“But?”
“How do you know there’s abut?”
He takes a long sip of scotch. “Let’s call it a gut instinct.”
“I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for,” I say bluntly. “I’m not ready to get married. Not to you or anyone else. And frankly, I don’t care if that ruffles societal feathers. I don’t care if the aristocracy doesn’t approve. Becoming a wife — becoming amother— is not something I would ever do for political reasons. If you really knew me, you’d recognize that.”
“Queen Emilia—”
“Would you mind getting me a glass of water?” I cut him off before he can say anything else, seizing upon the first excuse I think of. “I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”
He tenses at the wall of formality I’ve thrown up between us, but doesn’t attempt to knock it down again. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll be right back.”
With a stiff smile, he bows and walks away. I hold my breath as I listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps. Only after he’s disappeared inside the museum am I able to breathe properly again; my lungs seem to loosen inside my chest, inexplicable tension falling away in a great whoosh.
I glance around the terrace and see it has emptied completely during the course of our conversation. I wonder if that means the auction is beginning. I should probably head inside to find out for myself, but I can’t bring myself to — not just yet.
Taking a sip of my champagne, I revel in the momentary solitude. I’m so rarely alone these days, especially at functions like this one. And after Alden’s little speech, I need some time to gather my thoughts.
A marriage proposal.
Was he serious?
Did he actually think I might say yes?
I’m not naive enough to deny the truth behind his words; there are many Germanians who would feel far more at ease seeing their queen settled down, a husband by her side, a new heir on the way. And yet, I cannot bring myself to contemplate such a reality. Not now. Not for a long, long time.
Not while my heart still beats for a man I can’t ever call mine.
The sound of approaching voices jolts me out of my thoughts. Someone is coming out onto the terrace. Several someones, judging by the high-pitched feminine cackles washing out the museum doors as they step outside, heels clicking against the stone. To my horror, I recognize one of the voices instantly.
“Did youseethat horrendous streak in her hair? How tacky can she be? I swear, it’s bad enough having to call a low-class guttersnipe our queen… she could at least make minimal effort to look the part…”
Ava.
She and her posse are the last people I want to see right now — alone, without any backup to fend off their nasty words. A few more steps and they’ll spot me standing here by the railing, totally exposed.
I have to move.
My eyes dart around, seeking somewhere to hide. Nothing materializes. No alternate exit doors or emergency escape hatches. The terrace is sparsely decorated; nothing but open air, with the exception of a few evergreen trees in large decorative vases scattered around. And crouching behind one of those in my bright purple dress won’t keep me concealed for long.
I eye the terrace railing with desperation.
Could I jump it?
How long is that fall?
Fifteen feet?
Twenty?
For a crazy instant, I actually contemplate hiking up my skirt and hopping over the stone railing, taking my chances with a sharp tumble into the frozen gardens… in all likelihood, landing in a razor-thorned bush of some kind…
I amsonot wearing the right outfit for that.
“Ava, that’s a little harsh… Give her a break.” Ava’s friend pauses smugly. “You can’t buy class, after all. Even the royal jewels aren’t enough to disguise trash.”
They laugh again, sounding even closer this time. Any second now, they’ll see me. Time has frozen and, with it, my body. I am paralyzed in place. I cannot run. I cannot hide. I cannot do anything but brace myself for their inevitable arrival.