CHAPTER 18
Archie
The sabotage reports were spread across my desk in what Roberto called a "timeline analysis" but what looked more like organized chaos. Incident dates, access logs, staff schedules, security footage timestamps, all arranged in overlapping patterns that were starting to form a picture I didn't like.
"The luggage damage occurred during a fifteen-minute window when the security cameras were offline," I muttered, making notes in the margin. "And the speech substitution happened during a shift change when no one was monitoring the document room."
Someone was exploiting gaps in our security. Someone who knew the palace systems well enough to identify those gaps in the first place.
I pulled up the access logs for the music room on the day Betty's dance lesson had been sabotaged. Three people had entered that morning: the instructor, a maintenance worker checking the heating system, and,
My door burst open.
I looked up, already forming a greeting, and the words died in my throat.
Betty stood in the doorway holding a leather folder I recognized immediately. The household copy of our marriage contract. Her face was white except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks, and her eyes,
I'd never seen anyone look at me with that particular combination of fury and betrayal.
"When were you planning to tell me?" Her voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that preceded hurricanes.
I stood slowly, my heart sinking. "Tell you what?"
"Don't." She crossed the room and dropped the folder on my desk, right on top of the sabotage reports. "Don't insult me by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."
I looked down at the open contract, at the section on duration and dissolution, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach.
"How did you—?"
"Does it matter?" She crossed her arms. "I know now. That's what matters. The marriage is permanent. Forever. Until death or some impossible vote that will never happen."
"I can explain."
"Explain what? That you've been lying to me for weeks? That you let me walk around talking about leaving in six months while you knew I was trapped here forever?" Her voice rose. "That you slept with me knowing I thought I could still leave?"
The accusation hit like a physical blow. "It wasn't like that."
"Then what was it like, Archie? Enlighten me."
I came around the desk, needing to close the distance between us, but she stepped back.
"Don't come near me."
I stopped. "I was going to tell you."
"When?"
"After the six months." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to find words that would make her understand. "I thought by then you'd want to stay. That it wouldn't matter anymore because you'd have chosen to be here anyway."
"You thought." She repeated the words like they tasted bitter. "You thought you'd just wait until I'd invested six months of my life, and then I'd be so attached I wouldn't care that you'd lied about the single most important term of our arrangement?"
"I thought you'd see that we could make this work. That what we have is real."
"What we have is based on lies!" She was shouting now. "The Peter deception, the six-month lie, god knows what else you haven't told me. How am I supposed to believe anything about us is real when the foundation is completely fabricated?"
"The feelings are real. What happened between us, that was real."
"Was it? Or were you just securing your permanent wife's cooperation?" She grabbed the contract from the desk. "It says right here I'm expected to produce heirs. Were you thinking about that when you touched me? When you made me feel safe? Were you checking off boxes on your royal duty list?"
"No, I swear."
"You swear what? That you weren't thinking about the heirs we're contractually obligated to produce? That you weren't calculating how to keep me compliant until I was too pregnant to leave?"
"I wasn't thinking about any of that. I was thinking about you. About how much I wanted you, how much I..." I stopped.
"How much you what?"
"How much I was falling for you," I said. "I know that doesn't excuse the lie. But when I was with you, I wasn't thinking about duty or heirs or contracts. I was just thinking about you."
Something flickered in her expression. Not forgiveness, but maybe a crack in the anger. A hesitation.
I pressed forward, desperate to widen that crack before it closed. "I was wrong not to tell you. I know that. But Betty, you have to understand, I was afraid that if you knew the truth too soon, you'd run before you gave this a real chance."
"So you took the choice away from me entirely."
"I was hoping I wouldn't have to. I was hoping that by the end of six months, you'd choose to stay on your own."
"But I don't get to choose, do I? That's the whole point." She looked down at the contract. "This was decided for me. By the Grand Duchess, by political necessity, by everyone except me."
"I know how it looks."
"Do you? Do you really?" She met my eyes. "Can you honestly tell me you understand what it's like to have your entire future decided without your consent? To sign something under false pretenses and then discover you've trapped yourself forever?"
"No," I admitted. "I can't. But Betty, is it really so terrible? Being here, being a princess? You're good at this. You're better than you give yourself credit for."
She stared at me. "Are you seriously asking if being lied to and trapped in a permanent marriage is 'really so terrible'?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
I was making this worse. I could see it in her expression, in the way her hands clenched around the contract. But I'd already started down this path, and I didn't know how to redirect.
"I meant that the life you had before, working at a coffee shop you hated, taking classes you couldn't afford, dealing with a boss who treated you like garbage, that wasn't a good life, Betty.
This is better. Being a princess, having resources and purpose and the ability to actually make a difference in people's lives.
That's better than slinging coffee in Oregon. "
The words hung in the air between us, and I watched her expression shift from hurt to something much colder.
"Better?" she repeated flatly.
"I just meant..."
"You meant that you think you did me a favor. That being trapped in a palace with a husband who lies to me is an upgrade from my pathetic little life making lattes."
"That's not—"
"That's exactly what you meant." She took a step toward me, and I'd never seen her look more dangerous.
"You think because my job wasn't glamorous and my apartment was small and my life was ordinary, that gives you the right to decide I'm better off here?
That your life is so obviously superior that I should be grateful you trapped me in it? "
"If you would just listen to me.”
"My life was mine." Her voice cracked. "It was honest and it was real and it was mine.
I chose that job. I chose those classes.
I chose that apartment and that life and every single thing about it.
And yeah, parts of it sucked. My boss was a nightmare and I was broke most of the time and I was worried about student loans. But it was mine to choose."
"I know." I had to find a way to make this better.
"You don't know! You've never had to choose between paying rent or buying groceries.
You've never worked a job where someone screamed at you for making a drink wrong.
You've never had to scrape together change to do laundry.
" She was shouting now. "But I did those things.
I built that life myself. And it might not have been much by your standards, but it was honest work and I earned every penny and no one made those choices for me. "
"I understand that."
"No, you don't! Because if you understood, you wouldn't be standing here telling me I should be grateful you ripped it all away."
"I'm not saying you should be grateful. I'm saying that objectively, this life offers you more opportunities."
"Objectively?" She laughed, sharp and bitter. "Objectively, I've been kidnapped twice in my life. Once as a child, and once as an adult. The difference is that this time, my kidnapper is handsome and royal and thinks he knows better than me what I should want."
The comparison made me flinch. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it? You and the Grand Duchess decided my future without my consent. You created a situation where I had no real choice. You lied about the terms of the arrangement to secure my cooperation. How is that different from any other form of coercion?"
"We're trying to prevent a war."
"I know what you're trying to prevent. I'm not an idiot.
I understand the political stakes. I understood them when I agreed to six months.
" She threw the contract on the desk. "But I didn't agree to forever.
I didn't consent to producing heirs and living in permanent apartments and spending my entire life in a role I never wanted. "
"But you're good at it."
"I don't care if I'm good at it.” She pressed her hands to her temples. "How are you not getting this? The whole point is that I didn't get to choose."
I opened my mouth and closed it again, finally understanding the magnitude of what I'd done. Not just the lie about the six months, but the fundamental arrogance of thinking I knew better than she did what her life should be.
"I'm sorry."
"Are you? Are you really? Because five minutes ago you were telling me how much better off I am here." She grabbed her phone from her pocket. "I'm leaving."
My heart stopped. "What?"
"I'm leaving the palace. Tonight. Right now." She was already typing something, probably texting Captain Steiner.
"You can't."
"Watch me."
"At least think about this. I’m concerned about your safety."
"I don't care.” She looked up from her phone. "All I care about right now is getting away from you before I completely lose my mind."
"Where will you go?"
"Why do you care?”
"Because I'm trying to protect you."
"From what? The consequences of your own lies?
" She moved toward the door. "I'll do my public duties.
I'll smile for cameras and play the dutiful princess because I'm legally obligated to.
But privately? You don't exist to me. Don't call me, don't text me, don't send flowers or letters or any of your princely gestures. "
"Please stay. Let me make this right.”
"We're done, Archie." She paused at the door, her hand on the handle. "I'll figure out how to live in this marriage you trapped me in. But don't expect me to pretend it's anything more than a prison sentence."
She left, and the door closing behind her sounded like a cell slamming shut.
I stood in my study, surrounded by sabotage reports I'd forgotten about entirely, and tried to process what had just happened.
I'd lost her.
The realization settled into my chest like ice.
I'd lost her, and it was my own fault. Every excuse I'd made, every rationalization about waiting for the right time, none of it mattered.
I'd lied to her about the single most important aspect of her life, and when confronted with that betrayal, I'd compounded it by suggesting she should be grateful.
My phone buzzed. A text from Roberto: Security alert. Princess Bettina is requesting immediate transport to a hotel in the city. Captain Steiner is asking if you want her to delay.
I stared at the message. I could stop this. Could tell Roberto to talk to Captain Steiner, to convince Betty to stay, to give me time to make this right.
But I'd already taken enough choices from her.
I typed back: Let her go. Provide full security detail. Whatever she wants.
The response came immediately: Understood. Sir, the media is already gathering outside. Someone tipped them off.
Of course they had. Because nothing about this nightmare could be simple.
I looked down at the sabotage reports still spread across my desk. The pattern I'd been so close to identifying. The person who'd been undermining Betty since she arrived.
And now she was leaving the palace, angry, hurt, vulnerable, walking right into whatever trap had been laid.
I grabbed my phone and called Roberto.
"Get me Captain Steiner. Now. And double the security on the Princess. I don't care if she objects. I want people on her at all times."
"Already done, sir. Captain Steiner anticipated the need."
"Good. And Roberto? Find out who tipped off the media. I want names."
I hung up and sank into my chair, staring at the contract Betty had left behind.
In perpetuity, the document read. For the natural lives of both parties.
I'd thought I had time. Time to make her fall for me, time to prove we could be happy together, time to make the permanence of our marriage feel like a blessing instead of a curse.
But I'd run out of time the moment she discovered the truth.
And now I had the rest of my life, our lives, to live with the consequences of my cowardice.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from Roberto: Media feeding frenzy outside palace gates. Someone leaked information about the Princess leaving. Do you want PR to issue a statement?
I looked at the sabotage reports. At the pattern of incidents designed to undermine Betty's credibility. At the timing of the leaks, always perfectly calculated to cause maximum damage.
Someone was orchestrating all of this. And whoever it was had just been handed their biggest opportunity yet, the public spectacle of a royal marriage falling apart.
I typed back to Roberto: No statement yet. But I want to know who leaked this information. And I want to know tonight.
I stood and grabbed my jacket. Betty might not want to see me, might have meant every word about me not existing to her anymore.
But she was my wife, in perpetuity, whether she liked it or not, and I wasn't going to leave her vulnerable while some unknown enemy used her pain as ammunition.
I'd already failed her in every way that mattered. I wasn't going to fail her in this.
Even if she never forgave me. Even if she spent the rest of our marriage looking at me with that same combination of fury and betrayal I'd seen tonight.
I'd protect her anyway.
It was the least I could do after destroying everything else.