Royally Rebellious: An arranged royal romance (Resplendent Royals Book 1)

Chapter 4

Iwoke the next morning unable to function until I popped an aspirin and drank water. I wished to return to bed and prayed my liver would not fail me now. The night before was dreadful. Yes, I’d managed to do something dirty in a staff office with an unbelievably hot blonde. I should have been happy but I wasn’t.

“Sir?” There was a knock.

“Yes?” I groaned.

“May I come in?”

It was Martin, my favourite protection officer. He’d been dispatched to me.

I choked out a yes and sat out, having more water. My whole head throbbed. It was awful.

“Sir, Queen Margaux and the Prince Consort would like to host you for lunch.”

“Motherfucker,” I groaned.

That was non-negotiable. I must attend. If a hosting monarch invited you to luncheon, you sucked it up and went.

“Did she say why?” I asked, nervous that my indiscretions from the night before had come to light.

“Her private secretary intimated she would like to catch up. A kind invitation. She hopes you enjoyed your evening. Perhaps, a bit too much, sir?”

I grimaced. “Yes, indeed.”

“It could be good for you.”

I knew what Martin meant. He was like an older brother to me—in a way my strange and awkward older brother was not. He sometimes offered his opinions too freely but knew I needed and valued that. He’d told me to stay away from my ex. He’d tried to stop me from getting involved with her but ignored him.

“Martin, I will go. But… I need something.”

“I can bring you a sports drink?”

“Great, thanks.”

He turned to leave but I had to say something.

“Did she find out, Martin?”

“What sir?”

“Don’t lie. You know what I got up to last night.”

Martin shrugged at me with pity. “Sir, I think you are in the clear. However, it would behove you to not do that again.”

I hated myself. There was to be no redemption arc. I embarrassed myself at the bar. I’d used a woman because she was convenient. She probably used me, too. She mentioned something of a breakup. That still didn’t make my view of her as replaceable any less reprehensible in the morning.

Martin had the staff bring me a sports drink. I sucked it down, knowing in about ninety minutes, I would need to act like all was well. The deafening pounding in my head served as a reminder it was not. Regardless of what I told myself, I was heartbroken. I attached myself to a woman I couldn’t have and was reaping the rewards of that “choice”. I miss her even now. I knew better than to try and reach out, but it killed me to think I may never speak with her again.

She swore she’d leave him. She did, but only after she blew up my entire life. I was dumb enough to believe we’d get away with it—that she’d leave him, that we’d be able to run off, and that we could make a life together. I don’t know why I thought I deserved that much. People like me didn’t live happy lives with their forever person.

Licking my wounds and feeling sorry for myself, I attended my scheduled lunch with Queen Margaux and Prince Consort Alex. People called him Al. He was American and I liked him. She frightened me.

“You slept well?” the Queen asked.

Her tone suggested she knew what I got up to with her distant cousin—maybe generally what I got up to. She and my father spoke regularly. I was certain he’d told her how much of a fuck up I was.

“I did, thanks.” I lied. “Is anyone else attending?”

“No. Your father said you might be interested in chatting. He thought it would be good if we spoke.”

I cursed my father internally. “Oh, did he?”

“Yes. I usually entertain your parents. I adore your mother.”

“Who doesn’t?” I asked.

My mother was the one person in my life who never deserted me.

The Queen smiled. “Well, we missed her, but we were happy to host you. How is your brother doing after the wedding?”

“Haven’t heard from him. Didn’t expect to on his honeymoon.”

Everyone heralded my brother’s wedding as a triumph. It took a vast media circus to keep up that appearance. He had the charisma of burnt toast. While his wife was rather affable, they had no sexual chemistry. He provided a life for her that she enjoyed, and she tolerated him. It was no fairytale. The press just billed it that way.

“Weddings are always nice,” Prince Al said. “Might be a while until we see another one.”

I shrugged. “They are expensive and a lot of work.”

“People adore them,” Queen Margaux insisted. “It’s good for morale. Do you have anyone you’re holding a candle for, Rick? Might you follow close behind?”

“No,” I replied.

She gave me a sad look. I hated pity. It was better than ire, but it was still judgement.

“There was someone. It didn’t work out,” I said. “My father has probably described me as hopeless, but I am not.”

I loved to lie to myself. If I said it enough, I’d be right. Rick the Prick was the public persona that both haunted me and felt most comfortable in defensive moments. Yes, I was a prick, but I was free to be me. I wasn’t beholden to anyone else.

“Sorry to hear that,” the Queen said. “Well, maybe there is someone out there. Did you meet anyone or see anyone I could make a nice introduction to?”

“She thinks of herself as a matchmaker.” Al rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, not everyone wants to be set up. What is it with every queen being a matchmaker?”

“I love seeing a happily-ever-after, so shoot me! I am only asking him.”

“No,” I answered, “but thank you. The only person I spoke to of a similar station—the only one my parents would consider remotely interesting—was Queen Alexandra. And she chided me for my poor French. Made fun of me, honestly.”

“Oh, I couldn’t see Queen Alexandra taking the piss,” Queen Margaux chuckled. “That darling thing would never hurt a fly. What was it?”

“She insinuated my French was poor while trying to translate for me.”

“Your French is poor. She’s an angel. I wouldn’t read anything into it,” Queen Margaux said.

“I try not to,” I said. “Neandia is bad enough. A nursing home for billionaires. It’s not as though she is so worldly.”

I realised I’d spoken poorly of a Belgian ally. I cringed.

“It may be conservative and a tax haven,” the Queen allowed. “However, she’s dealing with a regency and trying to find her footing. Don’t attribute to malice what might be awkwardness. Becoming queen in your teens isn’t simple. I became queen in my mid-twenties, and it was bad enough.”

I nodded. “Apologies. I spoke out of turn. I will grant her some grace. That’s all I meant by that.”

The Queen nodded. “So, really, no one piqued your interest?”

“Apologies, ma’am, but no.”

“Well, damn. Your mother had high hopes I could at least make an introduction,” Queen Margaux sighed.

Ah, yes. Every queen in Europe was conspiring to wed me and get me settled. It was as if my parents were sure a prospective spouse would end all my nasty habits and mend me. I hated to tell them that was tomfoolery. I wasn’t to be mended. This was who I was. No woman deserved to get roped up with me. I wanted love and happiness, but the girls capturing my attention were unavailable, unsuitable, or saw me as a fling. The girls who wanted to settle down bored me to tears.