, it was clear that their new guest was most unexpected.

---

A/N

I hope you’re enjoying the story so far! I’m currently obsessed with writing for Emory and Florence’s story and I’d very much appreciate your votes and comments! I enjoy reading comments silently! I’ve also started posting Camila Comhar’s (from the Sutherland Series) story. If you’re interested, it’s part of Masters of the Game. Have a great weekend!

XXII. The Reunion

The music had stopped. She could swear everyone stopped breathing, too. And as if on cue, the room curtsied and stepped back like the red sea for Moses.

And that’s how he found her, with an empty glass of wine to her lips, standing on the opposite side of the ballroom. But the man walking toward her didn’t look like he was heading toward the promised land. He was the Pharaoh chasing after Moses.

One could hear a pin drop as he stalked across the room toward her. And while all was still around her, her heart pounded inside her chest, vibrating in her ear. The way he looked at her, she could tell she did something wrong. And perhaps she did.

And suddenly, her treacherous memory decided to work, and she remembered Emory’s warnings in Winfield hours before she departed.

“Stay away from Picadilly.”

“Party anywhere but Picadilly.”

“Picadilly is not safe at the moment.”

He stopped in front of her and she could feel all eyes on them. Their curiosity echoed in the air, but no one spoke.

He took the glass from her hand and handed it over to Henry who appeared by his side.

“Are you ready to go home?” His question was meant only for her to hear, but the room was too quiet she was sure everyone heard it.

“No,” she replied.

“Yes,” Lucy whispered beside her.

Florence slowly shook her head. Why would she place herself somewhere where Emory could scold her? She was not daft.

“I warned you about Picadilly,” Emory said through his teeth.

“Among hundreds of others,” she snapped back.

“Not here, the two of you,” Henry warned them under his breath, smiling at the crowd as he did so.

Emory took her hand and pulled her to his side. She would have resisted, but Lucy pushed her.

Lady Steward blocked their path, her eyes glimmering with awe. “Your Majesty! It is an honor!” She curtsied deeply and tugged Marjorie beside her to do the same. Marjorie followed her mother, her face completely baffled as her eyes locked on Emory and Florence’s hands.

When Florence saw the realization hit her friend, she realized that leaving might be a good idea after all.

“You have a delightful party going on here,” Emory said to Lady Steward. “However, I’m afraid I can’t prolong my stay.” He looked down at Florence, a tight smile on his face. “I wish to do the honor of taking the princess home.”

“O-Of course!” Lady Steward said, moving aside as Emory pulled Florence forward.

“Good night, ladies,” she heard Henry say behind them.

She hastened her steps as all eyes followed their departure from the ballroom. And there were more outside in the hall as they waited for their coats.

“I’ll wait in the carriage—” Emory squeezed her hand in warning and she let out a huff. The coats arrived and Emory put hers around her shoulders without a word, his face unreadable.

When they stepped outside, she turned to the right to find Gabrielle and their carriage, but Emory caught her hand. “Where are you going?”

“My carriage—”

He pulled her toward a bigger carriage already waiting for them. She grimaced, biting her lip.

“Inside,” he ordered. His tone was gentle, which made it scarier.

Florence sighed and climbed inside. She jumped on the bench across from him when he sat next to her. Lucy was next, and her cousin settled beside her. Henry climbed in and pulled her back to sit beside his cousin. She gritted her teeth and scowled at her friend as she scooted away from Emory.

As soon as the door closed and the carriage drove away, Emory and Florence spoke at once.

“I specifically told you not to go near Picadilly,” he said.

“I forgot about Picadilly,” she said.

A pause. Then, “You deliberately chose not to heed my words,” he said.

“You should have given me a written list of the things I can and cannot do,” she said over his statement. “And did you have to do that? In front of all those people? My friends?”

“Who? Those men from Butler?”

“Yes, the dashing men from Butler!”

His eyes glinted dangerously. “Ha! You enjoy their attention?”

“They know how to give it. Unlike someone I know who barely remembers—”

“I have matters to attend to—”

“I’m sorry you have to leave them all behind to rescue me from Picadilly—”

“You promised not to go here.”

“You promised to see me as soon as you can!”

All the while, Henry and Lucy stared at them in silence from across the carriage.

Panting with fury, Florence looked away, eyes hot with tears. Her nose was suddenly stuffy, and she needed to breathe, but she was loath to have him hear her sniffling, so she breathed through her mouth.

Henry, however, saw her tears. From the corner of her eye, she saw him kick Emory’s foot.

She turned her head further away when he turned toward her. “Lori,” he started, reaching for her.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, sniffling, pulling away.

“Lori, I’m only concerned about your safety.”

She swallowed and wiped her tears with her gloved hands.

“I’m sorry I did not see you as soon as I arrived. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“He’s right,” Henry warily said. “They wouldn’t allow it. The Clover, I mean.”

Rolling her eyes to the side, she watched Emory slide near. Facing him, she said, “I had to learn about your arrival from other people. How do you suppose that made me feel?”

“I apologize for that.”

“And I don’t like what you did earlier, barging in like that.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Have you heard the rumor about the king’s foreign betrothed? Half of those people hate the idea of a foreign queen. Are you even aware of that? And you just waltz in there, practically declaring who I am. Can you imagine what they think of me now? They must feel betrayed, especially our friends,” she said.

He slowly nodded. “I admit I was not thinking.”

“You certainly weren’t.” She was mad, but he looked humbled before her. A rare thing to witness, really. He was not even trying to defend himself, which told her he couldn’t tell her the reason he didn’t see her right away. “Don’t ever put me in such a situation again.”

Again, he nodded.

She sighed, looking him up and down. Her lips twisted. “Did you miss me?”

Her question did not just surprise him, but also Henry and Lucy.

Trying to hide a smile, Emory said, “Badly.”

“Madly,” Henry couldn’t help but correct.

“Good.”

He took her hand in his and she allowed him with a roll of her eyes.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, pulling her toward him.

“Maybe,” she said, resisting the pull but enjoying the failure.

He stole a light kiss from her lips. “Maybe not. You’re partying too much.”

“Oh, Lord, spare me,” Henry groaned.

“And me,” Lucy added, turning away when Florence gave in and wrapped her arms around Emory’s neck before burying her face there.

“Can we go straight home? We need rest,” her cousin inquired.

“Why? More parties tomorrow?” Emory asked.

“No,” Florence replied, pulling back to look at him. “Not after tonight. But we’re invited to the Remington Masked Ball in two weeks. Are you attending?”

“No.” Something flashed in his eyes as he answered, but it disappeared as he smiled at her.

---

Emory held Florence’s hand as they rode down the streets of Coulway. Her head resting on his shoulder, she talked about what she and Lucy had been doing while he was gone, their argument completely forgotten—or brushed aside for now.

He understood her sentiments. He had promised to see her as soon as he arrived, and he didn’t. Of course, she was disappointed.

When she fell asleep on his shoulder, his thoughts drifted away as Lucy and Henry talked about something else.

He couldn’t tell Florence about the issues in court, or the suspicions surrounding her and the Gavarian Empire. He could only hope for her understanding once she learned about them.

Looking down at her hand wrapped in his, his lips pursed.

She might face some trouble after what he did tonight. When Henry came out and told him she refused to leave the party, he jumped out of the carriage without thinking. He did place her in an awkward situation. Everyone would be talking about tonight tomorrow.

But things would get better. People would soon see why she was fit to be queen.

When the carriage slowed to a stop outside her villa, Henry jumped out and assisted Lucy down.

“I’ll go straight to my room. Thank you for the ride home,” Lucy said, rushing through the door.

Emory placed a hand against Florence’s face and gently whispered in her ear. “Lori, wake up. We’re here.”

She moaned, snuggling closer.

He smiled, lifting her head off his shoulder. “Lori.”

Finally, she opened her eyes and sleepily blinked at him.

“Ten minutes,” Henry told him as he helped Florence climb down. “Emory, ten minutes.”

He ignored his cousin.

“I’ll come and drag you out of there in ten minutes.”

“Fine, fine,” he murmured.

---

Florence smiled sleepily as they walked down the corridor to her room. Outside the door, she turned and smiled at him. “Have a good night—”

His mouth captured the rest of her words, his long fingers snaking through her hair as he cupped her face. “We have a few minutes,” he whispered into her mouth.

At that moment, when she was supposed to be in total bliss, Florence froze and stiffened in his hold. The fog from her sleep completely evaporated. He leaned back, frowning at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her brow twitched up at him. “Did you or did you not meet with Tatiana Temple?”

His frown deepened. “I have not met her since we ended things, which was months before I met you.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“What made you think I did?” She couldn’t answer because suddenly, she was embarrassed. He smiled, tracing her brow with a finger. “You’re catching too many useless gossips.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth, smiled when she kept them tightly closed. “What have you been thinking while I was away?”

“Killing you,” she murmured. “By all means possible.”

“Hm,” he hummed, kissing the tip of her nose.

“Strangulation, poison in your tea or a snake bite, decapitation—”

His shoulders shook as he soundlessly laughed, one arm wounding around her, the other tilting her head as his lips coaxed hers to open, and when they did, the laughter disappeared, replaced by a sound that was half-sigh, half-groan.

He pressed her gently against the door, guided her arms around his shoulders. His hand traced down her back and up again. He stepped closer, pressing into her. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the evidence of his arousal through the layers between them.

The sensations that ran through her felt like the first jump into a freezing pond in the middle of winter. Emory rolled his hips and his breaths came in sharp bursts into her neck, her soft whimpers echoing down the corridor.

But she didn’t hear it as blood surged in her ears. Her brain could only focus on too many things, and at that moment, nothing could pull her away from the strange restlessness. This was not their first kiss, but it felt new, and she wanted to do something… Something more.

“Shh,” he laughingly whispered in her ear when she let out a frustrated moan.

“Don’t shush me,” she choked out. The door rattled behind her when she wound her arms around his neck and took him with her as she fell back. She took in a sharp breath when he kneaded her breast over her dress, the sensation confusing her. It felt like torture and yet deliriously exquisite and thrilling. She swallowed. “What are we doing?” she asked.

A let out a tortured groan. “Nothing. Because we can’t do anything,” he added with a bitter bite in his voice. “We’re just…” He bit on her lower lip. “Feeling…”

But it didn’t feel like just simple feeling . Whatever he was doing felt bigger than just feeling .

His hands were everywhere, his hips restless. His mouth moist and open on her neck, she felt his shaky breaths blow hotly against her skin. She whimpered as his hand gripped her hips, digging through the layers of fabric, gripping hard as his hips grew fervent, insistent.

Her hands twisted in his hair as she started to feel the heat build between them.

Then it all stopped.

He hips pulled away all of a sudden.

She swayed forward at the loss of him. He quickly caught her and held her steady, then let go, running his fingers through his hair with a shaky breath.

Florence looked up at him, feeling like he just snatched something from her grasps, leaving her with nothing but a feeling of loss. An emptiness she couldn’t put into words. “What’s the matter?” Panting, she watched him close his eyes and bend his head. “Did I do something wrong?”

His eyes snapped open, and the fire she saw in their depths was a mixture of lust and confusion. “Why do you ask that?”

“Ask what?”

“If you did something wrong.”

She awkwardly laughed, hands trembling with unspent desire. “Because I’m curious.”

“No, Lori. You don’t ask me things like this when we’re out there,” he said, pointing with his finger. “But when we’re like this—” He stepped closer, cupping her face, and she realized he was also shaking, “When we’re close like this, you question yourself.” She opened her mouth to answer and received a punishing kiss in return. “Don’t. You’re perfect.”

All their lives, she and her sisters were taught everything they needed to do to please their future husbands. Those things ought to give them the confidence, but the opposite was the case. Everything she thought she knew was nothing compared to what Emory was showing her. She was taught how to cooperate, how to be accepting. Tolerant. Submissive.

No one told her how she should feel. And right now, Emory was making her feel too many things at once, and she was afraid she was losing control. She couldn’t assess if she was doing things right.

“I’m not perfect,” she whispered.

“Why?” he asked, kissing her. “You’re too stubborn? Too short? Too blond—” He laughed when she pushed him away. “But you’re going to be queen so why bloody care?”

This time, she laughed.

“Shh,” he shushed, placing a finger over her lips “You’ll wake the house.” The fire in his eyes was still there, and she knew hers was still burning. He gave her an apologetic smile. “Are you all right?”

“No, of course not,” she hissed. “I don’t understand why we had to stop.”

He buried his face in her neck to muffle a frustrated groan. He wrapped his arms around her tightly. “You don’t know how much I missed you, do you?”

“No, not really. You took a while to see me.”

He kissed her neck and his mouth traced a trail to her mouth. “I’m sorry.” His hands tightened on her hips. He looked down and fixed the top layer of her dress.

“What’s this?” he asked with a frown.

She looked down. “Oh. It’s wine. I fell to the floor—”

“Fell where?”

“It’s Josie—”

His face darkened. “Josie who?”

“A dog.”

His scowled turned into a baffled look.

“It’s a long story,” she said, taking his hand. “I’ll walk you to the door.” He laughed when she pulled him toward her door.

“Lori, don’t tempt me,” he said darkly, pulling them both away from her door.

She chuckled and led him back to the stairs.

“I won’t be able to see you for a while,” he told her.

Her heart sank. “The Clover says so?”

He scoffed. “And they all think I’m the king. In fact, I’ll be in trouble after they learn of my little adventure in Picadilly.”

“I’m sure they have good reasons.”

His jaw twitched, but he said nothing. They paused at the top of the stairs. “Go to your room. I’ll see myself out.” He cupped her face again and gave her a stern look. “No Picadilly for now, please.”

She rolled her eyes.

“And no parties with gentlemen from Butler.”

“The dashing gentlemen from Butler,” she corrected and laughed when he gave her cheeks a squeeze.

He raised her hand and checked the dance card still attached to her wrist. With a satisfied smile, he commented, “I’m surprised you’re keeping one promise.”

“Too clean, isn’t it?”

“Keep it clean. Your first dance in Coulway should be in Cloveshire.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “In your wedding gown.” Another kiss. “With a crown on your head.”

She chuckled. “Well, then, I guess I’ll have to choose you over the dashing gentlemen of Butler.”

He laughed against her lips. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rising on her toes as he pulled her closer.

“Can we not wed now?” she groaned.

“There are things I need to do first. I’m meeting the chamberlain soon. Do you want your family here for the wedding?”

She snorted. “You mean half of Gavaria?”

His laughter echoed in the empty hall below.

“But we can have a Gavarian wedding after. Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

“Even more reason to have a second wedding.”

He tucked her hair behind one ear and smiled. “If you want it.”

“I do.” She reached out to fix his hair, then groaned. “What do I tell everyone now? This is all your fault.”

He gave her an apologetic smile. “I shouldn’t have gone inside that ballroom.”

“I have to deal with the repercussions.”

“We can’t make an announcement yet, so it is safe to keep quiet.”

“They will speculate.”

“Then let them.”

“The gossips will be horrible.”

“I know and I’m sorry you will have to deal with them.” Kissing her, he added, “But tell me if they make it difficult for you.”

“Will you pay for the damages?”

“Gladly.”

She smiled and kissed his chin. “How?”

“Emory!” Henry hissed from downstairs. “Emory!”

Emory sighed. “I have to go.”

They both looked down and found Henry scowling at them from downstairs, surrounded by dozens of flowers that filled the hall.

Her gaze shot daggers down at her friend as Emory stole a kiss from her cheek and bounded down the stairs. Henry gave her a taunting smile and a mocking, deep bow. “Say your goodbyes, Princess. You won’t be seeing him for quite some time.”

As Emory reached him, Henry asked, “Are these blasted flowers from you?”

Emory did not reply. He merely looked up and gave Florence a wave, a small smile on his face.

Her smile died as they disappeared from the hall. She brushed aside the empty feeling with a sigh and returned to her room alone.

Emory was not telling her something. She could feel it as much as she felt her secret catching up on her.

---

A/N

I asked my sister (who doesn’t even read my stories) if I should post tonight. She said yes (because she just wants to and doesn’t really care if I post or not). So here it is. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

XXIII. To Swim With Fishes

Emory sat in his winged chair as Fairborne gave him a report. “Prince Steffan is currently being questioned along with his men.”

“Obviously not pleased, I guess?”

“Certainly. He demands to see, but we told him it has to wait.”

“But he’s cooperating?”

“Yes. In exchange, he wants the princess to stay where she is.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“He told us it’s a matter only you and him can discuss.”

Emory leaned back in his chair. “How long until you can clear him?”

“Three days. There is not much to discover on the ship. Their papers show just a brief stop in England. His entourage as not questionable as well.”

He nodded slowly. “Tell me the moment he can step on Sutherland soil.”

Fairborne made a motion to leave, paused, and cleared his throat. “We heard you went to see the princess.”

“Only to take her out of Picadilly,” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

“We agreed that you stay away for a while.”

“You suggested that I do. It wasn’t an order, was it?”

The man sighed. “Still, the Clover insists that you stay away until she is cleared. Just a few more days, Sir, and we’ll hear from our men in London.”

“How many days?”

“I can’t tell. The ship from London—”

“I’ve been very patient, Fairborne. Give me a number.”

“A week the most.”

Emory just gave him a curt nod.

“Fairborne,” he called as the man retreated. “Will you make sure to keep an extra eye on the Grand Princess? People will make it difficult for her now that they’re almost certain who she is. My fault, of course. Provide more security.”

The man nodded and left. Not long after, the royal chamberlain, Lord Tisdale, walked in, and the old man blinked back in surprise when Emory told him, “Make preparations for the royal wedding.”

“So it’s true?”

“Of course, it’s true,” he said. “There are just a few things the Clover has to take care of. Just a few more days, and we’ll announce the engagement.”

Tisdale recovered fast and nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. Is there more?”

“Prepare the Ivory House for the Grand Princess.”

“Yes, of course. Right away, Sir.” Tisdale stepped forward. “Err. When do you want the wedding, Your Majesty?”

Emory smiled at him. “How soon can you make it happen?”

---

Florence did not go to Artemis for the next three days. She was afraid to face the ladies, most especially her friends. But on the fourth day, she dressed up.

A surprised Lucy blinked at her over breakfast. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“There’s no reason to trap myself inside the villa and the smell of rotting flowers.”

“What if they ask you questions? Surely, they will. You said so yourself. We cannot confirm your betrothal yet for security reasons.”

“And we won’t.” She smiled over her tea. “I’ll just pretend nothing happened.”

And much to her surprise, so did the ladies in Artemis. No one—not a soul—asked her directly. However, a few dropped comments like, “I was not aware you are well acquainted with His Majesty,” to which she could only respond with, “Oh, I’ve known him since I was a child. So did many of the members of the imperial family, of course.”

It wasn’t a lie, really, and could be construed in multiple ways.

Her initial relief to the lack of flock when she returned to Artemis, however, was dampened by her friends’ obvious avoidance. Of course, Marjorie was quite curious about the incident during her mother’s party, but she didn’t give it voice. Nor did she, and Karenina, and Augustine say anything at all. In fact, they tried their best to stay out of the same room as Florence, and Florence had too much pride in her to chase them around.

What would she tell them? Sorry? For what? She couldn’t tell them the truth, could she? Not yet, anyway.

This is all Emory

’s fault, she whined in her head by the end of the week.

And what a week it had been!

No one confronted her, but everyone surely started to treat her differently. These women were not fools. They were all almost certain about who she was. Most of them didn’t know how to talk to her anymore. Everything was better when they thought she was just a princess from Gavaria.

There were some, however, who pretended that they didn’t know. And they were the worst of the lot. They would talk about the king and their speculations openly, as if Florence and Lucy were not in the room.

She relayed her frustrations to Ellise Dior one morning during fencing lesson. The woman nodded and said not a word.

“I’d prefer if you speak your mind,” she pleaded, desperate for advice.

“There is nothing I can say that will change your situation,” Ellise said. “To some of these women, you lied to them. And they’ll feel worse when the truth is confirmed. You can apologize, of course, and since you shall be their future queen, they will have no choice but to accept it gracefully.”

That did not make her feel good at all. “But?”

“But to most of them, you have become something else. You are now an object of their envy. And if you ask me, it is better to have them filtered out this early. You wouldn’t want such women in your court.”

“But I want them to like me,” she murmured dejectedly.

Ellise Dior chuckled. “You like being liked.”

“No. I don’t like being hated.”

The woman sighed. “They’ll get over it. I’m sure you know how these spectacles among women go, being a Grand Princess.”

“Well, yes, but it’s very different here. In Gavaria, I had a voice among my equals. Here, I have to keep it all in and it’s quite frustrating.”

“You simply have to wait to be queen. Then you will have a voice.”

That evening, while Florence sat with Lucy in the hall of Artemis, in one of the multiple seating areas, of posh chairs arranged in small circles, a few women walked out of the corridor, signaling the end of that night’s games.

With drinks in hand, they went to their usual seats, talking and laughing. Marjorie and Karenina greeted them, acknowledging their presence, but did not stay to seat in their usual seats, giving a frail excuse that Augustine called for them.

“Err, you can join us,” Karenina offered, although it was obvious she was hoping for the opposite.

Florence looked over to where Augustine sat with five or six other members. “Perhaps later, Karenina,” she said with a smile with a stinging pain in her chest.

“Perhaps later then,” Marjorie said, not meeting her gaze before awkwardly walking away.

“Maybe we should go home,” Lucy whispered as their friends settled with the other group.

Florence wasn’t sure she wanted to go home. She wanted to stay and face these women like she would if she were in Gavaria—with pride because she had every right to be here. A part of her wanted to belong again. She wanted to be called and asked to sing for them again.

But the thought of the peace and quiet of the villa was too tempting, even more so when Tatiana Temple appeared from a corridor and settled in a winged chair by the fire, graceful as ever in a burgundy dress, a glass of wine in hand.

“I heard a rumor that the king’s disappearance was because of an assassination attack,” one woman said, too loud that everyone in the hall heard. Lady Regina Clay, Tatiana Temple’s best friend. She was sitting a mere seat away from Tatiana, who remained quiet with a smile.

A few ladies gasped, even those from the other groups.

“How true is it, Lady Regina?” one asked, gripping the back of her chair.

“Who could be behind it?”

“Is it the French?”

Lady Regina shrugged, enjoying the attention. She gulped down her wine and swallowed. The other ladies grimaced as they waited. Everyone knew Lady Regina was not a good drunk and would usually stay out of her way when it was nearing midnight. But she was a reliable source of gossip with both brothers in the House of Lords.

“They say it’s being investigated, but I heard that they’ve captured a few nationals involved,” Regina said, ringing for more drinks.

“Who?” a few eagerly asked.

“One from France, I heard.”

“Of course.”

“Another from the Americas.” Her eyes went straight to Florence and Lucy. “And one from Gavaria.”

Florence went cold. A Gavarian? Her heart hammered against her chest as Regina tore her gaze off Florence, once more pretending that she wasn’t in the room. She could feel eyes staring from around the room and she wanted to melt into the cushions.

“Then it must be true!” someone said. “I heard my brother talking about a Gavarian ship being held back from Sutherland.”

“The more reason we can’t have a foreign queen,” Regina said, sharing a smile with Tatiana and the others. “No French, no Americans. No Gavarian. None of them.”

Florence swallowed, blinking against the hot tears threatening to pool her eyes. Was this why Emory couldn’t see her? Was this what he was dealing with? Because if it were true, and a Gavarian tried to kill him, he would have a hard time convincing people to accept a Gavarian queen.

“You should not have left him, dear,” Regina told Tatiana. “He was heartbroken when you ended it with him, wasn’t he?”

Tatiana merely shook her head and said, “It is all in the past, Regina.”

“If you didn’t leave the man, he would have married you. It was only a matter of time. Your family came from a royal bloodline, anyway, so trust me when I say that none of us would care if you’re untitled or not. You could have been a great queen!”

Florence saw Marjorie, Karenina, and Augustine turned on their seats at Regina’s words. And she felt their eyes on her, too. Was it concern? But they didn’t move. No one did.

How could these women deliberately hurt her like this? She couldn’t imagine herself doing it, not even on someone she loathed.

Was this how she had to pay for keeping secrets?

“I guess you’ve had enough wine for tonight, Regina,” Tatiana told her friend.

“I’m feeling quite fine, Tatiana,” said Regina, standing and looking around the room. She stumbled a little, but she managed to keep her grace, then stopped, facing Florence. “You’re a foreigner, aren’t you, Princess? Gavarian?”

“Yes,” Florence said, lifting her chin, although her teeth chattered a little. She hated not being confident. She hated being cornered like this.

“Is Lorraine even your real name? We barely got to know you, you know.” Regina snickered when Florence remained quiet. “Oh, my dear, you’ll have a terrible time proving yourself,” Regina said.

“Lady Regina…” someone tried to stop her.

“What? I just said what everyone of you is thinking!” The woman laughed. “You’re all hypocrites.”

Florence balled her fist into the folds of her skirt. No one had ever treated her like this in Gavaria. She only stayed seated because Lucy grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“I agree. We’re all hypocrites.”

Florence’s heart stopped when she saw who spoke. Marjorie had shot to her feet, her face red as she glared at Regina. Karenina and Augustine, who followed to stop her, came to a halt when Marjorie stood in front of the woman, eyes sharp and on fire.

“We all liked the princess when she first came here. We were all eager to be with her because of her status,” she said, waving a hand in Florence’s direction.

“Darling, Marjorie, she made a fool of us all.” Regina turned to look at the other ladies. “Can we all stop pretending that we don’t know who she really is? We all heard the rumor. The king’s betrothed is Gavarian, and she’s the only Gavarian princess in town!”

“True or not, she has reasons we are not aware of,” Karenina piped in, joining Marjorie.

“She would have told us if she could,” Augustine added from where she stood. “Have you heard her defend herself? No, because she cannot.”

“And that should remain to be so!” Regina said with a laugh. “She shouldn’t be queen! She’s a bloody foreigner!”

The ladies gasped at Regina’s words.

“She has been nothing but nice to us!” Karenina said, eyes welling with tears now.

But Marjorie was mad. Furious as she looked around the room. “You’re not angry because she’s Gavarian. That’s simply a convenient excuse to despise her. But the truth is, Lady Regina, all of you want to be in her shoes. You’re green with envy. Admit it.”

“Marjorie,” Florence said, standing up. “It’s quite all right.”

Her friend looked at her incredulously. “No, it’s not. They’ve gone too far—”

“Oh, look at her, trying to be all graceful, making us all look petty,” Regina said, looking at Florence, lips twisted in disgust.

Florence closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she faced Regina, all the while aware that she had everyone’s attention. “All my life, I was raised to not swim with fishes,” she said, looking Regina in the eye, letting her words sink in, enjoying the rise of color in the woman’s face. “But I naively thought I could jump in and join them.” She looked around the room. “I truly thought I could grow fins, and I never fully understood my father’s warnings until now.” Her eyes settled on Tatiana for a second before she veered her gaze back to Regina. “I hoped the fishes can teach me how to swim. It never crossed my mind that they bite and are strong enough to drown me in their murky depths.”

Lifting her chin, she forced a smile. The room had gone utterly quiet as she said her last word. Fighting back tears, Florence gave her friends a grateful smile before turning around, gracefully walking away.

Lucy was fast behind her. “That was great. You put them in their place without saying anything you shouldn’t,” her cousin said.

She just smiled as they waited for their coats, blinking back tears.

Gabrielle was waiting for them outside. “What happened?” the woman asked, frowning at her face, then at the door of the club behind her.

“Nothing,” she said, looking around for their carriage.

“I’ll escort Lady Lucy home,” said Gabrielle.

“What do you mean?”

Gabrielle had a wry look on her face as she gestured her head toward an unmarked carriage.

Florence instantly knew who it was.

“Go,” her cousin whispered with a push.

And so she swallowed the tears and went.

XXIV. Good Night

Emory did not expect her to greet him with a question. “Why are you here?”

He waited until she settled beside him and the carriage door closed. “You don’t know why I’m here.”

She smiled, but it was didn’t reach her eyes. “Tell me why you’re here, then.”

He sighed. “I’m here to tell you we can finally announce our engagement soon.”

She sighed, then groaned. “Why couldn’t it have been much earlier?”

“Why? What happened?”

Florence shook her head. “None I cannot handle,” she said, and before he could ask more, she broke into a bright smile. “Surely you have another reason to see me.” She looped her arm around his. “Tell me.” She tilted her head to peer at his face.

“It never crossed your mind, did it?”

“What?” she laughingly asked.

Emory shifted in his seat, suddenly embarrassed. “I can’t believe you forgot.”

“What is it?” she asked, shaking his arm. “Tell me!”

Rolling his eyes, he said, “Two months ago tonight—on the balcony in Winfield.” He couldn’t quite tell her directly.

But when she slowly nodded her head, looking baffled, saying, “Yes?” he couldn’t help but scowl.

“You know what happened there.”

“Of course. How could I forget?” she asked, face flushing. “You gave me a gift, and you told me I’ll be your queen.”

“That’s it, then.”

Her brows dipped into a frown. “What’s it?”

He pinched his nose and groaned. “God, this is embarrassing.”

“Emory, I don’t really understand—”

“It’s been two months, Lori, that’s all I’m saying.”

She chuckled, looking completely lost.

He let out an exasperated breath. “Never mind. I think you’re just laughing at how ridiculous I am at this point.”

“I swear I’m not! Tell me. Please.”

“We’re on a milestone.”

Her face suddenly lit up. “We’re on a milestone,” she repeated with wonder. “That’s why you’re here. We’re celebrating it.”

“I’m no longer in the mood,” he said with a sigh.

He felt her laughter as she pressed a kiss on his cheek. “You are too sweet.” Laying her head on his shoulder, she murmured, “Being with you makes me forget. Have I told you that?”

Planting a kiss on her head, he pulled her closer. “What do you want to do tonight? And don’t say you want to swim in the fountain. I’m not up for that.”

Her laughter filled his otherwise boring carriage. “Can we go for a ride around the town? I want to see it with you.”

He could tell she was bothered as she watched the Coulway night scene through the window. Her gaze was distant, and it took her a while to realize he called her name.

But before he could ask, she smiled at him and said, “Do you know that the Artemis has rooms named after goddesses?”

“Yes, but I forgot.”

“Of course, you did, you forgetful man.” She told him about Hestia, and Demeter, and Aphrodite, and Athena and Eris.

“A room of chaos.”

“Yes. It is where we let everything out. Every frustration, anger, disappointment… Anything we cannot display to the ever graceful society.”

“Have you used it?”

She smiled at him. “What do you think?”

He scoffed. “Of course, you did.”

“When you feel too much that you cannot even shed a tear, or when you’re too helpless to do anything, you’re left with no choice but to break or wreck something, otherwise you destroy yourself. Or relief. I can’t explain it.” He could tell she was trying to make light of it all by laughing. “I’ve thrown plates on the walls, imagining your face printed on them.”

Emory let her laughter fade before he took her hand in his. “Lori.”

“Hm?” she asked, turning to him with a smile.

He pulled her close. “Something troubles you. Tell me.”

“Nothing troubles me.”

“Lori, you’re a terrible liar.”

She sighed. “I am, aren’t I?” Somehow, the way she said it bothered him.

He cupped her face and forced her to face him. “What is it?”

She moistened her lips, her eyes wandering downward. He was certain she was having troubles with the ladies in Artemis, but he had to be careful how to address this. Florence had the right to deal with it on her own, and if she thought she could, he would let her. Her next words, however, surprised him. “You told me you ended things with Tatiana Temple.”

His jaw tightened. Suddenly, he wanted to find the people who were still spreading rumors that were most certainly bothering her. “I did.”

“They say she did.” He frowned. “And that you took it hard.”

Emory shook his head. “Tatiana and I had an arrangement. She knew from the start that I never stay long with a lover. I ended things. I continued on with my duties. Then I met you.”

She nodded, and he peered down to catch her gaze. “There’s more you’re not telling me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I understand that men, even when married, would want another bed. As a Gavarian, I should completely accept it, but I don’t think I can.”

“What are you trying to say?”

When her eyes met his again, stern and determined, he knew this woman could take on anyone without his help. Anyone in that club trying to make an enemy out of her would not be so lucky.

And at that moment, he had a taste of what her enemies might soon have to suffer: fear.

“I’m saying that if I were to be your queen, I will also demand to be your wife in every sense. I will do my duties to the nation, but I will also do my duties as your wife. And I assure you, I shall do it as best as I can. Now, if you find me not be enough, and if you think—even at the slightest—that you would like to take on another lover, I’m telling you now, Emory, that I will not take it lightly. Just because I’m Gavarian, do not think that I will be fine with it. I will not be. I chose you because I don’t share. I refuse to share. And I will not.”

Emory blinked at her, and he bit the smile off his lips, seeing she was utterly serious. “Are you quite done?”

Her brow twitched. “For now.”

“Good. Because we’re here.”

She looked behind her and her face filled with disappointment as the carriage came to a stop outside the villa. He escorted her inside, telling Marius he would be gone a while.

They silently walked upstairs and stopped outside her room.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he opened the door and entered.

Locking it behind them, he said, “It’s my turn to say something.”

He heard her swallow in the darkness.

“As a king, I take my duties seriously. And as your king, I will do the same. But as your husband, I will be different.”

“I don’t like what I’m hearing, Emory.”

He pulled her toward him, leaned against the door. “The nation will have my loyalty, as will you. Sutherland shall not have all of me for the rest of its existence, but you will.”

She blinked up at him, speechless.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I honestly don’t know. It’s nice to hear that now, but what if you grow tired of me?”

“And what if you grow tired of me?”

“I know where my loyalty lies.”

“Then please, if you can, stop questioning mine.” He bent down and kissed her, the movement of his lips delicate. Desperate, even. The violent need for her to believe him was surprising. “What can I do for you to forget those women?” he whispered.

“I don’t want to forget them,” she said, lips smiling against his. “I would have to know where to search in case you go missing in five years.”

He groaned in both frustration and laughter. “Lori, I’m being serious.”

“And I am.” Her arms slipped around his neck and she leaned into him. “I don’t want you to make promises. I’m just telling you what’s on my mind.”

“You’re all I want,” he said, searching her mouth.

He pushed from the door, held her close as he guided her to the bed.

She pushed against his chest with a laugh. “Aren’t you going home?”

“I am, but let me say good night,” he whispered, voice thick and dark. Catching her breath with his mouth, he kissed her, mouth savage and bold. They fell into the bed, their chuckles instantly dying as their mouths found each other again.

---

Florence woke up the next morning with a smile. Burying her face in the pillow, she squealed with delight, then got quiet and bit her lip as the memories from last night came back to her. She rolled on her back, hands on her stomach.

Heat rose to her cheeks, thinking of everything she had never thought she’d ever feel with a man. And last night, Emory proved that it was possible. Well, she was quite certain he held back and did not show her everything, but his mouth and hands, and the words he whispered in passion, definitely gave her a promise that whatever was left would be as magical.

The door burst open and Lucy rushed in. “He’s on his way here.”

“Who?”

“The king! Who else?” Her cousin rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why he’s waiting for a royal wedding when he clearly can’t stay away from you for so long. You were together just last night—” Florence excitedly slipped out of bed and shrugged into a coat. Then, with a sigh, Lucy said, “Obviously, he’s not alone. You’re just as intoxicated.”

“He told me last night we can finally announce the engagement.”

“Good. Did you tell him about what happened in Artemis?”

She shook her head, walking over to the dresser. “He doesn’t have to know. I can deal with it on my own.”

Lucy smiled and shook her head. “Very well. I’ll have your maid help you dress.”

Brushing her hair, Florence smiled at her reflection. Her hair had grown a little longer, but it needed a little fixing. When she cut it short in England months ago, she wasn’t really planning on being queen. It was out of desperation. She needed an easy disguise.

It felt so long ago—Lucy’s accident in London, them escaping in the middle of the night. The fear that drove them to Sutherland.

It all happened so fast and passed just as quickly when she met Emory in Birchfield.

Her smile faded, her reality slowly creeping in again. Birchfield, then Coulway, and the drama in Artemis… It all felt like a dream. Even last night, when Emory dressed her in her nightdress and held her hand before she fell asleep, felt surreal.

The maid arrived and helped her dress, also doing her hair, pinning just enough pearls and refusing to add more when Florence wanted more. “You can’t look like a pear with a head, Your Highness.”

She went down to share breakfast with Lucy. Her face flushed when her cousin asked about last night and avoided the subject by asking if it would be all right if they invited their friends over for tea soon.

“It was very sweet of them to defend me like that. I didn’t expect it.”

“I was surprised as well. They had been avoiding you all week.”

“I’m sure they just didn’t know how to act around me. But that will soon change. I can tell them everything once the engagement is announced.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Do you suppose they’ll agree to be my ladies-in-waiting?”

“It would be an honor.”

“And you? Will you stay here with me? I wouldn’t want to keep you away from Gavaria if you want to go home, Lucy.”

Her cousin grinned. “Are you jesting? Of course, I’ll stay and be your lady-in-waiting. Why would I go home when I can find a husband for myself here?”

“Once I’m married, that shall be our goal,” she promised with a laugh.

Much later, as they were having tea in the parlor, Florence frequently looking out the window. And finally, when his carriage rolled past, she jumped to her feet, making Lucy laugh incredulously.

“I’m famished,” Henry said as he entered.

“There’re biscuits and tea in the parlor,” she said as he walked past without giving her a proper greeting. Just like he would when they were in Birchfield.

Emory entered, and she grinned as the maid helped her with his coat. Walking toward her, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her.

“What brings you here?”

“I have a surprise.”

“Another milestone to celebrate?” she teased.

He touched the tip of her nose before shaking his head. “No. Better.”

The sound of another carriage stopping outside gave her pause. Emory turned, opening her view to the door.

“They are fresh off the ship,” she heard Emory say.

Florence’s smile froze when she saw the man jumping out of the carriage. And her heart stopped when she saw the look on his face as he stalked up the steps to the door. “S-Steffan,” she managed before another man climbed out of the carriage looking like he would rather be anywhere than here. “C-Cassian?”

His brothers stepped through the doors and approached him and Emory.

She was very much different from her brothers in looks and height. While she was short with blond hair, her brothers were far taller, their built lean and solid from all the physical sports they enjoyed in Gavaria, their hair and eyes dark brown, almost black when indoors. They towered over most men, even Emory by an inch.

Of course, it was a surprise that Cassian was here, but she didn’t really mind that. She knew how to deal with Cassian, and he always seemed to be on her side. But Steffan she was afraid of. As Gavaria’s Crown Prince, he was the only one that could make her fear for her life. And as he stared at her, his eyes showing no feelings whatsoever, she knew she was in tremendous trouble.

For a moment, Steffan’s dark gaze left hers and he turned his head toward Emory. “We have much to discuss, Your Majesty,” he said, raising a hand when Florence opened her mouth to speak. “But if you would excuse me for a moment as I talk to my sister.”

Emory sensed her apprehension and said, “Whatever you discuss with the princess can be discussed with me.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Steffan said.

Somehow, Lucy heard the news from Henry, and she stumbled out of the parlor, face white as she saw her brothers.

Steffan grabbed Florence’s hand and pulled her toward him, grip tight and punishing. “Take me to a room, Florence,” he ordered.

“What’s going on?” Emory asked, brow furrowed, face darkening as he stared at them.

And that’s when Cassian stepped in. He always took care of awkward situations. With a smile, he said to Emory, “We apologize, Your Majesty, but I promise that all is well. Just family matters. If you can wait while we…err… welcome each other and uh… sort out a few misunderstandings, my brother will explain everything.”

Steffan did not wait for Emory to speak. He pulled Florence down the hall. “Lead me to your room. Now.”

Lucy stepped aside with a flinch when they walked past.

“Again, apologies,” she heard Cassian say to everyone before he climbed up the stairs after them. “We’ll be right back. I give you my word.”

Reaching her room, her brother almost threw her inside. Cassian dutifully closed the door and locked it.

She knew what she was going to say before her brother could speak. She had practiced it many times in her head.

“Emory is honoring our betrothal. He is announcing the engagement soon.”

That gave Steffan pause. Cassian blinked at her in surprise. “You’re getting married?”

“Yes!”

“To the king?”

“Yes!”

Cassian turned to Steffan. “Is that not a good thing?”

“Of course, it is!” Florence said. “It’s better than—”

“Stop talking, the two of you,” Steffan ordered, lips barely moving. He stepped closer to Florence, and she hated that she took a step back in fear. “Do you realize the trouble you caused us back home?”

“Steffan, did you not hear what I just said? He’s going to marry me. Father will—”

“Don’t speak a word. You’ve done enough.” He turned around and told Cassian to stay with her.

“Steffan, please be reasonable—”

“Stay in this room, Florence,” he said, ignoring her objections.

“Where are you going?”

“To clean up your bloody mess.”

Desperation and fear boiled inside her. Then she felt the world crumble around her when he slammed the door behind him as he walked out. She couldn’t breathe as doom finally fell upon her.

“What have you been thinking?” Cassian hissed, running his fingers through his hair.

She turned to her brother, tears falling down her eyes. She couldn’t think. Her mind was with Steffan now making his way to Emory to tell him everything. All the lies and deceit. All her secrets. She gripped Cassian’s arm tightly. “Please, Cass, you have to help me.”

Her brother’s face softened. He sighed, shaking his head. Before he even said the words, Florence felt defeat crush her heart. “As much as I want to, Florence, I can’t.”

Her brother wiped the tears off her face with his hand. “You’ve done something stupid and reckless, Flo. I can’t help you with this one.” As she fell into his arms, burying her face in his chest, he held her tightly.

“Then just take me away from here. I don’t—I can’t bear. I c-can’t face him again after today. I can’t.”

“Then he doesn’t know?” When she didn’t answer, Cassian sighed. “Things are only going to be more difficult for you from now on.”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t leave Sutherland as fast as we can. We have to stay a little longer.” He held her away from him to look her in the eye. “The emperor is on his way.”

Her ears rang, and a chill ran through her. “He’s coming?”

“His ship is merely a few weeks behind.”

And that was when Florence realized it was over.

---

“I deeply apologize for my rude behavior,” Prince Steffan said as he stood straight in the middle of the small study.

The doors were locked, Emory was seated in a winged chair by the fire.

He had to contain his own anger for many reasons. For one, Sutherland had treated the prince and his entourage like criminals before giving entry. Second, he had not been completely graceful dealing with his sister. Third—well, the man was going to be his brother-in-law, and he would not wish to start with animosity.

Brushing off the man’s complete disregard for his authority earlier, Emory nodded and quietly accepted the apology.

“And I would also like to apologize for my sister’s childish actions.”

“She can be a little childish, but I wouldn’t fault her for that.”

“I don’t think you understand,” said Steffan, stepping closer. “And by your reaction, I suppose she has not told you the truth.”

Emory always believed that he could sense tragedy, but he started to question that ability when he almost died during the assassination attempt. At that moment, however, his senses were screaming in alarm. And fool that he was, he wanted to ignore them. Wanted to believe that everything was fine.

But he had to ask the question. “What truth?”

Too many answers. She could have lied about her birthright. She could be a bastard. He was fine with that. She might not be the real Grand Princess. And good God, he wouldn’t even mind that, too.

“Did you really think the emperor would send the Grand Princess to a faraway land without an entourage?”

Very well, she was the Grand Princess. Her papers did not lie.

“Florence ran away, brought our cousin along with her.” Steffan’s jaw tightened. “And God only knows how they survived for nearly a year.”

He blinked. “A year?”

Steffan nodded.

“The emperor did not send her here to claim the betrothal?”

“No.”

His jaw tightened. Silence fell between them for a few breaths. Steffan was graceful enough to give him time to process his thoughts. Every fiber in his being didn’t want to ask. But even if he didn’t, he knew Steffan would give him the answer.

Something snapped inside him, and suddenly he was the king again—rational, cold, and unfeeling. It was as if his mind knew he needed protection for what would come next.

“And why did she run away from home?”

“She’s arranged to be married to another man.”

---

A/N

Hello, my dears! I know, I know. You need more chapters. But you all have to wait for the next one. I have to make sure I’m giving you the best version of each chapter. As always, I’d appreciate your votes, comments, and shares!

Anyway, this chapter will be followed by an exclusive chapter, and it is the scene after the carriage ride. If you cannot read it, that’s fine. You will not miss anything from the plot. It’s just filled with steamy and cute scenes. But if you wish to support me, you can go ahead and read the chapter. I’ve decided to create steamy/mature scenes as exclusive contents from now on for this story and other future ones. The same will happen to my previous stories with the same scenes when I edit them in the future.

Have a great weekend!

J.D. Ruiz

Exclusive Content: Good Night

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXV. Bound

“After the emperor heard about the Belcourt Conflict, he made a decision to null your betrothal with my sister. I assume you have not received his letter?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t feel anything at this point. Well, there was one thing, and it was sitting heavily in his breast pocket—The ring he intended to slip through Florence’s finger, the one he told her about last night as she fell asleep. And the one he wanted to give her so she’d know who she belonged to. The one he planned to present to her after he had asked her brother for her hand.

Feeling like a fool, he managed to answer, “We were at the brink of a civil war. My mother controlled all communication in and out of the palace.”

Prince Steffan nodded. “What happened during the Belcourt Conflict was unfortunate, but you must understand why my father decided to end the betrothal. With all the unrest in Sutherland’s royal family, we couldn’t very well let one of our own join the fray.”

Emory’s jaw tightened, but he understood.

Steffan let out a sigh. “When my sister found out that she will no longer be marrying the Crown Prince of Sutherland, and that our father had decided to marry her off to a Gavarian lord, she didn’t take it well.” The man’s face softened a little. “I love my sisters, and Florence is the hardest to manage. She’s always up to something. But it still surprised me when she escaped the palace and ran away.”

His brow arched. “Manage?” he asked in an even, cold voice. “Women, like men, can think for themselves. You don’t manage them.”

“Then how do you wish us to manage them? Like the men in your kingdom? Secret mistresses and lovers, bastards left and right? We don’t have those in Gavaria.”

“Apparently, including freedom for your women. Your sister should be given the choice of whom to marry, as much as your men take liberties with the number of wives they can have.”

“Women belong with men and as men, we have to make certain we put them exactly where they can have security and protection.”

“Don’t dress control with claims of security and protection because women can destroy a kingdom if they set their mind to it. Trust me, I learned firsthand.”

Steffan shook his head. “I can only imagine the mess you had to deal with after what your mother and sister did. And look at the mess I have to deal with now simply because my sister took liberties. It’s frightening to think about what they can do if we give them more power.”

Emory chose to stay silent because he wanted this meeting to be over once and for all. He needed to be alone. He had to think.

“Gavaria and Sutherland are different in many ways, but we should both agree that as rulers, we do things that will ensure the future of the nation. Florence’s marriage to Lord Lennox will ensure our empire’s peace and prosperity.” Steffan continued, standing straight. “I’m sorry the notification did not reach you. Let me personally offer our sincerest apologies. In place of my father, the Emperor of Gavaria, I’m officially declaring that you are free of the betrothal. Moreover, I’m here to deliver the news that my father is on his way here.”

“Whatever for?” he asked.

“We know my sister had committed a grave act, and with that, the emperor would also like to extend his apology in person and to assure you that Gavaria shall remain Sutherland’s friend.”

He frowned. “I have no intentions of punishing the Grand Princess.”

“My father is mere weeks away behind us. He would be very glad as well.”

He didn’t have to welcome the emperor. Not after what had just happened, but maybe the man’s arrival would serve Sutherland best. They had much to discuss about Craig Martel.

But for now, he couldn’t stay in this villa. Not when Florence was just a floor above.

He had to leave.

Fast.

He stood, ending the conversation. “You will not fit in this villa,” he said indifferently. “I’ll send men to take you to the Ivory House where we welcome royal guests.”

“We do not have to—”

“That or the dungeon,” he said, giving the man no choice.

Steffan smiled. “Very well. If you wish to talk to my sister—”

“No,” he sharply cut in. “I am done here.” Jaw clenched and fingers stiff, he stalked to the door. Then stopped. “Why doesn’t she want to marry the man your father chose for her?”

When Steffan didn’t answer, he turned and realized the man couldn’t think of a reason.

“You did not ask?”

“Hugh Lennox is an honorable Gavarian lord. Very well-liked and commands Gavaria’s strongest army. I’m sure my sister’s childish refusal is purely coming from disappointment. She had always thought she’d marry a Sutherlander.”

“And how many wives does Hugh Lennox have?”

“Two. My sister will be his third.”

I chose you because I don

’t share. I refuse to share. And I will not.

Emory’s jaw twitched. “You do not know your sister, Prince Steffan,” he coldly said as he pulled at the door and rushed out.

This was not how he imagined his morning would go after last night.

---

Florence could only imagine Emory’s fury. The rage must be too intense. He did not even demand to see her. He just left.

She sat in the parlor with Lucy, their heads bent as Steffan paced in front of them, Cassian sitting across from them. This was perhaps the only time Cassian was sitting in the punishing side of the room.

“This will be the last time you’ll ever pull off something like this again. Both of you,” Steffan said her and Lucy. “From now on, you will do nothing but act remorseful. No accidents, no foolish acts. Do you understand?” When Florence remained silent, Steffan demanded, “Tell me you understand, Florence.”

She couldn’t find her voice for a moment. Of course, she would do anything to gain Emory’s forgiveness. She had been plagued by guilt ever since Birchfield. She would beg and grovel if she had to. What she refused to do, however, was marry Hugh Lennox.

“Why did you do it, Flo?” Cassian asked when she remained quiet. “All this trouble because you don’t want to marry Lennox?”

She glared at her brother. He should know why. “I will be nothing to Lennox but a property.” And then her eyes jumped to Steffan. “A trophy.”

“And you think the king will not treat you the same?” Steffan asked.

“Maybe,” she said, arching a brow as a tear fell off her face. “But at least I’ll have a crown over my head.”

Her brother’s jaw tightened. “Stop crying. Your tears are not going to work this time,” Steffan said, leaving the room.

Lucy gathered her in her arms as she cried. Everything she had feared had happened. How stupid of her to have thought her brother would understand. He was as heartless as the emperor.

“This is all for the best, Flo,” Cassian gently told her from where he sat. “If we were anyone less, I’d fight for you. But an entire empire and even Sutherland is at stake here.”

She sniffled. “I never imagine I’d hear that from you.”

Her brother sighed as his dark brown eyes regarded her with pity and tenderness. “We are who we are, Florence. We may pretend that we can do all the stupid things we do in the palace, but the fact still remains that we are bound to the empire.”

“I refuse to be bound,” she gritted out.

“Say that when Gavaria is at war because of you.” This might just be the first time she saw her brother so serious, even angry. And this was the first time the ramifications of her actions dawned on her.

It felt like something had crawled down her throat and found her heart, twisted it until the stinging pain shot to the tips of her fingers.

“And there’s the matter about Martel. The bastard was caught conniving with Sutherland enemies.” She blinked, remembering the rumors. “Once everyone hears of his involvement in the plot to kill the king, do you think they’d accept a Gavarian queen?” Cassian stood and came down in front of her. Taking her hand, he said, “We cannot escape it all, Flo. We are who we are.”

How naïve of her to think that her father would yield if she secured a promise from the king of Sutherland. Only in the novels could a damsel in distress find her happy ending. Only in fairy tales could a woman fight for herself.

“We’ll wait for the emperor and offer our deepest apologies to Sutherland. You’ll go through all the motions as befitting a Grand Princess. No more tricks this time or Steffan will kill us. Then, once we repair damages and re-establish friendship with Sutherland, we’ll leave peacefully.” Her brother squeezed her hands. He might as well have squeezed her heart. “And we’ll forget all of this ever happened. Do you understand?”

Tears streamed down her face. Her cousin held her tightly, also in tears.

When Cassian left the room, she had spent all her tears. And there was nothing left but defeat. Her body had gone numb. It was almost impossible to think that just hours ago, she woke up feeling like she was living in a dream. Now, she was in her worst nightmare.

---

The palace had the worst kitchen. Too huge, too far.

Did he have to walk a mile to fix himself a meal in the middle of the night? But the walk helped with the restlessness.

And the palace knew when to stay away whenever Emory sought the kitchen. It was where he could think. The smell of herbs and spices would give him an illusion that he was back in Birchfield. Alone. In many of those moments, the palace kitchen was good enough.

Apparently, not tonight. He paced, hands on his hips, unsure of what to do. He tried cutting vegetables, then threw the knife when he couldn’t decide what to make of them. Then he started to make dough, and cursed when he could not find water for the flour.

“I figured you’d be here,” Henry’s voice echoed from the doorway.

Emory’s jaw tightened, and he harshly brushed the mound of flour to the side, causing it to spread on the table. His cousin watched him as he paced, flour-covered hands on his hips.

“What happened?” Henry asked. “You did not say anything. No one said anything. Not even Lucy who just spent the entire time crying in the parlor. I think I’m the only one who left that villa ignorant of everything.”

“She lied,” he murmured.

“What?”

“She lied,” he repeated loudly. “She lied from the start.”

“Would you elaborate?”

Emory stared blankly at the floor. He didn’t even know what to think or feel at this point. All he could think about was that she was cruel. She had led him on like a bloody fool.

“Emory?”

He blinked and looked at his cousin. “Her father ended the betrothal at the height of the Belcourt Conflict. She’s promised to another, she doesn’t want him. She ran away from home. Now her brothers found her and her father is on his way here to take her back. That’s the real story.”

Henry blinked a few times in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m afraid I am,” he said, then bitterly scoffed. “I got what I wanted after all. I’m free of the betrothal.”

He turned around and pretended to look for something. Where was everything in this bloody kitchen?

“Emory, what do you plan to do?”

“I want to be alone for now, Henry,” he said in a deadpan voice. “Please.”

“But surely you have a plan.”

“There’s none,” he said, jaw twitching. “Not this time.”

---

The Ivory House was white, bright and exquisite. Florence felt like stepping into a dream the first time they arrived. Windows surrounding the estate ran from the ground up, allowing natural light during the day. And from the inside, one could witness the morning disappear into dusk, and dusk into night. Like a clock, it drew shadows on the floors.

But Florence had very little reasons to enjoy the place. This was supposed to be her home before the wedding. This was where she was supposed to wait to be queen. But instead, she was forced to stay here with the palace merely a few miles away. In fact, she could see it from her room, its imposing presence representing the king that lived there.

Guards, both from Sutherland and Gavaria, surrounded the estate day and night. And in the three days of being confined in the Ivory House, Florence had memorized their routine. It was a habit she picked up in Gavaria. Whenever they had to stay in one place for long, she always had an innate need to find an escape.

She wasn’t planning to do that now. Not after everything. But still… Just in case.

She was not surprised when her new residence was made known. However, she was surprised when the invitation to the Remington Masked Ball was extended to her brothers. Wasn’t the Countess of Chalbarth aware of what happened? Surely, Ellise Dior must have told her. Unless Emory had not yet told anyone.

When she told her brothers that she didn’t wish to attend the ball, they brushed it off.

“We are in Sutherland soil. We cannot say no to an invitation from a duke.”

“It’s not the Duke of Remington who sent the invite. It’s his daughter Lady Caroline—”

“We’ll accept every invitation because we are here crying for their mercy and we shall swallow our pride if we must,” Steffan interjected coldly.

And so it was that Florence found herself in Brierwell wearing a new taupe gown and gold mask, hoping no one recognized her or approached her. She never left Cassian and Lucy’s side for fear of crossing paths with any of the ladies from Artemis. She let her brothers drag her anywhere they were welcome, her eyes cast down because she could not bear to be there.

However, she later found herself standing in one corner while Cassian and Steffan were engaged in a conversation with some other foreign nationals. Lucy had gone to the other side of the ballroom to get drinks because they both needed some for their nerves.

“Princess,” she heard the familiar voice call her name. Ellise Dior’s ever unsmiling face greeted her when she turned. “This is my husband, Robert Dior, Duke of Calbridge.”

The tall man with black hair looked down at her wearing exactly the same stoic look as his wife. His dark eyes studied her first before he offered a bow and said, “It’s an honor,” he said, voice as dead as his gaze. “I’ve heard you have nearly beaten my wife at fencing.”

“Not in a million years,” Ellise said.

The pair did not even bother to wear masks, although they were holding matching ones.

A small smile twitched the corner of the duke’s mouth. “Of course,” he said, turning his head slightly to brush a kiss on his wife’s head. “I see Blackwood,” he said. “Enjoy the party, Princess,” he told her before leaving his wife’s side to join a man and a woman with brown hair.

“How do you find the party?” Ellise’s question drew her attention away from the group.

“It’s quite…nice,” she said.

“The Remingtons hold this party every year to honor Caroline’s brother, Jamie, who died during the Conflict. He was Caroline sister’s betrothed.”

She nodded slowly, then she sighed, seeing Ellise’s face. “You know.”

Ellise nodded. “Of course. Although not everyone does.”

Florence moistened her lips and swallowed. Her brothers were still busy and Lucy was still missing.

“Have you talked to him yet?” Ellise asked.

“No. I don’t know if I can face his wrath.”

“He can be a little cruel, considering his family.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“I have no intentions of reassuring you, Princess,” Ellise said, looking at her seriously. “You know what you did.”

She could feel tears burn at the back of her eyes.

“But I think you owe him an apology.”

She nodded, blinking back tears. “I know.”

Ellise sighed and shook her head. “I’m quite disappointed.” The duchess eyed her from head to foot and back. “But I also admire your courage.”

“It wasn’t courage,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “Desperation is what it was.” There was an awkward pause. Then she added, “I’ll gather the courage to talk to him. If he’ll hear me.”

“You should. Apologize and hope he doesn’t go for your head.”

Florence flinched at the statement.

“And after you apologize? What do you plan to do?”

Her eyes went to her brothers. “Nothing. It’s time to surrender the fight. I’ve caused enough trouble.”

“Then I hope you the best.” The duchess looked at her for a long while, a tinge of regret in her eyes, then Ellise sighed and looked around. “I guess I’ll never find out what you would be like as queen.”

It struck Florence hard. It was almost a slap in the face. She was certain Ellise had no intention of hurting her with her words, but they did.

“There you are,” Lucy’s voice said from behind. Her cousin smiled at Ellise as she handed Florence a glass of wine.

Lucy tried her best to act nonchalant and normal. She engaged Ellise in a conversation, offered to introduce her to Steffan and Cassian. All the while, Florence was in a dark cloud, drowning with all these people, half of whom probably part of the Clover, and the other half ignorant of her deceit and what it cost her.

Without Lucy or Ellise noticing, she turned. She needed to be alone. But where to go? Nowhere now. Because she was trapped here for as long as Steffan wanted. And she’d be trapped in her fate for as long as her father willed it.

There was no running now. But for just a short while, she wanted to hide. Just a short while until she could gather the little pieces she could to survive this night.

“His Majesty, the King!”

Florence stopped cold in her tracks. She didn’t even react when she was brushed to the side by a group of people who turned and rushed to see if they heard the announcement right.

She swallowed and faced the wall. He was here.

But he told her he wasn’t attending.

What is he doing here?

---

A/N:

Sorry for the late update. Any guess what will happen next?

-JD Ruiz

XXVI. The Chosen

A hand grabbed her by the arm. “Where have you been?” Cassian asked in her ear. “Can you not smile? You look like a ghost mourning your own death.”

She looked up at her brother, eyes begging. “Can we leave? Cass, please. I want to go.”

He sighed, looked over the hundreds of heads that filled the ballroom. “It’s not the best time. The king’s here. It would be considered rude.”

“But—”

“Flo, should we go to the garden?” Lucy asked, taking her hand with a gentle smile.

“I’ll come with you,” Cassian said.

Florence knew he was only tagging along to keep an eye on her and Lucy. To make sure they didn’t do something stupid.

He sat across another bench just by the entrance of the garden. Crossing his arms and legs, he gazed at Florence and Lucy. Florence just sat there, unable to think or do something.

“Steffan thinks you don’t have to talk to the king,” Cassian said. “He thinks you’ll only take the chance to manipulate the man and he doesn’t want to take the risk.”

Florence let out a bitter chuckle. “Manipulate Emory? Is he insane?” She turned to Lucy. “They think I can manipulate him. Can you believe it?”

Lucy just smiled, squeezing her hand in comfort.

Florence stared at her brother, jaw twitching. “I’m planning to talk to him.”

Cassian raised a brow. “What for? Apologize?”

“He deserves it.” And she was hoping that he would forgive her. That he would order her to leave Sutherland. She could not stand it here any longer. “Please, Cass. Help me. Just a short moment with him, please.”

Her brother shook his head and groaned. “Why does this always work on me?”

---

“Not more than five minutes,” her brother repeated as he gripped her arm tightly, quite literally dragging her down the corridor after they stealthily passed the royal guards. Or maybe Marius saw her and turned a blind eye, which gave her hope, which was bad because she shouldn’t hope for anything.

Only his understanding.

He didn’t have to forgive her. She had lied and misled him. In Gavaria, it was a crime to lie to a royal, punishable by death or banishment.

“Did you hear me?” Cassian hissed, stopping outside a door. “Lucy cannot keep Steffan’s attention for long.”

Of course, she heard. Five minutes. Just say what she needed to say and leave.

She looked down the corridor, and so did her brother.

“Go, go, go,” Cassian hastily whispered when a royal guard started to approach them. Before Florence knew it, her brother had pushed the drawing door open and then shoved her inside, where she stumbled and almost fell to the floor.

Her upper body was bent halfway to the ground when she finally found her footing and looked up. And she froze.

Emory was seated in a winged chair at the center of the room, surrounded by people she didn’t recognize. Except for two: Henry and Tatiana Temple.

The woman was with two other ladies, both of which Florence never saw before, not even in Artemis. The two ladies frowned at her with curiosity, while Tatiana was smiling. Florence stayed frozen. She knew that smile. She recognized it from the many faces she had to deal with back in Gavaria. It was contempt hidden sweetly by a deceptive curl of the mouth.

Her jaw tightened, and she tore her eyes off Tatiana, making sure the woman saw the look of practiced disinterest as she turned to Emory and curtsied. “May I have a moment of your time, Your Majesty?”

She knew it was a bold question. Even a titled man would not dare ask for it.

But she was a Grand Princess. She could ask for it. Or at least try.

Emory’s face was unreadable, and he said nothing. No one did. And as the seconds ticked by, her confidence wavered. So she turned to the only person she could ask for help.

Her eyes turned to Henry, and she gave him a look. When he merely stared at her, she was reminded that she had also wronged him. She had lied and deceived him as she did Emory.

Of course, he hated her now. His loyalty would always remain with his cousin.

But Henry surprised her by jumping to his feet, saying, “We might as well check out the gaming rooms.”

And one by one, the gentlemen surrounding the king reluctantly stood and followed Henry to the door, followed by the two women who could only stare at her with open curiosity. Tatiana remained where she was seated next to Emory, smile still on her lips.

Emory turned ever so slightly toward the woman and gave her a curt nod. Tatiana let out a sigh and gracefully came to her feet. As she passed Florence, she curtsied, murmuring, “Your Highness.” Then she left, closing the door gently behind her.

Her heart hammered against her chest. She tried to speak, but her throat seemed to close on her.

Emory wasn’t saying anything. He just stared at her, brows slightly raised, waiting for her to break the silence. She knew he would not make it easy for her.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, finally gathering the courage. This could be her last chance. “I’m sorry for fooling you.”

Emory’s face remained unreadable as he stared at her. And when he spoke, her knees nearly buckled. “Twice,” he said. “You fooled me twice.”

“Yes,” she answered weakly, blinking against the urge to look away.

“Are you expecting to gain my forgiveness?”

“No, of course not,” she said, shaking her head. “We never had the chance to speak since my brothers arrived. And I—I’ve always wanted to apologize. And I’ve wanted to tell you the truth.”

“And when were you planning to tell me the truth?”

Florence swallowed. “After the wedding,” she truthfully said. “I know it’s wrong. And selfish. And I am selfish.”

“And cunning.”

She bit her lips and nodded. “Not something you’d want for a queen.”

This time, he remained silent and Florence was afraid he’d ask her to leave. She had the sudden urge to say more, and she did exactly that.

“We were never a match, I know that now.” His brow arched at her words. “It was stupid and childish of me to pretend it would work. I’m sorry that I tried to use you to escape my responsibility to my country.” Her eyes started to water, her reality sinking deeper. “I was groomed to serve a man, and it doesn’t matter who.” She paused as the pang in her chest traveled down to her fingertips. “It was foolish of me to think I could choose whom to surrender the rest of my life to. But I’m a Grand Princess, first daughter of the emperor. I can only choose the dress for my wedding.”

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “As my brother said, it’s time to stop the games. Therefore, I’m here to properly apologize for everything. From this moment forward, I’ll be the princess Gavaria expects of me.” She swallowed, waited a few seconds to make sure her voice didn’t crack. “It’s time to jump in the swamp.”

He slowly frowned as she hastily wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

“Answer one question for me,” he said, still motionless in his chair. Florence froze, waiting for his question. “Why did you come here? Why not go somewhere far? Why try to fool a king and claim a betrothal that was null?”

“I wasn’t planning to. It never crossed my mind. But in London, Lucy had an accident as we were trying to escape my brother’s men. She hit her head hard. She didn’t wake up for an entire day. I thought I was going to lose her. Ever since, I promised I would never put her in trouble again. The only ship available at that time was the one headed toward Sutherland.”

“That does not really answer my question.”

She bitterly smiled. “I know what you’re asking. I warned you about spontaneity. That it can be addicting.” She swallowed and tried to lift her head higher. “When we learned about the ship going to Sutherland, I thought, ‘Why not try to be queen?’ and it just happened. I simply set my mind to a goal. I was desperate with nowhere else to go where I could keep myself and Lucy safe and—” Florence stopped because that was not the true answer either.

The silence lingered as he stared at her struggling to tell him exactly why she did what she did.

Florence blinked, and a drop of tear fell straight to the floor. “I was hoping I’d be able to live the life I was promised,” she said in a voice barely a whisper.

Her tears blurred his face, which might as well be a good thing because she didn’t want to read anything there. Not fury, not disappointment, and especially not hatred.

“In a blink, the life I’ve always thought I’d live was snatched away. They forced me to face a reality I never wanted. And sadly, no matter how much I try to run away from it, that new reality follows me everywhere.” She took a shaky breath and swallowed. “Politics is real. Customs and traditions. Laws. There’s no room for dreams and wishes. We both know that. We were raised to ignore such things.”

She squared her shoulders and wiped her eyes again. Forcing a smile, she gave him a longing look. If she were given the chance to go back in time, she would do everything differently. She would not waste her time in London. She would go straight to Sutherland and claim this man as hers. The only thing she would never change was the time they spent in Birchfield.

Blinking away the foolish thoughts, Florence moistened her lips. She needed to face the truth now. “We can’t believe in things like promises or love because they don’t exist. The other can easily be broken, the other is pure fantasy. For a while, I think we fooled ourselves into thinking we can have those. Or at least I did.

We were trapped somewhere far from reality and we got a little carried away. I was free, and I enjoyed every moment of it. I enjoyed fooling you, if I should be honest, until the lies became taxing. I had the most fun I’ve ever had and that should be enough. Not every woman in Gavaria who dreams the same can have what I had with you in Birchfield, and the brief stolen moments here in Coulway.“

Her lips trembled and, with the last vestige of courage, she looked around the extravagant drawing room before her eyes landed back on him. He looked like a king. His mere presence screamed royalty and power. “I hope you find the woman who will be honest and true to you. One who can fit this room like you do.”

When her words were followed by utter silence, Florence stumbled back, her chest tight, her spirit crushed.

Then she slowly nodded and left.

---

“How did it go?” Cassian asked under his breath after they found a corner to escape to in the ballroom.

“I said what I had to,” Florence simply replied.

“Good.” Her brother squeezed her hand and let go as Lucy walked toward them, finally done with her task of distracting Steffan. “That’s all you can do, sister. I’m sorry about how things turned out.”

She stiffly nodded as her tears blurred the dancing couples in the center of the room. Squaring her shoulders, she fought back the tears by tilting her head back to finish her wine.

“I had the privilege of meeting the Duke and Duchess of Calbridge. They’re an odd couple, wouldn’t you say?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I agree. But that’s what makes them charming,” she said, eyes finding Ellise and Robert Dior standing together at the opposite side of the room, murmuring words to each other as they watched people dance.

“I also heard the terrible story about this ball. Of how it came to be.”

“It is quite sad.”

“Can you imagine what that boy must have felt when he was dying?” Cassian asked, shaking his head. “Wars of any kind do not bring anything good.”

Florence did not say anything, the subject of war causing a shiver up her spine. If she didn’t marry Lennox, there might be a chance of a war in Gavaria. He had always been a threat to the empire. Steffan had always insisted to their father to strengthen Gavaria’s army by building better alliances with those faithful to them, but instead of doing so, he thought it best to make Lennox a part of the family by marrying her off to the man.

“I suppose that’s why the king never attends this ball until tonight,” Cassian said. “If it wasn’t for his mother’s side of the family, the boy would still be alive today.”

Florence frowned. “What did you say?”

“I said that if it wasn’t for—”

“No. Before that.”

“That the king never attends this ball until tonight?”

Her frown deepened as she recalled a conversation with Emory.

“We

’re invited to the Remington Masked Ball in two weeks. Are you attending?“

“No.”

“They say he never attended out of respect. If not for his mother, the boy would still be alive and we would not be in this ball.”

Florence looked around the room and her eyes landed on Tatiana Temple who was with the same ladies she was with earlier.

If Emory never attended the Remington Masked Ball, then what was he doing here?

---

The carriage door shut, and they rolled out of Brierwell as soon as Henry settled across from Emory.

His finger impatiently tapped over his other hand, resting on his folded legs. He was aware of the curious look his cousin was throwing at him, but he ignored it, his mind trying its best not think about tonight.

I was hoping I

’d be able to live the life I was promised.

His jaw tightened as he silently cursed and closed his eyes. But all he could see was a younger version of Florence telling her friends she was to be a queen. And that same girl, many years later, receiving the news that her fate had changed.

We can

’t believe in things like promises or love because they don’t exist. The other can easily be broken, the other is pure fantasy.

Hearing those words coming from her mouth sounded like a lion’s roar coming out of a bird—impossible and completely out of character. She had resigned herself to believe it. Or maybe someone did. It pestered him, made his eyebrow twitch.

I hope you find the woman who will be honest and true to you. One who can fit this room like you do.

He let out a scoff. She dared tell him to find someone his equal?

“You are the king of Sutherland, Emory,” Henry said, breaking the silence, “but that should not stop you from being a man.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, eyes still closed, still seeing Florence bravely speaking as tears streamed her face.

“That you should act like every bloody man—go for what you want.” When he offered no reply, Henry sighed. “Why are you being stubborn?”

His eyes flew open at the question. “All my life I’ve been nothing but a spare and I refuse to be one now.”

“You think she only chose you because you were the only choice left? The best choice, in fact?”

He didn’t answer because yes, he did think that. But that’s not what he meant by what he said.

Henry looked at him incredulously. “If your brother lived, you wouldn’t be king. Yet we’d still know who is the better leader. You were a spare because you were born late, Emory. There’s nothing more to it. Our lives are made of choices of the past and the future. Whatever her reasons were, she chose you. And I’d wager my life she was happy with the choice.” His cousin shook his head and let his hands drop to the side. “And now you choose to do nothing and give up to some bloody Gavarian lord. And that , cousin, might just be the most foolish decision you’ll ever do during your reign.”

Emory remained silent. He just wanted his cousin to stop talking.

Henry stretched his legs and groaned. “It’s clear you cannot come up with a plan. This trip to Brierwell is too spontaneous and out of character.”

He made no comment. He rested his head back, closing his eyes.

Henry was wrong. Coming to the Remington Masked Ball was nothing spontaneous. He needed a plan. And the first step was to know he was doing it for the right reasons. He refused to be anyone’s spare. No one, not even Gavaria’s. He was not the king they could just set aside and be friends with.

---

A/N

Yesterday was my 13th Wattpad anniversary! Woot! Woot! I wanna take this opportunity to thank everyone who has been part of writing life! I wouldn’t be where I am writing and sharing my stories if it were not for you, my dear readers!

Once more, thank you always for being part of my life.

Everything is going to be exciting from this point on!

Best,

JD Ruiz

XXVII. Belong

Emory lightly tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, his thoughts traveling miles, making turns in every possibility, formulating plans until his temples throbbed. He fixed his gaze on the carpet at the center of the elegant drawing room, on the spot where the beam of sunlight from wide windows landed.

When faint footsteps from outside came closer, he blinked and crossed his leg over the other.

The doors opened, the royal butler walked in and announced, “His Royal Highness, Prince Cassian of Gavaria, Your Majesty.”

He gave a curt nod, and the man stepped to the side to let the prince walk into the room.

Cassian may look similar to his older brother, but the subtle differences were enough to tell Emory that he called for the right brother. This one would easily give information. He was the second born. The spare. From Florence’s stories, Emory thought he knew this brother the most.

“Please feel at ease,” he said, breaking the silence, gesturing to the seat opposite his.

Cassian smiled as he settled. Not like a man who would rule, but one who knew how to. He looked around the drawing room, eyes jumping from one painting to the other. “Your collection?”

“No. Reginald.”

The mention of the king Emory’s father dethroned many years ago caused Cassian to raise his brows in amused surprise. “Trophies?”

“No. The old man simply has great taste.”

“Indeed,” Cassian replied, admiring the paintings of Sutherland’s countryside. When his gaze landed back on Emory, the small smile at the corner of his mouth remained. “I have to be honest, Your Majesty. I did not expect you’d call for me.”

Shifting one leg over the other, Emory shrugged. “I sensed you are the better brother.”

This time, Cassian playfully narrowed his eyes at him, giving Emory a glimpse of the man when he was most free. He could picture him climbing over a wall in Gavaria to escape the palace with Florence in tow. Or swimming in the ice cold fountain under the moonlight during winter with the rest of his sisters and the rest of their cousins.

“Has your sister told you how the mishap in Birchfield came about?” Emory started.

“Of course,” Cassian said, eyes glittering with mirth. “She tricked you a few times, I believe—” He stopped and hastily added, “And she regrets doing so.”

“I’m sure,” he murmured wryly.

“She and Lucy told me everything about Birchfield. About Henrietta,” Cassian added, shaking his head at Emory. “And Florence keeps lecturing me about eggs and why I could not have too much firewood in my room. She never fails to remind me how much trouble it takes to cut and carry them to a hearth.”

Emory faintly smiled and let the quiet linger after his words. “I wonder why she didn’t go far. She could have gone somewhere else.” She already told him her reasons, but it wouldn’t hurt to know what she told her closest brother.

Cassian shrugged. “My sister can be quite prideful. She wants freedom, but she also wants status. She says she wants to be queen.”

He nodded, smiling as he pictured Florence declaring herself as queen.

“May I know why you called for me?” Cassian asked, fixing him a curious smile.

“I intend to marry your sister.”

The prince froze in surprise and blinked at him. “You cannot. Not anymore.”

“I’m not asking.”

The prince grinned. “She’s promised to another.”

“She was promised to me first.”

“It’s no longer a betrothal if there’s only one willing party.”

“I’m willing to wager that if you ask the only other right party, she will take me.” He uncrossed his legs and titled his head to the side.

Cassian lightly chuckled as he slowly shook his head. “It’s not possible. The Emperor will not allow it. The only way he will is if Lennox backs out, and let me tell you now that the man is a selfish bastard. Anything he considers his own, he keeps.”

Emory nodded, taking the information slowly. “We’ll see to that.”

Cassian seemed skeptical at first, but the longer he stared straight into Emory’s eyes, the smile on his lips stretched further, deepening the dimple under his left eye. “I won’t stop you. I’m not the brother who would do so.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “In fact, I’m curious to find out what you can do, Your Majesty.”

Emory stayed quiet because Cassian’s face turned serious. He waited as the man ran his gaze up and down, as if they were equals.

“However, whatever you do, do not rekindle my sister’s hope. That’s all she’s been doing her entire life. She knew she’d have a different life from the rest of us, and she had always been proud of that.” Cassian leaned slightly forward, eyes boring into Emory’s. “The day our father announced the end of your betrothal, she locked herself in her chambers. When she came out a week later, she wasn’t the same. They were subtle changes. She’s good at keeping things to herself. I only noticed because I’m not like Steffan. I know my sisters deeper than any of the other princes. The news changed something inside her. Deeper within her soul. She was dead inside because the reality she knew and was proud of her entire life was suddenly snatched away.”

Cassian paused and continued to stare at Emory, no longer the even-tempered man who had walked into the room earlier. His dark brown eyes glinted with warning and danger.

“If you want her, work on it on your own. Do not make her hope, because I don’t know what else will be left of her if you fail.” A small smile curled the corner of his lips again. “Only come to her when you’re free to claim her.”

Emory nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll do whatever I can.”

Cassian scoffed, the cynicism returning. “How? Talk to my father?”

Emory shrugged. “He would love to see his daughter happy.”

Cassian’s sarcastic laughter echoed around the room. “You’re a funny man, Your Majesty. Quite funny, indeed.”

---

Hours later, Emory was staring blankly out the window, hands in his pockets.

If you want her, work on it on your own. Do not make

her hope, because I don’t know what else will be left of her if you fail.

His gaze focused on the distant Ivory House, his lips pursed.

Only come to her when you

’re free to claim her.

He knew what he had to do, and he knew he couldn’t get Florence involved. He couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if he failed.

“I suggest, Your Majesty, that we facilitate the early departure of the Gavarian imperial family from Sutherland.”

Emory faced his advisers. Seven honorable men who had been of great help since he ascended to the throne. Seven powerful figures who had so much to lose if the kingdom fell. Of course, they would want to keep their power.

“This could be part of a bigger plot against Sutherland,” the oldest of the group said. “Remember, they still are friends with France.”

He joined the group, sitting in his winged chair. This had once been his father’s office. Then, it was his brother who was part of the group. He, Emory, would just sit there, quietly in one corner, as these men devised plans for the kingdom. None had ever guessed the queen was doing. Not even him.

These were wise men, and they deserved their titles. But they strategized with fear. Perhaps because they had much to lose.

“The Emperor is almost here,” he said, breaking his silence. “We shall welcome him as we should, and if he wishes to stay longer, we shall accommodate.”

“And if he is here for war?”

He smiled at his advisers. “We shall give it to him if he wishes, but I doubt he has ill intentions. He has many powerful friends from outside, but very little from within.” He turned to one of the youngest in the group. “I want to know everything about this Hugh Lennox.”

“The Grand Princess’ betrothed?”

Emory’s jaw tightened. Without giving an answer, he added, “I want to know how big his army is, how much influence he has on the Gavarian Empire.” He turned to his defense adviser. “Give me more information on all nations along the coasts of the empire. Every border that has potential. Resources and economic status.”

“Right away, Your Majesty.”

The oldest of the group eyed him carefully and asked, “What is the purpose of this, Your Majesty?”

Emory clasped his hands together and said, “Nothing. I simply need a clearer picture of the empire before the Emperor arrives. Shall we discuss the current bills in parliament?”

One man cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, the lord chamberlain is also in a bit of a dilemma.”

“What dilemma?”

“Given the circumstances,” the man said, shifting in his seat and looking around the others, “he is unsure if he has to proceed with the wedding preparations.”

Emory gave the man a piercing look. “Have I given the orders to stop the preparations?”

The man looked stunned. “No, Your Majesty.”

“Then that’s what you tell Tisdale.” Dismissing further questions, he reached over the pile of papers before him. “Where are we on the bills currently discussed in parliament?”

---

Florence and Lucy returned to Artemis for one reason: Steffan. Her brother wanted her to do everything she could to keep up appearances. As he said, they had to exit Sutherland with pride intact.

The first time they returned, the ladies welcomed them like old friends. After what had transpired with Lady Regina Clay, it seemed that something changed. It was later, after reuniting with Augustine, Karenina, and Marjorie that they learned about the note passed around by none other than the Duchess of Calbridge.

“She worded the note so effectively that it sent shivers up my spine,” Marjorie whispered, leaning closer.

“What did the note say?”

“That she would not hesitate to use her sword if rumors about the Grand Princess is proven to come from any member,” Augustine said.

“Surely that’s not how she said it,” Lucy said with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, it’s exactly what the note read,” Karenina murmured under her breath. “Word for word.”

Florence smiled at her friends. “It doesn’t matter. I care little for rumors. Thank you for standing up for me,” she said.

“We shall do so until our dying breath,” Marjorie loyally said, hands on her chest. “For our future queen.”

Florence’s smile faltered. She and Lucy shared a look. And as she faced her friends again, she felt her heart twist. “There is going to be no royal wedding for the king and I.” She tried her best to keep her smile on her face. “Everyone can rest easy now. They shall not have a Gavarian queen.”

Her friends blinked in confusion. “But why?” Augustine asked, brow furrowed.

Feigning nonchalance, Florence shrugged. “There are matters of politics that are simply hard to comprehend.”

Marjorie reached for her hand and squeezed. “How are you? Are you not saddened?”

“Why would I be?” she said with a wry chuckle. “I barely know the king.” From the corner of her eye, she could see Lucy looking away. “Our betrothal was an agreement between leaders, and the end of it was made by leaders. It’s all naught but a negotiation that had once been deemed beneficial but no longer is.”

“Oh, Lord,” Karenina said with a sigh. “This will cause more gossips. Lady Regina will most definitely not let this pass. I would not be surprised if everyone would see you as an unwanted bride the next day.”

Florence forced out a laugh. “Fret not, my friends. I am far from unwanted.” She winked at them, her heart wrenching in her chest. Thank goodness she was not standing, because she didn’t think she could stay upright.

Even that evening, when she climbed into the carriage after Cassian fetched them, she struggled with her composure.

“It’s quite amazing,” her brother was saying. “That they have a women’s club.”

“Perhaps Gavaria should have one,” Lucy replied.

“If that happens, it will start a bloody revolution. Just imagine what the Gavarian women could come up with while playing their card games.”

Florence looked out the window in silent agony. Indeed, everything would change when they returned to Gavaria where she belonged. She had to face that fact. And for that to happen, she had to forget.

Forget Sutherland.

Forget freedom and dreams and adventure.

She had to forget the king.

---

Emory only liked two cousins from his father’s side of the family: Margareth and Anne Davercher, daughters of his aunt, Lady Divina Davercher. They had always stayed away from the politics of the court, and they talked with sense. They never treated him as anyone above them growing up. And even when he became king, they would still demand for his presence at all their parties.

Which was why he was here celebrating Anne’s birthday without a special seat prepared for him. He was merely a cousin. Family.

He disappeared on a balcony upstairs, looking down at the guests scattered around his aunt’s vibrant garden and around the sparkling round pond.

“I was wondering where you escaped to,” the familiar voice said from behind. Emerging from the hall, Tatiana Temple smiled at him as she approached.

“Miss Tatiana,” he greeted, turning his attention back down to the garden. “I’m starting to think that you have too strong an influence on my cousins.”

She chuckled, joining him behind the railing. “Why so?”

“They are both on the shelf with no prospects of marriage. They are too independent.”

“Freedom is addicting, I guess.” A short silence fell between as Tatiana took a sip from her drink. “Your cousins and I wondered about your early departure from Brierwell.” She turned, leaned back on the railing, and looked at him. “You left right after your meeting with the Grand Princess.”

He nodded. “I did.”

He felt her eyes assessing his expression. “I hope the conversation did not spoil your first Remington Ball.”

Taking a gulp from his brandy, he swallowed and smiled tightly down at her. She was beautiful. Exactly what he needed months ago. But not today. Nor the near future. Tatiana was wise and fun to be around, but he would not die for her. “Why would you think so?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps because she tried to talk you into taking her back.” Giving him a taunting smile, she added, “We both know you don’t take anyone back.” When he did not respond, Tatiana sighed and looked down over her shoulder to study the party. “Can I be honest?”

“You always say what you want,” he said, making her laugh.

“I think you are lucky to have gotten away from the betrothal.” Her gaze veered back to him. “Please, do not look at me like that. You know I do not seek information about you. She has been telling everyone in the club the betrothal was nothing but an agreement, and so was the end of it.”

Emory’s jaw tightened.

“I feel sorry for the young girl. She tries to act as though she is not affected.” Tatiana turned and faced the view again. “But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps she is the lucky one.”

He just stared at her, brow arched in question.

“The girl’s too childish for you. You’ll only break her heart.” He was about to leave when she asked, “Is it true what they say? That she’s promised to another?”

“Where did you hear that?” he asked through his teeth.

“I have very reliable friends. You know that. I heard she is to be a third wife of a Gavarian lord.” Tatiana chuckled, shaking her head. “Everyone was too afraid we’d have a Gavarian queen.”

“Everyone in the club?”

“And beyond.” Looking at him, she asked, “I wonder what she told you at the Remington Ball.”

Smiling tightly, he replied, “She wanted to discuss gowns.”

She blinked a few times, the smile on her face disappearing. “Gowns?”

He nodded, finishing his drink. “We cannot agree on a gown for the wedding.”

Tatiana froze, drink in hand. “I do not understand. I thought—”

Emory stepped back. “I believe you are being too nosy, Miss Tatiana.” He smiled as she continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. “Tell your friends they misunderstood the princess. A royal wedding is going to happen.”

He did not wait for her response. He turned and stalked out of the balcony. Striding down the grand staircase, he stretched his neck from side to side to loosen the tight knots.

He knew Tatiana wouldn’t spread his words, and even if she did, he didn’t care. He needed more people to know that Florence belonged to someone, and it was not to some bloody Gavarian lord.

---

A/N

I’m sorry for the very late update! A lot of things came up (both exciting and some personal) that I had to deal with. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! 

Best,

J.D. Ruiz

XXVIII. The Arrival

If there was anyone shaking his temperament and distracting him from his plans, it was Henry. Emory couldn’t get away far enough without the man barging into any room he was in, even while he was having a private bath.

His cousin did not even stop as he strode into the room.

“What is it?” Emory wryly asked.

“The Emperor is expected to arrive in two days.”

“I know.”

“And I heard you’re throwing a ball to welcome him.”

“I am.”

Henry stared down at him, slowly nodding his head. “What are you planning?” When Emory did not answer, Henry added, “Talk to the man. Tell him you forgive his daughter and that you will marry her.” This time, his cousin did not wait for a reply. He started pacing around the tub, hands on his hips. “You forgave her when she fooled you in Birchfield. I don’t see why you’re so furious she wants to marry you and not the other man. It’s your pride. You think you’re simply the better option and you hate that you are just an option .” Pausing, he frowned down at Emory. “It’s quite childish, really. You know why she did what she did. One word from you, cousin, and you can have her back.”

Emory wasn’t listening. He was deliberating whether to box the life out of his cousin or ask for a towel.

“You know what I think? I think you are going mad. Everyone thinks the same. There’s rumor circulating that you gave orders to the chamberlain to continue preparing for a wedding that is not happening.” Henry paused, face turning into a scowl. “Unless you are picking a different bride out of spite. Please tell me you’re not.”

He sighed and pointed with his finger. “Will you hand me a towel? I’m freezing.” When Henry just stood there scowling, he sternly said, “Henry. Towel.”

His cousin pursed his lips, snatched the towel, and threw it at his face. “This is not funny,” Henry gritted out when Emory laughed. “I know you’re up to something.”

Emory dried himself and stepped out of the tub. Shrugging into a robe, he turned to his cousin with a smile.

“You bastard. You are up to something,” Henry guessed correctly.

“I have to talk to the father first,” he said, walking into his bedchamber. His cousin followed, looking more enthusiastic with each step. “It is not as easy as you think.”

“You’re a bloody king. Everything should be easy—”

“Her new betrothed is a very influential Gavarian lord. He governs Gavaria’s biggest nation, and he has the strongest army.”

“But surely he is not as powerful as the Emperor—”

“He might as well be,” Emory interjected, pouring himself a drink. “He can gather powerful allies if the Emperor refuses to stand against him.”

Henry dropped his hands to his sides. “Then what are you planning to do?”

Emory shrugged. “Offer a more powerful alliance.”

“That is all?”

He grinned at his cousin. “Of course, not.”

---

“You do not have to do this,” Prince Steffan said as they stood on the threshold of the River Garden. Located in the eastern side, it was the oldest garden in Cloveshire Palace. With a small stream from the mountains in the east running through the center of the garden, it also boasted of various plants native to Sutherland.

They rarely held parties there, but he wanted to welcome the Emperor in this particular garden for one reason: it reminded of the woods in Birchfield—the beautiful chaos of wildflowers, of colors that bloomed freely and without order.

“My father would not expect such welcome.”

He offered Steffan a small smile. “It is no bother. Sutherland and Gavaria are friends.”

As they watched servants transform the garden into a grand venue to welcome the Emperor, Emory asked, “Have you been enjoying your time around Coulway?”

“Yes. Thank you for allowing me a tour around your port. I’ve been interested since we arrived.”

“I hope Mr. Erne didn’t try to sell you one of his ships.”

Steffan chuckled. “No, he did not. But he tried to convince me to provide him entry into Gavaria.”

“It is a good opportunity.”

The prince nodded. “I’ve always told my father that Gavaria needs to open more ports. Sutherland, for one, is not as vast as our empire, but it has good economic growth. Not only do you have multiple ports, but you have your own shipping lines.”

“You can do the same in Gavaria, surely.”

Steffan nodded. “I told the Emperor the same. We should master the seas.”

“Gavaria was once one of the strongest empires in the world.”

“So I’ve heard,” Steffan said with a sigh, and they both chuckled. “I’m hopeful that the Emperor’s visit shall open his eyes to more daring ventures. We cannot simply rely on friends.”

“Perhaps Sutherland can help.”

“I have no desire to expand the empire, but I want to strengthen it. With all the wars around us, we can’t be too careful. Friends can turn to foes in a blink of an eye.”

“Even friends from within. The previous King Reginald would say the same,” Emory wryly said. “And my father could say the same to my mother’s family.” He let the man absorb his words before adding, “Indeed, enemies can emerge from under our own shadows.”

Steffan said nothing, and Emory could only hope that his words got through the man.

“One of your father’s former generals, Craig Martel, is currently imprisoned in Sutherland. And I heard he has betrayed your father’s trust gravely in the past.”

The Crown Prince’s jaw tightened. “Yes.” He turned to Emory, eyes dark with fury. “I am ashamed to know that one of our own is part of the group that made an attempt on your life, Your Majesty. But I assure you that if you hand the man over to us, my father shall deal with him severely in Gavaria.”

Emory shook his head. “He committed his crime on Sutherland soil. We’ll deal with him here.”

“I’m afraid a negotiation is needed. We want Martel back so he can pay for his crimes in Gavaria. There are victims also waiting for justice.”

Emory did not waver. “I will think about it.”

---

Florence could barely breathe as she descended from the carriage. She looked up at the clear afternoon sky, but only for a brief moment because reality was down here amongst humans.

“I hate this stupid gown,” she growled, kicking the restrictive layers of skirts.

“It is a traditional Gavarian gown,” Lucy said. “You should know how to walk with them.”

“Like a bloody penguin,” she murmured. “I’ve taken hundreds of small steps and yet the doors look like miles away.”

Lucy laughed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I don’t even wear this in Gavaria, Lucy!” she hissed.

“Stop it. You know why you’re wearing it.”

“Oh, I know why. So I can’t run away,” she said, glaring at Cassian beside her.

“No, it’s punishment,” Steffan said as he walked past to lead the way.

“Flo, faster,” Cassian said moments later as they climbed the steps.

She scowled at him as she took the last step. Then she blinked, almost ready to faint. “There’s more?” she asked in horror, seeing another set of steps ahead.

“The gown is not helping, Cassian,” Lucy said.

“She is being dramatic. You’re doing fine,” Cassian said to Lucy.

Florence cursed her gown as she took hurried steps. Gavarian traditional dresses were made of stiff fabric, but gowns like the one she was wearing were made of layers of them. Five, at the very least. It was beautiful from the outside—vibrant red and gold, the colors only a Grand Princess and the Crown Prince could wear. The collar was just as stiff around her neck, lined with gems from Gavaria. The sleeves were tolerable, made of sheer fabric that covered her entire arms down to the tips of her fingers.

She did not even wear this back home. The only time she did was when she had her own coronation as Grand Princess, which was over a decade.

She was sweating despite the cool afternoon air when they finally entered the great hall. “I don’t know how you manage it, but you’re doing better than I,” she moaned to Lucy.

Her cousin looked at her with pity. “Are you alright?”

Florence gritted her teeth. “There are gems stuck to my forehead. Look. They don’t even budge!” She shook her head as she talked. The string of gems around the top of her head remained stuck to her skin. “I’m sweaty, probably stinky. I don’t feel like a Grand Princess. What I am is a stupid doll fished out of the water and being played with.”

“We’re here,” Cassian said in front of them, walking faster.

“No, you are, because we’re still stuck here,” she growled after him as Lucy suppressed her laughter.

Then her cousin paused as they reached the arched doorway, and gasped. “Oh goodness!” Entranced, Lucy left her side and walked into the garden.

Florence finally looked up and saw what caused her cousin to forget about her. Her heart stopped as she stared at the magnificent view.

There was an arched entrance with a foliage of white flowers, opening into a scene like no other gardens Florence had seen. A stream separated the entrance. Over it was a wide wooden platform.

On the other side, however, was the true wonder.

The gentle rays of sunlight filtered through the trees scattered around the garden, landing on the beautiful wonders of grass and leaves and petals on the ground.

Flowers of vibrant colors seemed to dance in the air as they hung from branches of trees, as if the gardener simply left them untouched. If she ignored the human chatters and the sound of the stream, and if she listened close enough, she could hear the birds and even the squirrels.

It was a beautiful, organized chaos.

The world beyond was suddenly nonexistent, warded off by the towering pine trees in the back. There was nothing else but this beautiful, uncanny haven that reminded her so much of the woods in Birchfield.

Suddenly, warm tears blurred her eyes as an overwhelming longing twisted in her chest, restricting her breath. She wanted to go back there and spend the rest of her life catching chickens. Even if she’d be alone. Even if she could only have a month or two of Daniel Stanton as he stripped himself of his crown. She would trade a kingdom for a life in Birchfield.

“Are you not going?”

Her heart stopped at the sound of his voice. From inside the garden, just beyond the archway, she saw Lucy and Cassian looking at her with worry. Well, they should. They bloody left her here. And she could barely walk, much more step down the five steps into the garden.

Emory stepped beside her and offered his hand.

She stared at that hand and suddenly remembered, much to her chagrin, the way it cupped her face and…

Stopping her thoughts, she stiffly looked ahead and lifted her chin. “I can manage,” she said, rather too pertly than warranted a princess who was trying to gain a king’s mercy, then quickly added, “Your Majesty.”

Oh, she tried her best. She truly did. But the gown was not cooperating. It was simply too stiff that Florence swore she looked like a stupid stick trying to fight gravity down the stairs.

“Allow me.” She noted the slight annoyance in his tone as he caught her hand before she made a fool of herself tumbling into the garden. His hold tightened, aware that she would try to pull away.

She saw Steffan staring from where he stood surrounded by Sutherlander guests, and she smiled as if everything was perfect like this bloody garden. Without thinking, she gripped his hand tighter than he did, drawing strength from it, even if it was he she wanted to run away from.

When her feet finally landed on the soft grass, she pulled her hand away and curtsied, all the while keeping her eyes on the ground. She couldn’t look at him. Not today. Probably never. He knew now why she did what she did. She had expressed her remorse. There was no need to give herself more suffering.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she murmured before gracefully (or so she hoped) walking away.

---

Emory sat in his chair on a separate platform with Henry standing by his side, and they watched as members of the House of Lords mingled with the Gavarians.

“Everything should be safe,” Henry said, looking around at the guards posted in various corners. “The Emperor and his entourage should be here any moment.”

“Good,” he murmured under his breath, eyes scanning the entire garden before eventually settling on Florence, who was standing with her brothers and Lucy on the other side of the stream, surrounded by friendly guests that Emory carefully curated for this event.

She stood out amongst the crowd, but not for good reasons. While everything in the garden moved with each gentle blow of the wind, she stayed as stiff. Or her dress did, and she’d sway and tumble, looking angrier with each passing moment.

“She looks like she’s about to start a war with that bloody dress,” Henry chuckled beside him. “She would not survive if this garden is set on fire. Not if she already looks like she’s inside a pyre.”

Emory ignored his cousin’s amusement and focused on her face. Yes, she was furious, probably at the dress, but the way her eyes would flicker toward the threshold of the garden, and the way she absently tucked her hair behind her ear, he could tell that she was anxious for her father’s arrival.

One of his advisers approached him and said, “The Emperor has arrived, Your Majesty.”

Emory nodded and walked to the center of the platform, his movement catching everyone’s attention.

At the sound of trumpets from within the palace halls, the Gavarians moved and walked toward the entrance of the garden to stand amongst the line of guests that had formed along both sides of the archway just below the platform.

Florence was restless than ever beside Steffan. Emory watched as her brother took a hold of her arm and she went still, lifting her chin as the royal butler intoned, “His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Teodor of Gavaria!”

The garden was still and quiet as the giant of a man walked through the arched entrance. The only things that hinted the man’s age were the white beard and brows. A simple gold band wrapped around his bald head, and he wore a stiff deep purple robe which he carried far better than his daughter ever could.

Teodor Winchester did not look as stern as his first-born son. His face was mild, his mouth relaxed. But it was his eyes that told Emory the man was not one to be trifled with. His honey brown eyes were the same color as Florence. And at first, one would read them as kind, but as the man approached, and as he completely ignored his daughter when he walked past her, he realized they were far from sympathetic. There was nothing there but tolerance.

As the Emperor climbed to the platform, his entire entourage behind him, Emory forced himself to return the man’s smile. Neither bowed to the other. “Welcome to Sutherland, Emperor Teodor,” Emory greeted.

The Emperor broke into an even bigger smile. “Thank you. It is my pleasure to be here.”

From the corner of his eye, Emory saw Florence looking pale, her eyes fixed on someone. He followed her gaze behind the Emperor.

“Allow me to make introductions,” Emperor Teodor said, turning ever so slightly to give him a glimpse of his entourage. A woman with graying hair stepped forward, also in the same stiff purple gown, her eyes cast down as she curtsied. “Empress Oda of Gavaria.”

“Your Majesty,” the Empress greeted, “It is an honor.”

“Likewise,” Emory replied. This was the first wife. Steffan and Cassian’s mother.

The woman stepped behind the Emperor, easily making herself invisible, as another man took a step forward.

Emory’s jaw tightened as he saw Florence tore her eyes off the man and bowed her head, gripping Lucy’s hand tightly as if it was the only thing that kept her on her feet.

As the black-haired man with dark, unsmiling eyes stepped before him and bowed, Emory instantly knew who he was.

“And this is my future son-in-law, Hugh Lennox, Grand Lord of Aubigny.” Before Emory could utter a sound, the Emperor added, “And his first wife, Elene Lennox, Grand Lady of Aubigny.”

---

A/N

Who is excited for the next chapter? I know I am! I can’t wait to deliver the rest of this story! Sorry for the recent late updates! This month will be very challenging for me, but I can’t wait to give you great news soon! For now, I hope you’re enjoying this story as much as I do!

Best,

J.D. Ruiz

XXIX. Gifts

Emory’s gaze remained on Lennox as his wife curtsied before him. The man was not particularly unsightly. In fact, he looked far more polished than Emory. His black hair was meticulously brushed away from his face, his brows and beard trimmed to perfection. His clothes and posture screamed order and dominance.

Lennox was not considered old, but Emory thought he was too old for Florence at forty-eight.

“I implore on your grace and benevolence, King Emory,” Emperor Teodor said as he stepped in front of him again while Elene Lennox retreated. “I do not deserve such welcome for what my daughter has wrought upon you and the crown.”

Emory looked over at Florence. Her head bent, she stood merely a few feet away from her new betrothed and the man’s first wife. And somewhere in Gavaria, there was a second wife.

A third wife. Emory could not imagine it. Florence was supposed to shine, and she could never do so in the shadows of Lennox’s wives. She was second to none.

Moving his gaze back to the Emperor, he forced a smile. “Let bygones be bygones. I hold this ball to welcome your arrival and celebrate our friendship.” Moving his arm, he added, “Let us enjoy it.”

And thus, the festivity began.

For the first time, he was thankful for the presence of Florence’s brothers. Steffan was fast to meet Lennox and lead the man away from his sister, while Cassian escorted her to the other side of the garden with Lucy.

“What should I do?” Henry murmured beside him as they watched the Emperor take the chair beside Emory’s.

“Make sure she’s never alone with that man or her father,” he ordered. “Her dress is causing her enough trouble as it is.”

Henry took his task seriously for the remainder of the party. He inserted himself into Florence’s little circle, and even pulled other Sutherlanders into the group, making an impenetrable wall.

Emory, meanwhile, had the heavy task of entertaining the Emperor. Once, they circled the garden and talked about flowers. Apparently, the man had a private garden at the back of his private chambers in Gavaria and was genuinely interested. Emory could not name all the plants the Emperor inquired about, so he might have invented a few.

Dinner was served in the grand dining hall. It was enough to let everyone get acquainted. He caught Lennox studying him a few times, his wife always standing dutifully beside him. And every time, Emory would search for Florence, and find relief that she was still with Cassian, Henry, and Lucy.

Dinner was long and arduous, but they all eventually survived it. When it was time, they went back to the garden, and the dancing began.

Never, not even once, did Emory see the Emperor approach his daughter. He talked to Steffan, and Emory supposed they discussed Florence because they both turned and looked in her direction. When the Emperor returned to his seat beside Emory, he laughed as one member of his entourage struggled to learn a Sutherlander waltz.

Then they discussed dancing, much to Emory’s chagrin. He was never keenly fond of the arts, but the Emperor was.

He was particularly patient today, he wryly thought. But he had no choice. He also had to be very careful.

Finally, the Emperor started a conversation that made Emory snap in focus.

“How is Craig Martel doing?”

“He is alive,” he replied.

The Emperor’s face tightened as he nodded. “We have been looking for him for years. We want him back in Gavaria so he can be punished for the crimes he committed there.”

Emory considered the Emperor’s statement for a moment. “Prince Steffan has implored the same.”

“And I hope you will grant us this one request.”

“Perhaps if you grant mine.”

Teodor Winchester looked at him with interest. “What kind of request?”

“I will hand over the prisoner if you give me your daughter’s hand,” he said, turning to look the man in the eye. “Give me the Grand Princess and you can have Martel.”

The man’s eyes widened in surprise and interest.

“She wants to marry me. And I want her as my queen.”

But Winchester shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid that is no longer possible. I’ve already nulled the agreement I had with your father. The princess is set to marry Lennox.”

“You mean your empire’s most powerful threat?” Emory asked. A small smile formed on the corner of his lips when Winchester’s jaw twitched. “Aubigny is Gavaria’s biggest and most prominent territory, is it not? And Lennox practically rules your empire’s strongest army.”

“You’ve done your research.”

Emory shrugged and looked away, his gaze landing on Lennox talking to his wife. “I like to study.”

Winchester was silent for a long while. Emory didn’t expect much tonight. In fact, he already knew the man’s stand. He would never win Florence through her father, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Gavaria has been through many wars in the past. It took us centuries to build a peaceful empire, and I, like my father and his father before him, prefer to keep the peace even when the world around us is in chaos.”

“So you choose to sacrifice your own for the peace of the empire?”

“Florence doesn’t see it as a sacrifice. As the Grand Princess, she knew she has to play her part.” With an innocent smile, he looked at Emory and asked, “Didn’t your family do the same? Your mother’s family, the Vandenbergs, sacrificed many of their blood, threw them into an orphanage, manipulated them? Just as she was sacrificed and made queen to solidify her family’s power. And through their sacrifice, the Vandenbergs controlled a kingdom.”

“And failed,” Emory said, returning the man’s smile.

Winchester sipped from his goblet and sighed, studying the guests with a mild, yet calculating gaze. “You’re young to the throne, King Emory. You don’t know the half of what it takes to rule. A ruler doesn’t sit on top of a mountain. We sit on a raft in a swamp. You don’t know the creatures that lurk underneath, so you do whatever you have to do to keep them from the surface. You sacrifice what you can to keep the raft afloat.”

Emory slowly nodded, remembering the time when Florence told him about the raft and the creatures in the swamp. “I don’t rule like my family. And your way is not the only way to rule a kingdom, I’m afraid.” His smile widened as Winchester’s brows arched in both amusement and curiosity.

“Truly? Then how would you rule?”

“Dress like the creatures I fear. I’ll learn to think like them. Learn their ways. So when the time comes, I can swim with them.” The amusement on Winchester’s face slowly died as Emory’s words sank in. “Your daughter taught me that.”

---

“Both Houses are pleased,” Henry commented that night.

The Emperor and his entourage had already left for Ivory House, where he insisted on staying after gracefully rejecting Emory’s invitation in Cloveshire.

Emory studied the dark amber liquid in his glass. “I’m sure they are.”

“Their opinion against your union with the Grand Princess remains remarkably strong. And dare I say stupid?”

“They have their reasons. Gavaria is a friendly empire, but not as powerful as the others.”

“But it’s huge. A union between Sutherland and Gavaria is advantageous.”

“Gavaria doesn’t have enough ships or artilleries to help us in war. They don’t even have an army trained enough to give us aid should we need them.” He shrugged. “I agree. I’d reap more benefits if I marry an English princess.”

“But with Sutherland’s help, Gavaria can overcome their weaknesses.”

“Yes. Which is why it doesn’t matter if both Houses agree or not. So stop talking about what they say, cousin. It’s not helping with my plans.”

Henry let out a long sigh. “I still can’t believe Winchester refused you over Lennox.” His cousin studied him and added, “You’re not charming, but you’re a bloody king.”

“He fears Lennox. The man cause unrest within Gavaria if he wants to.”

“I still believe you shouldn’t have pardoned Florence. Well, at least not publicly. She committed a crime against you and the crown—multiple times, in fact. And as I’ve said, you can have her hanged. Tell the Emperor you’d rather have her head if you cannot marry her. We’ll bury her next to Henrietta.”

Emory shook his head, eyes focused on the crackling fire.

Pointing with a finger, Henry said, “That look on your face is scaring me.”

Looking at the man, he asked, “Do you know the only thing I bonded over with my late brother?”

“Of course. Chess.”

He nodded. “He taught me well.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

Emory threw his cousin a mysterious smile. “It’s obvious you don’t play chess.”

“You look like you’re planning a war. Don’t tell me you’re willing to risk it for Florence. You’re not going after Lennox, are you?” When Emory didn’t answer, Henry prodded. “Cousin. Are you going after Lennox?”

“No. Not really.” With a motion of his head, he ordered, “Call for the Clover.”

---

Florence did not sleep well that night. Not that she ever did since her brothers arrived in Sutherland. But particularly last night. Her father retired early, tired from yesterday’s festivities.

She knew his wrath would come the next day, and she dreaded it.

Thus, she stayed in her room that morning. She dressed and ate there with Lucy, who told her she looked like death reborn.

“There are dark circles under your eyes. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, the only thing lacking is the lack of life.” She looked out the window and groaned. “When do you suppose he’ll call for me?”

“Soon, I trust.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Are you bloody insane? I’ve been avoiding his shadow the entire morning,” her cousin said.

“He will not scold you. The least he’d do is tell you how your mother is waiting for you in Gavaria with her own wrath.”

Her cousin swallowed, blood draining from her face. “Please don’t talk about my mother.”

Florence sighed and paced the room, hands on her hips. “I’ll simply tell him I’m sorry and that I shall return to Gavaria and marry Lennox.”

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

Florence and Lucy jumped on their feet with a cry of surprise. Standing in the doorway was her father. He walked into the room, followed by the Empress.

Florence’s jaw tightened when she saw the woman. Heart still pounding in her chest, she turned to her father and said, “There. I said it. When are we going home?”

She couldn’t say she was close to the man. He had never been a father to her. He had always been the Emperor, even to his own children.

Perhaps such was the case with people like her.

He was an emperor, and she was just one of his many children. But now and then, he would call for her and they would spend some time in his garden.

He never asked her about what she wanted. What she liked or what she dreamed of. But he always made sure she knew what he wanted from her. What he aspired for her. He imparted lessons, most of which she never understood, and some she found useful as she grew up.

There were no kisses shared between them. No warm embrace. She couldn’t even remember ever having touched him.

The only thing she liked about their relationship was the honesty. He always told her the truth, and she could always tell him what’s on her mind. But that didn’t mean they never held secrets from the other.

And maybe that’s the reason he looked disappointed as he watched her cross the room and offered him a deep curtsy.

“Steffan told me you’re remorseful.”

“I am, Father,” she murmured, staring at the floor.

“He also told me that you have learned your lesson.”

She didn’t know why Steffan would say that, but she nodded anyway.

“He locked you in this room for two weeks. I suppose that’s enough time to reflect on your mistakes?”

She frowned at the speck of dust. “Y-Yes, Father. Two weeks.” She dared look up at the man. “He deprived me of everything. It was a just punishment.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the Empress scrutinize her expression.

“You must know, Florence, that your actions almost cost us your life. And worse, a war we couldn’t win.”

She nodded, eyes cast downward. “I understand.’

“Your mother is heartbroken back in Gavaria,” the Empress said, and that finally broke Florence.

The thought of her mother, the only person she regretted ever leaving behind, twisted at her heart. Hot tears streamed down her face and her shoulders shook.

“You have broken every palace rule,” the Empress continued, voice stern and cold. “That being said, you can no longer return inside.”

She froze and her eyes flew to her father for an explanation.

The Emperor stared at her with sympathy, but there was nothing he could do. Palace rules would remain superior. “It is fortunate that you are marrying Lennox. Once we reach Gavaria, you will go straight to Aubigny with Lennox where you shall stay until the wedding.”

That’s why Lennox was here.

Her father stepped closer and Florence thought he would touch her, comfort her in a way. “But palace rules dictate that you cannot see anyone from within for the time being.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re banishing me from the palace.”

“For the time being.”

“But my mother—”

“You cannot see her.”

Her knees buckled, and she stumbled back. “Then send her to Aubigny. I need her—”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you ran away,” the Empress said.

Florence glared at the woman, vision blurred by angry tears. But she said nothing because to say anything against the Empress could lead to grave consequences.

“Once your banishment from the palace is lifted, you can arrange for your mother to visit you in Aubigny,” the Empress said, the look in her eyes daring Florence to protest, taunting her to make one more mistake.

“The ship is being prepared for our journey back home,” the Emperor told her. “It will take a week or two. For the time being, if you continue to be in your best behavior, we shall have no problem.” He cocked a brow in Lucy’s direction. “That includes you, child. Your mother is eagerly waiting for your return.”

Florence and Lucy remained stiff until the Emperor and his wife left the room. Once they were alone, Florence fell to the floor, devastated. She would have preferred a dramatic encounter. She was prepared to be screamed at, to be scolded with scathing words.

But no. They chose to deliver her punishment in the way they knew would hurt her the most—her mother.

“Lucy,” she choked out, clutching her cousin’s hand. “I can’t breathe.”

Lucy’s arms closed around her and she turned to bury her face in her cousin’s neck.

“What happened?” Cassian’s voice asked from the door. “Flo?”

“She’s banished from the palace,” Lucy informed Cassian.

Florence felt her brother’s hand on her shoulder before he gently pulled her away from Lucy. As he gathered her in his large embrace, Florence draped her arms around his shoulders. “Cass, my mother… They say I can’t… I don’t…”

“It’s alright,” he whispered, rocking her in his arms. “You’ll see her. I’ll talk to Mother.”

“She won’t let it. She hates me.”

“Well, yes, she does. But she adores me,” he said in a jesting tone. “Hush. Stop crying.”

“I shouldn’t have left.”

Her brother was quiet for a moment before he sighed. “I don’t know about that. You had a grand adventure.”

It took a while for the tears to stop. Her brother rang for tea and forced her to finish a cup before he faced Lucy and grinned, “Well? Did they tell you about your punishment?”

Lucy blanched. “No. Only that my mother is waiting.”

Cassian laughed. “Oh. Scary, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Lucy growled.

Florence reached for Lucy’s hand. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Don’t be. I went willingly. And my mother wouldn’t kill me,” Lucy replied, although she gulped after the last two words left her lips.

“But she’ll probably find a way that will make you wish she did,” Cassian said with a laugh.

Lucy rolled her eyes at him. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“To share a little gossip, that’s all.”

They blinked at Cassian. “Which one?” Lucy asked.

“Apparently, my mother has ordered one of her ladies-in-waiting to visit the king tomorrow night.”

Florence stiffened.

“To do what?” Lucy asked.

Cassian looked at Lucy as if he didn’t recognize her. “You can’t be serious, Lucy.” But Lucy just blinked at him. “You don’t know what that means?”

“No.” Lucy turned to Florence for the explanation she needed.

“For his forgiveness, the Empress is sending a gift of gratitude to the king,” Florence murmured.

Lucy’s eyes widened as understanding sank in. “Can the Empress do that? I mean, here in Sutherland?”

Even Cassian was waiting for her reply. “I suppose she can,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “He’ll accept the visit if he wants, or refuse it if he doesn’t.”

---

A/N

Sorry for the late update! As I’ve previously said, I’ll be very busy this month. But fret not, my dears because I’ve already written two more chapters ahead of this one. For now, you’ll be getting the weekly updates. We’re very near the end, by the way. If my outline is correct, this story will have 33 chapters. Four more chapters, I guess, and we’ll be done!

I didn’t expect to have so much fun with this story. It saved me from a slump, to be honest. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

J.D. Ruiz

XXX. Fairy Tales

Florence knew close to nothing about Elene Lennox, Grand Lady of Aubigny. The woman was probably ten years older. The woman was from Aubigny, which was at the other end of Gavaria, and five weeks away from Oshana where the imperial palace was located.

She only met the woman twice. The first was yesterday.

“I’m certain I’m the last person you wish to see today,” the woman said. Her voice was soft, but it had a certain power in it, laced with pride and confidence. “And I know you are hesitant about this marriage.”

“Hesitant, my lady, is too weak a word,” Florence said, lifting her chin from where she sat. She knew she must look pathetic, her eyes swollen from all the crying, her dress still the same from yesterday.

Elene patiently smiled, hands folded on her lap. Such great patience. Such grace. But how much of it was real, Florence wondered. How long before this woman would put her foot down and hold Florence in her place as third wife?

“They said you can be quite willful and proud,” the woman said. “But I believe you will be a great addition to the family.”

Florence nearly retched at the word. “If that’s what you’d call it— family .” She shrugged, letting out a long sigh. “Well, I suppose they also told you I am quite challenging? If this,” she said, waving her arm around the room, “and the reason we’re here doesn’t tell you as much, I suppose you’ll soon find out.” She finished it by crossing one leg over the other, which was something one should never do in front of a titled woman in Gavaria. “I will play as your husband’s trophy because I have no choice, but I will never act as his wife.”

“I don’t understand, Princess, why you’re against our culture.”

“Oh, you’re wrong. I respect our culture. I just don’t understand why I have to be forced into it.”

“You should not feel forced. You should embrace it.”

Florence scoffed. Good Lord. Was this woman hearing herself?

“There is nothing wrong with being a third wife.”

“Will I also have to tell the same thing to the fourth wife? The fifth? The sixth?”

Elene’s smile did not waver. “If your intention is to insult, it is not coming through. Can’t you see the brighter side of things? There is more love in the family.”

“And you truly think he loves you?” Elene did not answer. Her smile remained, but Florence saw her eyes waver ever so slightly. “Do you think all the women we send away to marry men they barely know feel this love you talk about?” At her question, Elene’s smile froze. Florence rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I have a mother, Lady Elene. Everyone in Gavaria who has one knows we’re only fooling ourselves. They own us. They make us think that it’s our duty to welcome them into our beds. With all due respect, that’s not my definition of love.”

“That’s our reality.” Elene’s voice had changed. It rose a notch, anger blazing in her eyes as she held Florence’s gaze. “Wake up, Grand Princess. You may be in Sutherland, but you will always be Gavarian. You should be lucky you know who you’re marrying into. Many others don’t. They just disappear.”

Florence shrugged. “Well, aren’t they lucky?”

To her surprise, Elene jumped to her feet, face flushed, lips trembling. “It’s true what they say. You’re a spoiled child.” Nose flaring, the woman lifted her chin and looked down at Florence. “Grow up, Princess. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

---

That night, Florence stood in front of the window, lips pursed. Her thoughts kept jumping around her mother, Elene Lennox, and Emory.

She remained focused on counting and waiting, not even noticing when the maid collected her untouched supper. Counting the number of guards that walked across this side of the Ivory House, the seconds it took before another one appeared. And she waited until the lights in the other rooms went out.

And when it was time, she turned and grabbed the darkest coat she had.

She would have invited Lucy, but she had gotten her cousin into so much trouble already.

Putting out her own lamp, she slipped out of her room, padding silently downstairs into the parlor directly below her room. Quietly, she cracked open the window and silently observed as the guard began to stroll away.

She waited. Counted.

Opened the window.

Then slipped out into the night.

---

Prince Steffan placed his drink on the table beside his chair. “I’ve convinced my father to tour your ports.”

“Good,” Emory replied with a smile. “I hope you can also convince him of your plans for Gavaria.”

“We’ll have to see,” the prince said. “I came here with a gift. If you’d allow me?” he asked, gesturing toward the door.

Emory curtly nodded. Steffan rose to his feet and walked to the door, opened it, and in came a woman with a red sheer veil over her head that stopped just below her nose, exposing only her red painted lips.

Standing beside the woman, Steffan’s face was a blank canvas, impossible to decipher. “This is Lady Keisha.” Emory remained seated, his brows furrowing deeper with each passing second, as if trying to unravel a perplexing puzzle. Sensing his confusion, Steffan added, “She is one of the ladies-in-waiting in my mother’s court.”

“I don’t understand.”

Steffan gestured to the woman beside him, his jaw twitching. “This is a Gavarian gesture of gratitude.”

Every fiber of his being became taut, and a simmering wrath bubbled up in the depths of his belly. “Gratitude?” he asked, seething. “Lending away your women?”

Prince Steffan stiffly nodded. His face remained impassive. “Do you accept?”

“No.”

The man smiled tightly. “Good.” He took the woman by the elbow. “Then I shall escort Lady Keisha back to Ivory House.”

Bewildered, Emory watched in awe as Steffan gracefully bowed, his movements filled with an air of urgency, as he swiftly guided the woman out of the room.

As soon as the prince and the gift left, it started raining.

With a scoff and a shake of his head, Emory turned to the direction of the window and waited until Steffan’s carriage drove out of the palace through the night rain.

He was making his way to his chambers when Marius emerged from the hall and joined him up the stairs. “She has escaped the Ivory House, Sir.”

Emory came to a halt. “When?”

“We’re unsure. We received word from a Soldier that she arrived in Artemis a quarter past ten.”

Half an hour ago.

“Bloody tarnation,” he snarled as he spun around and made his way back down. Thunder erupted from outside as he demanded for his coat. “Why does she think she can escape Ivory House without getting caught?”

Marius caught up with him. “She did, Sir.” As Emory growled under his breath, Marius added, “It seems no one in Ivory House noticed.”

His shoes made a screeching noise as he skidded to a stop and glared at the guard. “Why do you all think you can underestimate her?”

“We don’t, Sir.”

“Get the carriage!” he roared over the rumbling thunder outside.

“We can take care of it—”

“Get the carriage, Marius,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

“Right away, Sir.”

Not long after, Emory was inside the carriage outside Artemis, clenching his jaw. He impatiently tapped his fingers on his leg as a Soldier crossed the street with Marius.

Gabrielle Shaw entered, her green cloak dripping wet.

“She’s still inside?”

“Yes, Sir,” the woman answered.

“Then fetch her and bring her here.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment.”

“Why?”

“She’s inside one of the…” Gabrielle searched for the right words, “forbidden rooms.”

“What room?”

“The Eris.”

Emory’s jaw clenched as he imagined what Florence was doing inside that room. Her words echoed in his head.

When you feel too much you cannot even shed a tear, or when you

’re too helpless to do anything, you’re left with no choice but to break or wreck something, otherwise you destroy yourself.

“You can’t force a member out of Eris. It’s a silent rule.”

“Is she alone?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He nodded curtly. “I’ll wait.”

Gabrielle nodded before jumping out of the carriage.

Leaning back, Emory sighed and closed his eyes.

And so he waited. And as he did, he was informed about her little adventure from Ivory House. She stole a horse and rode it here to Artemis. He also, at some point, started counting the carriages that passed by.

Two long hours later, with the storm now reduced to a gentle drizzle, the flooded street echoed with the calming sound of raindrops. Gabrielle crossed the street, breaking the calmness as she trudged through the shallow waters to Emory’s carriage.

Stopping outside, she looked at Emory through the window. “She had a few drinks,” the woman said.

His eyes jumped to the doors of the club just as Florence she stumbled out, her steps unsteady.

“She’s foxed,” he said with a sigh, reaching for the door. Gabrielle stepped aside as he jumped straight into the flooded street. “I’ll take it from here.”

Without a word, Gabrielle disappeared into the shadows of the buildings. Emory crossed the street toward Florence, who had stopped, staring at him with a frown. “Where’s my horse?” she asked.

“It’s been returned to Ivory House,” he replied. “You’re coming with me.”

She smiled at him, her eyes glazed with the effects of whatever she drank, which, if his nose was right, could have been sherry. “Where to?”

“Ivory House.”

Her smile died. “Of course.”

He signaled for the carriage to turn around and held Florence steady when she attempted to cross the street. “It’s coming around,” he told her.

When the carriage stopped in front of them, he pulled the door open. There was quite a small gap between the pavement and the carriage, but he managed to maneuver his way in with ease without falling into the flood. He then reached his hand out to Florence. “Put your foot on the step and I’ll pull you up.”

She shook her head. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“You can.”

“Well, I can’t. I have short legs.”

He could tell she was already considering getting her feet wet. “No, no. Stop, damn it. Just put one foot on the step. I’ll pull you inside.”

“Or you can scoop me in your arms and carry me inside,” she said with a laugh, her cheeks flushed.

“Lori,” he said, voice filled with warning. “I know you can reach the bloody step.”

She rolled her eyes, gathered her skirts, and did as he said. Catching her hand, he pulled her inside, and she immediately fell beside him with a huff. “How gallant. Thank you.”

The carriage started moving as soon as he closed the door. Turning his head, he looked down at her.

She had her eyes closed, back straight against the seat, her hands folded on her lap. Like a corpse in a coffin.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m quite dizzy. Nauseous,” she mumbled, swallowing hard.

“What’s this?” he asked with a frown, catching her arm.

One eye opened. She looked down at where he was scowling. Turning her arm to check, she brushed his hand off. “Nicked. Shard of glass. Happens sometimes when you throw things.”

His jaw tightened as he watched her close her eye again. She was foxed, there was no denying that. She had a small smile on her face, but he wondered what she looked like as she smashed plates against the wall. What she was thinking? How she was feeling?

“You staring at me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

Her eyes opened and his widened when she straightened and stole a kiss from his lips. It was so spontaneous and short, but he noted the fear in her eyes before she veered them forward.

“Do you know that in Gavaria, to show gratitude to friends, they offer women? Heard the Empress sent you one.”

“It is a ridiculous custom.”

“But hardly declined.”

“I did.”

A bitter chuckle rumbled in her chest.

“Why did you go to Artemis?”

She drew in a long breath and shrugged. “Needed a drink. And can’t break plates in Ivory House.” There was a pause as she looked down at her hands, fingers fumbling over her skirts. “And I was afraid I’d do something crazy.”

“Like what?”

“Pretend to be someone else again.” She swallowed and drew in a long breath. Her lips trembled and she bit them.

“Pretend to be who?”

“The Empress’s lady-in-waiting.” She let out a snort. “But I’d probably get caught before I can knock on your chamber.”

Emory stared at her in stunned silence. He wanted to reach for her, to take her in his arms and kiss her. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not yet.

“I just want to know what it feels like to be your queen, even for just one night.” Her head fell back and she her eyes eventually lost the fight and closed. “And even that seems impossible now.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

More than her tears, not being able to ease her pain crushed him.

---

“Flo? Did you hear me?” Lucy’s question did not fully register at first. “Why are you still in bed?”

Now, that question snapped her eyes open. “How did I get here?” she croaked.

Her cousin’s face hovered above her. “What do you mean?” At her silence, Lucy narrowed her eyes and pulled the covers off her. Then her eyes widened as she assessed Florence’s dress. “Did you go out last night?” Lucy hissed.

“Yes.”

“Where—”

“Artemis. Can you ring for tea?”

“No. You’re getting rid of that dress now.”

Pulling her out of bed, Lucy helped her undress. As her cousin fussed, Florence blinked at the opposite wall in confusion. She thought she saw Emory last night. Did he take her back here?

She shook her head. No, it couldn’t be. Why would he even be there? That would be ridiculous.

But it seemed real. She remembered him striding across a flooded street. She jumped into his carriage. And then…

It must be a dream.

“I can’t believe you’d do this,” Lucy said. “After everything—Flo, are you crying?”

Florence blinked. “What?” She touched her face with a finger, and seeing the wet tip, she started shaking. “I am,” she sobbed. Facing Lucy, her face crumpled. “Lucy, I think I’m losing my mind.”

Her cousin pursed her lips against her own tears. Then Lucy squared her shoulders and stormed to the door. The sound of the lock echoed around the room. When her cousin faced her again, there was a determined look on her face. “You’re not marrying Lennox.”

Florence blinked at her cousin, fresh hot tears falling from her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Lucy rushed to her side. “We’ll run away before we board the ship. I’ll go with you. We’ll go to London—wherever. I don’t care. We’ll ask for help from one of our cousins. We can go to the orient.” Lucy grabbed her hands and squeezed.

Florence’s lips trembled. “We’ll live like real mortals.”

Her cousin nodded vehemently. “Yes. We’ll never look back.”

But they both knew they were going back to Gavaria. Running away at this point was nothing but mere fantasy.

They both burst out laughing in tears, the idea of running away so real yet terrifying. Lucy threw her arms around Lucy and buried her face in her neck. “Lucy, I’m scared.”

“You and I both.”

“I ache for him.” She didn’t have to say his name because Lucy knew. “My whole being feels like it’s being ripped apart. Is this love?”

Lucy pulled away and cupped her face, wiping her tears. “It’s heartbreak, Flo. And yes, you’re in love.”

She wished her cousin said something else. Like she was stupid. Or that she was crazy. That love wasn’t real.

She fell back into her bed, tears falling freely at the sides of her face. Lucy fell beside her and they held each other’s hand, staring at the ceiling.

“I feel like the greatest fool, falling in love with a bloody king.” She messily wiped her tears with her free hand. “Only in fairy tales it happens. I never liked the damsels in distress, you know.”

Lucy laughed despite her tears. “You despised them.”

Florence sniffled, her nose red and runny as she hastily wiped away the snot with the back of her hand. “Now, I just want to be one.” She turned and faced her cousin, lips shaking, face smeared with tears and snot and pain. “I’m tired of fighting. Can’t someone just slay the bloody dragon for me? I just want to be swept off my feet and live in a castle.” She bit her trembling lips. “I’ll bear him an heir in return. All the spares he wants. He’ll just have to carry me over a flood and into his carriage, take me to his palace and not here. Is that too much to ask, Lucy?”

Lucy touched her face with pain, pity and love glistening her eyes. “But fairy tales are not real, aren’t they?” her cousin softly asked.

Florence shook her head in defeat. “I’m afraid not.”

---

A/N

We’re almost at the end, dear readers! Three more chapters to go!

I know that by now, you already know whose story is next, smart readers that you are. ;)

Anyway, happy weekend!

Best,

J.D. Ruiz

XXXI. Farewell

Two weeks after its arrival, the imperial ship of Gavaria was almost ready to sail home. Those concerned for the king’s safety were, of course, ecstatic, save for the man himself.

Emory had set a few things in motion, and thus far, none had given him a satisfying card to play for Florence’s hand. He had spent hours with the Clover to cover everything they had missed. Ideas bounced around his royal office, most of them attainable, and all with grave consequences. But he would not put his entire kingdom, and even Gavaria, at war.

While he was busy in Cloveshire, he received reports of Florence’s activities. She rarely left the Ivory House, and when she did, she met with friends in Artemis. The women also held a farewell party for the princess, which was attended by many.

“No signs of any plans,” reported Gabrielle Shaw.

“She won’t attempt another escape,” he said.

“She is also going to the Royal Theater tonight with her betrothed—I mean Hugh Lennox and the man’s first wife.”

That same night, he was in a private box in the Royal Theater, away from the rest, where he had the best view of the stage. But his eyes were never on the show, and he left without seeing anyone. He never approached her. Never talked to her. He could not risk it, he thought, because he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost control.

His plan was going to work, but it had to be perfect.

And thus, he threw his own farewell party for the Gavarians. However, unlike the first one, this one was quite different.

This time, Emory invited Sutherland’s most prominent businessmen. The perfect people to entice the Gavarians to open their gates to more ventures that would further strengthen ties. The party was intimate, designed for discussion and subtle manipulations. And thus far, the Emperor and the Crown Prince looked interested. They eagerly talked and listened to economic ideas from Sutherland’s richest entrepreneurs; ones who survived wars and famine; and ones who maintained Sutherland’s economy while it stood at the precipice of a civil war.

Emory had stepped back to assess the party, partially hidden by a large marble pillar, satisfied that everyone was with the right people. Lennox and Cassian were walking around the hall with at least three experts in artilleries; the Emperor and Steffan were seated in a corner, trapped in a conversation with Hayhurst and Erne, who owned shipping empires. The Empress was being entertained by his cousins, Anne and Margareth, and whatever they were saying was making the woman slowly fall asleep. Lennox’s wife had been alone, but was now approached by Ellise Dior. And whatever the duchess was saying held the woman’s attention.

Emory knew Florence was somewhere in the party because Lucy was there, too, and at the moment, the woman was making her way toward him with a reluctant smile. “Your Majesty,” she started, moistening her lips. “I have not yet formally apologized.”

“Your apology is accepted, Lady Lucy.”

“And I’m—”

“Lucy.” The whisper came from the other side of the column. Emory almost jumped at the sound of her voice, but remained where he was. “Lucy!”

A tight smile formed on Lucy’s face as her eyes went to the unseen Florence. “Cousin, what are you doing?”

“Hiding,” came Florence’s whispered reply. “Elene’s been chasing me the entire evening.” She let out a snort, and Emory pressed his lips together to stop showing any form of amusement while Lucy struggled to silently send her cousin a warning, darting her eyes back and forth to the other side of the column. But Florence being Florence, was too focused on what she had to say. “She wants to apologize for how she behaved during our first meeting. And now she wants to be friends. Did you hear me, Lucy? Friends. “

As Florence suppressed a pathetic laugh, Lucy grew more restless. “Maybe we can talk about this outside—”

“Last time she said we’re family. Can you imagine? What does she expect? That I play house with her?”

Lucy threw Emory an apologetic smile.

“Will you get me more wine?”

Emory bent his head, biting into a smile.

“Lucy, do you hear me?”

But Lucy just puffed out an awkward laugh, eyes flickering to the side, trying to tell Florence that they were not alone.

Hearing Florence laugh twisted something in his chest. Good Lord, it had been so long since he heard it. And he wanted to hear it more.

Finally, she stepped out of her hiding place, her back turned to him as she snatched a glass from a passing server. “Let’s go hide somewhere,” she conspiratorially said to her Lucy. Craning her neck, she searched for Lennox’s first wife. “The duchess finally let her go,” she said with a groan. “Now, she’s going to look for me again.” Grabbing Lucy’s arm, she added, “Let’s find a library. A gazebo… or a tree house. Do you reckon they have one here? I suppose not.”

But at that moment, someone else found them. Lennox stopped and fell behind Cassian and the other men they were with, his eyes on Florence.

Emory could not help but grit his teeth as Lennox stiffly approached Florence with a disapproving look and expertly stole the glass of wine from her hand, saying, “Easy, Florence, dear. This is your third glass.”

Florence was, if Emory should guess, probably livid to have her drink taken away from her, because she faced the man and eyed him up and down. “Fourth,” she corrected with a smile. “It’s disappointing that you can’t keep track.”

Color filled Lennox’s face, but he maintained his composure with a tight smile. “You’re foxed, darling.”

“You should consider using the same endearments for all your wives. You keep confusing us.” Florence chuckled, reaching for her wine, but failed when Lennox surrendered it to a footman.

“I will not have my future wife make a fool of herself,” Lennox said through his teeth.

“Fret not. Foxed or not, I’ll still be your wife. There’s not enough available women in Gavaria, I’m afraid—” And at that moment, Florence’s eyes swerved to the left and found him. Instantly, she froze and paled. Lucy, standing beside her, could only look away with a sigh.

Following her gaze, Lennox turned. The man was quicker to recover than Florence. He bowed and murmured, “Your Majesty. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

Emory pushed away from the column, eyes on Lennox. “I’ve witnessed worse things where the Grand Princess is concerned.”

Lennox laughed. “Then you must feel lucky you got away.”

When Emory simply smiled, Florence laughed. He turned to her and saw the fury burning with pain in her eyes. “I guess he is, my lord,” she said to Lennox. “Unlike you, His Majesty is too young to deal with a child.”

Not missing her insult, Lennox’s face tightened. Emory was ready to pull Florence away when someone else joined them.

Elene Lennox brushed Lucy aside and placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder. With a smile, the older woman sent her husband a silent message as she said, “I think I need some fresh air, my lord. Florence, will you join me?”

Florence remained unmoving, a taunting smile on her lips. Emory could sense the building tension, and he honestly thought she should not test Lennox’s patience further in fear of what the man could do.

Good Lord. She would not survive being the man’s wife. Or the man would not survive her.

“Go with Elene, Florence,” Lennox ordered, voice commanding and final.

Lucy gave Florence a nudge, and that made her move. Elene offered Emory a fast curtsy before pulling Florence away.

“Again, I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Lennox told him. “She’s quite young, you see, but I’m certain she will soon mature once she gets settled in her future role. They all do.”

Emory deliberately let his eyes travel from the man’s eyes down to his feet, then back. And without a word, he turned to Lucy and offered his arm. “I will escort you around the hall, Lady Lucy.”

The woman dutifully hooked her hand in Emory’s arm.

“I wish you can find a better match soon, Your Majesty,” Lennox said as they walked away.

Emory stopped and made a move to face the man, then stopped himself. He scoffed and kept walking. The best insult for a man like Lennox was complete disregard.

“Hugh Lennox is not a bad man, Your Majesty,” Lucy told him once they were a good distance away. “The Emperor would not have chosen him for the Grand Princess if he didn’t see it fit. Many women want to be in my cousin’s shoes back in Gavaria.”

“Do you truly think so?” he asked, stealing the woman a glance.

Lucy’s shoulders sagged. “No.” She looked around the hall and sighed. “Many Gavarians might think that, but no—I don’t. Florence doesn’t.” Lucy smiled wanly. “Most women in Gavaria can’t understand that. For them, being promised to an outsider means you’re unwanted. It means you’re not worthy enough to be a Gavarian wife.”

They passed a few guests in silence.

“But Florence, of course, is different. She liked the idea of being Sutherland’s queen. Not because she was looking for love, but because she had to be second to none. Not the first of many, but the only one.” Lucy looked at him, her smile growing. “It may sound petty to you, and it is most definitely considered selfish in Gavaria, but that’s all she wants. To have something that’s solely her own.” Lucy paused, thinking of her next words. “But I think after Birchfield, what she wants more than the crown and the title is the man and the life they can build together.”

Emory stopped walking, unable to say the things he wanted to give voice. Lucy let go of his hand and stepped back. “Florence and I know that fate wants other things for us. But we’re glad we made the journey to Sutherland. It’s hard to see you as king after Birchfield, because for us, you’re just Daniel Stanton.” She curtsied, lifting her skirts as she did so. “I wish you the best, Your Majesty.” When she straightened, her eyes were moist with unshed tears. “I’m sorry for having fooled you and Henry. And I also thank you for everything. Florence and I will always have Birchfield in our hearts.”

---

The Emperor and Empress left first, followed by Lennox and his first wife. As they watched Steffan’s carriage drive away, Florence sighed where she stood between Lucy and Cassian, the three of them waiting for their carriage to roll into the driveway. After her short time with Elene in the garden, she was tired. The woman tried to talk to her again, but she wanted nothing to do with her. Not now, and probably never.

The rest of the Sutherlanders were still inside to enjoy the rest of the party.

“Can we go to Artemis?” she asked no one in particular.

“Certainly not,” Cassian said, already tugging at his cravat. Her brother was ready to retire. He had never been fond of these social events. He preferred ones with activities where he could move around, restless creature that he was.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving in three days,” Lucy said beside her. “It seemed only yesterday when we were catching chickens in Birchfield.”

Florence didn’t comment as a shudder went through her. Never had she thought that going home would feel so devastating. But she wasn’t going home, was she? They were throwing her straight to Aubigny where she would have no one. Not even Lucy. And most definitely not her mother.

“Flo, are you alright?” Cassian asked beside her.

She turned her head to look up at her brother and her heart broke. His face was filled with pity and concern. At that moment, she wanted to beg for his help. Anything he could do to change their father’s mind. But he was a prisoner of Gavaria, as much as she was.

So all she could do was smile and say, “I’m glad you’re here with me, brother.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “We both know you’re not.” He sighed and was silent for a while. Then he frowned, thinking of something. “Steffan is a little strange. Don’t you agree?”

“How so?” Lucy asked.

“I heard he personally escorted Lady Keisha here a few nights ago. When Mother sent her for the king.” He stared at them, bewildered. “He didn’t have to.”

“Maybe he had something to discuss with the king—”

“And earlier, he was following the woman everywhere. If not with his feet, with his eyes. But it’s strange, really. Lady Keisha…”

From the corner of her eyes, Florence saw Emory’s figure cross the hall, his guards at his tail. Instantly, she could not focus on Cassian’s words as her gaze followed him up the grand staircase.

And for some reason, she started to move, leaving Cassian and Lucy’s side, as if something propelled her to do it. To run to him.

A desperate need coursed through her, powerful enough to ignore Cassian’s surprised cry of, “Florence? Florence! Get back here!”

Her heart pounding in her chest, she ran up the steps, past the guards, and past Emory, stopping just two steps above him. Turning on her heels, she faced him, her eyes wide, her chest heaving.

“I want to say something,” she said, swallowing as he held his hand to stop his guards. Her heart at her throat, she looked into his eyes. “This might be the last time we’ll see each other,” she added, blinking repeatedly to stop the tears, but it only made it worse because suddenly she was feeling too much for this stolen moment.

His guards became alert when she stepped down, lips suddenly trembling as she leaned her forehead on his chest, clutching his coat.

She felt his voice rumble in his chest as he ordered, “Leave us.” Almost at once, the guards retreated.

Her face hidden, she let her tears flow. “I’m leaving soon,” she choked out, sniffling. “I probably won’t see you again after tonight. They won’t allow it. So I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Princess—”

“Don’t call me that. I hate it,” she snapped, sobbing.

She knew she had lost, and losing him was the biggest price she had to pay. “Do you hate me?” she found herself asking. She needed to know. Twisting her wrist, she whimpered. “You can’t hate me that much. You like me. Even just a little. Or maybe even more than you want to.” Her shoulders shook as she struggled to breathe quietly. She wanted to tell him how frightened she was for her future; how she was desperate to be saved because she could not. “Are you really going to let me go?”

“Lori…”

She stepped closer. Why couldn’t he give her this one moment? Was it too hard to lift his arms and embrace her? To tell her he didn’t hate her and he prayed for her safe journey home?

“I’m being stupid,” she said, drawing a shaky breath. “Of course, you’ll let me go. You have to. I just… I just want you to know that I regret nothing.” She pulled away, but didn’t let go. Daring herself to look, she tilted her head, letting out a silent sigh of relief when she found his eyes staring at her without a trace of anger. Only tenderness, which was enough. “I never liked winter, but now I’ll always remember you and Birchfield and the tree house when the first snow falls.” Forcing a smile, she added, “Please know that if I have the power, I’ll always choose you. Not your crown or your kingdom. Just you, Daniel Stanton of Birchfield. It will always be you.”

She waited, but he seemed to struggle with words. Or maybe he had none to say and was just waiting for her to leave. Florence dropped her hands as another overwhelming defeat crushed her.

“Sir,” Marius’ low voice said, approaching Emory. “Someone’s waiting for you. It’s urgent.”

His eyes still on Florence, Emory nodded, and Marius stepped away. She watched him open his mouth, then close it again.

“You need not say anything,” she said, managing a cheerful tone. “Forget everything else I said if you want. I’m just being silly, that’s all. I only wanted to say goodbye.”

Then she left, her knees shaking as she ran back down.

“Are you crazy?” Cassian hissed when she reached him and Lucy. His brother grabbed her by the arm and led her down the steps toward their carriage. “You could have been killed!”

She said nothing and only smiled at Lucy when their eyes met.

She had done everything she could.

Now, she just had to go home.

---

While everyone else, including Lennox and his wife, went out to explore Coulway, Florence spent the last few days in Sutherland staring out the window. She didn’t count the guards, or the time. All she did was stare at the palace from a distance.

And perhaps she made plans. Since it was no longer possible to escape her fate, she needed to prepare herself for it. The goal was to be a difficult wife, but she had to do it with much cunning and grace. She would have no one there to support her, so she also had to form alliances.

She also wanted to see her mother sooner. She would ask for Cassian’s help to convince the Empress to allow her mother to attend her wedding. Then maybe she could come up with a plan to keep the woman in Aubigny.

And for the wedding, Lennox would have to feel the cost. She’d get the most expensive gown and accept nothing but the most lavish feast. And it would have to last for three days.

She had planned it all in her head. From friends to enemies, she had already designed her future.

“Are you ready?” Lucy asked from behind.

Florence stared at Cloveshire for the last time and sighed, squaring her shoulders before she turned. With a smile, she reached for Lucy’s hand and together, they exited the bedchamber.

Inside the carriage, she looked out the window at the Ivory House. It had been both her beautiful refuge and prison. Lucy sat beside her and Cassian jumped in not a moment too long.

“Where’s Steffan?” Lucy asked.

“He left an hour ago to see to the ship. Lennox and his entourage are leaving last.”

“Obviously to make sure that we do,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes.

When the carriage jolted to a start, Florence’s heart went along with it. And never came back. It could stay here in Sutherland, she thought. She would have no need for it in Gavaria.

The tears could not even come. There was just nothing but an empty void. Nothing but numbness.

“You know it’s not too late, yes?” Lucy asked. “We can still get away.”

Cassian scowled at them. “I can hear you, Lucy.”

Lucy stared at him squarely in the eyes. “I don’t see how you can stomach to see your sister marry Lennox.”

A glint of anger crossed Cassian’s eyes. “I cannot also stomach a bloody war, cousin.”

Lucy fell quiet, shaking her head, lips twisted.

Florence closed her eyes and looked out the window. There was nothing they could do now. She looked behind them, at her own entourage of two other carriages. There was no stopping this.

She kept her eyes closed as they rode away because she could not bear the look on Lucy’s face, and the one Cassian kept stealing. A long while later, the carriage finally drew to a stop. She sighed and her eyes fluttered open.

“What’s happening?” Cassian asked, voice laced with alarm.

“Why?” Lucy asked, joining Cassian at the window.

Frowning, Florence did the same from her side of the window. They were in the middle of the road. Poking her head out, she saw men searching the carriage in front, and the two at the back. And then three men walked up to her, dressed in blue.

“We’re sorry for the inconvenience, Your Highness,” one of them said, bowing at her. “The Royal Watchers are here to search your entourage.”

“For what?” she asked, confused.

“For someone who committed a grave crime to the king,” Henry’s voice said.

Florence whipped her head toward the other side of the carriage where the door was, and sure enough, her friend was standing outside, grinning at her.

“What’s going on?” Cassian asked.

Emory stepped into view as Henry stepped aside, his eyes on Florence. “I’m afraid the Grand Princess is not getting on that ship.”

XXXII. Bargains

I

’m afraid the Grand Princess is not getting on that ship.

The words echoed in her head over and over again. The carriage suddenly felt too crowded, with no room for air. And she needed air. She needed to breathe because everything seemed to have come to a standstill. And he was there, just within reach, telling her…

Florence blinked a few times.

He was telling her what?

I

’m afraid the Grand Princess is not getting on that ship.

She did not know how or when or what happened. One look at him and she just knew that it was over and that this was her happy ending.

The damsel was saved from distress.

But the said damsel was also a little proud and maybe a little irritated because she just realized she was left in the dark.

He must have had a plan, and he didn’t tell her. He led her to believe that she was doomed. All those tears for nothing?

I

’m afraid the Grand Princess is not getting on that ship.

Her jaw tightened as she looked Emory in the eyes. “Give me one good reason not to.”

He blinked at her in disbelief. “You’re already planning to run away.”

She scoffed back, lifting a corner of her mouth. “Wrong on both regards.”

His lips pursed. Cassian, Lucy, and Henry moved their heads from her to him, then back. “You cannot bear to be a third wife.”

“That statement is considered a great insult in Gavaria, Your Majesty.”

He moistened his lips. “You want to marry me.”

“But I do not have to,” she said, arching her brow. How could this man be so daft?

“You love me.”

Florence stiffened. “True, but wrong answer. However, you’re quite close.”

He stepped forward, one hand on the frame of the carriage door. “Choose me,” he said, both an order and a plea. “Like you always have.”

“Are you honoring the betrothal?”

“There’s none, but if you’re willing to miss your ship, I’ll make you queen.”

Lucy finally spoke, pushing her with a force that almost sent her off her seat. “Oh, for God’s sake! Go!”

“He didn’t give me the right answer—”

“You can get it later,” her cousin said.

“You can’t leave,” Cassian said.

“Lennox is not far behind,” Emory said. And to Cassian, he added, “I guarantee she can leave.”

“Go!” Lucy hissed.

A sense of urgency pushed her toward Emory, but sense of duty held her to her seat. “Tell me you have a plan,” he told him.

For the first time in a long time, he smiled at her. And suddenly, nothing seemed to matter. Suddenly, she didn’t care if he loved her or not. “I always do,” he said, holding out his hand.

Her eyes stared at his hand. “Will it work?”

His smile stretched into a grin. “Who said it already didn’t?”

Cassian’s silence told her he knew something. He wasn’t stopping her. In fact, he just stared at her, a small smile curling the corner of his lips. And that was enough for her.

Jaw tight, she stared at Emory’s hand. And taking a deep breath, she took it.

And then she jumped out of the carriage.

Jumped into the swamp.

Jumped with all the fear and apprehension for the monsters that would come after her. But she was fine. She knew how to swim.

---

As soon as Florence climbed into the carriage and Emory settled across from her, Henry held the door and grinned at them. “Have a safe journey,” he said before shutting the door.

The carriage moved in the opposite direction she was headed to earlier, and along with the horses’ hooves, Florence’s heart pounded against her chest as she stared at Emory, doubt creeping in.

Maybe he was taking her to prison to answer for her crimes. Or maybe straight to be hanged.

He sighed when she remained motionless, her hands gripping the seat. Extending his hand, he said, “Come here.”

She wanted to, but she was afraid she’d wake up and find herself on a ship back to Gavaria.

“Lori, come here—”

She flung herself across the carriage and into his arms, burying her face in his neck as she shook in tears. She cried harder when his arms wrapped around her and gathered her onto his lap. “You’re not letting me go?” she murmured in his neck.

“No,” he answered, his voice breaking.

Florence pulled away so she could cup his face and search his eyes. “You don’t hate me?”

“I’m not sure,” he said with a teasing smile. “Maybe I will if you don’t kiss me.”

She pressed her lips against his, tasting her tears as he hungrily took the lead. One hand cupping the base of her skull, he kissed her like he had never before; like it was the first time, yet also the last. Overwhelmed, Florence sobbed against his mouth.

“Stop crying,” he murmured, tucking locks behind her ears, his eyes moist with his own tears. “Lori, please. You don’t look good in tears.”

She smacked his arm, laughing through her tears. “We’ll get married?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve fixed everything?”

He smiled, nodding.

“How?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he said, pulling her close, taking a long inhale of her scent before letting out a long sigh. “For now, let me just hold you.”

---

Her eyes fluttered open to a warm afternoon sunlight sifting through the windows of the carriage. She slowly smiled as the countryside passed by, washed in various shades of pink and blue. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Hm?”

Her heart welled in her chest as she lifted her head off Emory’s shoulder and looked at him. It wasn’t a dream. Her dreams were never this perfect or magical. He was real. “It’s beautiful.”

He pulled his arm from around her and massaged his shoulder. “And I’m bloody sore.”

Florence rolled her eyes and leaned closer to the window. “Where are we?”

He bent his head slightly and peered. “Eaton.”

She frowned as they turned into a long driveway, a large manor sitting in a distance. “The Duke of Eaton?”

“Yes. And that’s Everleigh.”

“Are we staying here?”

“God, no,” he said, grunting as he shifted in his seat. “Our ship is waiting nearby.”

“Ship?”

He nodded.

“Where are we going?”

He grinned. “Home.”

Her eyes slowly widened with realization. “Birchfield?” And as he nodded, she hooked her arm around his. “We’ll have to see the Fitzwilliams. And we’re going to have to check on the tree house. And Henrietta’s grave should—” She stopped when he cupped her face and kissed her to silence.

“Slow down, Lori. We’ll have enough time.”

She smiled, nodding her head, but a tiny part of her was anxiously telling her to put as much distance between her and Coulway. But she held herself together as the carriage finally drew to a stop in front of the grand entrance of Everleigh.

West Blackwood, the Duke of Eaton, was already waiting for them.

As she gathered her skirts, Emory stopped her. “We’re not climbing down.”

“What do you mean?”

“This won’t take long,” was all he said.

The duke approached as soon as the carriage came to a full stop. He did not waste time with proper greetings, merely nodded his head at her and Emory from outside the carriage before he said, “The ship is ready, Sir.” He paused, a small smile curling the corner of his lips. “Everything went exactly as planned.”

Emory nodded. “Good.”

“Have a safe trip,” Blackwood said, knocking on the carriage before he stepped back. He threw Florence a slight bow as they rolled away.

“Are we not welcome in his home?” she asked.

“We are, but I don’t enjoy wasting time in someone else’s home.” He gathered her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

“What did you do, Emory? How am I here?”

He stared at her, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You should know that you’re the most expensive deal I had ever made, Lori.”

“What do you mean?”

“I handed the former Gavarian general who tried to kill me back to your father.”

“I don’t believe it would have sufficed, Emory.”

“I also promised your brother to help him with all his economic plans for Gavaria.”

“Not quite enough to get me.” When he just grinned at her mischievously, she narrowed her eyes. “How did you deal with Lennox? My father would never change his mind unless Lennox did.” She groaned when he said nothing, prolonging her curiosity. “What did you do to him? What did you offer him?”

“I would never be in the same room to discuss bargains with that bastard, Lori.” When she frowned, he sighed. “I did not talk to him. Nor did I do anything to him.” He kissed the scowl off her face. “I went for the wife.”

“Elene Lennox?”

He shrugged. “I gave her the thing she wants the most, and she did the rest of the work.”

“What—”

“I ordered the Clover to look into every person on your father’s ship. We learned as much as we could about them.” He stretched his legs in front of him and sighed. “We found out that Elene Lennox has a sister, and she’s been looking for her for years. At fifteen, the sister was married off and was taken out of Gavaria by the husband. Since then, she had never returned home, nor did the husband. Elene had not gone far in her search, her marriage to Lennox restricting her reach because, as it turned out, her sister’s husband is Lennox’s greatest nemesis.”

Florence froze, her breath at her throat as Elene’s words echoed in her head.

You should be lucky you know who you

’re marrying into. Many others don’t. They just disappear.

“We did what she could not do. We found records of her sister when their ship docked in Sutherland fifteen years ago. They stayed here for a few months before boarding a ship bound to Spain. It’s enough proof for Elene Lennox that her sister could still be alive. It’s a very promising start. I already have men bound to Spain, and I promised Elene Lennox I will not stop until I find her sister.” He grinned down at her. “All of this has to be done behind her husband’s back, as you understand.”

Awed, Florence blinked at him. “And in return, she convinced her husband to let me go?”

“Yes.”

“That easily?”

“As far as I know, you two are not the best of friends, Lori.”

“I know. What I mean is, how did she so easily make Lennox do it?”

He laughed. “Steffan asked the same thing.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That he doesn’t know the power a woman can wield over a man,” Emory replied, kissing her hand.

“My brother will never understand that. He’s Gavarian.”

“I’m quite certain he’ll find out the hard way.”

She grinned. “Like you did?”

Emory shook his head. “No, Lori. I’ve always known. I was there when my mother orchestrated the most evil of things. Why do you think I tried pushing you away?” He smiled as he bent his head and kissed her mouth. “But I realized I like the power you wield.”

For a moment, the carriage was silent as they kissed, limbs tangled in passion and joy. But Florence was not quite finished. Pushing his head away from her neck, she asked, “But I want more details. How? When? What did you do?”

He groaned. “Can we talk about this later?”

“If she can manipulate her husband to let me go, if she has such power over him, why didn’t she do it to make him find her sister?”

“Because she’s one smart woman.”

“What do you mean?”

“I owe her now,” he said with a shrug, grinning at her stunned reaction.

“She now has power over you and her husband,” she said in awe.

“In a way, yes.” He kissed her lightly. “As I said, you’re one expensive bargain, Lori.”

---

It was only after they boarded the ship and the wind pushed the sails away from land did Florence believe she was safe. There were still many questions she needed answers to, but only one thing mattered for now—she was where she belonged.

“You should rest,” Emory said as they entered her cabin.

“I don’t need rest.”

“We’ll be spending the entire day traveling to Birchfield in a few hours. Rest as much as you can.”

“Stay with me,” she said, catching his hand.

He looked at her resignedly. “Fine,” he murmured, sitting on the bed beside her. They scooted upward and leaned against the wall to stare at the small window and at the colors of dusk on the ocean, just like how they would on the tree house.

“What should we do in Birchfield?”

“Stay in bed.” His answer sent a tingling current up her spine and back down to her fingertips. “Probably for days.”

She snorted. “We’ll need food.” When he turned to her with a wry look, she pushed him away. “I’m talking about proper food, you fool.”

“I’ll crawl to the kitchen and cook something,” he said.

“I’ll catch some chickens.”

“No, you’ll escape to the Fitzwilliams.”

She chuckled. “Yes, I would.” They let the quiet fall between them for a moment, relishing the lull of the waves. “We need to create an heir as soon as we can.”

Emory choked and coughed at her statement before he guffawed, shoulders shaking in laughter. Wrapping his arms around her, he took her with him as he fell on his side. He groaned, closing his eyes as she turned and placed her arm around his waist. “Not here,” he warned before she could speak.

Her lips twisted. “My father could change his mind anytime. In fact, his ship might be after us as we speak.”

“He’s not going to change his mind. Stop fretting.”

“We have to make certain he doesn’t, Emory. Ever.”

His laughter rumbled in his chest. “I will not have you on a bloody ship in a bloody small bed. Go to sleep.”

She sighed.

“Good God, Lori, shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“I can read your mind and it’s too loud,” he murmured above her.

“You’re just saying that because you think I’m trying to find ways to convince you that now is the best time to consummate our impending marriage, and you’re afraid you won’t be able to resist and—” He muffled her words with his palm.

“I can resist you,” he said. “And I assure you that when it’s time to drop all armor, I’ll be much thorough.”

She swallowed as a delicious thrill coursed through her.

She never spoke again until they reached Herst.

---

The moment the doors of Birchfield opened, everything familiar greeted them like an old friend. The creaking of the steps and the small dents and chips of the wooden rails as they climbed up the stairs brought an overwhelming sense of longing she never thought she had. She could smell the whiff of winter in the air, even though it’s already spring. She was transported back in time that felt so long ago, even though it was not so long ago.

Emory didn’t ask where they were headed. He held her hand as she led the way to his room, and smiled when she stopped outside the door for a short, reluctant pause.

With an amused smile, he arched his brows. “Shouldn’t we eat first?”

She gave him a pointed look. “I’m not hungry. Are you?”

He shook his head and shrugged, biting off his laughter.

“Stop laughing,” she said as she pushed the door.

“I’m not,” he replied, walking into the room.

She eyed him with one brow cocked high. “You truly said you can resist me.”

He threw his head back and sighed. “I knew I’d be in trouble for that.”

“Well, you most certainly are. Now I understand how you fooled me. You made me believe you don’t care. And you did so incredibly because you can resist me.”

He closed his eyes and groaned.

“Are you questioning your choices now? Maybe thinking, ‘Why am I here with this petty fool when I can be with Tatiana Temple?’”

His eyes flew open, and he scowled. Then he froze. She had stripped off her dress as she talked, and now it pooled around her feet.

“And you’re probably regretting the bargains you made for me now,” she said, bending down to pull out a shoe. She threw it at his feet. The other one followed, and he had to jump away to dodge it.

Emory’s mouth fell open. “You are bloody mad,” he said, hands on his hips as he took a step toward her. “How dare you deprive me of stripping you?”

Her lips pursed against her smile. “Well, I left you the petticoat and everything else underneath.”

His laughter rumbled in his chest as his arms stretched out, snaking around her as he pulled her closer. “Stop talking about Tatiana Temple.” His mouth teased her lips. “Stop thinking about her,” he said as he deepened the kiss, invading her mouth with his tongue, punishing her with his teeth. “You’re worth more than anyone in Sutherland or anywhere else.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her to the bed. “Are you going to be thorough now?” she asked as he threw her onto the mattress.

Emory let out a snort as he loosened his cravat. Chuckling, he crawled above her, still fully clothed. Cupping her face, he looked into her eyes. “I love you,” he murmured.

She blinked at him because her tears blurred his face.

“You’re speechless,” he said, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

He scowled. “Of course, I’m sure.”

She nodded, cupping his face. “I just needed to be sure.”

Burying his face in her neck, he groaned. “God, you’ll be the death of me.”

“Will I be punished for it?”

He chuckled, rising on his knees to unbutton his shirt. “Yes. Thoroughly.”

---

A/N:

Hello, my lovely readers!

I’ll be dropping the special chapter next week. We’re very near the end! Yay! Although I’m sad Emory and Florence’s story is almost over, I’m also quite excited to work on the things I’m planning for them!

For now, I hope you enjoy the rest of this story.

Have a great weekend!

J.D. Ruiz

Exclusive Content: Bargains

This story is part of the Paid Stories program, a selection of exclusive stories that help support Wattpad writers. Click here to continue reading on the Wattpad app.

Esta historia pertenece al programa de Historias Pagadas, una selección exclusiva de historias con las que apoyas a escritores de Wattpad. Da click aquí para seguir leyendo en la aplicación.

XXXIII. Damsel

As Florence slept in his arms, sunlight warm on her skin, strands of her blond hair a glowing crown on her head, Emory could not help but think she looked like an angel, although they both knew she wasn’t. And as she snuggled closer, hand loose against his chest, he was reminded of how surreal it was to dream while awake. It had been so long since he felt it—the gentle rush of wonder, like breathing summer sunsets and spring scents all at once.

The last time was when he and Henry went back to the tree house after they were told that Eliza was not coming back. They imagined her flying with the winged creatures she drew in her book. They talked about her heaven, how it exciting it must be like. Clear skies and endless sunshine. And as children, they felt it, too, just as how they felt it when Eliza was alive and took them to her wonderful worlds.

“I’m hungry,” Florence mumbled against his chest.

“Of course you are,” he said, rolling away from her. “Can I have my arm back now?” he asked, kissing her temple.

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest.

“Oh, God, I think you killed it,” he said, lifting the arm with his good hand.

“How will you cook for me now?” she asked, lightly scratching his chest.

He caught her hand and squeezed with warning. “Stop it or you’ll never leave this bed.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, pulling her hand free to tease a trail down his belly.

“You’re sore,” he said, rolling away. “And we’re both hungry.”

She moaned and rolled to the other side of the bed. It took them some time to find all articles of clothing, stopping once in a while to share a kiss, or argue about missing buttons and laces. When they finally found their way into the kitchen, Emory gathered flour and told her to steal eggs from the coop outside. He smiled when he heard her exclaim words he could not make out, and turned to face her with a smile when she ran back into the kitchen, her eyes wide and glimmering with wonder.

“It’s beautiful out there,” she said. “Birchfield is beautiful.”

He chuckled, revering at the way she looked—tousled hair and crinkled dress, face glowing from a night of passion and morning sunlight. “We’ll explore it later,” he said, resuming his work. “The eggs, Lori.”

She disappeared again, and he watched her through the window as she picked a wild flower and laid it on Henrietta’s grave. With a sigh, he shook his head.

It took a lot of patience and a shout out the window before she found her way back inside with a handful of eggs. “Thank you, Princess,” he said, leaning down to accept the kiss she planted on his chin. She followed him around, and he kept bumping into her as he worked. When he finally had enough, Emory easily lifted her lithe form off the ground and sat her on a stool. Leaning on the table behind her, he gave her a thorough kiss and groaned when they got a little carried away. Forcing a step back, he gave her a warning look. “Stop moving around.”

As he cut tomatoes and herbs for the bread baking in the oven, she nibbled on a stolen cheese. “How do you suppose she did it?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Elene Lennox.”

He shrugged. “Threats? Manipulation? As his wife, she knows every bone of the skeletons he hides in his closet. She’ll only have to use those.” Throwing her a grin, he added, “You tell me. You’re the woman.”

She grinned. “She knows how to swim with him.”

He slowly nodded. “And knows how to drown him.”

She sighed, giving him a dramatic, awestruck look. “You have some hidden wickedness in you. I should be afraid, but all I can think about is that I’ll love being our queen.”

He scoffed, because she was right. He had a lot of wicked things, most of them she’d enjoy, others only for when he had to make hard decisions for the crown. And yes, she would love to be his queen. That had always been the goal.

“Are you thinking of wicked things you can do to me upstairs?”

His shoulders shook as he snatched the cloth from his shoulder and threw it at her. “Get the table ready. I’m almost done.”

---

They spent the rest of the day outdoors. Birchfield in spring was an entirely different place. Florence relished on the flowers bathing in warm sunlight in the woods, the sparkling water in the pond and the beautiful path that led to the Fitzwilliams. Branches arched toward each other from both sides with a blanket of wild flowers on the ground.

They walked hand in hand and made their way to the small cottage, where they were greeted with warm welcomes, fresh biscuits, and tea. Mrs. Fitzwilliam was ecstatic to learn that they were getting married as her husband smiled, saying, “I’ve always known.”

The couple asked how long they would stay in Birchfield, to which Emory only said they were waiting for things to settle in Coulway.

Florence asked him about it later as they sat in the tree house. “What do you mean?”

“Our engagement is to be announced today,” he said.

Her eyes widened as he stole the bottle of wine from her hand. “What?”

“Should I have waited?”

“Waited for us to return, yes!” she said. “I would love to be there to see everyone’s reaction.”

He choked on the wine and laughed. “You’re insane.”

“I deserve the satisfaction.”

“You will have more, trust me,” he said, setting the wine aside to cup her face. Her arms worked around his shoulders, giggling as he guided her on her back. The kiss was slow, slowly building in intensity as her hands roamed his back.

“Now?” she asked.

“No, of course not,” he said. “This bloody tree house is not built for what you have in mind. And you’re not yet ready.” She rolled her eyes as he spoke and he laughed. “But this is just as beautiful,” he murmured before dipping his head for another kiss.

They also visited the Davidsons, opting to go on foot to enjoy the view along the road. Sunlight filtered through the birch trees as they walked by, hands clasped and arms swinging. Little Suzy was the happiest when she saw Florence again. They bought baskets of foods to share with the family, and they spent the entire afternoon talking and playing with the children.

They left at dusk, her arm hooked around his as they reminisced about their days in Birchfield and talked about the future.

“I want an heir and dozens of spares,” she announced, causing him to stop and look at her in disbelief. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked. “I know I’m quite small, but I can carry a child.”

“Do you know how many women die at childbirth?”

“No, but I heard there are quite a lot.”

“Then we’ll only have three.”

“We’ll discuss this some more after I survive the third childbirth.” As they continued walking, she added, “And it’s not like you can stop making babies.”

“There are ways.”

“What way?”

He sighed. “For one, I do not need to…” She watched him struggle with his words. “Spill inside.”

She blinked. “Your seed?”

He closed his eyes, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes.”

“No,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“No spilling outside.”

His hand clamped over her mouth. “Good God, Lori.”

“What?” she mumbled against his palm.

“Don’t talk about things like that,” he said, looking around.

She tore his hand off her mouth. “Well, if you stop talking about ways to stop making babies—”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hand clamped on her mouth as he shook with laughter. “Stop,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll make dozens.”

---

He had not yet made love to her again for the next two days. They slept in the same room, but he made sure not to do anything more than kissing, afraid to cause her pain. His words, not hers.

“For someone who orders other people killed, you are being too considerate of my wellbeing,” she nonchalantly told him on the third night as she sat on her side of the bed reading a book on Sutherland folktales.

“I don’t just order people killed out of whim, and I have not touched you because I do not want to but because—” He did not finish and just sighed, looking at her. “Why are you impatient?”

“I’m not impatient,” she said, not looking up from her book. “I’m deprived.”

His laughter rang around the bedchamber. Climbing the bed, he prowled toward her in his shirt and breeches. “That doesn’t make me a good king, does it?”

“No,” she murmured, flipping a page. “These damsels in this bloody book have more romance than I,” she added with a dramatic sigh as he crawled between her legs, hitching her nightdress up her thighs. He tugged at the ribbons that closed the collar under her collarbones. “What are you doing?” she asked, throwing him a look.

“Being a hero,” he said, kissing the crook of her neck.

“I’ve had enough kisses in the last two nights, Your Majesty,” she said.

Cupping the base of her skull in his hand, he nuzzled her ear and whispered, “I’m afraid you’ve chased away the king, Your Majesty.”

She pursed her lips to suppress a smile. “Your Majesty?”

“You are the queen, yes?”

“Unofficially, yes.” She shuddered as his tongue teased the outer lobe. “And who might you be?” she asked.

“The pirate, of course,” he said, “Stealing your book.” He snatched the book from her hands. It dropped on the pillow beside her. “And I’m about to steal your night.”

She slid on her back, pulling him with her with her hands clasped behind his neck. “What else?”

“I’m going to steal kisses,” he said, cover her mouth with a hungry kiss that left her heady. “I’m afraid your nightdress, too.” The cotton fell to the floor.

“What else?” she asked, laughing as she helped him tug his shirt off his head.

“Your taste?” he asked, grinning as he kissed down to her breast. His breeches followed his shirt and her nightdress.

And as he settled on top of her, both of them bared to the moonlight in the middle of the bed, she asked again, “What else?”

“I’ll steal your breath.” He kissed downward, following his hand, the other pressing her into the mattress. Lifting his head to steal a look, he added, “But you’ll have to beg.”

And she did. With his mouth, he made her beg. She cried for his name and sobbed for more. He showed her how to enjoy his slow, intimate lovemaking. He taught her ways to pleasure him and herself, and she was an eager student. But also, a curious one, surprising him with new things.

Without the pain, Florence was even more unrelenting, more shameless with her need. Everything she did was filled with confidence, her demands even more so. It was not long before she learned how to make him beg, too. How to torture him with her hands and mouth, even her words.

Hours later, they slept tangled in each other’s arms, skin slippery and cooling with sweat. And just as the sun painted the sun pink and orange, Florence woke up to him making love to her. Then, much later, they stayed in bed, spent, watching the sunlight filter through the window.

“I was afraid I’d lose you.” His words and his voice made her stiffen. It sounded raw and vulnerable. In fact, it didn’t sound like him at all. She tilted her head back to stare at his face and felt hot tears in the back of her eyes.

“Do not ever do that to me again, Emory. Even if you meant well, it was painful.”

He smiled, running the tip of a finger over the mark he made on her throat. “Which one?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, not humoring him. “You didn’t tell me you had a plan. You led me to believe you didn’t want me. I thought I was coming back to…” She shuddered at the thought.

He moaned and buried his face in her neck. “I’ll pay for it for the rest of our lives,” he said, blindly cupping her cheek. He kissed his way to her mouth. “I’ll do anything for you, Lori. Anything,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I love you.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“I would not have risked a bloody war if I didn’t, you fool.”

She blinked back the tears as a smile curled her mouth. “You may have said it first, but I’ll say it more.”

He kissed her again. “Who is counting?”

She chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you. One.” She kissed his jaw. “I love you.” His lips. “I love you. Three.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. “I love you, too.”

“Two?”

“Too.”

Their laughter echoed around the bedchamber.

---

One week later, they were on their way back to Coulway.

“Are you certain Lucy didn’t come with them?” she asked Emory again.

“Yes,” he said. “She’s waiting for you in Ivory House.”

She scowled. “You mean I will be away from you?”

He sighed. “Only until the wedding.”

She fell silent as the carriage rolled down the road. “I could be abducted in the middle of the night.”

“No, you will not.”

“My food could be poisoned.”

“Most definitely impossible.”

“I might suffer an illness and die before you can reach me.”

He laughed.

“It is not funny. It happened to one of my cousins. Her husband died while she was in her house.”

“Her house?”

“There are different houses for different wives. They live close by, in an enclosed compound. If she lived under one roof as the man, she would have made it to his deathbed to happily say her goodbye.” She said it so seriously that he had trouble discerning if it was true or not.

“How old was her husband?”

“Not quite old enough to die,” she said, evading the question.

“I’m quite sure you are too young to die of an illness, darling.”

“I might perish with because of a bad heart. One of my cousins was merely twenty when—”

“Oh, God, Lori, you’re—”

“Can you feel that?” she asked, putting his hand on her chest.

“Your heart is beating fine.”

“No. I meant my breast,” she said, giving him a taunting smile. “You cannot have this within reach if I’m at Ivory House.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I can still visit you in Ivory House.”

She pushed his hand away. “You mean you’ll only come to me if you find the need for me.”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “No, of course not. Why would you—” He stopped, realizing she was laughing. With a sigh, he rolled his eyes. “You’re teasing.”

“I enjoy seeing you frustrated,” she said, kissing his lips. With a sigh, she said, “Ivory House. Who would have thought I’d go back there?”

“I’ll see you every day.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t.”

“Why?”

“I’d want to enjoy my remaining days as an unmarried woman.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You mean you’d like to enjoy more time in Artemis.”

“Yes, of course. Once I’m queen, I cannot go there.”

“Says who?”

“Ellise Dior.”

“You can try to apply. I will not stop you.”

“No matter,” she said with a brush of her hand. “I’d simply make my own club. I’ll call it The Throne.”

“That sounds even more terrifying.”

“You don’t have to like it. You cannot be a member,” she said, laughing as he playfully yanked her over his lap. She wiggled, sliding her knees deeper into the seat.

He groaned and held her still with his hands on her hips. “Stop, Lori, please.”

She kissed his jaw. “Why?”

His hand disappeared inside the hidden pocket of his coat as she tousled his hair, kissing down the side of his neck.

“Because you’ve been an awful distraction in Birchfield and we’re almost at Ivory House, where I know we’ll immediately ravish each other, and then I’ll never get the chance to give you this.”

Florence lifted her head and looked down at the elegant sapphire and diamond ring. She blinked. “Is Sutherland poor?”

“You don’t like it,” he said, voice laced with disappointment. “I didn’t think you prefer something flamboyant.” He started to put the ring back into his coat. “I’ll find you something better—”

Florence burst out laughing. “I’m jesting. Of course, I’ll have it.”

His lips twisted. “Too late. Fret not, I’ll find something heavier so you won’t be able to lift your hand.”

She caught his hand and tugged. “Give it to me.”

“No.”

“It’s mine,” she said, pulling at his hand with her weight.

“Lori, you’ll fall—” Just as he said it, the carriage jolted, throwing her off his lap.

He tried to catch her, but it was too late. They both fell to the floor, Florence laughing and Emory cursing out loud.

“It’s not funny,” he said, pulling her up. “Are you hurt?” He frowned as his hands inspected her face and arms. “You could have broken your neck.”

“I’m fine,” she said, locking her arms around his shoulders. “Give me my ring,” she said, kissing the frown off his face.

He sighed as she leaned back so he could fish the ring out of his pocket. Her smile froze on her lips when he stiffened, then patted his coat and looked around. “What is it?”

“It’s gone.”

“You’re teasing.”

“No,” he said, scrambling on the floor, panic on his face.

“Emory, if you are trying to get back to me—”

“Will you help?” he asked, tapping the ceiling of the carriage. When they rolled to a stop and Emory jumped out to inspect under the seats, Florence realized he was not playing with her.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, joining the search as Emory ordered the guards to retrace the road. “It couldn’t have fallen off,” she told him. “Check your pockets again.”

He did, shaking his head. “That ring belonged to my great-grandmother.”

Hearing that, she panicked, rushing toward him. “Are you sure it’s not under your shirt?”

“No.”

“Your trousers.”

He wiggled his legs. “No.”

She growled and started walking, joining the guards down the road behind the carriages. He followed, and when he saw the look on her face, he caught her hand. “I’ll get you another one if we don’t find it.”

“No, I want that bloody ring,” she said, head bent, steps careful.

Hand in hand, they retraced their path.

“You could have given it to me on the tree house,” she whined. “Or later in Ivory House.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer to whisper in her ear. “I wanted to make love to you while you’re wearing it.”

“And now we can’t even get to a proper bed because we’re down this dusty road looking for my ring.”

Emory laughed and received a smack on the arm. “Not funny,” she said, walking ahead.

He ran after her in laughter and playfully pulled her to his side.

As they resumed the search, Emory realized he had not found the perfect queen. Florence would never be perfect. And so was he. But that was the beauty of it all. Their life would have room for more of these frustrating, exciting little accidents.

–THE END–

---

A/N

Finally, we’ve reached the end of Emory and Florence’s story. I enjoyed writing this one more than I thought I would! Of course, I already planned a few Exclusive Contents. I hope to see you there, too, if you want to enjoy more of our lovely couple. I will also be featuring the stories of some of the Gavarian characters as Exclusive Contents as well. If you do not have the coins to read them, I have other free stories you might also enjoy. And of course, I have more coming soon.

I will be very busy for the rest of the year for the book I’m editing, which will be published in the Philippines. More news on it in the coming months!

I’m also already thinking of the next story to write, apart from my exclusive contents. Maybe I should start the Black Clover series?

Again, thank you so much for joining me on this journey!

Yours truly,

J.D. Ruiz

Exclusive Content: I. The Queen

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Exclusive Content: II. Courtiers

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Exclusive Content: III. Swans

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Exclusive Content: IV. Ivies

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Exclusive Content: V. Games

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Exclusive Content: VI. His Queen

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Exclusive Content: VII. Majesties

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