The Royal Runaway (Royally Kissed #3)

Chapter 1Amelia

Chapter 1

Amelia

I live my life by a set of unflinching rules of things a Ledonian princess is forbidden to do. And today, I can add another one to the ever-growing catalog. Rule number 1,247: A princess may not escape her royal duties by faking attendance at a silent meditation retreat.

Well, I'm about to break that one somewhat spectacularly.

I’ve always kept my list of rules in a leather-bound journal, carefully hidden behind one of the many artworks in my rooms—an attempt by Father to make me appreciate the history of my country. Which of course I do, and I don't need some painting of a bunch of wilting flowers and a moldy old orange by some dead guy hanging on my wall to make me appreciate where I live.

I get it. I’m a princess of Ledonia, and that means I’ve got certain privileges—and certain expectations.

The privileges I’m down with. Who wouldn’t be? But the expectations? They’re a bit of a sticking point for me. Hence my journal is rather full of things I'm not allowed to do.

Things like:

Rule number 124: No climbing trees. In my defense, those diplomats were totally up for it.

Rule number 657: No wearing jeans to official events. Which is utterly ridiculous because, as I pointed out to Mummy, half the population wears trousers. To which she replied, “Quite, dear. The men.”

Rule number 908: Never wear orange fingernail polish covered in little spiders, even if it is Halloween . Can’t a girl have some harmless holiday-themed fun? Not if she’s a Ledonian princess, it would seem.

So, yes, there are way too many rules for a princess like me. In fact, there are rules for every aspect of my life. From what to wear to how to wave to what shade of lipstick one should wear to a ball.

And you know what? I’m looking forward to breaking each and every one.

All of these silly rules come so naturally to my sister, Sofia. Seriously, I think she swallowed the rulebook as a baby and has followed every single rule contained in that book ever since.

Well, not every rule. She did leave the palace grounds without an official escort when she and her now husband, Marco, took a trip to a village in the mountains and kissed under the light of a hundred lanterns, breaking Rule number 511: Never, ever leave the palace grounds without security detail.

If Sofia and Marco’s little adventure has taught me anything it’s that if you’re going to break the rules, you must make it thoroughly worth your while.

Go big, or go home.

That’s the way I see it.

As I wrote a new entry last night in the room I always stay in when we visit the Tleurbonne Palace in Malveaux—Rule number 1,246: Don’t snort laugh and then slap your thigh when talking with a member of the public, no matter how funny they might be— I could almost see Father pursing his lips at my penmanship, even now that I’m twenty-four and three quarters.

Not that I’d ever let him read what I write in my book.

And anyway, these days, he's more focused on my social media presence than my penmanship, which he says should be impeccably elegant and regal. He clearly doesn’t know that all I want to do is post funny memes of cats as well as photos of me with Max or Alex or Maddie, having a great time, like any normal person would.

“Such images are not becoming of a princess, Amelia,” Father decreed. “And don't even get me started on those videos you made last week. Thank goodness our PR team managed to take them down from Tickery Tockery before too many people saw them.”

“It's TikTok, Father,” I corrected, but of course it fell on deaf ears. Father is about as interested in my opinion as anyone else in this palace, aka Amelia is talking but no one is listening . It goes with the territory when you're the third-born child whose role in life is to look regal and not a lot else.

Today, my journal is safely tucked away in my handbag at my feet as we sit in the royal Ledonian enclosure to watch The Games, the annual competition between our two countries, Ledonia and Malveaux. They involve everything from archery and polo to large, burly men picking up things like logs and hurling them across lawns in a show of strength.

Soon, the real fun will start when we royals compete in the more lighthearted activities. One such activity is Cheese Rolling, in which we nudge wheels of cheese with a stick down a gentle slope. It’s always fun, but my absolute favorite is the Wife Race, which isn't quite as old fashioned and sexist as it sounds. Well, it was until Alex insisted last year that we could all compete in the event, married or not, at which point I chose the largest, most strapping chap I could find—a rather easy-on-the-eye rugby player called Liam Cartwright—and successfully crossed the line first.

I plan on doing exactly the same at this year’s event.

“What are you smiling at?” my younger brother, Max, asks as we applaud the winners and prepare to compete ourselves.

“Nothing,” I reply evasively.

“I assumed you were making eyes at Liam Cartwright. He’s going to be your partner again in the Wife Race, isn't he?”

“Of course he is. I have every intention of winning this year.”

“I'm not sure you did a whole lot to win last year, dear sister, what with the fact the women get carried.”

I rise from my seat and adjust the ridiculous hat I’ve been sweltering under for the past few hours, an elaborate thing involving pheasant feathers. “It's all in the technique, you know, Max.”

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me it's got nothing to do with the fact that Liam Cartwright is six foot five and built like a?—”

“Do not finish that sentence!” Mummy's voice sounds out in warning.

“All I was going to say was he’s built like a jolly sturdy building that may or may not house a toilet,” Max replies with a mock innocent look on his face that absolutely no one believes.

“My dear boy, you can speak like that with your compatriots in the Royal Air Force, but not in mixed company,” Father scolds.

“Of course, Father,” Max replies.

“Come on, you two. We've all got to get ready for the Cheese Rolling and the Wife Race,” Mummy says to Sofia and Marco, who have spent half the morning gazing at one another like a couple of lovesick puppies.

You know there's a certain irony in the fact that Sofia once planned on marrying somebody she felt no attraction to whatsoever, and now she's married to a man she clearly has major sizzle for.

I take it as a personal success. It was me who told her that using a series of boxes to be checked off on a spreadsheet was a terrible way to find a husband.

I was right.

Now, I want it to be my turn to find the sizzle with a dashingly handsome, totally dreamy man.

Which is exactly what I plan on doing after The Games finish tonight.

Before you go thinking I'm going to do something reckless, I have it all planned out. I have the perfect alibi. According to the official line, once The Games are over here in Malveaux, I’m travelling to India with my cousin, Stefania, where we’re going to enter a month-long silent meditation retreat.

I know what you’re thinking. Me, silent? But for reasons yet unknown but nevertheless rather convenient, everyone seems to believe my story.

And as for Stefania, even if she wanted to tell my family that I'm not on the retreat she won’t be able to without breaking her silence, which I know she takes awfully seriously because she’s one of those rule-following oldest siblings who suck the joy out of everything.

Really, it's the perfect cover! I can have a grand adventure all of my own, with nobody breathing down my neck and telling me to follow the rules and all the other things I hate about being a princess.

I'll be free.

Free to do what I want when I want. I'm going to break every rule that's kept me trapped in this gilded fishbowl, especially the climbing trees rule.

The very thought makes me giddy.

A short while later, with my strapping, oversized rugby player at my side, we wait at the starting line, ready to head across the grass in the Wife Race.

“I warn you, Ami, I've been working out harder than usual in preparation for this,” Alex tells me.

I raise my eyebrows at Maddie, his wife.

“It's true. He's been training for weeks,” she says, with that goofy loved-up look on her face as she smiles up at my brother.

“So has Marco,” Sofia says, and she and Marco share just as much of a goofy loved-up look as the other two.

Me? As strapping and altogether manly as Liam Cartwright might be—and he is awfully strapping and altogether manly—I don't have the urge to look at him with anything other than “let's win this thing” eyes. And besides, Liam told me he’s met someone and fallen in love, so even if I did look at him in that way, it would not be reciprocated.

It needs to be my turn. I'm the one who wants a grand love affair. I'm the one who wants to be swept off her feet by an impossibly wonderful man whose eyes light up when he looks at me, just the way my brother’s and sister’s do when they gaze at their loves.

You see, I've not once been in love. Not even a little bit. Sure, I may have had short lived relationships with a few men and have fancied the pants off some others, but I've never felt that deep sense that I know beyond a whisper of doubt that this is my person. That he and I are better together than when we're apart. That the world is somehow so much more wonderful because he’s in it.

Not to mention the sizzle.

Oh, how I want that sizzle! Feeling that hot, all-consuming electricity searing through me, consuming my every thought?

Bring.

It.

On.

That's why I'm not going to India to stay mute for a month. That's why I'm escaping this royal prison. To experience life. To lap it all up. To meet the man of my dreams and—hopefully, hopefully —to fall in love, sizzle and all.

And it’s not just anyone I want to meet. Oh, no. I know exactly who.

Greg Smith, the man I’ve been talking with for the last couple of months. The man whose dark eyes make my breath hitch. The man whose jaw is razor sharp and stubbled, whose lips curve into the most delicious of smiles, whose broad shoulders fill out his shirt to perfection.

I let out a sigh.

I might not have met Greg Smith in person yet, but with everything we’ve shared over the last two months, I just know he’s the man for me. Yes, he’s utterly gorgeous, but more than that, he’s sweet and thoughtful and knows exactly what to say and when to say it.

He’s my fantasy man.

To meet him in real life, I need to get to the C?te-des-Papillons, aka the Butterfly Coast, where we’ll meet at a bar overlooking the sea. He’ll be holding a single red rose—clichéd but nevertheless romantic—and then our adventure will begin.

“Ready, Princess Amelia?” Liam asks, his arms outstretched to pick me up.

“Let’s win this thing,” I tell him.

He flashes me his smile. “Is that a royal commandment, Your Royal Highness?”

“Would it help you go faster if it was?” I ask and he nods. “In that case, I command you to run like the wind, Liam!”

“As you wish, ma’am,” he replies, as though he’s Wesley from The Princess Bride .

But I’m not his princess. I’m Greg’s princess.

Or at least I hope I am.

I leap into his arms, the horn blares, and Liam takes off, each of his footsteps reverberating through me as he pounds across the field. In only a few short strides we’ve left everyone for dust: Alex and Maddie, Sofia and Marco, Max and the teeny tiny girl he chose for the event, slung over his shoulder, and Mummy in Father’s arms, whose face has gone bright red from exertion.

Our family is nothing if not competitive, and we are all giving it our absolute best as we aim for the finish line.

“We're gonna beat you this year!” Maddie calls out from her position in my brother's arms, her words coming out in short bursts with each step Alex takes.

“No, we are!” yells Sofia from her position atop Marco, who, I admit, is alarmingly close to us.

Max doesn’t say a word. He’s too busy giving it his all, his face a study in determined concentration.

“Have … you … not … seen … Liam?” My words come out as though I’m trying to yell while jumping on a trampoline. “Legs … like … tree … trunks!”

And within a few more bounds, with my internal organs now feeling like they’re playing a game of musical chairs, Liam strides across the finish line ahead of the others, and we are the victors for the second year running.

Hazar!

Panting hard, he lowers me to the ground, his face shining red. “We did it,” he says between heaving breaths.

“The dream team!” I raise my hand and we high five.

I can feel Father’s judgement without even looking at him. Another rule to add to the journal. Rule number 1,248: No high fiving rugby players in public, even if you have just won the Wife Race for the second year running.

But I don't care one bit. Not only did we win, but I'm about to throw that rule book and all of its silly, nonsense princess rules right out the window.

My family congratulates me—Alex, Max, and Sofia somewhat begrudgingly—and after the evening celebrations finally begin to wind down, I'm itching to go.

I find Max and pull him away from the girl he’s flirting with, much to his annoyance.

“This had better be important. Claudette was just telling me how bendy she is.”

“How fun for Claudette, and yes, it’s important.” I glance around to make sure that we're totally out of earshot. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell a soul,” I begin in a low tone.

“Is it something worth knowing?”

“Trust me, it is.”

“Go on, then.”

“Promise?” I offer him my hand.

“We’re not kids anymore, you know.”

“Promise.”

“Okay. Promise.” He takes my hand, and we do our special handshake, the one we devised when we were eight and six respectively.

“I'm not going on the meditation retreat,” I say, a grin claiming my face.

“Can't say I'm surprised. You’re not built for silence, Ami.”

“I'm going on an adventure instead.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm leaving tonight for a grand adventure!”

“You can't do that. Father will kill you. And so will Mummy.”

“But don't you see? They'll never know, and I'll return to the palace after the retreat is done and no one will be the wiser.”

He shoots me a dubious look. “It will never work.”

“It will. You'll see.”

“Father will have you followed, that Fabiana Fontaine woman will track you like a bloodhound, and you’ll get recognized the moment you set foot outside the palace.”

I shake my head at him, counting them off on my fingers. “Father won't have me followed because he thinks I'm going to India. Fabiana Fontaine will have no clue I'm even gone. And I'll wear non-princess clothes so no one will recognize me.”

“You wear non-princess clothes half the time anyway, unless you count jeans and high tops as princess-wear.”

“But only when I’m off duty and no one sees me. Can’t you see? It’s the perfect plan.”

He pulls his brows together. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”

“One hundred thousand billion per cent. I need to break free of this life I lead. I need to see what else is out there.”

He studies my face for a beat. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Promise,” I tell him with a quick arm squeeze.

“There she is,” Mummy says as she and the rest of the family crowd Max and me. “Have the most wonderful but silent time, darling,” she says as she pulls me into a hug. “Make sure you look after her, Stefania.”

“I will,” my cousin replies.

“I still can't imagine you not talking for an entire month,” Alex says with a light punch to my arm.

“I'd reply but I'm already practicing for the not talking part of the retreat,” I say, and Alex raises his brows at me as though I've just proved his point.

Which I have.

Dang it.

“And it's only twenty-eight days,” Stefania corrects.

“Oh, I'm sure those last two days will make all the difference to Ami,” Max replies, and receives a rapid shove from me.

Sofia pulls me into a hug, “Take care of yourself.”

“Try not to get Delhi belly,” Marco adds. “It's not pretty. I've been there, literally in Delhi.”

I scrunch up my nose. “TMI, Marco,” I reply, but he just grins.

It's Alex’s turn to hug me goodbye. “Why are you doing this again?”

“Can’t you see? It’s because she wants to find herself, like Julia Roberts in that movie. Ami’s pulling an Eat, Pray, Love ,” Maddie replies for me.

Pulling an Eat, Pray, Love ? Sure, let's run with that. After all, I may not be heading to India on a silent meditation retreat— yawn —but I am hoping that meeting Greg might at least cover the love part.

“The car is here, your Royal Highness,” Cooper, one of the footmen, says.

“Thanks a lot, Coops.” Beaming at my family, I say, “Well, this is it. See you all in a month.”

They encircle Stefania and me, hugging us and telling us they love us, and to take good care of ourselves while not speaking.

“Remember, you won’t hear from me for the full twenty-eight days. I’m starting my silent meditation from the moment we land in India,” I say.

“Good luck with that,” Alex says.

As I turn and wave at them all one last time before I climb into the car, my heart feels like a snow globe someone's shaken right up. It's time to embrace the terror of what I'm about to do and lap up every last second of my adventure. After all, the royal family of Ledonia might be expected to find their spouses through arranged marriages and royal balls, but this princess? She's going rogue.

Rule number 1,249: A princess must never, ever feel giddy about breaking the rules.

Well, there goes another one.