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I disassociated during the entire experience, ignoring their murmured voices of discontent.
The tight corset wrapped around my ribs was like a cage locking me tight. My thigh-high stockings hooked to a lace garter belt, and the long green dress had gold accents and a neckline that was both demure and lusty.
I looked the part of the dutiful wife, but I hated the costume. It no longer felt like me.
When I moved to Harvington, I traded my dresses for yoga pants and athleisure wear. No one else in the world was forced to wear such ridiculous clothes, but the royal family liked to stand out and have a dress code all of their own.
“Beautiful,” the royal stylist said. She inspected me like one would inspect a used car, circling me and tugging at fabric so it lay properly on my frame. “The king will be pleased.”
I ran my hands over my stomach, my muscles clenching. August had plenty of women to occupy his attention, and I doubted he’d look twice at me. This was all a facade.
When they filed out of the room, I opened up my weapons drawer and pulled out my favorite blade. It took some creative maneuvering to strap it to my thigh, but the moment the cool metal touched my skin, I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew I had to cling to my ruthlessness if I wanted to maintain my identity in the nostalgia of it all.
I moved to the floor-length mirror and stared at the girl I thought I lost. I almost expected to see an eighteen-year-old version of myself staring back at me.
But the girl in the mirror had a jaded scowl on her lips and a broken soul hidden behind her eyes. Her buffed skin had a few more scars. Her heart had a few more cracks.
They could dress me up, but I was still the murderer that fled this kingdom three years ago. The queen might take my freedom, but she’d never claim the fight within me.
I smoothed my dress one last time, my engagement ring catching in the light.
And then, I went to war.
I waited for August in a holding room with his mother. August was running late, but I expected that. He was probably off taking pills from a random woman or drinking his way through the wine cellar.
A formal press release had gone out last night and this morning. Every headline in Aldrich boasted of our engagement. The castle’s publicist spun the lie of our romance so effortlessly that I almost believed it myself. They were worried that people would speculate about our engagement so soon after King Frederick’s funeral, but they made it sound like we’d been in contact as friends these last three years. According to the script, losing his father made August realize he didn’t want to waste any more time. We were destined for one another and meant for bigger, better things.
It was a romantic concept. Distance and grief had literary merit that even the average citizen could relate to.
Too bad it was all a lie.
“Where is August?” Isabelle hissed to Leo, who was typing something on his phone. I didn’t see him yesterday, and it wasn’t until last night that I realized August made him stand guard at the gate. I was certain the king was fucking with him, but I didn’t know why. They got along well enough when we were kids. But I wasn’t too upset. I didn’t want to talk about our fight or our kiss.
In fact, I wanted—needed—to pretend it didn’t happen. It was reckless and foolish.
Isabelle huffed. “We have a crowd of over a hundred thousand waiting outside the castle for the formal introduction. If we aren’t on that balcony in ten minutes—”
Leo nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will radio his guard.” He then disappeared behind a red velvet curtain that separated us from the hallway, giving me one last longing glance on his way out. I loathed the flutter in my belly that resulted from his green eyes traveling up and down my body.
Isabelle turned to me. “Don’t forget to smile, but not too big. We are still in mourning. A humble grin will suffice. Be sure to hold onto August’s arm and give him adoring looks for the cameras. We want to give the illusion that you’re deeply in love.”
I nodded, mostly because any skilled war general knew when to pick their battles. Isabelle wanted me to play my part, and I fully intended to do just that.
For now. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. I needed to keep my head down and smile for the cameras until I figured out what I was going to do.
A woman wearing a black pantsuit stumbled over to the queen while holding a tablet. “I compiled a selection of photos for their exposé, Your Majesty. I think the ones from your family trip to Gatts Island will highlight the deep roots your families have. Both her parents are in the photo, and Augustus had his arm around Christine.”
I took confident strides across the patterned carpet to look at what they were discussing, and the image on the tablet stole the breath from my chest.
I remembered that trip. We went the year before my parents died.
Gatts Island was a resort community off the coast. My father worked the entire time, and even though we were on a beach in the peak of summer, my mother wore long sleeves and a pair of sunglasses even indoors. August and I spent hours swimming in the water and splashing one another. It was a bittersweet trip, but at the time, I remember feeling overjoyed to spend time with him.
“This is perfect, Victoria. Well done,” Isabelle said.
The publicist beamed just as August and Leo waltzed in from behind the curtain.
“Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to come,” August said with a lazy bow. He had on a navy blue suit with enough pins on his chest to give the illusion of a war general, though I knew he wasn’t the type of man to get his cuticles bloody. “You didn’t have to send Leo after me, Mother. Shouldn’t he be guarding the gates?”
