Page 57 of Fallen Crown

“You’ll be on national television.” She scans me with a critical eye. “I also heard you spent the night in the prince’s suite of rooms after his father died. Care to tell me what that’s about?”

I purse my lips and head back to my bedroom with my mother trailing behind me. The pin I’m meant to wear is on the dresser, and I snatch it up. When I fumble with finding an appropriate place to attach it, my mother takes it from my hands gently.

“You’re unhappy with Enzo. It’s only natural you’d seek solace somewhere else.” My mother maneuvers the pin into my dress.

“I am not my father.” I meet her gaze with defiance. As much as she might want me to drop Enzo and go for Brice, that’s not what’s happening. It’s not even an option.

My mother flinches, and the pin pokes me in the chest.

“Ow,” I say as she clasps the pin together. “I can’t believe you’re advocating cheating.”

“Your father made mistakes, and I chose to forgive them. Sometimes, that’s what you do in a marriage.” She gives me a pointed glare. “And sometimes it’s not. Your father never abandoned me or any of you when we needed him. There are marriages worth fighting for, but both people have to want to put in the work.”

“I haven’t cheated on Enzo, and I won’t.” The notion that her and my father have worked on their marriage is laughable. Last I heard, he still had a mistress in Portugal. I double check my appearance in the floor-length mirror in my room. “Brice and I have become close friends. That’s all.”

There’s another knock on my door, and it must be Wren. The team is meeting up to enter the church together. No hint of suspicion, especially if the news is circulating that I was with Brice the other night. A stupid mistake. The last thing I want is anyone on the island to brand me a cheater like my father. I wasn’t thinking, and I should have been.

“I told Enzo if he’s not back by the time I return from the adventure race, that I’m filing for divorce. There, are you happy?”

Mother trails me into the front room, hot on my heels. Part of me didn’t want to tell her because I don’t want her to think for a second this has anything to do with Brice. Enzo has been gone for months, and at some point, a decision has to be made. He either returns, and we figure out our marriage, or we go our separate ways. At least I won’t have any regrets.

“In your circumstances, I think divorce is the smart choice. The royals don’t need another scandal.”

“Oh my God,” I mutter, and then I spin on my mother before I get to the door. “I’m not with Brice. I’m not going to be with Brice. You can take your aspirations of having one of your children join the royal family and shove them. It’s not going to happen.” At this point, even if it was on the cusp of happening, I might throw on the brakes to spite her. She’s infuriatingly single-minded about gaining a title any way she can. I’m all for goal setting, but they need to be achievable.

When I throw open the door, Wren is standing there looking shell-shocked, and I realize I must have spoken those last few things a little too loudly. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“Lock up when you leave, Mother,” I say before grabbing my clutch from the side table and waltzing out the door.

The funeral passes in a blur of speeches, mournful songs, and my attention glued to Brice, who appears to be holding himself together in a way only someone royal can. All eyes are on them in the country and in many parts of the world. Nick looks awful, as though it’s physically impossible for him to pretend right now.

Afterward, there’s a reception for invited guests only. Desmond was clear that our pins would get us into the palace for the small gathering.

We enter the formal hall, which is decked out in black, white, and gray with a splash of Bellerive Blue for accents at various places.

Paxton whistles long and low. “This is small?”

“When you’ve been king of a country, I suppose it is,” Wren says, glancing around at the lavish cocktail party.

You’d never know we came from a funeral, and I can’t even imagine how exhausting it must be for all of them to keep up appearances. Across the ballroom, Brice is flanked by Brent and Posey, but the rest of his family is spread out around the room doing their royal duty of socializing.

InterFlix sent a camera crew to film pieces of the funeral and this. They must intend to lay pretty heavily into Brice’s narrative this coming season. They’ll be under intense scrutiny on the course, but as their race support, I shouldn’t get too much airtime.

“Should we go talk to him?” Wren asks at my side as Paxton and Riker wander off together to mingle with people they recognize from another charity they’re part of.

I follow her toward Brice, but there’s a knot in my stomach at the idea of speaking to him. Whereas I didn’t know what to say the other night, and that felt okay, I’m aware of all the people milling around us, as well as the camera crew circling.

“It was a nice service,” Wren says to Brice as we approach. The two of them exchange a brief hug.

My stomach clenches at the realization it’ll be weird if I don’t hug Brice too, but he’s already one step ahead of me, drawing me into a loose embrace as though the physical contact means nothing. His hug with Wren was tighter and longer. He is way too good at compartmentalizing and switching himself off and on.

“I appreciate all of you coming,” Brice says. “It’s wonderful to have my teammates support during this difficult time.”

We’ve rarely spoken under the glare of a camera, but everything about him, from his countenance to his word choices don’t feel like him. For some reason, it makes me sad.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Brice says, touching Wren on the upper arm, “I see someone I need to speak to about a possible donation.”

And then he’s gone, the camera shadowing him to his next conversation.