Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ELLA
I curl my fingers into my palms, squeeze, let go, and repeat.
The only good thing about the warm weather not requiring gloves is that I can use my fingertips’ pressure against my skin as a more subtle way of pinching myself.
The sprawling green in the center of the arena is free of equestrian trappings today.
And even if I don’t exactly have any experience in archery, at least it’s an easier sport to understand.
Bullseye, good. Hit the air, bad. Not that any of these highly trained athletes actually end up that far off-target. But at least I’m clapping at appropriate moments this time around. Some of those Carvarell folk games were a little more like guesswork.
“Enjoying your first day on duty, Princess?” A man drops down two seats to my right, leaving one vacant spot between us.
I glance at him, already disappointed that it’s not Archer. Because, of course, Archer would never drop. The Crown Prince of Northandria sits down, properly, like an actual knight from a child’s storybook. He’s probably never slouched in his life.
I exhale. Why I ever expected Archer to show up isn’t something I can explain. I know he’s busy. I know being the heir to the throne during Northandria’s busiest month of the year, on a jubilee year, no less, is more than a full-time job.
And just because he’s starting to worm his way into a permanent corner of my heart doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual.
“Well enough,” I answer Eduardo. I kindly avoid pointing out that it is his antics that have landed me in my current state—dressed in my first, and probably last, fuchsia dress suit in my life. I’m lucky a brunette can wear any color. “Are you doing well?”
He smirks. I do wonder, a little bit, how suave, steadfast Archer can be close friends with a man who looks like he is one unbuttoned shirt button away from posing on some gossip magazine cover, except his tan looks more real than most of Hollywood’s leading men’s. Must be the Sanbelli sun.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t be,” he answers with a grin. “My conscience is clear.”
Is it?
In the row across the aisle from the royal box, a young woman offers cold water bottles for sale on a tray, the contraption strapped to her waist and neck. As a royal guest, I get fed for free. But our neighbors are still subjected to the concession rounds.
The worker hands back a spectator’s bank card before turning to approach the next row, stopping just short of our section. She looks up, and so does Eduardo.
He winks at her, charm oozing, and the girl blushes to her roots.
“Got anything for me, love?” he asks, too softly for most people to hear, but certainly loud enough to communicate confidence.
It’s the kind of move that cheapens the title of prince, but probably makes his posters sell like hotcakes. I murmur a secret prayer of thanks that Archer isn’t that type of prince. Fake engagement or not, at least I’m being associated with someone I respect.
And that means a lot. It may not to some people. But it does to me.
“Do you need some water, Your Highness?” The water girl smiles with such a starstruck look that I don’t want to imagine what a less ethical royal would be able to talk her into. You know, like the royal right next to me.
“I am pretty thirsty,” Eduardo flirts right back. Another wink. Another grin.
I clear my throat and decide to address the girl myself. “All our beverages are provided for. Thank you, miss.”
She glares at me. Literally glares at me, just for being a messenger for reality. Then she turns away and resumes her actual job.
I sigh when she’s out of earshot again.
“You know, you and Archer really are perfect for each other,” the prince whose company I definitely did not ask for says beside me. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you capable of anger.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“No.”
I’m not jealous, not over him. But am I a little on edge because Archer isn’t here? Maybe. And I am definitely very disappointed that some other people can treat their privilege like some twisted free pass to toy with every woman that remotely brushes into their space.
Royalty is a privilege, and a duty.
“I’m not sure why you were distracting her,” I say. “She has a job.”
“And so do I.”
A job that I am taking over because he decided to canoodle with the Andovan Prime Minister’s daughter—and possibly his wife.
I try not to judge. I really do. “Your Highness, if there is no other reason that you need to be here—”
“Here.” He hands me an envelope, wax-sealed. I look at it in surprise. He gives me a wry grin. “Don’t worry. It’s not a love letter—at least not from me.”
My heart speeds up. A letter—from Archer?
“Get it before the cameras think I’m trying to steal you away from Arch.”
I obey and quickly snatch the note from him. I keep my eyes on the action in the center of the stadium as the latest athlete steps up for his turn. I’m watching archers while pining for Archer. No pun intended.
I wait for everyone to be distracted with applause for another bullseye before opening my letter. It’s short, and sweet. But my eyes smile. My lips smile. My heart smiles too.
I regret my absence as much as I believe in your success. The winners will be doubly rewarded by having you there to congratulate them.
Then there’s the little Phoenix inside joke too.
By the time I look up again, there’s something almost curious in the way Eduardo observes me. “You genuinely like him.”
I’m glad for once that I don’t blush as easily as that poor Northandrian girl earlier. “Why would you say that?”
“You think I don’t know what a girl looks like when she’s interested?”
“I’m not—interested.” Interested sounds so mercenary, or so casual. Whatever this is that I feel for Archer is definitely neither.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I know he’s as smitten as you.”
I will my heart not to get ahead of itself. “I don’t see why you would say that.”
“It’s not every day that a girl takes Northandria as seriously as Arch does.” Eduardo chuckles. “But I guess he found one.”
“That only means that we both take duty and tradition seriously.”
“And some of us don’t?”
When you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say anything.
The final arrow lands, clean and dead center. The spectators cheer loudly for the winner, an Andovan, if I remember the team colors correctly. But the silver medalist is Northandrian, the results an apparent upset.
The prince chuckles, but it sounds a little hollow, somehow. He stands “I’ll leave you to your celebrations.”
I turn up towards him. “Thank you for bringing the note. I appreciate it.”
He nods. “Not much else for me to do these days.”
And he slips away, leaving me to read Archer’s note a dozen more times to my heart’s content before I’m called down to do the awarding.