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“This is why the plan is perfect. You don’t need to look the part of princess or act the part. You have enough a passing resemblance to be Zandra, who no one has seen for the past twenty years. And in my story, you have been suffering amnesia all these years. Secreted out of the palace to Greece, then raised by some poor farm family somewhere in a remote area of the country, with no education or training in royalty or wealth. Then, when your elderly parents passed, your grief led you to remember who you really are.”
“That is some story,” Al replied. “Who would buy it?”
“Everyone. Because I will ensure they do. You see, a fake princess has always been my plan, but I was never able to find someone who was quite right. You have no past to be uncovered. You can disappear into another identity should the need arise. You’re well adept at all the sneaky things a job like this entails.”
She did not know how this plan could possibly work. It was far-fetched at best. But she supposed if she held up her end of the bargain, it didn’t matter if it was believed. She’d get paid either way. “What of those who are after me—after Al?”
“I will protect you, regardless of your identity, for as long as you are in my employ.”
The word “protect” sent such an odd warmth cascading through her. She had never been protected. No one had ever cared...
But this was not about care. It was about revenge.
“So, when is this gala? How much time do I have to prepare?” She figured she’d need weeks, at the very least, to turn herself into someone who knew even how topretendto be the fiancée of a billionaire. Particularlythisbillionaire.
“The gala is Friday. You have three days.”
She laughed, though it was clear he wasn’t joking. Just... “You’re insane.”
“No,” he replied, sharp and foreboding. “I am determined.”
Lysias answered the rest of Al’s skeptical questions. And he had an answer for all of them. This had been his plan for so long, and it was finally coming together. Better than even he’d imagined.
Because shewasperfect. No past for anyone to unearth. A passing resemblance to the Kalyvan royals. A willingness to pretend to be someone else for money, and the backbone to deceive whomever she wished.
Lysias wasmostlycertain the body of Princess Zandra had never been found, because the reports had always been that she’d been found with her brothers—which Lysias knew firsthand couldn’t be true. He’d been in the palace that night, though he tried not to think too deeply on this. His theory was that the palace had planted that story so that the rumors and conspiracy theorists did not run amuck.
The rumors and whispers had anyway. Though, admittedly, not with the same fervor they might have otherwise. But enough, paired with the truth Lysias himself had witnessed, gave him this opportunity.
And he had his contingency plans in place on the off chance he was wrong. So, yes, the plan was perfect. So perfect he didn’t even mind her questions.
But her eyelids began to droop, and before she’d even finished dessert, she’d fallen asleep. Right there at the table. Her head resting on her arm.
He wasn’t sure how long he watched her careful, easy breathing. Wasn’t surewhyhe watched it. Only that in sleep, she was just as compelling as awake. She did not look like a boy, or even the prickly young woman she’d been at dinner.
She reminded him of an old fairy-tale book his mother had read to him. A cast-off from the nursery of the royal children. Filled with old and faded illustrations of fairy sprites and brownies. Sweet and innocent-looking but full of mischief. Ready to lead you to danger if you were not careful.
Lysias was always careful.
Still, though he could have called his staff to take care of her, he did it himself. Moved over to her side of the table, lifted her from her chair. She barely made a sound, clearly exhausted by the day’s events.
He carried her through the house, his footfall soft. She was so slight it was no hardship. He had set her up in the rooms just outside his private quarters—to keep his little flight risk close.
He nudged open the door and stepped inside. There was a light on, but only one, and it cast a soft glow. He made it to her bed and set her down on the mattress, then paused, glancing down at her. In the dim light, he had the flash of someone, something familiar. It stabbed through him like pain, so he shoved it away. He did not go back to those dark recesses of his mind, and whatever resemblance she had to anything back then was mere coincidence.
And would serve him well.
She didn’t so much as whimper. She lay exactly where he put her, limp and helpless, the dress nothing but a baggy sack. And yet, something speared through him. A dark, possessivewant.
She seemed unable to believe herself capable of becoming a princess, but Lysias knew everyone would believe it. She had the confidence, a kind of quiet beauty that could be teased out by all the tools women used. But even without her hair cut and fancily done makeup and a pretty gown, cleaned and fed, she had her own, unique beauty.
Her eyes fluttered opened, met his. But there was something far away about them, like she was still sleeping. Perhaps a waking dream?
“Am I safe here?” she murmured.
He heard someone else ask him that long ago. An old failure. An echo of an old loss amongst so many.
He said nothing to her. Made no assurances. He simply turned and strode out of the room, leaving all those distracting feelings, those old swirling memories behind.
