CHAPTER 22
Betty
I'd been staring at the annulment papers for three hours when I realized I was being an idiot.
Not about the marriage, jury was still out on that one.
But about trying to make this decision alone in a palace guest room while eating stolen croissants from the kitchen and refreshing my phone every thirty seconds like the internet would suddenly provide answers about my deeply complicated feelings.
I needed to talk to someone who actually knew what the hell was going on. Someone who had answers about why I'd been lied to, manipulated, and generally treated like a chess piece in a game I didn't understand.
I needed to talk to my grandmother.
I pulled out my phone and texted Archie before I could overthink it: Need to go to Valdoria. Today if possible. Can you arrange transport?
His response came within seconds: Of course. When do you want to leave?
As soon as possible. And Archie? I need this to be quiet. No paparazzi, no media circus.
Understood. I'll have Roberto arrange a private jet. No flight plan filed, no press notification. You'll leave from a private airfield.
Thank you.
A pause, then: Are you okay?
I looked down at the annulment papers, at the choice he'd given me, at the impossible decision I was trying to make.
I will be.
Take all the time you need. The jet will be ready in two hours.
I should have been surprised by how quickly he could arrange international travel with complete secrecy.
But I was starting to learn that being a prince meant having access to resources that made normal life logistics look quaint.
Need a private jet on two hours notice? No problem.
Need to cross international borders without anyone knowing?
Easy. Need to figure out if you should stay married to said prince? That one you had to solve yourself.
I packed quickly, overnight bag with basics, the annulment papers carefully folded in an envelope, and my phone charger because some things transcended royal drama. Carmela appeared as I was zipping the bag, looking unsurprised to find me fleeing the country again.
"Going somewhere, Your Highness?"
"Valdoria."
She pulled a scarf from my closet. "You'll want this. The mountain air is cold this time of year. Prince Archibald called and asked me to make sure you had warm clothes."
Of course he did. The man was infuriating even when he was being thoughtful.
"Carmela, can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"Do you think I'm crazy for considering staying in this marriage?"
She was quiet for a moment, folding a sweater I hadn't packed but needed. "I think you'd be crazy to make a decision this important without talking to the people who love you. Your grandmother, your parents, yourself." She looked at me directly. "And perhaps the prince, when you're ready."
"He gave me annulment papers."
"Yes. I heard." She smiled slightly. "Rather dramatic gesture, even for him. He must care for you very much."
"Or he just feels guilty."
"Your Highness, I've known Prince Archibald since he was born. That boy doesn't do grand romantic gestures out of guilt. He does them when he's terrified of losing something that matters."
The words settled in my chest uncomfortably. "I should go."
"Safe travels, Your Highness. And Betty?" She used my first name, which she never did. "Whatever you decide, make sure it's what you actually want. Not what you think you should want, or what would make everyone else happy. What you want."
The private airfield was exactly as discrete as Archie had promised, tucked away in a corner of the island I hadn't known existed, with exactly zero paparazzi and one very nice pilot who didn't ask questions about why a princess was fleeing the country with minimal luggage and maximum secrecy.
Captain Steiner accompanied me, because Archie had put his foot down about me traveling internationally without security. I didn't have the energy to argue, and honestly, having her calm presence nearby was reassuring.
"His Highness wanted me to tell you that you can take as much time as you need in Valdoria," she said as we boarded. "He's cleared your schedule for the next three days."
"He didn't have to do that."
"He said, and I quote, 'Betty gets to make her own decisions about her own time, and if anyone has a problem with that, they can discuss it with my fist.'" She smiled slightly. "I've never heard him threaten physical violence over scheduling before. You're a good influence."
"Pretty sure threatening people isn't a good influence."
"Better than his usual approach of passive-aggressive compliance while secretly resenting everyone." She settled into her seat across from me. "If you don't mind me saying, Your Highness, he's different since you arrived. More honest. More himself."
"Peter," I said without thinking.
"What?”
“Nothing.”
The flight to Valdoria took three hours. I spent most of it staring at clouds and trying to organize my thoughts into something resembling a coherent conversation plan. So far I had:
1. Why did you lie to me about the marriage being permanent?
2. Did you know I'd hate being lied to?
3. Yes, obviously you knew, everyone hates being lied to.
4. So why did you do it anyway?
Not exactly a masterclass in diplomatic negotiation, but it was a start.
The Valdorian palace was smaller than Solmarina's but somehow more intimidating.
Maybe because this was supposed to be my family home, the place I should have grown up, the life that had been stolen from me.
The stone walls felt like they were judging me for wearing jeans and not knowing which fork to use.
A staff member I didn't recognize met us at the entrance. "Your Highness, the Grand Duchess is expecting you in her private apartments. She's asked that you come alone, if you're comfortable with that."
I glanced at Captain Steiner, who nodded. "I'll be right outside if you need me."
The walk to the Grand Duchess's private apartments took us through corridors I vaguely remembered from my brief visit weeks ago.
But this time we went deeper into the palace, to a wing that felt more like a home than a museum.
Family photos on the walls, my mother as a child, my mother as a young woman, my mother's wedding.
I stopped at one photo. My mother, maybe seven years old, sitting on a horse with the biggest smile I'd ever seen. She looked happy. Completely, unselfconsciously happy in a way I'd never seen in any photo of her as an adult.
"She loved horses," someone said behind me.
I turned to find an elderly woman in a simple dress standing in a doorway. Not the formal Grand Duchess I'd met before, but someone who looked like she'd been crying recently and hadn't bothered to fix her makeup.
My grandmother looked worse than she had during Viktor’s arrest. Like the weight of her title had physically pressed her down into something smaller. But her eyes were the same, sharp and assessing even as they filled with tears.
"Betty," she said. "Thank you for coming."
"I needed to talk to you."
"I know. Come in, please."
Her private sitting room was nothing like the formal spaces where we'd first met.
This was cozy, overstuffed chairs, warm lighting, more family photos covering every surface.
A half-finished puzzle on a side table. A book marked with a ribbon.
The room of someone who actually lived here instead of just ruling from here.
She gestured to a chair and lowered herself carefully into the one across from me. The movement was slow, painful. Old.
"You're ill," I said.
"I'm dying." She said it matter-of-factly, like announcing the weather. "Pancreatic cancer. They gave me a year, maybe less. That was three months ago."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Does Archie know?"
"No one knows except my doctors and my chief advisor." She folded her hands in her lap. "I wanted you settled before I told everyone. Wanted to know you'd be safe and provided for."
"So you lied to me about the marriage being temporary." The anger I'd been carrying for days rose up. "You told me six months, knowing it was forever. You let me sign papers I didn't understand. You manipulated me into giving up my entire life."
"Yes." She didn't flinch from the accusation. "I did all of that."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a desperate old woman who's lost everything that mattered, and I couldn't bear to lose you too.
" Her voice cracked. "I lost your mother twenty years ago.
Lost your father. Lost two decades of watching you grow up.
And now I'm dying, and you're the only family I have left.
" She stopped, composing herself. "I thought that you'd refuse if you knew the truth.
That you'd walk away and I'd spend my last year alone, knowing my granddaughter was out there somewhere but not part of my life. "
"So you took away my choice."
"Yes. And I'd apologize for it except I'm not actually sorry.
" She met my eyes. "You're here. You're safe.
You're going to be a queen someday, with resources and protection and a future that won't disappear because some man decides you're not worth keeping around.
Was it manipulative? Absolutely. Was it wrong?
Probably. Do I regret it?" She shook her head. "Not even a little bit."
I stared at her, trying to reconcile this blunt honesty with the lies she'd told. "You really think that's okay? Just deciding my life for me because you're dying?"