CHAPTER 8
Archie
Betty arrived at the stables carrying two travel cups and wearing an expression that suggested her morning had been roughly as pleasant as mine.
"Croissant torture?" I guessed, accepting the latte she handed me.
"Croissant torture, followed by napkin-folding seminar, followed by a lecture on the proper way to acknowledge servants without actually speaking to them like human beings.
" She took a long drink from her own cup.
"I may have committed a small act of rebellion by thanking the footman who brought my water.
Madame Delacroix looked like I'd set fire to the palace. "
"The audacity of gratitude."
"Right? There's a special kind of nod you're supposed to use instead. Very slight, very controlled, like you're acknowledging the existence of furniture that happens to be breathing." She shook her head. "I don't think I'm cut out for this whole princess thing, Peter."
My fake name still sounded wrong coming from her lips. Three days until the wedding, and I was running out of time to tell her the truth. Running out of excuses to keep lying.
"You're more cut out for it than you think," I said, taking a sip of the latte. It was just as good as yesterday's, maybe better. She'd added something different to the cinnamon, a hint of vanilla that made the whole thing taste like comfort. "This is incredible, by the way."
"I tweaked the recipe. Added vanilla bean paste instead of extract." Her face lit up the way it always did when someone complimented her coffee. "You really like it?"
"I really like it. I might have to marry you just to ensure a lifetime supply."
The words were out before I could stop them, and I watched her cheeks flush pink.
"Too bad I'm already spoken for," she said, but her voice was lighter than her words. "Some prince I've never met gets first dibs."
"My loss is his gain."
She laughed, that bright, genuine sound that made my chest do complicated things. "That doesn't make any sense."
"It does if you think about it." I set down my cup and moved toward Celeste's stall. "He lost the chance to meet you as a normal person. But he gains a wife who makes the best coffee in Europe."
"I'm not sure 'good at coffee' is on the list of desirable princess qualities."
"It should be. Right after 'makes me laugh' and 'doesn't take any of my royal nonsense.'"
She followed me into the stable, helping me gather Celeste's tack with the easy familiarity of someone who'd done this enough times to remember where everything went. Three days of lessons and she was already moving through the routine like a natural.
My wife, I thought, watching her stroke Celeste's nose. In three days, she'll officially be my wife.
The thought should have filled me with guilt about the deception. Instead, it filled me with hope.
"Peter?" Betty was looking at me with curiosity. "You went somewhere just now."
"Sorry. Just thinking about the training schedule."
"Liar." She said it without heat, almost fondly. "You had this look on your face like you were solving world peace or planning a heist."
"Maybe I was planning a heist. Stealing the princess away from her fancy palace life."
"Tempting offer. Where would we go?"
"Somewhere with horses and good coffee and absolutely no lessons."
"Paradise," she said, grinning. "Sign me up."
We saddled Celeste together, our hands brushing occasionally as we worked. Each accidental touch sent electricity racing through my nervous system in ways that were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
"Ready to work on your canter transitions?" I asked once Betty was mounted.
"Ready to try not to fall off, you mean."
"You haven't fallen off yet."
"Key word being 'yet.' I feel like the universe is just waiting for the right moment to humiliate me."
"The universe wouldn't dare."
She laughed and gathered her reins. "You have a lot of faith in my riding abilities."
"I have a lot of faith in you."
The words came out more sincere than I'd intended, and I saw something shift in her expression. Surprise, maybe, or recognition that we were dancing around something neither of us was ready to name.
She looked away first, clicking softly to Celeste to move forward. "Let's see if that faith is justified."
I watched her warm up, noting the improvements in her posture and her hands. She'd been practicing, probably in front of a mirror, working on the things I'd corrected in previous lessons. The dedication was obvious, and it made me fall a little harder.
Stop it, I told myself. You're here to evaluate her suitability, not to fall in love with her.
But that ship had sailed approximately forty-eight hours ago, somewhere between her first genuine laugh and the moment she'd almost kissed me by the fountain.
"Okay," I called out. "Let's work on asking for the canter from a walk. It's trickier than transitioning from a trot, but it'll give you more control."
I talked her through the aids: outside leg back, inside leg at the girth, a slight shift in her weight. She attempted it three times before Celeste finally responded, launching into a smooth canter that made Betty whoop with delight.
"I did it," she called as she swept past me.
"You did it."
She cantered a full lap around the arena, her face alight with joy, her body moving in harmony with Celeste's rhythm.
In that moment, she wasn't a princess struggling with protocol or a political pawn in an international chess game.
She was just Betty, discovering something she loved, and she was beautiful.
I was so busy watching her that I almost missed the sound of footsteps behind me.
"Your Highness."
I turned to find Lord Chancellor Renaud standing at the arena entrance, his expression unreadable and his portfolio tucked under his arm.
For a moment, I forgot I was supposed to be Peter. Then his words registered, and I realized he'd addressed me by my title.
"Lord Chancellor," I said carefully, keeping my voice low. Betty was still cantering on the far side of the arena, too far to hear our conversation. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Clearly." His gaze moved from me to Betty and back again. "The Grand Duchess asked me to remind you that the pre-wedding reception is tomorrow evening. Your presence as Prince Archibald will be required."
"I'm aware of the schedule."
"And does the princess know that her riding instructor will be transforming into her fiancé at midnight like some sort of reverse Cinderella?"
The sarcasm in his tone made my shoulders stiffen. "I plan to tell her before then."
"Do you? Because from what I've observed, you seem more interested in playing stable boy than in preparing for your royal duties."
"What I'm doing is getting to know my future wife."
"What you're doing is deceiving her. And when she discovers the truth, that deception will either make her hate you or make her question whether anything between you was real." Renaud's voice was cool and precise. "Either outcome damages the alliance."
I hated that he was right. I hated even more that he seemed to be enjoying pointing it out.
"Your concern for the alliance is noted," I said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lesson to finish."
"One more thing, Your Highness." He paused, and something flickered in his expression that I couldn't read. "I've been reviewing the marriage contracts. There are some provisions regarding Princess Bettina's role that may require... clarification before the ceremony."
"What kind of clarification?"
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with. I'll handle the details." His smile was perfectly pleasant and completely unsettling. "Focus on your lesson. And perhaps consider telling the princess the truth before someone else does."
He turned and walked away, leaving me with the uncomfortable feeling that I'd just been warned about something more than my romantic deception.
"Who was that?"
Betty had brought Celeste back to a walk and was approaching the fence where I stood.
"Lord Chancellor Renaud," I said, forcing my voice to remain casual. "He had a message about tomorrow's schedule."
"He looked like he was delivering bad news. Or possibly a death threat."
"That's just his face."
She laughed, but there was curiosity in her eyes. "He called you 'Your Highness.' I heard him from across the arena."
My heart stopped. "What?"
"When he first walked up. He definitely said 'Your Highness.'" She tilted her head, studying me. "Is there something you want to tell me, Peter?"
This was it. The moment I'd been dreading and hoping for in equal measure. The moment when I could finally stop lying and start being honest.
I opened my mouth to tell her everything.
"He probably mistook me for someone else," I said instead, because I was a coward. "The Lord Chancellor is very formal. He addresses everyone with excessive titles."
Betty looked at me for a long moment, and I could see she didn't entirely believe me. But she let it go, either because she trusted me or because she wasn't ready to hear the truth.
"If you say so." She turned Celeste back toward the arena. "Now, are we going to work on canter transitions or are you going to stand there looking mysterious and slightly constipated?"
"I do not look constipated."
"You kind of do. It's the furrowed brow. Very intense. Very 'I'm thinking deep thoughts about horse training.'"
We worked on transitions for another thirty minutes, and by the end, Betty was smoothly moving between walk, trot, and canter like she'd been riding for years instead of days.
Every success made her face light up, and every lighting up of her face made me more certain that I'd made a terrible mistake.
Not the mistake of falling for her. That had been inevitable from the moment she'd made her first sarcastic comment about being royal.
The mistake of waiting too long to tell her the truth.
When the lesson ended and she dismounted, her hand found my arm to steady herself and then stayed there a moment longer than necessary.
"Thank you," she said. "For this. For all of it."
"You did the work. I just pointed you in the right direction."
"That's not what I mean." She looked up at me, her green eyes serious for once. "I mean thank you for making me feel like I'm not completely hopeless. Everyone else here looks at me like I'm a problem to be solved. You look at me like I'm a person."
The trust in her voice made something crack inside my chest.
"Betty," I said, and her name came out rough. "There's something I need to tell you."
"Okay." She didn't move away, didn't drop her hand from my arm. Just waited, open and trusting.
I took a breath. "I'm not—"
"Your Highness." Captain Steiner interrupted, coming up to us fast and with purpose. "Princess Bettina, you're needed in the Grand Duchess's study immediately. There's been a development regarding the wedding preparations."
Betty stepped back, and the moment shattered. "What kind of development?"
"I'm not at liberty to say. But it's urgent."
Betty looked at me, apology in her eyes. "Sorry. Duty calls. Can we finish this conversation later?"
"Of course."
She hurried off with Captain Steiner, and I stood alone in the arena, watching her go and hating myself for my cowardice.
Tomorrow was the pre-wedding reception. Tomorrow she would meet Prince Archibald for the first time, and she would realize that her riding instructor had been lying to her all along.
I had less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to tell her the truth.
Or to prepare for the moment when she discovered it herself.
Either way, Peter the riding instructor was about to disappear. And I had no idea whether the prince who replaced him would be someone Betty could ever forgive.