Chapter 3

Two months ago

I tossed the tabloid into the nearest trash bin. “This is already a fucking disaster,” I muttered, rubbing my face. 

Laurent didn’t react to my swearing, except to say, “Anything else I can do for you, Your Highness?”

“No, nothing. You’ve done everything you could.”

Laurent bowed and left me to stew in my office. Once Niamh had agreed to our engagement, after a lot of arguing, swearing, and threats of castrating me, the news of our engagement became the most important topic in the palace. My parents had taken the news with a surprising level of equanimity. I’d expected them to rail against it or to demand that I find someone more suitable. 

But neither of them had said those things. My mother, ever the polished royal, had merely said, “Then we have a lot of work to do, don’t we?”

I’d been naive to think releasing the news of our impromptu engagement would be simple. We’d simply write a press release, do a few interviews, take a few photos, and voila. Done.

Not so. Once the announcement had been made, Niamh and I had found ourselves in a whirlwind of press, interviews, photo engagements, and so much speculation from the tabloids that I couldn’t keep up with their nonsense. One moment, Niamh was pregnant with my child (thus the fast engagement and marriage), the next, she wasn’t pregnant but was blackmailing me to marry her so she could be rich. 

Even with Niamh taking lessons in deportment, French, the history of Salasia, and horseback riding, along with other things every royal should know, soon after the engagement announcement, she still seemed out of place in this world and struggled with the press. My only hope was that that would change as time passed.

My head started aching just thinking about it. Despite all of the expertise of the palace’s own press office, the strategy behind each interview and appearance, no one—not me, not Niamh—had been spared from the uglier side of being famous in a tiny country like Salasia. 

I almost wished for some natural disaster to distract everyone. Where was an earthquake when a prince needed one?

I looked at my watch. I had two hours until our next appearance as an engaged couple. I just hoped that Niamh didn’t act like my touching her made her want to vomit.

That evening, Niamh and I stood in the Sun Garden of Salasia Palace. It was famous for its roses, which my great-grandmother had planted as a young woman. It smelled heavily of roses, the air pungent; there were red roses, pink, white, yellow. There were roses so big that they almost didn’t seem real. When Niamh and I had entered, she’d immediately found the biggest rose and had bent down to smell it, a large smile on her face.

Her smile had since transformed into an awkward grimace. We were walking along the garden paths with our interviewer Madame Raquel Bernard, a prominent journalist from one of Salasia’s longest-running papers. 

“You have to admit, your engagement was quite a surprise to us all,” said Bernard. “Was that intentional?”

I glanced at Niamh. She’d barely responded to any of the questions so far, and I nudged her to answer this one. “Um, not intentional,” she stuttered. “It just happened that way, I guess.”

“But there were no reports of you two dating, besides a handful of social media posts of your trips to Paris and Berlin. More than one poster mentioned that you said you two were together.” Mme. Bernard cocked her head to the side. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to make a statement to the press to avoid any confusion?”

“Of course, but as we all know, hindsight is twenty-twenty.” I slid an arm around Niamh’s shoulders. “We fell in love so quickly that I have to say that we weren’t thinking about practicalities. We were rather distracted.” 

Mme. Bernard chuckled. If she noticed how Niamh stiffened when I put my arm around her, she didn’t say anything. 

“How romantic. It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Mademoiselle Gallagher, did you know His Highness was a prince when you met?”

“No, he kept that detail to himself.” Niamh slid me a droll look. “I had to pry it out of him.”

“I suppose Americans wouldn’t know about Salasian royals like ours, would they?” said Mme. Bernard.

“Oh, we don’t pay much attention to anyone outside of our country.” 

Niamh seemed to be joking, but based on Raquel’s eyebrow raise, she hadn’t seen the humor in it.

The interview wrapped up quickly after that. Once one of the servants had led Mme. Bernard out of the garden, Niamh and I sat on one of the benches together. I wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t make statements like that, that it wasn’t helping her to be liked here in Salasia, but I was too tired right then. 

I’d barely been sleeping ever since Niamh had agreed to marry me. When I did sleep, I kept having dreams where she’d disappear on our wedding day and that she’d subsequently leak the secret of my parentage as revenge.

“Everyone seems so offended that we supposedly dated without telling them,” said Niamh finally. “It’s so weird.”

“Why is that weird?”

“I mean, don’t you have a right to live at least some of your life in privacy? I can’t imagine anyone expects you to announce any time you’re sleeping with someone.”

I snorted. “Casually dating is one thing. Dating with the intent of marriage is another beast entirely. Who I marry is important to the country itself.”

“I doubt everyone who lives here is that invested in your love life.”

“No, not everyone. There are people who would rather do away with the monarchy completely, of course.” I sat back, gazing up at the sky streaked with clouds. “But even if some citizens are against the institution, what I do, who I marry, what I say—it matters. We are figureheads for Salasia. We represent its best interests. Privacy, individualism…those are not aspects of life I’d ever expected to have.”

“You don’t exactly make a great argument for marrying you.”

I glanced at her. “You get to be a princess. Isn’t that every girl’s dream?”

Niamh rolled her eyes. “Sure, when you’re seven. But I’m not a little girl obsessed with Disney movies now, and I think we can both agree this engagement between us is hardly a fairy tale.”

I knew that. I’d forced her hand. I was more the villain of this tale than I was the charming prince. I hadn’t saved her from the evil witch: I’d given her the poisoned apple myself.

I clenched my jaw. I’d had no choice. This was the only way to keep my birthright, to sit on the throne I was raised to rule upon. 

Because if I wasn’t a prince, then who was I? I was nothing and nobody. I’d be branded a bastard, and my entire family and I would be ruined by the scandal. Even if I was angry at both of my parents, I refused to let them be fed to the wolves, either. 

Niamh had agreed to our engagement to protect her brother. I’d done it to protect my parents and my throne. In that, we could agree upon.

“Am I your evil stepsister, then?” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“More like the evil stepmother.” Her lips quirked upward. “You do know what happened to those three, don’t you? In the Perrault’s version?”

I shook my head.

“The stepsisters ended up wearing enchanted shoes that caused them to dance to death.” 

“What a lovely sentiment.”

She patted my thigh. “You’re welcome.”

Although I’d spoken with my parents and had confirmed with them both about my true parentage, I’d avoided speaking with them further about the subject. To me, there was no reason to discuss it. I knew the truth. What more was there to say?

Niamh had left to go inside, leaving me alone in the Sun Garden. The sun was setting when I heard a rustle. Expecting Laurent, I was surprised to see my father enter.

I struggled to think of him as my father. He’d been the man I’d called father my entire life, but I couldn’t honestly say he’d raised me. He’d raised me in the distanced way royalty preferred to raise their progeny, with occasional visits with nannies and tutors until I’d been old enough to hold a somewhat coherent conversation.

Strangely, I’d never wondered why I didn’t look like Prince Étienne, because I looked so much like my mother. I’d always assumed I’d gotten more of her genes than his. I’d never expected to discover I hadn’t inherited any of them.

“I spoke with your fiancée just now,” said my father. He gestured at the spot where Niamh had just been sitting. “May I?”

I was tempted to say no. But I just shrugged and said, “Yes.”

My father stretched out his legs. Silver threaded through his brown hair, and he’d begun wearing a beard within the last few years. I’d surpassed him in height by the age of fifteen. He was neither handsome nor ugly, his bearing always regal. If he weren’t royalty, he would’ve seemed almost generic in appearance. 

“Mademoiselle Gallagher must be exhausted,” said my father.

I was too well-bred to grunt an answer. “As are we all.”

My father gazed at me, his eyes searching my expression. “Are you happy, son? I feel as though you don’t seem excited with your upcoming nuptials.”

I hadn’t told my parents that our engagement was real in name only, that we weren’t in love, and that, in fact, Niamh hated everything about me. 

“Are you asking me if I want this marriage?” I countered.

“I suppose so, yes.”

“I want to marry Niamh. I wouldn’t have asked her otherwise.”

My father’s forehead crinkled. “You make it sound like it’s more of a duty than something your heart desires.”

I wanted to toss myself into the nearest fountain. “Duty is all we have in this life.”

“It’s not all. Yes, I realize that our choices are limited. It comes with the privilege of our roles. That doesn’t mean, however, that you need to make yourself miserable for duty. You can create a happy medium of duty and desire.”

“Is that what happened with you? Your own desire overruled your duty?” I said the words scathingly before my mind could stop me. 

My father’s expression shuttered. Before I could apologize, he said, “There are things you don’t understand.”

“Then enlighten me.” 

“Perhaps another time.” 

“At least, before you go, tell me this: did you know about her pregnancy before you married?” 

The words fell heavily between us, like a shroud. 

“Did your mother betray me? No, she did not.” 

“Yet she still loved another man while accepting your ring on her finger.” 

He didn’t deny it. My father rose then, standing and gazing at the sky for a long moment. “I love your mother, no matter her faults. She was always open about her situation soon after we met. And she loves me as well, in her own way. I hope your marriage is a similar union.”

He walked away. I stayed where I was until the moon rose high in the sky. 

I didn’t understand why my father would’ve wanted to marry a woman who was not only pregnant with another man’s child, but who was clearly in love with him, too. It made no sense. Had he no pride? It would’ve been one thing if she hadn’t loved my biological father, but if she were still in love with him, why marry my father? Why hadn’t my biological father been suitable?

Perhaps my biological father hadn’t wanted to marry my mother. Or perhaps he’d never known of my existence.

A memory came to mind: my seventh birthday. I’d received a new mare to ride, one that was such a light gray that she looked nearly white under the shining sun. I’d wanted to ride something less childish than a pony for ages, but my mother had been hesitant. Somehow, my father had convinced her otherwise.

I mounted the mare, now named Celeste, and was riding her around the paddock with glee. Laurent, ever my faithful servant, stood nearby and watched, giving encouragement when I came around the bend. 

When I wanted to ride beyond the bounds of the paddock, Laurent informed me that I’d need my parents’ permission. 

“Then go get them,” I said in my most commanding, yet childish, tone. “I’m too big to keep riding around here.”

Laurent did as he was told, but when he returned, his expression was glum. “Your Highness, I’m afraid their majesties are otherwise engaged at the moment.”

I pulled on Celeste’s reins, stopping her canter. “What are they doing?”

“They didn’t say.”

I kept riding around the paddock, asking Laurent to continue calling the main house for one of my parents. When another hour, then a second, passed without any response, I was so angry that I unlocked the gate to the paddock. 

“Your Highness, it isn’t safe—”

I used the fence to mount Celeste, not quite tall enough to get into the saddle yet on my own. I simply kicked Celeste forward and ignored Laurent’s cries and the horse trainer’s commands for me to stop. They couldn’t tell a prince of Salasia what to do. They knew that, and I knew it, so I rode off into the countryside by myself.

Our countryside estate was remote, and I found myself lost quickly. There were few cars that drove these twisty, mountainous roads, many of which weren’t paved. The sun had begun to set when I’d started to cry.

Celeste, well-trained horse that she was, snuffled at me when I began to cry. I patted her neck. I told myself that I was too big to cry and how embarrassing it would be if someone found the prince crying like a little baby just because he was lost.

When Celeste seemed too tired to continue, I took her to a nearby stream and sat down on a tree stump. The night was cool. I wondered if I was going to die that night. Would my parents be sad that they’d ignored me on my birthday if I died? It was morbid thought that gave my childish heart a bit of glee.

Help arrived soon after. A car pulled up, a flashlight beaming. Laurent was the one to spot me. “Your Highness!” He pulled me into his arms and hugged me. He’d never hugged me, and it had surprised me. I found myself hugging him back, holding back tears. “Are you all right?”

I sniffled and wiped my eyes. “Yeah.”

“Thank the good lord. We were so worried.”

Luckily for Celeste, I’d somehow managed to circle the estate without finding it, so it wasn’t another long walk for her. The horse trainer led her back in the dark as the car slowly drove down the road.

When I got inside the car, I said, “Where is Father? Mother?”

“They were so worried about you, Your Highness.” Laurent got in beside me. “They’ll be so happy to see you.”

In my young mind, I took that as a sign that they hadn’t even bothered to search for me. When I met them inside the estate, I let them hug me before I’d asked for something to eat. But before my nanny came to get me, I could see that my mother’s eyes were red and tearstained. She shot my father an angry glance and said something along the lines of, “He should never have gotten that horse.”

This led to a harsh reply from my father. “You’re his mother. What were you doing while he was out by himself?”

“It wasn’t my idea to give him a horse! You never take responsibility for anything, do you?”

My father laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “My dear, let’s not go there, shall we?”

My nanny came to get me before I could see the resolution of this disagreement. I could tell by my parents’ faces that the fight would continue into the night. As I ate my dinner, my nanny fussing about me, I wondered why neither of my parents had wished me happy birthday.

I forced myself to return to the present. As an adult, that fight between my parents made more sense. How could my father say they loved each other when they’d acted like that? My father undermining my mother while they both ignored me on my own birthday?

Niamh and I might not have a real engagement, but at least we understood where we stood with each other. At least we wouldn’t be living a lie like my parents had been for the past twenty-five years.