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He’d made it through that dinner. Barely. A guard had escorted Celestine to her room after dessert, not allowing her the opportunity to join the party in after-dinner drinks and further embarrass herself and him. He’d made his excuses, ignoring the mix of pity and condescension, and sought solace in the small gym in the depths of the palace. He’d been in the middle of beating the hell out of a punching bag, wearing nothing but sweatpants with perspiration pouring down his back, when Clara had walked in. He hadn’t let up, for once not caring that he wasn’t being seen in a princely light. Who cared about how people saw him when the future queen of Linnaea was making an ass of herself just a few floors above?
She hadn’t run away screaming. She hadn’t chastised him for leaving the dinner. No, she’d sat down on a weight bench in all of her evening finery, clasped her hands in her lap and asked if he wanted to talk about it.
He hadn’t. Hence the punching bag. But for the first time in years, someone had cared. When he’d growled that he’d rather be left alone, she’d given him a smile tinged with sadness before getting up and heading for the door. It had pissed him off. He didn’t want her pity, and he’d said so.
The gentle tinkling of her laughter still rippled across his skin.
You are not one to be pitied, Your Highness. You just deserve better.
“Sent.”
“Thank you, Clara.”
Her eyes moved up, then fastened on the owl as it continued its journey toward the pine forest on the south side of the lake. A smile crossed her face.
“Hard to believe that I live here sometimes.”
The awe in her voice made his heart squeeze in his chest. He had yet to find someone else who loved his country as much as he did, but Clara came a very close second.
“Oh?”
“Linnaea’s like a fairy tale.”
The huskiness in her voice, tinged with a wistfulness he hadn’t heard before, heated his blood. He’d done a damn good job keeping whatever emotions she’d stirred up under wraps, told himself it was the stress and lack of female companionship.
But when she talked like that, when he heard the mutual admiration in her tone and saw the happiness that softened her face and revealed her true beauty behind the efficient facade she wore so often, he found himself barely keeping his hands off her.
“Fairy tales usually have happy endings.”
“Not the originals.” Clara chuckled. “The originals were quite ghastly. Lots of blood and executions.”
Alaric arched an eyebrow. Normally their conversations revolved around legislation or current events.
“When my father finds out his contract with Max Osborne is no more, there could very well be an execution in Linnaea’s future.”
He bit back a smile at Clara’s unladylike smile.
“Your sister’s marriage will bring money to Linnaea. And the Swiss ambassador just said he’s willing to advocate for an alliance.” She gently nudged him with her shoulder, a break from protocol that made electricity shoot across his skin. “Because of everything you’ve done, Your Highness.”
He wanted to accept the rosy picture Clara was offering him. Discovering he had a long-lost half sister had been surprising but not a shock given his father’s numerous affairs over the years. Really, the bigger shock was that weren’t more by-blows running around. Briony had entered into a marital contract with Cassius Adama, a Linnaean who hadn’t let his banishment from his home country stop him from accumulating his own fortune or his own royal title. Alaric had been against the arranged engagement from the start. There had been too many parallels between the arrangement his father had made with Max Osborn. He still didn’t fully trust the younger man, but based on what he’d observed the last few weeks, Cass appeared to truly care for his sister. And Briony had impressed him with how quickly she’d not only adapted to royal life, but thrown herself into advocating for the downtrodden people of her new country.
There had been plenty of unexpected positive developments in the last few weeks. But that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be hell to pay, both with King Daxon Van Ambrose and Celestine’s father, Max. Yes, Briony and Cass’s marriage, coupled with the foreign support, would get Linnaea closer to the financial independence he’d been working so hard for. Still, Celestine’s money would have gotten them even closer.
“Have you always been a secret optimist? Or is the situation that bad that you feel the need to give me a pep talk?”
This time her chuckle carried an edge, one that hinted at darker things in Clara Stephenson’s past.
“Most definitely not an optimist. I prefer to think of myself as a realist.” She gestured toward the window. “But even a realist can be moved by this.”
That floral scent, hints of rose and sweetness and just a touch of spice, wrapped around him and wound a spell that lit the match and started a fire burning low in his gut. A fire that demanded he lift the curls lying so gently on her swanlike neck, press his lips to her skin and finally taste her before he went mad.
He needed to put distance between them. Now.
He started to turn away. A delicate pressure on his arm stopped him, rooted his feet to the ground as his body went rock hard.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
He wasn’t thinking straight. Couldn’t think straight with finding out he had a long-lost sister, entering into her own royal agreement with her new fiancé, having his own fiancée break up with him and continuing to put up with Daxon’s antics. He was wound so tight that anything could set him off.
