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I gesture at my face, my nose giving a little throb, right on cue. “I would say you made it my business, princess.”
Her eyes drop from mine to my nose before she lifts them back up again. “I was taking a break, that's all.”
“Aka calling your publicist.”
“What?!”
“Tell me, which magazine are you going exclusive with? The Malveaux Telegraph would be a good choice because it’s got a wide national circulation, but you probably want to go global for maximum financial reward. Probably an American publication, I would say.”
“I'm not going exclusive with any magazine, Malveauxian or American!”
“So you're spreading yourself around. Good thinking, although you'll probably make less money that way, and knowing what I do about you, I imagine that is your main goal.”
She rounds on me. “Who do you think you are suggesting that I'm using this massive, unexpected life change to make money? It’s…it’s not fair.”
She almost stomps her foot like a toddler having a tantrum.
I bite back a smile. “Not fair?”
She scowls. “You heard me.”
“Look, you and I both know that this”—I gesture around us—“could all be gone tomorrow if Prince Nicolas decides against abdication. Which he may very well do once he comes to his senses and realizes what the country’s alternative is. You’re here as a backup option for the Crown. You may as well cash in while you have the chance.”
Her eyes widen in disbelief. I know I've crossed the line from teasing to insults. What can I say? This new American Princess brings out the worst in me.
I’m not proud.
“You’re calling me a what-now?”
I know I’ve been harsh, but I’m merely parroting what they’re saying in the media. One journalist called her Malveaux’s Backup Princess on national TV yesterday. But despite the fact that’s clearly what she is, I don’t need to be the one rubbing her face in it. Which, I’ve noticed, is rather beautiful.
I temper my approach, despite the throbbing pain in my nose, reminding me what this woman is capable of. “You must know you’re here in case Nicolas follows through with his threat to abdicate, and there’s nothing wrong with being a backup. Heck, we’ve got three of them in Ledonia, aka my brother and sisters.”
She’s not having a bar of it.
“You're a real piece of work, you know that?” she growls, and I notice tears welling in her eyes. She sniffs them back as she raises her chin once more in defiance.
I feel sorry for her. I know I've taken it too far. She might have punched me and run off, but looking at her now in her tiara, she looks like a lost little lamb, almost entirely overwhelmed by this new life she finds herself in.
And here I am being horrible to her.
I soften.
“Look, let's call it a truce, shall we? My nose for your presence?” I suggest.
Her jaw tightens, her features set, and I know there's no getting through to her now.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Prince Alexander. I hope never to repeat it,” she spits, before she turns on her heel, her skirts rustling around her as they did when she bolted from the hallway cupboard.
I watch her leave, feeling a surprising mixture of emotions. Annoyance, attraction—don’t judge me—and worst of all, guilt.
Perhaps I got this new princess horribly wrong?
Chapter 11
Maddie
We are distraught! Our poor darling Prince of Gorgeousness was spotted leaving last night’s ball for the new Malveauxian princess with a swollen nose that frankly makes this reporter weep! Who in their good mind would want to damage such a perfect, perfect face? As I write these words, I know it must be a jealous man, intent on damaging the dashingly good looks of our Prince of Perfection after he no doubt attracted the attention of his wife. Doesn't he know his attempts are futile? Not even a swollen nose could impair his looks, and those who have taken to calling him Rudolph the Red Nosed Prince should be ashamed of themselves. He is and will always be forever in our hearts, our most treasured Prince Alexander.
