CHAPTER TWELVE – HATTIE
“You’re not?” Crown Prince Finley stands up straight, finally setting his glass down. “You could escape all of this, Hattie. Get away from those people you hate. Not have the burden of being a royal.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I push myself up to standing and walk over to the island, stopping on the other side of it.
“Do you think stopping Jasmine from marrying you is the only reason I suggested this? I’m not holding some petty grudge against some innocent girl who just happened to end up in my life, Your Royal Highness.
Nothing that has happened to me was by chance. None of it was a coincidence.”
He says nothing. He merely watches me, keeping his intense gaze transfixed on mine, occasionally tapping his fingers against the side of his half-full glass.
“None of it happened because of some unfortunate luck or mere happenstance. There was no greater power with some ‘everything happens for a reason bullshit.’ No—I’m not standing here because I want to simply leave the Sinclairs.
Everything is because of them. When I say I want to ruin them, I don’t mean fuck up a business deal.
I mean I want to ruin every second of every day of their lives until they don’t want to live anymore. ”
My fingers curl into my hand. My nails dig into my palm, but I barely feel the sting. It’s a sensation I’m so accustomed to; it’s grounding and calming in all the wrong ways, but I can’t help it.
It holds me here.
Where I can breathe.
Where I can be.
Where I’m alive.
“I want them to cry to me and beg for me to leave them alone. I want them to barely scrape by while they’re forced to watch me reach heights they can’t even dream of climbing up to.
I want to leave them with nothing but the ashes of what they dared to take from me. I want to ruin their fucking lives.”
“You—”
“Marrying you so Jasmine can’t isn’t just about taking back something I perceive to be mine.
It’s about taking away the thing she covets more than anything in this world.
You. Your power. Your crown. The eventual seat of the most powerful woman in this country.
” I beat back the bubbling anger that’s twisting and tightening in my chest. “I want her to stand there and watch as I become Crown Princess of Askurg. As I marry you. As I kiss you at the altar. As I bear your children.”
He lowers his chin slightly, his eyes darkening.
“She’s lived my life for twenty years. I want her to watch as I spend the next seventy years living the life she thought she’d have.
” I dig my nails further into my palm, deepening the stinging sensation.
“Being the crown princess is her entire personality. If I take you from her, I take everything from her. Just like she did to me.”
He watches me for a moment longer, then drops his gaze to my fist. I flinch and try to pull it back, but he’s faster. In a flash, he has a gentle hold of my wrist and turns my hand over.
“Don’t,” he says softly, brushing his fingertips over the knuckles of mine. Softly, he tucks one beneath my fingers and pries them back, one by one, exposing the ugly, red indents left in my palm courtesy of my nails. “Don’t hurt yourself like that.”
I swallow and tug my hand, but he doesn’t let go. “It’s not—it’s just a reflex.”
He strokes his thumb over my palm, then reaches for the ice bucket my wine bottle is chilling in. He grabs a big cube out of it and presses it against my skin. The cold makes me wince, but he doesn’t take his gaze away from it.
“I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself,” he says, a husky edge to his tone. A protective glimmer of something I’ve never heard before. “They aren’t worth this.”
I cast my gaze over my hand and look away, focusing on a spot in the marble countertop that doesn’t quite blend together seamlessly.
“I need you to understand what you’re asking for,” he says, his tone a little softer as he moves away the ice cube.
“Marrying me isn’t as simple as saying a set of vows and swanning off into the sunset.
It’s a lifetime commitment not just to me, but to every person in Askurg.
You’ll live under constant scrutiny for everything from your smile to your hair to your outfit.
You’ll be criticised if you work and criticised if you don’t.
You’ll be dragged over hot coals one day and praised to the heavens the very next.
“People will try to hurt you. Rumours will spread. Stories will be concocted. Every bit of your past will be dissected. People you don’t know and will never know will form opinions on you and recite them as fact.
Nothing you do will ever be right. There will always, always be someone out to get you.
“You’re not just signing up for a marriage.
You’re signing up for a job. You’ll be stepping in to a life of servitude that you’ll never be able to escape.
Even if we were to one day get a divorce, you’ll never be able to return to the life you have now—one of anonymity, of freedom from public opinion.
There is no escaping the Royal Family, even if it seems that way. ”
“I know all of that,” I say quietly, still looking at the marble. “None of it matters. Nothing can ever hurt me as much as what I’ve already been through.”
“This is different.”
“It’s because it’s different that I know this.” I finally meet his eyes again. “Nothing anybody says or does to me in Askurg can touch what I went through. I know exactly what I’m signing up for.”
Crown Prince Finley pauses the stroking of his thumb against my palm and raises my hand. “It’s red.”
“That’s because you just held an ice cube against it and rubbed it for a few minutes,” I retort.
“That’s a good point.” He lifts my hand further until it’s laying against his cheek. His skin is warm, and the light stubble on his jaw is rough against my already tender palm. “It’s almost midnight. Am I too late to say yes to you?”
My stomach clenches. “You… after everything I just said to you, you’re willing to say yes?”
His lips quirk to one side. “You want protection. I want to protect you. It’s a win-win, no?”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” he murmurs, turning his face into my hand. He touches his lips to my aching palm in a featherlight kiss that’s more tender than any touch I’ve ever received. “You want to burn your family to the ground. Marry me, Hattie, and I’ll hand you the matches.”
I inhale deeply through my nose. I can’t move. Did he really just say that?
“Are you thinking clearly?” I whisper.
“No.” He looks back at me with a grin and, still holding onto my hand, walks around the end of the island counter until he’s standing right in front of me. “I’ve not thought clearly since we crossed paths in the park. So, what’s your answer?”
“My answer? To what?”
“Marry me,” he says in a low voice, sliding one arm around my waist to pull me against his firm body. “Be my wife. Be the crown princess. Let me hold your hand while you fuck up their lives in every possible way. If you must be your own sword, then let me be your shield.”
My heart is thundering in my chest. His words are like the balm to a wound I didn’t know was open. The absolute, unequivocal support radiating from him is so foreign to me, and it’s terrifying.
“I don’t know what they’ve done to you. I don’t know what you’ve been through since you were young, and I won’t pretend to.
I won’t ever make you tell me if you don’t want to.
” He releases my sore hand and cradles my cheek, tilting my head back until I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“But whatever it is, you’ll never have to go through anything like it again.
I promise nobody will ever touch you and hurt you.
I will put you on a pedestal so high that the only thing anyone will be able to do to you is worship at your feet. ”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe.” A light chuckle leaves him. “But you are, too.”
“Well. A little.” I swallow, and my tongue darts out, wetting my dry lips. “I don’t know why you’re waiting for an answer from me. I’m the one who proposed to you, remember?”
“Ah.” He smiles. “And here I was, trying to be gentlemanly.”
“Oh, please.” I push against his chest, but he only holds me tighter. “Wait. Is this… okay? Don’t you need permission to get engaged?”
“Royal Assent has already been drafted.” His smile lingers in his eyes.
“It’s ready to go. It’ll be published the night of my birthday banquet.
” He leans in, drawing his lips close to my ear.
“Where I, the Crown Prince, will be presented… with my new fiancée. Harriet Sinclair. In front of every single person present. On live television.”
I pull back and blink at him.
“Announcing you in the most chaotic, dramatic way possible,” he says. “No birth certificate waving needed, though. Sorry to ruin that for you.”
I can’t help it.
I laugh.
“Are you serious?” I ask. “Do you know how badly that’s going to do down with my family?”
“Hence why I’m doing it. You want to ruin their lives—why not get started with a little public humiliation?”
I flatten my hands against his chest. “Oh. You’re evil.”
He cocks his head to the side with a grin. “Should I revise the plan?”
“No, no. Not on my account. It’s perfect.” I slide one hand up to his collar and brush my thumb over it. “Tell me more.”
“Later. There’s something else I need to do first.”
“Which is?”
“Kiss you.”
I inhale sharply.
“Oh, is the notion of a kiss that shocking? Wasn’t it only moments ago that you declared your intention to bear my children?”
“No. I just… wasn’t expecting it.” I lower my head, but he catches my chin in his hand and tilts it back up.
“Only if you’re comfortable,” he says with a soft smile. “I won’t do anything you’re not happy with.”
He means it, too.
I can feel it.
There’s an honest steadiness to him, and for the first time since I was seven years old, I feel something.
Safe.
I feel safe.
And I don’t quite know how to handle this feeling, so I tuck it away, burying it somewhere to deal with later.
“No.” I let my lips inch into a tiny smile. “You can kiss me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He draws his face closer to mine until our lips are hovering barely half an inch apart, and I close my eyes.
The room is completely silent aside from the mingling of our breaths. His exhale is shaky, as if he’s nervous, and my own buzz of apprehension from this unfamiliar position is hurtling through my veins.
“You’re mine now, Harriet Sinclair,” he whispers. “Don’t forget who you are.”
Then finally, finally, that tiny gap ceases to exist, and for the first time in my life, I feel the sensation of another person’s lips against mine.
Warmth. There’s so much warmth packed into this tender touch, the kind that I know will leave a freezing hole behind in its wake.
I don’t want this to end.
I wish we could stay here, even with the prickle of silent awkwardness as our lips tentatively move together.
He holds me tighter, pinning me against his body. I move my hands up and wrap my arms around his neck in an action that reduces the space between us even further, and as he slips his fingers into my hair to cup the back of my head, my lips part.
He pulls back for the barest of seconds, a momentary hesitation. I use it to catch my breath, but before I can even open my eyes, he’s kissing me again. It’s deeper this time. His tongue flicks against the seam of my mouth, and I part my lips, letting him in.
It’s awkward and sloppy as our tongues meet. Our teeth scrape together, but I pull him back to continue before he can stop us. It’s uncertain and a little chaotic, but I don’t care.
This warm, fuzzy, buzzy feeling that’s pooling between my legs and spreading out through my body is familiar but not.
I know arousal. I’m no stranger to my own body.
I’ve just never felt this kind of instinctive arousal before. It’s like my body is begging for more. There’s an itch I can’t reach, one that only the man in front of me can scratch.
And if the growing firmness against my lower stomach is anything to go by, I’m not the only one feeling this.
I run my fingers up into his hair, pressing my hips against him. He jolts, and with a small gasp, pulls back, ending our kiss.
His eyes have a glazed sheen to them, and he stares at me like he can’t quite believe what just happened. My heavy exhales meet with his, mingling in the space between us, and for a moment, neither of us say a word.
“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling back slightly. “I’m not trying to push you into anything. I—”
“It’s okay.” I’m surprised at my own words—I’ve never even pecked anyone before, let alone been in a situation like this. “I… You… We don’t have to stop.”
His chest heaves. “Harriet, think about what you’re saying.”
“I am.” I swallow back the lump in my throat and step closer to him again. “We’re engaged, right? We can do this.”
“I don’t know,” he says softly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… don’t know if we should.”
Ah.
There it is.
That familiar sting of rejection.
Of not being wanted.
Of always wishing for something that I can’t have.
And really, it’s fine. This is little more than an arrangement.
I know that. It was from the very beginning.
It’s not as if we fell in love at first sight.
We’re here because it’s mutually beneficial, and aside from the fact that an heir must be produced at some point, there’s really no need for us to be physical.
That’s what I’m going to tell myself.
Maybe it’ll numb the sting of the hope that kiss sparked. The hope that perhaps we could build something real in time.
The hope that maybe there’d be somewhere I’m truly wanted.
“You’re right.” I take a few steps back and smile, although my heart isn’t in it. “In that case, do you mind if I take the master? I had a lie down in there earlier, that’s all, so…” I dart around him with my head lowered.
My cheeks are burning. With what, I don’t know. I can’t tell if this is embarrassment or acceptance of the inevitability that even the man who just agreed to marry me can walk away from me.
“Wait.” Crown Prince Finley grabs me from behind, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
“Your Royal—”
“Finn. My name is Finn. Use it.” His lips are right by my ear.
I tilt my face away. “I cannot.”
“Finn.” His voice is lower this time. Firmer. Rougher. “Use my name if you want to address me, or I shall simply ignore you.”
Ugh.
“Fine. Finn,” I say softly. “Please let me go.”
“It’s not what you think. My rejection.” He sighs and presses his face into my hair. “It’s not… It’s not that I don’t want to. Truly. I do. Shit, that should be obvious.”
Well.
I’m not going to point it out, but I can feel that obvious against my lower back.
“I’ve… never… done this before,” he finishes quietly, his arms tightening ever so slightly around me.
I pause. “You’re a virgin?”
Another sigh, and this time, it blows through my hair. “Yes. I’m a virgin.”