AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It surprises me a little bit, just how much I really want this to work. And not just because this is the first time in months that I’ve had even a glimmer of hope that I might have a chance at getting my old position—and the throne—back. Although, yeah, that’s certainly a major factor.
The other factor is Lola. Which is just crazy, considering I barely know her. And what I do know about her would normally be considered far from perfect for what I’m asking her to do. She’s loud and brash and more than a little bit crazy. She’s got an unconventional job and an even more unconventional need to break the rules. And God knows, she doesn’t take anybody’s shit, even though she’s more than capable of shoveling a bunch of her own.
But that doesn’t seem to matter when I’m with her. Any more than it seems to matter to my subjects. At least not if you judge by the online comments and social media feeds. Somehow, this bold, brash redhead—with a big attitude and an even bigger heart—has managed to capture the attention—and the imaginations—of my subjects. They never paid much attention to my ex-fiancée, the very proper, very perfect Felicity, but they’re fascinated by this woman who hops fences in the middle of the night and eats desserts by the boxful. This woman who pulled herself up by her bootstraps, who went from poverty to prospective princess in a real-world Cinderella story that is more about her than it is about the prince. About me.
And why shouldn’t they be fascinated by her? I certainly am—whether I want to be or not.
She’s not princess material and she’s definitely not queen material, but that doesn’t seem to matter—to the people or to my libido. Then again, maybe that’s okay. I had both in Felicity—and God knows I’ve been raised my whole life to consider myself king material—and even with all that, I managed to lose the crown. Getting it back after my abduction is a long shot anyway, so why not have a little fun along the way and give my people the fairy-tale romance they’ve been dying for? They missed out on the wonder with Kian and Savvy because they were mourning me.
Which means, I suppose, that I owe them a little romance. A little fun. If that romance also helps gets me back on the throne, why shouldn’t I go for it? As long as the woman I’m having that romance with is good with being along for the ride, it’s a win for everyone involved.
I take a minute to formulate a good argument—considering my last one was anything but impressive to her—but just as I figure out what I want to say, Lola’s computer beeps with some kind of notification. I’m watching her closely, so I see the way she freezes up when she glances at it, even before she starts swiping across the laptop’s touch screen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask after she’s been silent for a little too long. Her eyes are narrow as she reads the screen, her lips pressed together in a tight line.
Lola shakes her head and starts to close the computer, but I snatch it away before she can. She squawks in outrage, but she doesn’t come after me and try to get it back. That, combined with the suddenly defeated slump of her shoulders, tells me all I need to know. As soon as I’ve got the laptop facing me, I’m scrolling back to the top of the screen, trying to see what she saw.
And I do. She must have a Google alert set up on her name, because once I get to the top of the screen, the name of the site—belonging to one of the most prominent “newspapers” in Wildemar—jumps out at me. Followed by an incredibly offensive headline that basically calls Lola a prostitute.
Under the headline are a number of pics of Lola in high-end clothing in provocative poses.
A quick skim of the article tells me the paper has taken even larger liberties with the truth than the headline suggests. From what I can tell, when she was first starting her business Lola used to take photos of herself wearing the vintage clothes she was selling, then post those pics on her website so that shoppers could see what the clothes looked like on a person instead of on a hanger—like most Internet order sites do. But this article makes it sound like Lola was selling a lot more than clothes with those pics.
It’s strange, because I’d expect her to shrug it off. She’s the one who doesn’t care about rules, doesn’t care what anyone thinks. And yet this article obviously got to her. It’s written all over her carefully blank face, and in the dejected slump of her shoulders.
No.
Not just no, but hell no. Fuck no. I’m not having it.
I put up with a lot of shit—real and fake—because papers and gossip sites and everyone else in the world want clicks, and Kian and I are good click bait. Just the idea of starting an argument with every website that publishes something false or unflattering is absurd. We’re used to it, and who has the time, anyway? Not to mention the fact that libel laws are much harder to enforce when you’re famous.
But this? This is crossing about twelve different lines and I am not putting up with it. Lola didn’t ask for any of this and, while I can’t protect her from everything that’s happening right now, I sure as shit can protect her from this.
I’m practically seeing crimson by the time I fumble my cellphone out of my pocket and get Jacob on the phone. The second he answers, I roar, “Have you seen the article running on the home page of the Wildemar Inquisitor?”
“I have,” he answers hastily. “It’s ugly, no doubt about that.”
“Ugly? It’s disgusting and I want it taken down, now.”
“Believe me, Your Highness. I understand where you’re coming from. But it’s just one article, and if we make a big deal of it, it will only draw attention to it. It’s better to just—”
“Good. Draw attention to it.”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end. “Excuse me?”
“Make a spectacle of the damn article if you have to; just get it taken down. Then make sure you let every media outlet in the Western world know that if they ever want an interview with any member of the royal family again—if they even so much as want their question answered at a press conference again—they’ll steer away from this kind of false and inflammatory content. I will not have them going after Lola like this. I. Will. Not.”
Another moment of silence, then, “I know these kinds of lies are difficult to see, sir. And if you want me to make an example of the Inquisitor, I will. I just need you to understand that if we make these threats and then carry through with them, it’s going to make a really bold statement.”
I know exactly what kind of statement it will make, and even if I didn’t, I can read between the lines of what he isn’t saying. That going on that kind of offensive about Lola means she isn’t just a one-night stand. Right now, I’m more than okay with letting the newspapers think that—and not just because I want to force my father’s hand about the throne.
“That’s the point,” I tell Jacob. “I want them to understand in no uncertain terms that Lola is off-limits. I will put up with some of their bullshit because we always do and because I don’t have a choice, but these kinds of false claims are not going to happen. Not to her.”
“All right then, sir. I will take care of it right now.” He clears his throat, pauses, then clears his throat again. “But just to be clear, Your Highness, extending this kind of protection to a woman makes a really powerful statement to the media about who Lola is…and what role she will play in your life. We can get the article taken down without making quite that strong a statement.”
We could, but that would mean someone else could come along and write the same thing—or something worse—about Lola tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. And as it turns out, I’m not okay with any of that. I’m the one who got us into this mess and I’m the one who’s asking Lola to stay in this mess. It’s only right that I make a statement that every media outlet in the world will heed.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s gotten up from the table and is now staring out the glass-paned back door. I don’t know what she’s seeing—out there or inside her mind—but I hate seeing her so pensive. Nearly as much as I hate the fact that I’m going to have to get her away from that window. Who knows if there’s a photographer out there with a long-range lens taking pictures of her right now?
