Royally Yours (Nolcovian Chronicles #1)

1. Chapter 1

Fitz

“ I don’t understand why you’re fighting me, Leonidas.” My father, the king of Nolcovia, glared like I’d threatened to abdicate completely.

Lucky for him, I hadn’t.

But it was only noon.

There was still time to change my plans.

“You’re forcing me to marry someone I don’t care about. Of course, I’m going to put up a fight.” I scoffed at the words as they registered. “You realize how trite this is, don’t you? Forcing the prince into an arranged marriage against his will?” Cocking my head to the side, I couldn’t help my sarcasm. “Was it your intention to be a cliché? Or does it come naturally?”

“Don’t get cheeky, Leo.” His tone held warning. I knew better than to push him in his state. His grip wrapped around the edge of the table. “Lady Esmerey is worthy of the crown and well versed in matters of the kingdom.”

Guilt for weakening him tempered my response. I wanted to fight harder, but he simply didn’t have it in him. “I would be miserable as her spouse. Does that have no bearing at all?” I hoped my sincere frustration with this situation would prick his heart and help him see my side of things.

“I didn’t choose your mother. My father, his father, and I were all arranged in marriage.” His face paled and I rushed to his side, worried about the toll my attitude had taken.

With his elbow in my grasp, I directed him to the seat at the head of the banquet table. Nolcovia wasn’t huge, but the thousands we served depended on us. Seeing him sink back and release a sigh, I immediately bent my knees, lowering myself to his eye level, desperate to find a solution that would resolve our divide.

“Why must you fight me, Son?” His thick hand rested over mine. “My time is not long for this world.”

“Don’t say that.” I hated when he got like this. It was the sort of talk that prompted him to bring up marriage and union of the kingdom. “You’ll be healthy soon.”

A flicker of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, but quickly vanished. A vivid demonstration of his declining optimism, it disappeared faster every time. “If only your faith was enough to heal me.”

Unwilling to let him see that same faith falter, I dropped my chin to my chest. “I cannot enter a marriage without love.” I shut my eyes and sensed the agony of the decision deep in my gut. “Please don’t force me to obey.”

“You know the law. The next king must rule with his queen. If you are not married, the crown will pass to the next in line. Your uncle will take the throne and our family’s dynasty will end.”

“He doesn’t want it, Father. The days of monarchy have faded. The world is changing.” I stared up at my king again, pleading creased in my brow. “You are on the throne, Father. Change the law. Let me rule without being forced to marry. I hope the day I replace you is far in the future, but if it happens earlier, I will rule in your absence, regardless of having a wife.”

His gaze became distant. “I have considered this very thing, Leo. You know I have.” The clacking of heels echoed through the hallway, a distinctive sound that could only belong to one woman. His eyes locked on her, warmed by his love even after all these years. “However, I understand the importance of your mother’s role in reigning by my side and the potential suffering my people would have endured without her influence. The law exists for a reason.”

Mother drew closer, eyes flinching with worry as she saw us. Father weakened more each day. The cause remained elusive to every doctor. Each new test displayed negligible improvement. The latest theory was that it was a rare, unnamed autoimmune disease and, without intervention, it would end my father’s life.

“Leonidas, are you tiring your father?” Her elegant dress caught the air as she swept in beside him. “You know he can’t go the rounds with you right now.”

I watched her look him over, fingers trailing, lips parted with concern. Despite their arranged marriage, I never doubted their unwavering love. They hadn’t started there, but they’d fallen anyway. Was that possible for me as well? Was I fighting the future I’d always longed for?

“He has concerns with our choice for his wife,” Father explained, voice heavy with exasperation.

“I should say so,” Mother muttered. “And, to be clear, she’s your choice, my darling, not mine. I would have chosen someone who had less in common with field trolls.”

I snickered to myself. Mother had the imagination of a toddler, always referencing the magical folklore of Nolcovia. When I was young, she convinced me that the meadow goblins would steal my shoes if I didn’t put them away at night. Referring to Esmerey Lakecroft as a troll had nothing to do with her physical appearance, but everything to do with her rabid desire to sit on a throne.

“She’s highly political, my love.” Father sighed again. “That isn’t always an adverse trait for one who works in government.”

“It’s not always the best either.” She shot him a look that signaled the end of the debate. Her pale-blue eyes locked on me. “I’ve given a great deal of thought to this and I have a proposition, if you are willing.”

That look in her eye meant trouble. “A proposition of what sort?”

“You know how much I adore American reality TV love stories.” Her right eyebrow twitched as if to dare me to tease her for her obsession, but I didn’t have a death wish. “What if we re-created something similar? Inviting fifteen potential wives to the castle would solve the problem and entertain the kingdom. With the Christmas season upon us, it’ll feel magical. At the New Year’s Eve Ball, you’ll announce your bride-to-be before the strike of midnight.”

A pit opened in my gut. I read between the lines. She wanted to endear the monarchy to the people again. My father had reigned in fairness, but with me unmarried and my uncle looking like the successor, the cry for a new system of government had taken hold. She hoped that watching me court women from the kingdom would help to quell that protest.

“And who, pray tell, would pick these lucky fifteen women?” Father asked with an edge of suspicion, with no thought about whether I would agree to this scheme.

“Me,” she answered quickly, but when both of us lifted our eyebrows, she caved a bit. “I suppose the two of you could weigh in.”

“That’s kind, Mother.” My words cut the air like tiny daggers. “You’re willing to let me have a say in my future?”

“Leo, it’s not that we’re unwilling, but tell me one relationship from your past that has proved beneficial, let alone longstanding?” Her brow lifted with the passive-aggressive challenge she knew I couldn’t meet.

Unfortunately, the only name that popped into my head was not one I could speak. Frustration for my constraints burned like embers on my tongue. Looking rather smug at her apparent win, Mother continued, “When it comes to women you—“

“I’m not staying here to have you berate me about my love life.” I rose and reversed my steps, needing space between us. “You act like this will be some whirlwind romance, but you’re expecting me to fall in love in a month. And,” my tone tilted toward hysteria, but I didn’t care, “you’re making a spectacle out of me!” With a sweeping motion, I waved my arm in front of me, as if I were a ringmaster commanding the spotlight. “Come see our Crown Prince, the failure who’ll never marry.”

Mother’s face twisted as if I’d hurt her. “It’s a compromise. If used wisely, it can lay the foundation for a future marriage filled with romance. It sounds like a fairytale, Leonidas.”

“Maybe to you. And maybe to anyone watching, but in reality, this is my life. This is my future.” I took another step away from them. “You’re playing with it like I’m a piece on a game board, but maybe I’m tired of playing.”

They exchanged a quick, worried glance. Mother’s lips parted, but it was Father who broke the silence with his words. “What are you saying, Son?”

“If this is the future you want for me, if this is the plan, maybe I don’t want to rule at all.” I turned away and stalked from the room. I left the palace, headed for the stable.

To the outside eye, my life appeared fanciful. But living it was a distinct reality. The only child of a queen thought barren. I was their last hope of a successor and that weight had crushed me for years.

Dusty air flooded my nostrils as I entered the stable. The flecks of grime clung to my skin, newly damp from the foggy air. Axlan nickered at the sight of me. My black gelding nodded his thick head, as if encouraging me to hurry. He recognized my mood. Some days, a hard ride through the foggy moors was the only way to ease my frustrations.

The gate latch snapped back and I entered Axlan’s stall, running my open palm over his onyx coat. Approaching footsteps brought my head around. Annoyance pricked my heart, hating that someone would dare intrude on my solitude.

My advisor, Reginald, stepped into view. “Your Highness, apologies for the interruption, but I have a letter for you.”

Immediately, my mood shifted. “From…” I didn’t dare say her name.

“Yes,” Reginald tried his best to hide his disapproval, but his face typically rested on that setting, “from her.”

Grabbing the small envelope from the silver tray, I started toward the back of Axlan’s stall. “That will be all, Reginald. Thank you.”

“Very good, Your Highness.” I didn’t turn to watch him exit, but I had the envelope open before I heard him leave the stable.

I kept the letter in one hand as I started brushing Axlan’s coat. Flecks of sand and tiny hairs drifted over the paper as I read, but the memories flooded my mind, taking me back to the one person who understood me best.

When I was fourteen, I begged my parents to let me have a year in foreign exchange. I wanted to know what it was like to be a normal teenager without the duties of a country hanging over me.

The debate began immediately. The risks were too great. Kidnapping, ransom, international incidents, you name it. But I had a distant cousin in America who offered to be my host family. Her husband was a police officer and had served in the military. He offered to act as my bodyguard. The school I would attend was top-notch, nothing like I had wanted originally, but it was non-negotiable and I wanted desperately to get away.

Thankfully, on the first day of school, I met Coco.

Her real name was Michaela Caldwell, a student on scholarship who felt as out of place as I did at the academy. We became fast friends and were nearly inseparable for the entire year. I had to promise my parents before I left that I would never disclose my royal heritage while in America, but for Coco, I couldn’t resist. I wanted her to truly know me.

Granted, she didn’t believe me.

I didn’t mind. For the first time in my life, I had a proper friend who didn’t care about my status and called me Fitz because Leonidas Fitzborough was too much for my scrawny frame to carry.

I lengthened my strokes over Axlan’s coat, drawing closer to him to fight against the biting cold. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but winter had definitely descended upon Nolcovia.

When I left America, I was supposed to cut all ties. My parents wanted that chapter of my life closed with no record that it had happened. Strict prohibition was placed on any form of communication. They monitored everything in my life. Everything but my post.

To keep our friendship secret, we started exchanging letters. It had been fifteen years that we’d been writing back and forth. Like a lifeline to my past, I cherished each piece of post she sent. In a sense, it was only because of Coco that I’d returned home, committed to my future on the throne. Because when Coco looked at me, it was the first time I truly felt like I could be a king.

In reality, Michaela was the one person I knew I could depend on. My title or wealth did not sway her. She knew who I was beyond all that. She knew what I wanted before I did. Leaning against Axlan, I read the first lines again and let her voice drift through my mind.

Dear Fitz,

It’s not easy being a princess, even if I only play one for children’s parties. At least the tips are good. How do you manage the royal pressure?

Her teasing had never stopped. Even after all these years, she still didn’t believe I was a prince. In jest, she even signed every letter: Royally Yours.

An idea spurred to life at the back of my mind.

Five choices… Under Mother’s plan, they were giving me five choices for the future queen, but no one said they had to be from Nolcovia…

Upon re-reading the letter, optimism filled me as a strategy emerged.

Michaela

A princess is only as valuable as her crown.

I took this mantra seriously. To me, the crown held a deeper meaning than simply a position of authority; it embodied a legacy and a sense of duty. The crown measured more than my worth. It represented my dedication, character, and motivation to grow. The weight of the tiara on my head served as a constant reminder of the significance of my role, empowering me to give it my all.

I stared into the mirror.

My people waited for me.

Or at least a room full of sugared-up six-year-olds who wanted this princess party to get going. As much as I loved pretending, nothing about my life was actually royal.

“They’re getting restless, Michaela.” Marjorie’s voice bled through the closed door. “We’re headed toward riots. The queen is getting anxious. I think she’s going to lop off heads any second now.”

My business partner was prone to dramatics. I looked in the mirror once more, smile in place, makeup on point, and resolved that this day would be better than the last.

It had to be.

Rent was due and I needed a huge tip to close the gap. Lining up a few more gigs wouldn’t hurt either.

“Make the announcement,” I told my roommate-turned-fake-royal-advisor.

Ball gown rustling as I shifted to the door to listen for my cue, I waited on Marjorie’s words.

“Hear ye! Hear ye! Announcing Her Majesty, the compassionate, the loyal, the fair and beautiful, the one, the only…”

Was this Wrestle Mania or a little girl’s birthday party?

“Rowena Royale, the Princess of Perfection!”

Rowena?

Marjorie gave me a new name for every party, but Rowena? Hardly a name that inspired grace and beauty. More like the evil stepsister bent on locking the princess in the attic and leaving her—

The door opened with the same flourish Marjorie always employed. Chin up, eyes bright, smile broad and welcoming, I stepped out to meet the crowd of six-year-old girls in their best party dresses. Squeals of delight rose in the air as the little girls rushed forward to meet me.

“I’m seeking audience with the queen. The great Angelica of Storybook Haven.” Shielding my eyes with my hand, I pretended to search for the birthday girl, even though she sat ten feet away on the throne we’d brought as part of the act. “I’ve traveled far, wishing to join her court of beautiful princesses.”

The cheers exploded like fireworks around me. It would be pure chaos for the next two hours, but mine and Marjorie’s jobs didn’t quite make ends meet with school loans still looming. Little hands pawed at me and I found a little girl, in a simple dress, smiling up at me. It wasn’t much of a costume, but to her, it was a grand ball gown. What little girl didn’t want to be a princess? If even for an hour, a day, a minute?

I took her hand and gave it a little squeeze.

“She’s so good at this,” I heard a mom whisper to her friend on the sidelines. “It’s hard to believe she’s not really a princess.”

I stayed in character despite my feelings on the subject. Maybe I looked the part when I wore my crown and dress, but the rest of the time, I was far from royal material.

After all, I was the girl who’d gone boogie boarding for the first time, got flipped by a wave, and came up topless and unaware until a kid on the beach yelled… Well, you know…

I was the college freshman who tried to play a prank on her roommate, got her nose broken, and then five minutes later, completely unrelated, got dumped by her boyfriend, because he wasn’t ‘feeling it.’ I had a less-than-flattering breakup look that night, complete with a bag of frozen peas on my nose and tissues crammed in my nostrils, while I endured his complaints.

For the record, I wasn’t feeling it either.

Better believe it was me who thought she was going to a luau my junior year, wore the grass skirt and coconut bra to match, and somehow landed smack in the middle of a Russian funeral. With all eyes on me, I had little choice but to lean into the skid. I flip-flopped my way to the nearest pew, which was at the front of the room, and sat down like I belonged.

Nikolai seemed like a real nice guy… may he rest in peace.

But through it all, even though I was actually the disastrous before version of every makeover movie, I also had the tools and tricks to pretend I wasn’t. Even if I knew that my default setting was a walking disaster.

But that’s why I loved my crowns. When I wore them, I wasn’t Michaela Caldwell, the socially awkward misfit. I was Princess Coco, the regal and refined.

I smiled at my fellow princesses in their fancy dresses. It was fun to pretend and escape reality for a couple of hours.

Because, in truth, reality kinda stunk.

“Come on, Mick,” Marjorie wouldn’t let up. She leaned against the doorway of our bedroom to glare at me where I rested on my bed after the party. “Jax wants you there, and Scobey won’t come unless I bring a date for his friend.”

I stretched my neck from side to side. “That party wiped me out. It’s not easy being a professional princess.”

She stared me down, deadpan. “You make it look easy, Michaela.”

“Well, it’s not. I mean, I love it, and I’m glad we made rent.” I gave a quick glance at our one-bedroom apartment we shared, decorated in part by my crowns and sashes from the wins of yesteryear. “But it takes a lot out of me. You go. You can have them both.”

“That’s cute, but I get a lot more attention being the friend of the ex-pageant queen than I do on my own.”

“That’s not true.” In my eyes, I was still that clumsy girl I had been in high school. Perpetually stuck in the awkward duckling phase. Big teeth, big ears, wavy auburn hair that frizzed out. I wasn’t classically beautiful. I was unusually intriguing, and I made it work.

“I didn’t want to do this.” Marjorie pursed her lips and put on what she called her game face. “But until you agree to go out tonight,” from her back pocket, she removed a small envelope, “I’m holding your Fitzmail hostage.”

“Fitz wrote?” I rose from the bed, eager to read the letter.

“He did, and until you agree with me, I’m not letting you have it.”

“Mar, this is crazy.” I took a step toward her, but from her other pocket, she produced a lighter and I stopped short. “And that’s downright insane.”

“I’ll do it.” The flame flickered to life and she hovered the envelope above it. “You do not know ho—Ow!” She tossed the letter as the flame burned her finger. “That’s hot!”

“That’s why they call it fire.” I leaned down and scooped up the envelope with its blackened corner. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“I thought you’d agree before I got burned.” Her lip pouted out. “Please, go with me?”

While I wasn’t a fan of being manipulated, but I was also a big softie. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Her excitement exploded in a squeal. “We’re meeting them at Murphy’s in an hour. It’s going to be so much fun.” Once satisfied, my roommate left me with my smoldering mail. I slipped my finger into the edge of the envelope and popped the seal with the F embossed in red wax. If anyone could fix my mood, it was Fitz.

We’d met my freshman year of high school. Thanks to my mom’s new job, I found myself in a posh school, a place we could only dream of affording, admitted on a scholarship. I had zero friends and Fitz was a foreign exchange student with a goofy, not quite British accent, ears too big for his head and high-water jeans. With my eccentric demeanor and his ungainly appearance, we were a pair of misfits—me, an odd duck, and him, an awkward giraffe. We made a perfect match, our connection so strong that it felt like we were rewriting the definition of friendship.

We rarely spent a moment apart. For the next year, I showed him everything from Big Macs to arcade games and roller skating. We had sleepovers on the trampoline and talked about the mysteries of the universe or gossiped about the popular kids. Because he spent more time at my house than with his host family, he became a part of my family.

Before Fitz, ever since Dad died, I felt like I had no place in the world but having him around was like he’d carved out a spot for the two of us where everything made sense. He never cared that my house was small, or my clothes weren’t name-brand. At a time in my life when the world made me question my worth, Fitz made me understand I was enough. I owed so much of who I’d become to him and our friendship. I’d never found another friend who meant as much to me as Fitz.

My only complaint about Fitz, or rather Leonidas Ignatius Fitzborough III, was that he had a habit of telling grand stories about how he was a prince in Nolcovia, a tiny European country smushed somewhere near Luxembourg. He had fanciful tales about carriage rides, sprawling properties, and a royal palace where he lived.

And the kicker? I had to keep his hidden identity a secret.

Right…

Excuse my sarcasm.

In reality, I knew it couldn’t be true. Why would a prince end up at Calbright Academy? Swanky private school or not, I knew it wasn’t possible. But playing secret prince made him happy, so I let him have his stories.

I had to give him credit. He told a lie that was difficult to fact check and seemed convincing. Nolcovia was a real country, but it was so small it didn’t even have a Wikipedia entry back when we were kids. Honestly, his stories never bothered me, so I stopped trying to verify a long time ago. We were friends either way.

Of course, acceptance of his nature didn’t stop me from teasing him a little. He eventually went home, and at his insistence, we wrote letters to offset the cost of international calls and the massive time difference. I’m sorry, but what prince worries about phone bills? Just another silly fib I let slide in the name of friendship. As a nod to his wild tales, I always signed my letters: Royally Yours... Princess Coco.

I slipped the letter from the envelope and smiled at the long lines of his cursive. Knowing how he carried himself, I could almost make-believe that my best friend in the entire world was actually a prince in line for the crown.

But it wasn’t real. My weekend gigs playing princess at birthday parties were as close as I was ever getting to that royal life.

Fitz

I knocked on the library doorway. Daylight streamed through the windows and bathed the floors in a golden hue. Mother looked up from her book. She spent most winter mornings with the light of the early fire warming the angles of her face. “Yes, Leo? Did you come to harangue your parents once more?”

I took a step forward as my father closed his book and set it on the table next to him. His glasses came off next, but he set the earpiece of one arm in the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed as though he suspected a trap.

Pretty decent instincts…

“Actually, I accept your offer. The competition sounds like a suitable compromise.” I kept my voice even and congenial, so as not to tip them off. “You’re right. If I apply myself, I may even find love.”

“Smashing.” A smile spread across my father’s cheeks and guilt burrowed into my heart, knowing it would fade soon enough. “Should we invite the young women now, or—“

“I have conditions.” My voice carried over the top of his. “You said we could pick five each. But you never said they had to be from Nolcovia.”

“Well, if you have a princess from another country—“

“No.” Mother’s sharp answer interrupted his response, revealing that she had already perceived my destination before he did. “No, she cannot come.”

The fight stirred within me, causing me to shake my head in disbelief. “I won’t do this without her.”

“Without whom?” The King of Nolcovia did not appreciate being in the dark. Like a watchful sentinel, his gaze darted urgently between us, as if expecting invaders to breach the palace walls.

“His American friend,” Mother answered in clipped words. “Leo wants her to compete.”

A derisive sound burst from my father’s lungs. “Why would she even remember you? We had you break ties with all your friends fifteen years ago. It’s not like you’ve kept… in… touch…”

As if the words had the power to unleash the truth, both their mouths parted with shock.

I definitely didn’t feel like the king-to-be. I was nothing but their son, who was very much in trouble for breaking the number-one rule in their home.

“Earlier, you asked if I had any longstanding relationships. Well, she’s the only one and I refuse to do this without her.” I squared my shoulders and waited for their worst.

“How on earth did you converse with her?” Mother’s head appeared ripe to combust into flame at any second. “You must have had help and I want a name.”

“I’m twenty-seven years old, Mother. Don’t you think your reaction is exaggerated?”

“When you’ve lied to your parents for the majority of your life? No, Leonidas, I don’t think I’ve even begun to rage.”

I started to object, but my father put up his hands as if to quell the argument. “Leonidas makes a point, Mariah. He’s not a child. You can’t control him, especially if he’s to become king in the next eight weeks. We both know my prognosis.”

Every time he said it, my heart squeezed with pain. None of this was supposed to be happening. He couldn’t die. He was the strongest man I knew, and I wasn’t ready—

“Besides,” my father shrugged, “who’s to say she’ll even agree?”

Mother’s eyebrow twitched as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Light appeared in her expression once more, knowing I could be wrong about my friendship. Instead of taking offense, I seized the moment and turned it to my advantage.

“Father is probably right. She’s very busy and I doubt she’ll be willing. All I’m asking for is the chance to invite her.”

Mother’s narrowed gaze landed on me again. “She cannot be a genuine contender.”

It wasn’t a request or a question. She meant it like a command. And, in reality, I agreed. I didn’t want Michaela to come to win my heart. I wanted her to help me understand my heart. She knew me better than I knew myself, and if I could find love, Michaela would help make it happen.

“No,” I intentionally selected my words, “she’d be like an inside man for me. Someone to tell me who is here for the right reasons and who is less than true to the crown.”

That caught my father’s fancy. He appreciated loyalty. Mother wasn’t so easily swayed.

“I’ll give you ten minutes to convince her. If she’s not willing now, then she’s not worth the wait.”

“Right now?” My heart clenched as I calculated the time change in my mind. Though it was barely morning for us, it was the middle of the night for her.

“Right now.” The look of triumph on Mother’s face revealed her unmistakable victory. “If she is truly as loyal as you describe, she should feel privileged to serve the crown.”

“Yes,” I swallowed my nerves as she called my bluff, “I’m sure she will.”

Michaela

“Stop hogging the pizza, Mick.” Marjorie tugged on the tray. “I thought pageant queens were supposed to survive on lettuce.”

I held up a finger as the guys waited for my answer. “First, I’m retired.” I stole another slice of pepperoni pizza. “Second, that’s a stereotype. I can’t count how many pageant afterparties had eating competitions.”

“That’s hot.” Jax’s mouth tipped up in a crooked grin.

Marjorie kept telling me I needed to make something happen between us, but I wasn’t so sure.

Was he gorgeous? Yes.

But was he intelligent?

Not in the least.

And that really impaired attraction.

Before I could say more, my phone buzzed. Even with the unidentified number, it still looked more appealing than Jax.

Excusing myself, I made my way to the exit. When I was almost at the door, I answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello. I’m trying to reach Miss Michaela Caldwell.”

I tried to place the accent. Something European, but not quite British. Curious, I stayed on the line.

“You have her. Who’s this?” To hear him better over the noise of the crowd, I pressed my palm against my ear.

“It’s been a while, but I suppose I was hoping you’d recognize my voice.”

“Hold on,” I had to shout over the music, “I need to go outside. I can’t hear you.” The chill smacked me in the face the second I crossed the through the doorway. I flinched and pulled my jacket tighter as I moved beyond the inflatable Christmas tree that Murphy’s had set up. “I’m sorry. Who did you say you were?”

“It’s me,” he tried again. “It’s um… it’s Fitz, Coco.”

I stopped, too stunned to even breathe. This couldn’t be real.

Fitz never called. He only ever wrote letters. Not even emails. I’d always figured he didn’t have internet access in Nolcovia.

Someone was pranking me.

“I’m supposed to believe that you’re calling out of the blue?” To keep warm from the chill of the night, I bounced on my toes. “You haven’t called in over a decade, but tonight you suddenly want to talk?”

“Um, well, yes, I suppose that’s true.”

I drew in a deep breath and let it out fast. “Tell you what, if you really are Fitz, tell me something only he would know.”

“Oh,” his laughter filled the line, “I don’t think you want to play that game.”

“Oh, no, please. Let’s,” I mimicked his accent. “Because I’m pretty positive—“

“You had a crush on Halverson Cleary and you wrote I love you on your eyelids because of that old movie,” his snickers fuzzed up the line, “but you smudged it into indecipherable black blobs. You started blinking at him, but he didn’t know why.” The snicker grew to full-blown laughter. “Instead of asking you out, he escorted you to the nurse’s office because he thought you were having a seizure.”

For a moment, I was stunned. “I don’t—“

“How about the time Jenny Pierson dared you to go off the high dive and your swimsuit—“

“Oh my gosh!” My heart leaped in my chest. “Fitz! It’s you !”

“About time. I thought I was going to have to tell the story of the purple pumpkin and—“

“Stop!” I pleaded, embarrassment coloring my cheeks. “No one needs to hear that story, ever.”

“But it’s such a good one.” I heard the smile in his voice, but it faded quickly. “While it’s amazing to hear your voice, I’m afraid I didn’t call to reminisce and I don’t have a great deal of time.” His voice took on a serious tone. “I know it’s been ages, but I need your help, Michaela. I’m afraid I’m asking you as the Crown Prince for a personal favor to the Nolcovian throne.”

Shivers ran up my spine. Was he serious?

“Fitz, you know I’ll be your friend no matter what. You don’t have to lie about—“

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” My disbelief amused him. “After all these years. What would prove it to you? Would you like to see the palace? The Hall of Kings? Heavens, Coco, must you meet my parents in the throne room to finally give in?”

“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t hide my skepticism. “You’re the same guy who used to help me choreograph Madonna’s greatest hits and you’re expecting me to believe you’re a Crown Prince somewhere?”

Fitz groaned. “Clearly, we both hold weapons of mutual destruction with these shared stories. No one can ever see those videos.” His voice darkened, but I saw through the charade. “You know that, right?”

“Or you’ll put me in the stocks, Your Highness?”

“We retired the stocks, but I hear the dungeons are cold this time of year and rather lonely.”

“You wouldn’t keep me company?”

“No, I’m afraid my mother convinced me there are goblins down there. I suppose I can sentence a miscreant like you to the tower. It has a sunset view. I could bring dinner.”

I’d missed this with him. I’d never met anyone who could go back-and-forth with me, lost in a world of pretend.

“Can you finally cook more than mac and cheese?”

That got him and his laughter filled the line. “I’m afraid I’m out of practice. With an entire staff here, I cook very little and certainly not at 2:00 a.m. either.”

I smiled at the memory. He’d stayed over after homecoming. Fitz was starving somewhere around 1:00 a.m. and completely helpless to do anything about it. By the time we were done, it was both the worst and the best blue box of mac and cheese I’d ever eaten.

“Coco, I need your help. As you know, my father is ill and there is concern that we will lose him before the end of the year.” The strain increased in his voice. “In order to take the throne, I must be married.”

My eyes widened. We were friends, but I didn’t think we were I’ll-marry-you-to-get-you-out-of-trouble friends.

“After much debate, my mother has come up with a compromise. A tournament of sorts. Fifteen women competing to become the future queen.” He paused like he meant to let me soak in the idea. “And I need you here for it.”

“Wait, what?” He couldn’t be serious. “In Nolcovia? To compete to marry you? Fitz…”

“You wouldn’t be competing. I mean, you would look like you were,” he stumbled over the words as he tried to explain, “but what I need is someone on the inside. I need someone to confirm if what I’m seeing is real or not.”

I almost laughed. “You want me to be your royal wingman?”

“You know how bad I was with women.” He groaned. “Trust me, that has only worsened with age.”

“Fitz, I have a life here. A job. I can’t uproot and fly off to some other country to…” I couldn’t finish that sentence. I couldn’t bring myself to say I thought he was going overboard with his royal prince story.

But then… what if he wasn’t lying?

“All I’m asking is for you to consider it. We start in ten days. I must have a bride selected by the new year.” His pleading voice reminded me of the teen who begged me to help him paint his solar system at midnight because he forgot it was due. “Please, I need you, Michaela.”

“Fitz, I want to, I really do, because it’s you and me, and of course I—“

“I’m sorry.” He cut me off. “I must go. I’ll call again soon.” The line went dead, leaving me to stare at my cell, wondering if any of it had actually happened.

And if it did, was I actually brave enough to say yes?

Fitz

I remained fixated on the phone screen, avoiding the imminent encounter with my parents. Their whispers drew closers. That’s why I’d cut off the call. I couldn’t have Mother hear Michaela voice her doubts.

“I trust that was good news?” Her sweet tone didn’t fool me. Though my mother’s love for me was fierce, her need to be right hardly took second place. The king had his plans for my future wife, but the queen had made her own and she didn’t fancy the idea of someone getting in the way.

“Yes.” Despite my blatant lie, I faced her with a smile. “She can’t wait to come. I’ll arrange her travel tomorrow.”

It was only a lie if Michaela didn’t come… until then, it was hope.

At the moment, hope was all I had left.