CHAPTER 19
Betty
The hotel room was supposed to feel like freedom. Private space, no palace staff hovering, no Archie on the other side of a connecting door reminding me of everything I wanted to forget.
Instead, it felt like a very expensive cage with better room service.
I stood at the window looking down at the street five floors below, where at least thirty photographers had gathered in the two hours since I'd arrived. They'd somehow multiplied since the car had pulled up, like paparazzi reproduced through cellular division when they sensed scandal.
My phone buzzed for the eighteenth time. Another text from Archie that I deleted without reading. The preview had shown enough: Please let me explain, which was rich considering he'd had weeks to explain and had chosen lies instead.
Captain Steiner knocked and entered without waiting for permission, security trumped privacy when your hotel was under siege.
"Your Highness, we're monitoring the crowd. It's growing."
"How is that possible? I've been here two hours."
"Someone leaked your location." Her expression was unreadable, but I heard the implication. Someone had told the press exactly where to find me.
"Let me guess, palace sources?"
"The tip came through a media contact in Valdoria. We're investigating."
Of course it had. Because nothing about this nightmare could be simple.
I turned back to the window. "They can't stay there forever."
"They can stay as long as you do, Your Highness. This is international news now. Royal bride flees palace after three weeks of marriage, it's front page everywhere."
I picked up my phone and opened the news apps I'd been avoiding. Captain Steiner was right. The headlines were brutal:
American Princess Abandons Royal Duties Marriage in Crisis. Flees Palace Sources Question Princess's Suitability for Royal Life
I scrolled through the articles, each one worse than the last. Anonymous palace insiders questioning my commitment. Royal experts analyzing my every public appearance for signs of strain. Comparisons to other royal marriage failures.
And then I saw it.
The headline that made my blood run cold:
Royal Alliance in Jeopardy: Palace Sources Confirm Talks with Russian Princess as American Bride Flees
I clicked through with hands that had started shaking.
The article was detailed. Too detailed. Photos of Viktor Beaumont meeting with a striking blonde woman identified as Princess Anastasia of Belarus.
Dates, locations, specifics about "preliminary alliance discussions.
" Quotes from unnamed sources about how Anastasia had been the "preferred candidate" but was "passed over due to political pressure. "
"Princess Anastasia brings generations of royal training and established diplomatic connections," one source said.
"She would have been the natural choice if not for Valdoria's insistence on their American heir.
Now that the marriage appears to be failing, alternative arrangements are being explored. "
I read it twice, then a third time, my mind racing.
This wasn't about me being unsuitable. This wasn't even about the permanent marriage lie.
This was about replacing me.
Replacing the entire Western alliance with a Russian one.
I thought about Viktor's careful sympathy when I'd asked why they'd chosen me.
How he'd mentioned Anastasia by name, explained her family's Moscow connections as if that disqualified her.
How he'd made it sound like I was the consolation prize, picked only because the better option had problematic loyalties.
But what if that hadn't been the problem? What if those "problematic loyalties" were exactly what Viktor wanted?
My phone rang. Captain Steiner this time, her personal line.
"Don't answer the door," she said without preamble. "We have a situation."
"What kind of situation?"
"The crowd outside just tripled." She stopped, and I heard shouting in the background. "Your Highness, we need to move you. Now. This isn't safe anymore."
I looked out the window. The street below had turned into chaos. Photographers pushing, security trying to maintain a perimeter, hotel staff attempting to clear the entrance. As I watched, someone threw something at the building. A camera flash went off so bright I could see it from five floors up.
"Why are they doing this?"
"Pack essentials. Five minutes. We're bringing you back to the palace."
"I can’t go back."
"Your Highness." Her voice cut through my protest. "This situation is deteriorating rapidly. Staying here puts you at risk and puts my people at risk. We're moving you."
She hung up before I could argue.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the chaos below, then at my phone showing Viktor's smiling face next to Princess Anastasia. At the carefully crafted narrative about alternative arrangements and better choices.
This was exactly what someone wanted. Me fleeing the palace, looking unstable and unsuitable, making the alliance appear weak enough to justify exploring other options.
Russian options.
I was grabbing my overnight bag when someone knocked, actual knock, not Captain Steiner's security override.
"Your Highness?" A male voice I didn't recognize. "Hotel security. We need to evacuate this floor."
I opened the door to find not hotel security, but Archie, flanked by Roberto and four guards I recognized from the palace.
"What are you doing here?"
"Getting you out of here before someone gets hurt.
" He looked past me into the room. "Captain Steiner called me thirty minutes ago when the crowd first started getting aggressive.
" He met my eyes. "I know you don't want to see me.
I know you're angry. But this situation is dangerous, and I'm not leaving you here. "
"You don't get to make that decision."
"You're right. I don't. But your security team does, and they want you moved now." He gestured to the window, where the crowd below had grown even larger. "So you can hate me in the car, or you can hate me here while this gets worse. Your choice."
The word "choice" coming from his mouth after everything made me want to throw something. But he wasn't wrong about the danger. Even from here I could hear the crowd, could see the flash of cameras like lightning.
"Fine." I grabbed my bag. "But we're not discussing anything personal. This is purely about security."
"Understood."
Roberto led us through back corridors I hadn't known existed, service elevators that bypassed the lobby entirely. We emerged in an underground parking garage where a black car waited with its engine running and windows tinted dark enough to be illegal in most countries.
"Your Highness." Roberto held the door open.
I climbed in, expecting Archie to take one of the other cars. Instead, he slid in beside me, and Roberto shut the door, sealing us into the leather-scented quiet.
"I said I didn't want to talk to you."
"And I'm respecting that." He pulled a tablet from the seat pocket. "But you need to see this."
"I already saw the story about Princess Anastasia."
"That’s not important." He pulled up a document, a timeline covered in dates, incidents, and connecting lines. "I've been tracking your every incident, every convenient disaster that’s been happening to you."
I took the tablet. The timeline started with my arrival at the palace and tracked through every public mishap. The luggage damage. The speech substitution. The music room equipment. The Italian lesson materials.
"The incidents required access to security systems, diplomatic communications, household schedules. There’s a very short list of people who have that," Archie said.
I studied the timeline. "You think someone we know is doing this?"
"The timing is too perfect. The leaks too well-coordinated." He pulled up another document. "And tonight, someone made sure every major news outlet knew your exact location within thirty minutes of your arrival."
"Viktor told me about Anastasia," I said slowly. "When I asked why they chose me instead of someone qualified. He said she was considered but had family connections to Moscow that were problematic."
Archie went very still. "When did he tell you this?"
"This afternoon. After I found out about, " I stopped, not ready to discuss the permanent marriage lie. "After I found out the truth."
"What exactly did he say?"
I repeated the conversation, watching Archie's expression darken with each detail.
"He mentioned her by name. Described her qualifications. Made it sound like she was the better choice." I looked back at the timeline. "But what if that wasn't a warning? What if it was the plan all along?"
"To replace you with a Russian-connected princess." Archie's voice was grim. "Destabilize the Western alliance under the guise of finding a 'more suitable' option."
"And every sabotage attempt was designed to make me look unsuitable." The pieces were clicking together. "The luggage made me look unprepared. The speech made me look incompetent. The Chilly scandal made me look, "
"Unreliable. Inappropriate for royal life." Archie pulled up the news article about Anastasia. "And now, conveniently, there's an alternative option waiting in the wings."
We sat in silence as the car moved through late-night traffic. I stared at the timeline, at the careful orchestration of my public failures, and fury built under my exhaustion.
"Someone is trying to destroy the alliance," I said.
"Someone is trying to deliver it to Russia instead." Archie looked at me directly. "And they've been very patient about it."
"Why are you showing me this now?"
"Because you deserve to know what you're walking into.
If you decide to leave, really leave, not just the palace but Valdoria entirely, I won't stop you.
You have every right to go." His jaw tightened.
"But you should know that's exactly what someone wants.
They want you gone so they can position Anastasia as the solution. "
"Your mother would never agree to that."