“You would turn your back on your crown?” Linus yells after me. “On your country?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can take your royal legacy and shove it up your ass.” With that, I dart out the archway, down the hallway, and through the front doors, into the night.
* * *
Forty minutes later,I’m still pissed off, but anger has taken a backseat to a more pressing sensation:cold. Shivering, I rub my bare arms with fingers that have long since gone numb. My knees bounce, a futile attempt to generate some much-needed body heat. It’s no use — I’m damn near hypothermic, every inch of exposed flesh covered in goosebumps.
The stone bench I found in the side garden seemed like an ideal spot when I first stumbled upon it, steam still leaking from my ears after the scene inside. But now, after nearly an hour, my bones are aching, my lips have chapped, and each freezing gulp of air burns its way down my throat like fire. To top matters off, it begins to rain — a stinging, spitting drizzle that pelts my face and quickly soaks me to the bone.
“Perfect,” I mutter to myself, watching my breath puff in a small cloud.
It’s unseasonably chilly for October, even this high up in the mountains. I realize I’ll have to go back inside eventually — it’s that or freeze to death out here, seeing as my attempt to hijack a vehicle was unsuccessful. When I stormed out of the manor, I was greeted by the uncompromising stares of the same four bulky guards who grabbed me earlier — members of the elite King’s Guard, I realize now, tasked with protecting the Lancasters.
Which, apparently, now includes me as well.
Emilia Victoria Lancaster.
The Crown Princess of Germania, by blood and by right.
I wince.
Much as I’d like to pretend this is all one big cosmic joke, I know better. Linus — I can’t bring myself to call him anything else, even in my head — is deadly serious. He intends for me to be named publicly as the heir apparent. Acknowledged in front of the entire world as his child.
How’s that for irony?
I mean… it’s every bastard’s dream. Isn’t it? To be claimed. Legitimized. To have the parent who never wanted you sweep suddenly back into your life and tell you it was all a terrible mistake. That they’re sorry. That things will be different, from this point onward.
Hell, it wasmydream, once upon a time.
But not anymore.
Because I know now that dreams come with strings attached. As Mom used to say:when something seems too good to be true… that’s usually because it is.
A shiver rattles my teeth. God, it’s freezing. The lure of warmth and shelter inside the manor is growing harder to resist, the longer I’m perched out here on this sodden bench. I wipe rain out of my eyes and glance longingly at the Lockwood Estate.
Two of my guards stand in the shadow of the great house, silhouetted by the light pouring out the first story windows. Keeping watch on me, despite the steadily-increasing downpour. They haven’t tried to force me inside yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time, seeing as they’re bound by oath to protect me — even from my own pigheaded decisions.
“I have to say,” a wry voice comments from the shadows, scaring me half to death. “This isn’t the best plan I’ve ever seen.”
Whipping my head around, I suck in a sharp breath when I see Carter standing there in the rain, his white dress shirt plastered against his muscular chest like a second skin.Sweet Christ. It should be criminal for someone to look that hot while sopping wet. Especially when that someone is your new stepbrother.
“Wh-what?”
“This.” He shrugs. “You, dying of exposure to avoid becoming the princess. It’ll work, sure, but I think there must be an easier way.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out sounding suspiciously like a sob instead. “Right, well, let me know if you think of one, because I’ve been out here racking my brain and so far I’m coming up empty.”
“I don’t know about you, but I brainstorm a hell of a lot more effectively when I’m warm. Dry. Preferably with a glass of bourbon in my hand.” He hesitates a beat, then takes a step forward and extends his hand. “Come on.”
I don’t move except to tilt my head questioningly. “I thought you were supposed to be an asshole.”
“I am.”
“Could’ve fooled me. In my general experience, assholes don’t brave the elements to help some — what was it you called me, earlier?” My lips twist. “Oh, I remember. Somedelusional, purple-haired pixieyou barely know.”
“Fine.” He snatches back his hand. “Forget it. Freeze to death, for all I care.”
Grumbling to himself, he exits down one of the garden paths and disappears between two rose bushes in the space of a few strides. Before I have time to talk myself out of it, I’m on my feet, racing after him.