Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ELLA
It shouldn’t be considered cheating if the other people are broken up, right? Did that kiss even mean anything? What exactly is ‘Code Red’ for royals?
I send a low, slow breath out between my teeth and try my best to ignore the panic in my brain.
It’s a little challenging to do that while trying to maintain perfect posture in my chair, even if I’m closer to the edge of the Blue Room than everyone else.
But say what you will of Janet Qi’s methods, she’s a darn effective tutor when it comes to crash-course royal etiquette and deportment.
My newfound dreams might be crashing and burning around me at an alarming rate, but my spine stays resolutely straight.
Everyone else sits just as still, although Queen Merinda is twiddling her thumbs. Only one person is stomping around.
“You do understand that we have a formal agreement regarding this engagement.” The King of Drenland takes up almost the entire room.
Angrily. His Majesty is large in every sense of the word—tall and broad and brimming with sheer power.
I don’t know what the modern equivalent of a Viking conqueror is, but whatever it is, that’s him.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the man suddenly pulled out a mace.
“You cannot merely replace my niece because the press misunderstood.”
Across the room, closer to where Archer sits, the woman I once met in the royal gardens sits quietly. I console myself that she doesn’t look very happy about being here either, although Archer’s dark glare puts her pretty little frown to shame.
By all rights, I should hate Princess Kya.
Her desertion put me in this mess, and her reappearance is threatening to uproot everything I’ve tried to build up since.
But there is something about her—maybe the way she flinches at her uncle’s words or the tenseness around her shoulders—that makes me feel she is still ultimately more ally than enemy.
“We understand the seriousness of the situation, of course,” Queen Merinda speaks with the regality that can only come from a lifetime of practice, her thumbs momentarily quieted. “But given Princess Kya’s abrupt departure, we have had to make certain—creative choices.”
Which is me. I am a creative choice.
I try not to take it personally.
“To treat my niece as if she never existed is not an appropriate option!” The Drennean king thunders. “I do not deny that Kya’s desertion must have caused some complex challenges, but to renege on our agreement so entirely—”
“There was never a contract,” answers the Queen. If she were looking at me, I might have wondered if she actually wanted me to stay Archer’s fiancée over Princess Kya. But she sounds more offended by the King’s bluster than anything. “In fact, if there were—”
“We would pay for any damages incurred, of course.”
“We don’t want your money,” says Archer.
All the older adults in the room turn towards him.
He’s still glowering, his face stuck in a look of deep anger ever since we rushed up from the cellar at Sven’s heels.
His words should be encouraging, but he doesn’t look at me either.
It’s as if I’ve become entirely invisible the moment Princess Kya decided to show up.
It makes sense, of course. But it also stings.
“The dilemma Princess Kya left us in is hardly something that can be measured by money.”
“It was a lovers’ quarrel, nothing more,” the King says dismissively. “In fact, if your family had not made such a spectacle of replacing Kya, we could simply announce the engagement today.”
“You left us no choice,” answers Archer.
No choice. I was no choice.
Again, I try not to take it personally. But it’s not exactly getting any easier.
“We acted in the best interests of Northandria,” Queen Merinda answers next. “Surely, you, as a fellow monarch, can understand the urgency of appearing completely in control. We cannot afford the narrative of a runaway bride to ruin the optics of a jubilee year.”
“I understand.”
“No, you do not.” A woman’s voice cuts in.
All eyes search the room—before landing on Princess Kya.
The posh accent I heard in the gardens a lifetime ago returns to my memory.
“You claim to understand, Your Majesty,” Kya answers her uncle. Her lips tremble slightly, but her tone is firm. “And yet you act completely opposite to what you claim.”
“I only have your best interests in mind,” he argues gruffly.
“My interests? Or yours?” Princess Kya stands up.
Her eyes visibly glisten. My heart aches a little for this real-life equivalent of a fairytale princess.
All privilege, no freedom. “You just want to be able to say your niece has married into another royal family. Do not pretend for a second that any of this matters to you!”
“It matters very much to me!”
“When? When has my life mattered to you, other than as a pawn for your complex game of power chess?”
“You do not know what you are talking about.”
“Is my life and happiness nothing more to you than a line on a contract?”
“How dare you—you troublemaking little—”
“Stop it.” Archer steps up and stands between the King and the Princess of Drenland, every inch a storybook hero. My breath catches. This is Archer in all his knight-in-shining-armor glory—and I am merely a spectator.
Because why did I ever allow myself to even hope that any bit of this whole princess gig could be permanent?
Princes don’t marry obliging commoners from across the sea.
Princes end up with other people raised the same way they are, not tourists, however well-meaning.
And who would ever take an orphaned nobody over a real princess?
“I respectfully remind Your Majesty that we are in Northandria,” Archer says to the man who towers over him. “And here, we value a civil discourse, even amongst family.”
Without Alya present, there’s no one to poke fun or make smart-aleck remarks. Everything, and everyone, is dead serious. The Drennean ruler heaves several heavy, visible breaths before backing a little bit down.
“Very well. We can talk. Tell me, Prince Archer, if you remember your verbal pledge to marry Princess Kya when my brother broached the topic with you last year?”
Archer’s jaw ticks. “I remember.”
“And Kya,” the King calls over Archer’s head, “would you dare to tell me that you would never consider a match with His Highness?”
Princess Kya stares down her uncle. But then she answers quietly, “I never said that.”
“There you have it.” The King looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Just a lovers’ quarrel, like I said.”
“We hardly know each other, sir,” says Archer. “It would be a far-fetched thing to call us lovers.”
“Then talk it out with each other—didn’t you just say that was the Northandrian way?
” The King of Drenland steps back and drops onto a couch meant for three people, filling up nearly all of it.
He flings a hand towards the balcony. “Go. Talk. Say your apologies and make your plans. Sort it out yourselves and tell us how to proceed.”
Archer doesn’t move for a few seconds. Then he looks at Princess Kya, who looks at him soulfully. Then he looks at his mother, who gives him a nod. After a moment of quiet deliberation, he turns around and extends a hand to Princess Kya, before walking out to the balcony side by side with her.
The balcony doors shut behind them, a portcullis slamming down on my heart.
Seconds pass. Then minutes. Nobody talks.
But then the King of Drenland says, “I take it your son knows to do the right thing?”
Queen Merinda answers, “My son, more than anyone else on this planet, can be counted upon to always do his duty.”
It’s my cue to go.
Because she’s right. I’ve known Archer all of two weeks, and I know she is right.
He will always do his duty, and it is my duty to disappear as gracefully as I can, while I still can.
I stand up, thankful that I ended up near the towering double doors.
“Your Majesty,” I address the Queen. She looks at me with searching eyes. I try to ignore the other monarch in the room and whatever he might think of me right now. I curtsy to Queen Merinda. “Thank you, for everything.”
I manage to make it to my borrowed room before I cry.