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[karahalloway]

I love all the factual info you add in, I didn't about that in the latter paragraph.

Aww thanks! Sometimes I feel like I do too much research, and it's completely irrelevant to the larger scheme of the story, but I do learn new things (like with the stone pines - I didn't know that either! I thought they were evergreens lol)

Also I do love your Liv, she's so much more fleshed out and real than in canon

Oh you sweet summer child, Bertie! lol Has he even set foot in the US at this point in your hc?

🤣🤣🤣 But no - I don't think he has (not really thought about it to be fair, but it would make sense that he would not have)

I literally lol-ed at this! I love her!!

I love it when characters come out with totally ad hoc stuff that just works so brilliantly - 99% of the time, I'm surprised as well bc I just let the convos flow and sit there transcribing it

I couldn't help but read this in a northern accent, though. They are known for their straight talk.. and fondness of the word, shite. lol

Hahaha - I have not had a specific HC for this, but now that you mention it, it would make sense (as Lythikos would be somewhere in the The North lol)

Go away.

That gif... I died...! 🤣🤣🤣 Chris was well-behaved here, but he won't be as much in subsequent chapters 🫣

I love this bit

I was worried that nothing really happens in this chapter, so it's nice to know that the interactions made it worth while! 😘

Bertie, do NOT try and come between an Italian and his food...Ever!

Agreed! 😆

That's actually great timing on Maddie's part. Can you imagine how hellish Bert's life would be if Olivia found out his secret?? lol

Omg yes!! 🤣🤣🤣 There will be a bit of reveal of Bert's secret in an upcoming chapter, though

Thanks so much for reading, liking and reblogging!

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper, Olivia and the Beaumonts arrive in Rome... but not everyone is happy to see them

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: None (for once 🤣)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Lots of Italian and random cultural/historical tidbits in this... but, then again, we are in Italy, so the foreign language aspect will be a bit of a running theme through the next few chapters (sorry...not sorry - I actually learnt some Italian in the process!)

A/N2: @aussiegurl1234, before you ask, yes, I HC that Vito bears a striking resemblance to Michele Morrone 😆

Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

"How is it hotter here than in Cordonia?" I gasp as I step out onto the jet's airstairs.

"Italy is a peninsula," Olivia says from behind me, slotting on a pair of Versace cat-eye shades. "It is more exposed to the anti-cyclones that blow up from the Sahara."

My mouth drops as I make my way down onto the steaming tarmac. "This heatwave... is coming from Africa?"

No wonder it feels like the inside of a furnace!

"It certainly isn't coming from the Arctic!" bemoans Bertrand as he shields his face from the intensity of the rays with an upraised hand. "Though what a welcome change that would be!"

"Brr...!" objects Maxwell with a shiver. "No thank you! I've had my yearly fill of sub-zero temps at Olivia's!"

"You're welcome," comes the snippy response as the Duchess of Lythikos strides past us.

"That said, turning the mercury down a few notches wouldn't hurt..." I remark, squinting accusatorily up at the beating sun.

"The summer heatwaves have been growing longer and more intense over recent years," Olivia advises from up front, "leading to consequent effects on food and water security, power generation, infrastructure, not to mention the added burden on the healthcare system across Europe. It is one of the items on the agenda for Christian's roundtable with the Italian Prime Minister tomorrow."

I frown as I arrive at the passenger-side door of the first in a trio of waiting Porsche Macan GTS's. "I thought this was supposed to be an engagement tour..."

"It is," she confirms as a black-suited Italian sporting close-cropped hair and aviators opens the door for her. "But any foreign visit involving a high-ranking head of state is — by its nature — a diplomatic event as well."

"I guess that makes sense," I concede, sliding into the relative reprieve offered by the SUV's A/C system. "Though you said Christian is meeting with the Prime Minister tomorrow... I thought that was supposed to be today. Did something change?"

"No," derides Bertrand as he settles in next to me. "Today, the King is partaking in a meet-and-greet with the Italian President, followed by a private audience with the Pope while the future Queen is fitted for her wedding trousseau, capped off by dinner and a performance of Tosca at the Teatro dell'Opera in the evening. While tomorrow we have been invited to brunch at the Cordonian Consulate, after which the King has a round-table discussion with the Prime Minister, and day will be closed out by a state gala."

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly. "So, the Prime Minister isn't the same as the President...?"

"The Prime Minister is the head of government, while the President is the head of state," the elder Beaumont instructs as Maxwell squishes himself into the backseat on the other side of me. "The roles are quite distinct."

"Of course they are..." I huff under my breath.

Seems like in addition to Olivia's list of influential Cordonian nobles, I will also need to memorise a textbook on European constitutional history...

Though, now I am doubly glad of the business-like, but nevertheless stylish pale pink, high-necked pencil dress that Bertrand foisted on me this morning — it definitely would not have been great to show up underdressed to such a high-level meeting!

"But we must hurry!" the elder Beaumont proclaims. "We are due at the Presidential Palace in just under an hour, and we still need to fight our way through the notoriously infernal Roman traffic!"

"Not to worry," Olivia assures us with a sly smirk from the front passenger seat. "Vito here knows all the shortcuts."

"That sounds ominous..." I mutter, reaching for the seatbelt on instinct.

"I prefer 'expeditious'," she counters, turning to Vito, who has now taken up position behind the wheel. "Andiamo."

"Certamente, Duchessa," he nods, throwing the car forward with a violent depression of the gas pedal.

The sudden acceleration yanks an inadvertent gasp from my lips as I'm thrown back in my seat... just like on that afternoon in Ramsford when Drake pulled the same stunt on the Beaumonts' driveway.

I feel my throat tighten as I glance inadvertently out the window. God, I hope he's okay...

I know in the back of my mind that I'm probably making myself anxious for no reason. Drake is an adult, perfectly capable of taking care of himself... including in close-quarters situations. He's demonstrated that to me plenty of times.

Yet, I still can't help but worry about him. Especially when he's off in a foreign country (all by himself for all I know...), having left with basically no good-bye, and with definitely no assurance of when he expects to get back.

And while I know that he is doing this for me — so we can collar Tariq and extract whatever information he has in relation to the plot to influence the outcome of the social season... and to answer for what he did to me in Applewood — the wait is killing me. I have no idea where he is, what he is doing, and whether he even has his phone turned on, given the high-stakes nature of his self-appointed task.

Which is why I have held off trying to reach out to him (...even though the baser, needier part of me is itching to do exactly that), as I don't want to be the one to interrupt a crucial moment by setting his phone off with an ill-timed call or text, especially considering the three-hour time difference...

I heave a breath.

I just have to trust him. Like he asked me to at every turn of this increasingly bumpy road that we've been travelling since I left New York. And hope that we are finally on our way out of the woods.

Exiting the boundaries of the airport, Vito navigates the Porsche onto a highway where we are able to pick up some speed. Olivia uses the opportunity to open up her phone, throwing some questions in Italian to her associate every so often as we cruise along. Bertrand is similarly occupied, while Maxwell has slipped on some Bose headphones and is bobbing away to the beat.

Which leaves me to stare somewhat aimlessly out the window, watching the scenery roll by in a bid to keep myself distracted.

But the reprieve ends up being somewhat of a welcome one. The various warehouses and road-side auto lots surrounding the airport quickly give way to a tree-lined thoroughfare, and I find myself basking in the calming effects of the greenery, not having expected to encounter such a bucolic sight on the road to a major urban centre.

Eventually, though, the vegetation gives way to the crumbling walls of some kind of expansive estate that we end up following for a good few miles until the asphalt road changes over to cobblestones and we pass in front the gates of a red-bricked stone fortress that looks like it's been plucked straight from the set of Game of Thrones.

"Wow..." I can't help but breathe as I take in the sight of the towering structure simmering under the light of the mid-morning sun.

"Le mura aureliane," advises Vito from up front, catching my awed expression through the rear-view mirror. "Costruita dall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari."

I nod distractedly, craning my neck as we turn a corner to follow the path of the ancient structure that is somehow still standing despite the clear ravages of time and weather.

Nothing lasts like this anymore...

Making another turn, we pass beneath an arched portion of the wall, and the road before us opens up into a leafy boulevard that takes us into the city proper. And from there, it's one jaw-dropping piece of architecture after another jostling for space between more modern buildings and seemingly never-ending rows of trees.

"I didn't expect Rome to be so green..." I admit to no one in particular as I eye up the unusual-looking shrubs.

"You can thank the Ancient Romans," supplies Bertrand without glancing up from his phone. "They planted the now-iconic stone pines in scores along the major roadways in part to serve as ornamentation, and in part to provide a steady supply of pine nuts, which are an essential ingredient in many dishes, including pesto and various pies and tarts."

"It certainly was worth the effort," I agree, watching the evergreens drift past on either side of us.

Though, as Bertrand predicted, the closer we get to the centre of the ancient capital, the increasingly chaotic the traffic becomes, with cars, buses and mopeds all vying for space on the roads, requiring Vito to make recourse to his own horn as well as various offensive gestures in order to narrowly avoid a slew of accidents... and I suddenly have a slightly better appreciation for why Drake drives the way he does. Because based on my experiences first in France and now in Italy, it appears that on the Mediterranean, might equals right when it comes to priority on the road, and unless you're forceful, you ain't getting nowhere.

Managing to finally extricate ourselves from the constraints of a complicated intersection, we end up on a quieter road running parallel to a long patch of bunkered-looking grass on our left.

"What's that?" I ask, tapping Vito on his shoulder.

"Il Circo Massimo," he advises.

My eyes widen. "That's the Circus Maximus?"

"Sì," he nods. "L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corse dei carri."

"Unbelievable..." I murmur, slumping back into my seat in awe.

There is nothing comparable back home — even the oldest still-extant pre-Columbian structures date to only the first millennia A.D. Whereas here we are, casually cruising past a seminal piece of history that is still embedded into the fabric of the city nearly three thousand years after its construction. And we haven't even seen the Colosseum, or the Forum yet!

Rome really is the Eternal City...

Leaving the green fields of the Circus behind us, we enter a more urban-looking environment as we start to climb a hill. The white- and sand-coloured buildings cluster closer together, and the general architecture becomes more uniformly Baroque, until we arrive in a large plaza dominated by a massive, Neo-Classical structure that towers over everything else.

"Il Vittoriano," Vito offers without prompting.

"Is that where we're having brunch with the President?" I ask, slack-mouthed as I stare up at the imposing building.

It certainly looks impressive enough to house the head of a country!

"Of course not!" admonishes Bertrand. "The Vittoriano is a symbolic collection of monuments built to commemorate the rule of King Victor Emmanuel II and the unification of Italy. The President resides at the Quirinal Palace, which is located on a wholly different Roman hill!"

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly.

"Like she is going to know the difference," scoffs Oliva from the front. "They don't even teach The Art of War in her schools... How can you expect her to know anything about Italian history?"

"Italian history is foundational history!" insists Bertrand. "The Romans were instrumental in shaping not just the course of European, but Northern African and Middle Eastern events for millennia! How can they neglect to teach American children about this?"

"Because the focus is on US history," I tell them wearily as Vito navigates us to the other side of the square.

"Surely that is an afternoon's worth of lessons at most?" the elder Beaumont queries sceptically. "Your country was only founded in the conventional sense of the word in the mid-1600s..."

"Most Americans haven't been to Europe," I remind him, watching the rows of buildings flick past on either side of us as we begin the ascent up another hill. "They don't necessarily have a basis of comparison."

"Sounds like your curriculum is somewhat lacking in scope, then..." he surmises with pursed lips.

"Yeah, well..." I retort dryly, "I don't write the textbooks. Though, speaking of education, is there any chance for some sightseeing? It would be a shame to spend two days here and not actually see anything..."

"While I wholeheartedly approve of the sentiment," Bertrand replies, "I am afraid that you will have to make do with the cultural experiences offered by the various host venues on the official itinerary. Which — I admit — are no Pantheon, or Sistine Chapel, but are impressive and important cultural artefacts, nevertheless. The Quirinal Palace, for instance, so named for the Quirinal Hill on which it sits, is actually the sixth largest palace in the world and has served as the primary residence of such notable figures as—"

I let out a low exhale as Bertrand launches into a full-blown historical recital. And while the details are definitely interesting, I didn't come all this way to listen to a one-man rendition of a Roman guidebook.

Which makes me all the more determined to find some kind of opportunity to slip away from the official tour — even if it's just for an hour to toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain — so that I can experience something of the magic that this breathtaking city has to offer.

When, I have no idea, given the busyness of our schedule, but I managed to orchestrate an escape plan to see the capital back in Cordonia, so I'm confident I'll be able to pull something similar... albeit without Drake's help this time. But despite the set-backs, I'm not about to miss out on this kind of once-in-a-lifetime experience...

With my intention firmly set, the car rounds an uphill corner, and we are suddenly on the edge of yet another expansive plaza secured by a rim of strategically placed concrete planters and a pair of police cars.

Vito pulls to a stop and slides the window down to exchange a few quick words with the officer who has come to greet us.

"Passports," instructs Olivia, reaching into her purse.

Opening up the white, Medusa emblazoned Versace clutch sitting on my lap — which I am sure cost more than what I would've ever made in a month working as a waitress back home, but which Bertrand had insisted on as a 'necessary' Italian-themed accessory — I pull out my shiny, new Cordonian passport and pass it to the front.

Maxwell and Bertrand do the same, and there is a couple of minutes of tense silence while the stern-looking officer inspects each document to verify our identities, while another policeman does a circuit 'round the car with a convex safety mirror.

Finally, the policeman hands the passports back with a curt nod, and waves us through.

"Were they not expecting us?" I query as I slot my credentials away again.

"They were," Olivia advises. "But we are arriving separately from the royal delegation, so the State Police are obligated to run a security check."

"Why?"

The Duchess of Lythikos scoffs back at me. "To ensure that we are not terrorists trying to kill the President with a car bomb... Or did that part go over your head?"

"No..." I hit back sarcastically. "I meant why are we arriving separately?"

She looks back at me with an arched brow. "Would you have preferred to deal with the press?"

"I... No," I admit.

She turns back to the front with a smirk. "Didn't think so."

Vito pulls the car to a stop in front of a small courtyard decked out with a red carpet and intertwined streamers made out in the colours of Cordonia's and Italy's flags. Allard and Schweitzer — who had been travelling in the car behind us — appear to open the doors for us.

Bertrand scoots out of the backseat first, before turning back to offer me his hand.

"Thanks," I say with a sincere smile, grasping his fingers to help pull myself up.

"Always my pleasure," he replies with a genuine smile.

Smoothing my skirt, I gaze up at the somewhat understated-looking entranceway, suddenly nervous about the prospect of acting as a newly-minted ambassador of Cordonia. I mean... three months ago, I was bussing tables at a dive bar for less than minimum wage, and now here I am, decked out in clothes that cost more than the rent I was paying for a fifth-storey walk-up, about to have an official meeting with a foreign country's head of state.

To say that I feel like a fraud is a massive understatement.

"What are you waiting for?" asks Olivia, breezing past me with all the confidence of a woman who's done this a hundred times before... probably because she has. "For the grass to grow?"

"I—"

"I heard the President loves chocolate bomboloni," offers Maxwell enthusiastically, linking his arm through mine to tug me down the length of the red carpet.

"What's...that?" I ask, forcing myself to swallow down the sudden dryness in my throat.

Maxwell's face collapses into an aghast look of shock. "Only the best pastry-based dessert! Second only to cronuts, of course!"

"That's definitely a high bar to hit," I admit.

"Think mini doughnuts with gooey chocolate filling, dusted with powdered sugar," he explains. "They literally melt in your mouth!"

"Except we are not here to indulge infantile cravings for sugary treats," reprimands Bertrand as we pass through the arched doorway. "We are here to partake in important discussions relating to matters of state, and t—"

"Pfft," scoffs Olivia. "Speak for yourself, Beaumont. These meetings are dull as shite. I'm here for the sweets."

I can't help but snort at the unexpected riposte... as well as the resultant sight of Bertrand's jaw hitting the parquet flooring. And I unexpectedly find myself feeling better about the whole experience. Because despite whatever nerves I may be feeling, the fact that Olivia and the Beaumonts are with me means that I am not alone in this.

Passing into the coolness of the building, we are greeted by a middle-aged woman who proceeds to lead us through a veritable rabbit warren of ante-rooms and corridors before we finally arrive in an expansive room dominated by a pair of jaw-dropping crystal chandeliers suspended from a vaulted, hand-painted ceiling.

"La Salle Bronzino," informs our guide, indicating that we should step through.

"Wow..." I breathe, trying to take in the opulence with as much composure as I can.

A slew of camera shutters click to life upon our arrival.

Jerking my gaze down from the delicate, celestial fresco above me, I spot the handful of photographers aiming their lenses at me.

I stifle a groan as I plaster a demure smile onto my face. "I thought you said there wouldn't be any reporters."

"This is an official state visit," Bertrand hisses out of the corner of his mouth. "Of course, there will be reporters!

"Just not as many as there would have been outside earlier," Olivia assures me.

My shoulders slump in acquiescence. "Take the wins you can get, I guess..."

"Ah, you made it!" exclaims Christian, striding up to us with a jovial grin. "Traffic wasn't too terrible, I hope?"

"Nothing Vito couldn't handle," Olivia assures him, dipping into a chaste curtesy as the photographers snap eagerly away.

Christian turns to me with a good-natured chuckle. "And Lady Harper... First impressions haven't put you off, have they?"

"No," I assure him, bobbing down politely as well, knowing that everyone in the room now has their eyes on us. "The exact opposite, actually."

"Excellent," he beams, holding my gaze for a second longer than he did with Olivia. "I have to admit that I have a bit of a soft spot for Rome, myself."

"It really is a—"

"Darling," interjects Madeleine with a steely smile, appearing at her fiancé's shoulder. "You really should focus your attentions on the President. He has been gracious enough to open up his home for us, after all..."

Christian's nostrils flare with the briefest flash of irritation as he pulls back slightly. "Quite. Let us go make the necessary introductions."

Madeleine bristles. "That is not what I—"

Deftly ignoring her, Christian extends his arm decisively towards an elderly man wearing a sombre suit and gold-rimmed glasses. "Shall we?"

"I guess so?" I concede, already feeling myself being steered past the silently fuming countess.

"Now remember," Bertrand mutters next to me as Christian leads us down the length of the room. "In the context of a formal conversation, it is always lei — never tu — when addressing your counterpart, so for the love of all that is holy, please do not—"

"Singor Presidente," proclaims Christian as he pulls to a stop. "Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione."

The President raises his head dutifully. "Certamente."

"Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell."

The Beaumonts bow their heads dutifully.

"Beaumont..." the President frowns. "Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso?"

"Sì," Bertrand confirms. "Egli è nostro padre."

The President is nodding in recollection. "Sì... sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui."

"Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte," Bertrand acknowledges.

"E questa è Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos, un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys."

Olivia holds out her hand. "E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente."

The President drops a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. "Il piacere è tutto mio."

"E finalmente," concludes Christian, "questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria."

The President's brows arc inquisitively. "Singorina Harper... You are... American? No?"

"Sì," I affirm as I offer my hand out. "Ma ho praticato mio Italiano..."

The President's mouth cracks into a genuine smile. "And you are doing very well, Singorina! Tell me, have you visited la città eterna before?"

"No, this is my first time," I admit, also switching to English, now that the formalities are over and done with. "But even the ride from the airport was utterly magical! It's like stepping into history!"

"Sì," the President affirms with a grin. "Us Romans are unspeakably lucky to be able to call such a beautiful city our home. It is a place of many treasures."

"What is your favourite part of the city?" I ask.

The President blinks in surprise at the unexpected intimacy of the request. "That is a difficult question... But if I am forced to choose... it would have to be this little forno next to la Fontana di Trevi which makes a very unique — and very delicious — pistachio croissant. It is not for every person, but if you have a spirit of adventure, then I suggest you try it."

"Thank you," I say with a sincere smile, filing the suggestion away. "I definitely will!"

"I cannot say that I have had the pleasure of sampling this treat, either," Christian admits, with a knowing glance down at me. "But Lady Harper has excellent taste in pastries — she was actually kind enough to introduce us to an American delicacy called a cronut. It was a big hit all around."

"A cronut?" queries the President. "I cannot say I am familiar..."

"Don't worry," Maxwell assures him with a conspiratorial grin. "We'll bring you one. If you'll trade us some bomboloni in exchange?"

Bertrand's already sunburnt face reddens further. "Maxwell! You cannot entreat the President t—"

"You like bomboloni, also?" interjects the President with keen interest.

"Of course!" Maxwell affirms enthusiastically. "Anyone who doesn't like them clearly has something wrong with them!"

"Sounds like you have excellent taste in pastries as well, Signore Maxwell!" chuckles the President.

The conversation continues to revolve around our shared food interests for a few more minutes, until an aide clears his throat from behind the President.

"Accettare le mie scuse," he apologises. "But I am being advised that it is time for the photographs and the speeches."

"Of course," nods Christian graciously, indicating that the President should lead the way to the front of the room where a small podium has been set up.

As the two men peel away from the group, I cast my eyes 'round the space and spot Hana standing by one of the large windows. Giving her a wave, I use the brief break in the proceedings to make my way over to her.

"So, what's the view like from this side of the room?" I ask by way of greeting.

"Quieter than your side," she admits wryly. "You certainly seemed to be having an engaging conversation with the President!"

"We discovered a shared love for sugary treats," I admit. "You should've joined us — you could've bragged about that baking championship that you won."

"It's alright," she demurs with a blush. "It's actually been nice to take a moment to step away from the crowd."

"Oh?" I ask, laying a concerned hand on her arm. "Is something wrong?"

She heaves a breath, as if debating whether to tell me. Finally, she says, "I have been fending off suitors."

My brow shoots skywards. "How many proposals have you had?"

"Since I arrived...? Probably twelve..."

My eyes bulge. "Twelve! That's like two a day!"

"Yes," she concedes with a weary exhale. "Lady Madeleine has been extremely gracious in personally introducing me to numerous eligible bachelors—"

"—but none of them are Maxwell," I surmise.

Her eyes flick up to mine before dropping back down sorrowfully. "No. But for the sake of my parents, I must entertain every available option in an honest manner."

"That definitely sounds exhausting..." I concede. "But hopefully now that we're out of the country, you can catch a bit of a break."

"I am not so sure..." she admits. "I have been advised that a number of well-connected Italians will be in attendance at the opera tonight..."

"Pfft...!" I scoff. "Just take the night off... Pretend to be sick... Run off with Maxwell to get some gelato... Actually enjoy being in Italy!"

Hana blushes. "I—"

The chime of a bell rings out across the room, interrupting our conversation.

Looking up, I see that all heads have turned dutifully towards the twin forms standing on the dais as they prepare to address the congregation.

"Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori," greets the President, "È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazione reale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. È passato troppo tempo da—"

As the speech winds on, I find myself tuning out, given that I am only able to understand every third or fourth word. But, not wanting to come across as rude by continuing my catch-up with Hana, I instead try to occupy myself by examining the two large tapestries suspended on the walls.

A round of applause draws me out of my reverie, and I join in on auto-pilot as the President hands off to Christian. Several more minutes of lilting Italian fills the room, during which time I move my attentions to the Roman-looking busts, wondering which emperors they depict.

Finally, the speeches come to a close, and I heave a sigh of relief.

"Did you understand any of that?" I ask Hana as the President presents Christian with some kind of medal, and the two men pose for photos.

"Of course," she nods. "My parents—"

"—have been giving you Italian lessons since before you could talk?" I finish dryly.

Hana's cheeks dimple. "Not quite that young, but yes. I am what they consider 'proficient'."

"Meaning, you speak it better than I speak English," I joke.

She snorts in response. "I wouldn't say that..."

"But it's true," I say with a smirk, happy to see that Hana's time back at court has not completely crushed her sense of humour.

"Ah, I've missed talking to you, Harper," she says with genuine feeling. "The last few days have felt so busy that I feel like we haven't spoken in months!"

"Yeah, tell me about it..." I agree with a huff. "In the space of a week, I've become a Cordonian citizen, been granted a duchy, gone from number five to number one on Madeleine's shit list, and—"

Hana's eyes widen. "It's not that bad, surely...!"

"It's probably worse," I admit. "And being on the front page of the Cordonian Sun — again — is probably not helping matters either..."

"Yes, I saw that article..." she commiserates with feeling. "I'm sorry that the press are treating you in that manner again."

"Hey, it's not your fault," I assure her. "But the press aren't all bad — I managed to convince Ana de Luca to help us track down the photographer who took those pictures of me and Tariq, and she actually came through yesterday."

"That's great!" she enthuses. "I have to admit that I have not had much success on my side... Madeleine does not permit her ladies-in-waiting to handle any of her private correspondence, including her mobile phones and laptop. And she has only talked to us about the upcoming events on the tour..."

"Well, it was a bit of a long-shot, anyway," I concede with a shrug. "But who knows? We might get—"

"Pardon," interrupts Kiara with a pointed cough. "But the Queen requests your presence."

I roll my eyes with a scoff. "She's not married to Christian yet..."

"But she will be soon," she reminds me pointedly. "So, it is actuellement in your interest to remain on her good side, given that you are now a duchess."

I feel the corner of my mouth scrunch into a mou of dissent, but I force myself not to pick apart the many things that are wrong with her statement. "Fine. Where is Her Majesty?"

"Bidding adieu to the President," she advises. "She has asked that in the meantime I gather the ladies who are to accompany her to the wedding boutique."

"Does she really need an entourage to go shopping?" I ask as we start making our way back to the double doors at the far end of the room.

"It is tradition for the suitors who were not picked at the end of the social season to assist the queen-to-be in the preparations for the wedding, including selecting her bridal gown and trousseau."

"Wonder how many times that's gone wrong before..." I mutter under my breath.

"It is a ritual de beaucoup d'importance," Kiara insists seriously. "The former suitors — and their families — demonstrate their public support for the union via the personal assistance they provide the bride and groom in the lead-up to the big day, as well as in the act of taking on key roles during the ceremony itself."

"Let me guess..." I grumble. "We're all going to be maids of honour, too..."

"In Cordonia, the correct term is 'witness'," she corrects. "They are the ones chosen by the couple to countersign the marriage certificate. Mais oui — it is likely that one or two of us will be called upon in such a manner."

"Great..." I sigh, arriving at the entranceway where Penelope and Olivia are already waiting. "All the things we get to look forward to..."

"Oh, Lady Harper!" squeals Penelope in excitement. "I love your dress! How do you always manage to find such super chic pieces?"

"Uhh..." I say, genuinely taken aback by her enthusiasm. "Bertrand picked this, actually..."

Olivia snorts derisively. "You mean Lord Tweedle-Dee? Please... That man has worse fashion sense than Jared Leto."

"Actually, he—"

"If you lot are quite finished with your asinine chit-chit," snaps Madeline as she strides imperiously past us, "you can pick up your feet. We are already running late for my appointment... Which took months to schedule, so don't you dare make me miss it!"

I meet Hana's gaze with a fish-eyed look. "Ever heard the term 'bridezilla' before?"

"No," she admits with a frown. "But it sounds scary..."

"Oh, trust me!" I assure her as we bring up the rear. "It is! Especially since it sounds like Madeleine is planning to take the concept to a whole 'nother level..."

The story continues in Chapter 19: Field Day

A/N: Translations for the Italian below:

At the airport: Andiamo - Let's go

Certamente, Duchessa - Certainly, Duchess

En route Lemura aureliane. Costruitadall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari. - The Aurelian Wall. It was constructed by the Emperor Aurelian to defend Rome against barbarians.

Il Circo Massimo - The Circus Maximus

Sì. L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corsedei carri. - Yes. The ancient Roman stadium constructed for chariot racing.

Il Vittoriano - This is a colloquial nickname for the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II

At the Presidential Palace Singor Presidente. Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione. - Mr President. Allow me to introduce some additional members of our delegation.

Certamente - Certainly

Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell. - This is Lord Bertrand Beaumont, Duke of Ramsford, and his brother, Maxwell.

Beaumont... Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso? - Beaumont... You know, that sounds familiar. Are you related to Lord Bartholemy, by chance?

Sì. Egli è nostro padre. - Yes. He is our father.

Sì...sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui. - Yes... Yes... He accompanied the former king on many occasions. You look a lot like him.

Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte. - Yes, there is a notable family resemblance.

E questaè Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos,un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys. - And this is Lady Olivia Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos, a dear friend of mine, and loyal supporter of the Rys family.

E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente. - My sincere pleasure, Mr President.

Il piacere è tutto mio. - The pleasure is all mine.

E finalmente, questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria. - And finally, this is Lady Harper, the new Duchess of Valtoria.

Sì. Ma hopraticato mio Italiano.* - Yes. But I am practising my Italian. *Italian speakers will note that there is a grammatical mistake here (the correct phrasing is 'Ho praticato il mio italiano'). However, the mistake is deliberate because Harper learnt Italian literally an hour ago, so she's not going to be perfect at it!

La città eterna - the Eternal City (nickname for Rome)

Accettare le mie scuse - [Please] Accept my apologies.

Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori. È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazionereale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. Èpassato troppo tempo da— Your Royal Highness, fellow delegates, ladies and gentlemen. It is my honour to host the royal delegation of Cordonia, our neighbour and ally for many centuries. It has been far too long since—

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[karahalloway]

Madeleine would be the definition of bridezilla. If we got more of her character in-depth in canon during the tour, I'm convinced this is probably exactly what she would've sounded like! (As it is, she showed her ass pretty bad lol) But leave it to Olivia to shut her down like the bad bitch she is! 😍😎

Hahaha! I have to admit, I have fun with the nobles when they are flaunting their entitlement and being bitchy to the max! 😆 Glad you enjoyed her bridezilla freak-out!

And yes - I HC that only Olivia has the chops to go up against her on a regular basis. Harper has called out Madeline before, but only bc Maddy pushed her too far. But to Olivia, it's just a game lol

And I'm so not surprised she just kidnapped the photographer instead of talking 🤣🤣🤣🤣. She's like... Nah, we're getting answers MY way and I love her for it! ❤️ Poor Harper is just along for the ride.

Haha yes - Harper was definitely shocked by the turn of events! But, it was certainly more efficient!

Okay, but who is this she's run into at the end????!! I have a few guesses but I'm not 100% sure! But I'm excited to find out!

😆

Thanks so much for reading, liking and reblogging!

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 19 - Field Day

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: It's off to the bridal boutique, but Harper and Olivia have a secondary agenda...

Word Count: 6,200

Rating/Warnings: M (royal bitchiness, possible emotional abuse, kidnapping, threats of murder)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: So, I have tried to keep everything as realistic and accurate as possible in terms of the locations that are touched on in this chapter. The only thing that is made up is the antique store. As usual, translations for the French and Italian are at the end.

Chapter 19 - Field Day

The five-minute drive to the bridal boutique is every bit as excruciatingly awkward as can be expected.

"What part of we are already running late is so difficult to comprehend?" derides Madeleine before the limo door even shuts. "When I tell you to hurry, I expect you to do exactly that!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Madeleine," stammers Penelope tearfully. "The heel of my shoe became caught on—"

"Save it!" the Countess of Fydelia snaps. "If you cannot do something as simple as totter down a corridor without breaking your neck, then frankly, I do not see how you are supposed to be of use to me."

Penelope's face turns whiter than a sheet. "I—"

"As lest you forget, I took you on as a lady-in-waiting as a favour to your family, given the historically close personal relationship between our fathers," Madeleine reminds her with a steely edge to her voice. "But that does not mean that I cannot send you packing just as easily. And if you do not get your act together, then that is exactly what will happen. Am I clear!"

"Yes," Penelope whimpers, lowering her gaze.

"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And the same goes for the rest of you," adds Madeleine, casting the haughty gleam of her gaze over the limo. "One misstep — proverbial or otherwise — and you are gone. Not just from my employ, but from court as well."

Shifting my gaze over to Hana, I see that she is just as perturbed as I am about this borderline psychotic power-trip.

Talk about being a queen bitch...

Olivia scoffs from her seat in the corner. "How about you try making a threat you can actually carry out..."

Madeleine bristles. "As Queen I will have the authority to—"

"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant."

The Countess of Fydelia's eyes narrow. "That is but a technicality."

"I still wouldn't overplay my hand," Olivia cautions with a smile. "Wouldn't want to get caught out on a technicality now, would you?"

Madeleine glares down the length of the limo like a viscous viper.

"Didn't think so," smirks the Duchess of Lythikos as the driver pulls the vehicle to a stop...

...and the paps immediately descend on us like a swarm of black flies.

"What the—?" I blurt, catching the flash of the cameras through the blacked-out windows. "When did they get here?"

"Five minutes ago," replies Madeleine tartly, slotting a pair of shades on.

My jaw drops. "You... told them where we were going?"

"Of course," she affirms as the Royal Guard who had been riding shotgun manages to squeeze his way through the human press to open the door. "Royal patronage elevates the esteem and profile of any institution. It is only right that the press should be invited to cover the visit."

"Like that's the only reason..." I mutter as Madeleine steps out of the limo and the roar of the crowd becomes deafening.

"Contessa!" several people shout. "Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore!"

"It's horse shite, by the way," Olivia advises as she slides past me. "The only thing she is looking to promote is herself."

"Well, she definitely seems to be succeeding..." I admit, watching the Guards struggle to hold the photographers back as Madeleine sashays her way towards the doors of the boutique.

Olivia scoffs. "It's an act of desperation. Nothing more. She knows she is on thin footing with Christian... and the public."

"Great..." I groan, pulling Drake's blue aviators from my clutch as I, too, exit the limo.

Rather than being an unfortunate one-off, it seems like yesterday's altercation at the Apple Harvest Festival was actually the opening salvo in a concerted campaign of media brinksmanship that Madeleine is determined to win.... at my expense.

Yet, I'm just not sure I have it in me to play her contrived publicity game. The paps have already up-ended my life more completely than I would've ever thought possible, so the last thing I want to do is pander to their voracious appetite for scandal.

"Duchessa Harper! Duchessa Harper!" the photographers shout as I step out onto the sidewalk. "You made it to Italy! What do you think of the city so far?"

"You did not travel with the King and future Queen! Were you forced to make alternative arrangements because of your argument?"

"Will you attend the opera tonight?"

"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to keep my head down and my feet moving forward as the invasive questions zing over my head like bullets. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the photographers press in, trying to get that front page close-up...

...and that's when I spot him.

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat as recognition hits me like a punch in the chest.

Oh, my God, the photographer from Applewood!

He's standing in the second row, regarding me almost casually, like a tourist at a zoo, faded red baseball cap slung backwards over his head, just as in the picture Ana de Luca had saved on the flash drive.

Our eyes meet and I stumble to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away, my morbid curiosity overpowering my senses even as the paps close in around me...

...but then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back and the sound of a familiar voice brings me back to earth.

"Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle," Allard assures me, appearing at my side to shield me from the press invasion.

Glancing up, I see that Schweitzer has taken up position in front of me, using his body like a blocker to force a path through the crush.

Curling into the safety offered by my Guard's no-nonsense attitude, I let them whisk me into the boutique.

"Thank you..." I say sincerely as we pass through the doorway into the foyer.

Allard relinquishes his hold on me with a nod. "Certainement. Vous allez bien?"

"Yeah..." I reply, heart pounding as I try to recollect my bearings. "I just—"

"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Hana, stumbling into the boutique behind us. "That was horrible!"

"C'est le bordel!" agrees Kiara as she and Penelope manage to squeeze themselves through the press before the Guards shut the door. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?"

"She wasn't," Olivia replies flatly, shooting an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Madeleine, who is already being given a queen's welcome by the boutique's owner.

A tense silence descends as we all process this assessment.

"I... I suppose we should go through," Hana suggests eventually.

"Oui," Kiara affirms with a huff, smoothing the front of her dress. "Sa Majesté expects our assistance."

Penelope glances uncertainly towards the fuss being made over Madeleine. "I don't think she's expecting mine..."

"Don't be silly!" Kiara admonishes, looping her arm through her friend's to tug her forward. "She just had a petite éclat. Every bride gets nervous and she is under a lot of pressure to maintain constant perfection. But that is why we need to help her, non?"

Penelope looks like she's about to disagree, before finally acquiescing with a sigh. "I just miss Merlin and Morgana..."

"J'sais..." consoles Kiara, patting her reassuringly on the back of the hand. "Hopefully once the tour is finished, Madeleine will allow you to send for them."

"I doubt it..." Penelope mutters meekly as they join Madeleine in the store proper. "She said she hates yappy little dogs. You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"

"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."

"Oh..."

"I'm sure they have some pretty floral designs, though!" Hana offers encouragingly. "Italian lace is known around the world for its intricate rebrodè detailing."

"Yes, because that's what men care about on the wedding night..." Olivia mutters dryly, turning towards me. "You coming, or what?"

"Huh?" I ask, snapping my head up. "Umm... Yeah. Sorry."

"You better be," she snips disdainfully as she starts down the foyer as well. "I refuse to be the only sane participant in this clown show..."

I glance warily back towards the front of the boutique, where the paps were still battling each other, trying to snap a shot of us through the tastefully curated window displays.

"What?" Olivia objects after a beat. "No snide comment? No wry clap-back? You're not conveniently coming down with a sudden fever, are you?"

"I... I saw him," I admit, tearing my gaze away from the feeding frenzy outside.

Olivia grabs my wrist to yank me to a stop. "Saw who?"

"The photographer," I say tightly, pulling my arms around myself in a bid to stop myself from shivering, despite the record-breaking temperatures outside. "From Applewood."

"Dion Guillard..." clarifies Olivia, staring at me intently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I nod.

Olivia purses her lips. "He could be here on his own volition, or because someone invited him. Either way, we should make use of this opportunity."

"How?"

"By making him an offer he can't refuse," she replies slyly, pulling her phone out.

My eyes widen. "You mean right now? But Madeleine—"

"Has enough sycophants coddling her already," she counters flippantly as she quickly types up a text. "We only have one chance to do this. Do you want the truth, or not?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I do."

"Good," she nods, slotting her phone away again. "You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"

"Umm..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responds, clicking her fingers authoritatively at Allard and Schweitzer. "Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes."

Before I have a chance to respond, Olivia has already spun on her heel and is striding towards the rear of the store, my two Guards in tow.

"'Kay..." I mutter under my breath.

I have no idea what Olivia's plan is... much less how she thinks to arrange a clandestine meeting with the photographer under Madeleine's nose while there's an entire army of paps parked outside watching our every move.

But I've learned during the course of the social season that the Scarlet Duchess is as enterprising as she is resourceful, having pulled a number of successful ploys in a bid to advance herself in the competition. And Drake seems to trust her implicitly, otherwise, he wouldn't have asked her to keep an eye on me while he's off in Dubai.

So, it looks like I'm just going to have to trust her, too.

Taking a deep breath, I move towards the other end of the shop floor, pretending to peruse the various items on offer while I wait for the allotted time to tick down.

Luckily, Madeleine is busy loudly shooting down each and every lingerie option that is presented to her by both the boutique staff and her increasingly frazzled ladies-in-waiting, so nobody really notices when I announce a pretend visit to the restroom.

Slipping back out into the foyer, I move as casually as possible towards the back of the store, knowing that the paps are still watching me like hawks through the windows.

Rounding the corner, I allow myself to speed up a bit, casting my gaze left and right, looking for Olivia...

...when I'm suddenly yanked into a dimly-lit storeroom stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped veils and dresses.

"Hey! What the—?" I protest as the door is shut promptly behind me.

"You're late," Olivia informs me dryly, clicking the lone light bulb on above us.

"Sorry, I had t—"

I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"

"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.

I drop my head in my hands. "I am going to jail... I am literally going to jail..."

"Oh, ye of little faith..." Olivia admonishes, stepping over to the photographer.

He shrinks instantly back from her.

My brows shoot skywards. "Jesus Christ... What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "Yet..."

A chill runs down my spine. Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...

"I presume you know who we are?" she asks Dion levelly, coming to a stop in front of him.

The man nods tightly, brows bunched together beneath the line of his baseball cap.

"And your current circumstances leave you under no illusions as to the lengths we're willing to go to obtain — by force, or otherwise — the clear and unvarnished truth?"

His gaze slips to meet mine for a second before sliding back to Olivia's to give her the barest of nods.

"Good," she smiles, reaching towards him. "Then this will go that much faster."

In one quick motion, she yanks the scrunched-up handkerchief from the photographer's mouth, making him wheeze.

"Sa mère la pute de—"

"Who are you working for?" Olivia demands, folding her arms.

Dion spits on the floor next to her feet. "I'm a freelancer. I work for—"

"We know who you are," Olivia interjects with a wave of her hand. "You're a lowlife slug who's willing to do anything to make a name for himself. You demonstrated as much when you sold compromising photos of my friend here to the press. The question is, who hired you?"

Dion scoffs. "Nobody hired me. I work for myself! That is what I've been trying to—!"

"Liar," Olivia accuses. "We know you didn't just stumble upon this by yourself. Who's your client?"

"Nom de dieu..." he disparages under his breath. "I told you already, I—"

Olivia is suddenly up in his face, knife pressed to his throat. "And I didn't like your answer."

Dion jerks back instinctively. "Your petite friend is correct... You are going to jail..."

"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily. "What little will be left of it, anyway... Because no one here is going to the police. And I'm sure that your so-called friends out the front will secretly be glad for your unexplained loss. The freelance photography business is oh-so cutthroat, after all..."

"Tu es une salle grace..." he snarls through clenched teeth.

Olivia presses the knife tighter. "Then you should know that it's not in your interest to test what's left of my patience..."

Dion laughs bitterly. "À quoi ça rime? You say already that you will just—"

"What if we paid you?" I interject, stepping forward.

Olivia's head snaps angrily around. "Harper, stay out of—!"

"Paid me?" the photographer cuts in, eyes swirling to meet mine with interest.

"To give us the information we're after... voluntarily," I clarify, in a bid to avoid the impending bloodshed. "And to sell us the photos from Applewood."

Dion frowns. "I already sold the pictures to the papers..."

"Not all of them," I correct, hoping against hope that my gut instinct is correct and I haven't just torpedoed Olivia's interrogation for nothing. "You only sold the ones you were told to sell — the ones that fit your client's narrative."

Dion seems to assess me in a new light. "You come prepared... Fine. I'll do as you ask... for five million."

"Ducats?" asks Olivia.

"Euros."

I very narrowly catch my jaw from falling to the floor at the sound of the obscene price tag.

"You've been paid once already," counters Olivia. "The highest we can go is one million."

"Four," insists Dion, somehow managing to find the balls to negotiate even with a knife pressed to his throat. "There are a lot of pictures."

"Which no one else is willing to buy, so two is our best and final offer."

"Three," declares Dion. "And I'll forget this conversation ever happened."

Olivia purses her lips for a moment, before whipping the knife away with a flourish. "Fine. Start talking."

Dion lets out a low exhale. "I received a call some days before the Jamboree. The person had a tip on one of the Prince's suitors, and said it would make big news if it got out. Naturally, I was interested."

"Who was this person?" I ask.

"I don't have a name," he replies. "The tip was anonymous, and the call came from a hidden number."

"Was it a man or a woman?" Olivia queries.

"A man."

Olivia and I exchange a glance. Tariq or Godfrey.

"How did you get into Applewood?" I ask, turning back to Dion.

"A security pass was delivered to my apartment. No return address," he adds before either of us can ask.

"And that didn't seem suspicious?" I press.

"Demoiselle," he scoffs. "I am a paparazzo. I am not going to... How you Américans say? Count the teeth of a dog?"

"Look a gift horse in the mouth..." I correct dryly.

"Once on the estate, I took some pictures of the Jamboree — in the event, you know... nothing came of the tip — but then I received a message on my phone that the suitor in question was on her way back to her room with her paramour, andI should make myself ready."

"How did you know which room to go to?" I cut in.

"There was a blueprint of the manor included in the same envelope that provided me my security pass," Dion explains. "It was your room that was marked."

His words hit me like a kick to the guts.

It's been clear for a while that my run-in with Tariq has been anything but chance. But to learn the malicious extent of the planning that had gone into setting it up makes me want to actually puke.

Who was sick enough to even think up something so twisted?

"What then?" asks Olivia, diverting Dion's attention from my momentary muteness.

He shrugs. "I took the photos, and left."

"How?" I croak in disbelief. "How could you just stand there while—?"

"I am a journalist," he shrugs apathetically. "My business is to be impartial..."

"You watched me get assaulted," I hiss through trembling lips. "There is nothing impartial about that!"

He shrugs again. "Affairs are messy. Maybe you should choose your lovers more carefully."

I feel my fists clench at my sides as I take a step forward. "He is not—"

Olivia's hand pulls me back. "How did you deliver the photos?"

"There was no delivery," Dion counters with the same level of nonchalance that he's exhibited since he started talking. "I selected the best pictures and put them out to offer to the newspapers. The Sun offered the most for them, so I sold to them the exclusive rights to publish."

"That's it?" queries Olivia. "No one else was given copies?"

Dion scoffs. "Absolutement pas! Selling copies to anyone else would violate the license agreement with the most influential tabloid newspaper in the country! Why would I put myself out of business? I am not an idiot..."

"You didn't send any samples to the person who tipped you off?" I press, having finally managed to regain my composure somewhat.

"Non," he insists. "I said before — he was not a client. I have no obligation for him. And even if I did, I have no way to contact him because—"

"—the conversations were anonymous," I finish wearily.

Apart from lending credence to our suspicions that Godfrey may have had a hand in the set-up, this conversation has confirmed literally nothing.

The people involved in the plot have been too careful in covering up their tracks.

Which means that all our hopes now rest with Tariq... and Drake's ability to find him.

Dion nods. "C'est correct. And I told you everything you asked. We still have a deal, yes?"

"On the condition that you hand over all the remaining photographs — including any digital and backup copies — and disappear off to a godforsaken island somewhere," Olivia clarifies.

Dion nods eagerly. "Naturellement. I always desired early retirement."

"Good," she approves, cutting the bonds from his wrists with a cold smile. "Otherwise I will personally ensure that you don't live to spend a single Euro of your newly acquired millions."

The flash of the wicked-looking blade so close to his groin causes the photographer to blanch involuntarily. "Je le jure."

Olivia flashes him a cold smile. "We'll be in touch..."

"You're just letting him go?" I hiss into Olivia's ear as Dion pushes himself up.

"Unless you would prefer to dump him in the Tiber?"

I reel back. "What! No! I just—"

"Your instinct was right," she advises softly, as Dion gathers his bag and Allard escorts him back out. "He is an opportunistic shark. He just had to be made to believe that he was fleecing us."

My eyes widen. "So, you played bad cop deliberately."

"As you said, this is my area of expertise," she smirks. "And I knew you would not be able to keep your sentimentality at the door."

"Umm, thanks... I think..." I mutter. "But where are we supposed to get three million Euros from? We may both be aristos, but neither of us is Jeff Bezos..."

"The Palace has a designated slush fund set aside for these sorts of expenditures," Olivia assures me breezily, slotting her knife away. "Since you are now a member of the royal family, we'll just send the bill to Jonathan."

I slant her a wry look. "I'm pretty sure that's not what either he or Christian had in mind when they decided to clean up my image..."

"Oh, please!" she admonishes, stepping back out into the corridor as well. "As recently as last year, Constantine was authorising expenditures of five to ten million Euros to stop pictures of Leo shagging B-list actresses on top of various vehicles making it onto the front pages. Three million Euros is trump change for the Rys."

"If you say so," I concede, my mind still reeling from astronomical sums of money that had been so casually bandied about. "Let's just hope Dion doesn't screw us over..."

"He won't," she assures me. "Nobody is stupid enough to cross a Nevrakis."

"The people who blackmailed you did..." I remind her cautiously.

Olivia's mouth tightens as we reach the end of the corridor. "Which was their first mistake. And one that they will pay for dearly."

"You never actually told me what they threatened you with on the night of the Coronation Ball..."

Olivia glances at me sharply. "The less you know the better."

"But—"

"It is for your own protection," she insists. "You haven't played this game long enough to know how to handle something so... explosive."

My eyes widen. "What? More explosive than—?"

Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. "What did I tell you on the plane?"

"Sorry..." I mumble through her fingers.

She withdraws her hand. "If — on the very slim chance — I require assistance, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, you should rejoin the bridal parade."

"Why? Where are you going?" I ask as Olivia moves towards the back loading doors.

"None of your business," she ripostes, disappearing outside.

"Bye to you, too..." I snip as the door slams closed in her wake.

Olivia may now be on my side, but she is still as caustic as ever.

Turning back towards the main part of the boutique. I barely make it four steps before Madeleine's shrieks of outrage — and the sound of breaking glass — echo down the hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, no thongs! They are ribald and tasteless!"

"Yeah, no..." I mutter under my breath as I promptly spin on my heel to head back towards the rear of the store.

I don't care what Kiara may have said earlier; I have no interest in spending the rest of the morning being trapped in a bridal boutique, being screamed at by Madeleine. I have much better things to do with my time... and sanity, especially given that I'm still trying to mentally and emotionally process what the photographer had said. And after everything else that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, a small break would definitely go a long way in diffusing my pent-up stress.

Admittedly, a part of me feels bad for leaving Hana behind to suffer the full brunt of Madeleine's tirade, but trying to pull her away as well would only jeopardise my chances of making a successful getaway. I'll just have to think of some other way to make it up to her.

Not wanting her to get into any unwarranted trouble on my account, I decide to pull out my phone to send her a quick text letting her know that I'm not feeling well, and that I'll hopefully see her at the opera in the evening.

Slotting my phone back into my clutch, I push the back doors of the boutique open with a decisive shove, and step out into the sunshine.

Letting my eyes adjust to the brightness outside, I find myself in a small courtyard. On a whim, I turn back towards my Guards.

"Which way to the Trevi Fountain?" I ask, pulling my sunglasses back down over my face.

Allard and Schweitzer trade glances, clearly uneasy with this request.

"Demoiselle, that is not a prudent—"

"—way to get lost in the crowd?" I counter. "I can't think of a better one. If I don't advertise myself, no one will know I'm even there. Especially while the paps are tied up on the other side of the building."

My Guards don't seem convinced. "Commandant Walker left specific instructions to—"

"I'm not planning on disappearing on you," I assure them. "I just want to make a quick detour to grab some pastries, and check out the fountain. So, which way is it?"

Perhaps seeing that I'm not going to be swayed by any cautionary counter-argument, Schweitzer gives Allard a one-shouldered shrug of acquiescence.

Allard pulls a face before finally resigning himself as well. "Par ici," he says, indicating the far side of the courtyard.

"Thanks," I chirp with a smile, setting out across the cobblestones...

...and promptly get the heel of my stiletto pumps stuck in a crack between the stones.

"Eugh," I grumble, as I manage to wrench myself free after a brief battle. "I really didn't think this through..."

"Would Demoiselle require a taxi?" asks Schweitzer as he helps steady me from behind.

"I was hoping to walk..." I admit sheepishly.

"Via Borgognona is nearby," Allard suggests. "It is a well-known shopping street, though quieter than the more famous Via Condotti. Demoiselle might find more... comfortable footwear there."

"Not to mention some more appropriate clothes in general," I gripe, already feeling the tight fabric of my pencil dress start to stick to me. "How far away is it?"

"Just around the corner."

I flash him a bright smile. "Perfect!"

With Allard leading the way, and Schweitzer holding my hand, we manage to cross the courtyard without further incident, and sneak past the paps still thronging the front of the bridal boutique without getting spotted.

Crossing the pedestrianised thoroughfare, my Guards usher me down a narrower street that is lined on either side by cream-coloured buildings casting some welcome shade in the midday heat.

We pass a smattering of tourists and locals, but luckily everyone seems to be too absorbed in their phones or personal conversations to pay any specific attention to me.

And — more importantly — as Allard promised, the street is composed entirely of fashionable-looking independent boutiques.

"Let's try this one," I suggest, indicating the arched entryway of a store with an Italian name that I do not recognise, but which nevertheless seems to have several options for sandals on offer. And — given the scalding nature of the weather — an open-toe option is definitely appealing right now!

Stepping into the air-conditioned entranceway, I am immediately greeted by an immaculately made up woman with a severe ponytail, who starts questioning me in rapid-fire Italian.

"Umm..."

Luckily, I am saved from the embarrassment of trying to cobble together some kind of inappropriate response with the very limited — and wholly unhelpful — Italian that Bertrand had managed to teach me on the plane by Allard, who steps deftly up to my side.

"Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe."

"Che tipo de scarpe?"

"Sandals," I say, having understood the gist of the question. "No heel."

"Prego," the assistant says, flicking her hand towards some minimalist shelving.

"Gracia," I acknowledge with a smile.

Moving over to the indicated section, I quickly assess the options...

...and nearly die when I lay eyes on the price tags.

"Almost a thousand Euros...?" I gripe under my breath "For a few scraps of leather...?"

But then my eyes land on a pair bejewelled, gladiator-style sandals.

Given my limited window of opportunity to sneak in some sight-seeing before people start to question my absence, I don't have the luxury of being able to hunt for a bargain. And if I'm going to end up forking out this much money on a pair of shoes, I'm at least going to spend it on something that I like the look of.

And these sandals definitely fit the bill.

Decision made, I pull out my phone to quickly find out how my normal US shoe size converts to the vastly different European sizing, and turn back to the patiently waiting assistant.

"Size 36, please."

With a nod, she disappears 'round the back.

While she's gone, I take the opportunity to look up the location of the little pastry shop that the President had mentioned.

Since I'm heading towards the Trevi Fountain anyway, and Madeleine had pulled us out of this morning's meeting before the refreshments could be served, I had been serious when I told my Guards of my intent to tackle two birds with one stone. Especially since it's nearly lunchtime, and chances are I won't otherwise see food until the opera this evening.

The assistant reappears with my selection, and after a quick try-on, I give her a nod to ring up the extortionate purchase, being excessively grateful that I still have cash left in my US account, given that I don't actually have access to my new Cordonian accounts yet.

Stepping back out onto the street, I change out my shoes, slotting my pumps away into the high-end bag that I've been given, and dumping the shoebox in a nearby trash can.

My toes flex gratefully in their newfound freedom as I cross the street to the clothing boutique, wondering how much a top and pair of jean shorts is going to set me back...

In the end, however, I am pleasantly surprised to emerge back onto the street in a simple, white wrap-dress, a straw Panama hat, and a matching straw bucket bag in which I've stowed my old dress and shoes, all for under two hundred Euros, which means I was able to make recourse to the money Drake had given me, and still have plenty of cash left over for other potential emergencies.

"Thanks for the suggestion," I tell Allard sincerely. "It has definitely saved me from melting into the pavement!"

"De rien, Demoiselle," he acknowledges with a smile. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Lead the way, Monsieur!" I tell him with a grin.

Taking up poll position with a scoff — with Schweitzer bringing up the rear — Allard takes us left at the next intersection to zig-zag us down various side streets, presumably in a bid to avoid both the ferocity of the midday sun, and the chances of me being recognised on the busier avenues.

But, the back route pays off, and within ten minutes, I find myself standing on the edge of the crowded plaza that serves as the gateway to the romantic monument.

"Wow..." I breathe, taking it all in. "It sure is busy!"

Allard and Schweitzer exchange a tense look, no doubt worried about the prospect of being able to keep tabs on me in the press.

"I'll be fine," I assure them. "Just a quick peek and then we can get moving."

Neither of them look convinced, but they don't try to dissuade me as I plunge into the crowd.

Skirting around wedding parties, tour groups, and other miscellaneous sightseers, I manage to work my way to the front of the throng, and my mouth parts with a gasp at the sight spread out before me.

The four-storey monument rises up from the base of the fountain, framing the dynamically positioned statues from under whose feet the water gushes into the aquamarine pool.

It's like a Renaissance painting brought to life.

But, while I'm glad to have made the trip out here to see it in person, I can't help but feel my chest tighten morosely as I gaze up at the beauty of the world-famous landmark.

I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but part of the reason why I enjoyed my outing in the Cordonian capital so much was because I had Drake to share the adventure with. And it was the same in Avignon — his wry quips and local knowledge had definitely brought the whole experience to life, making me see the city through different eyes than I probably would have had I been by myself... like I am now.

Eugh... I miss him...

Reaching for the ties of my bag on impulse, I pull the fastenings apart just enough to plunge my hand inside. Finding my purse, I snap it open and extract a Euro from the coin pouch.

Squeezing my fingers 'round the warmth of the metal, I clench my eyes shut with a heartfelt wish as I turn back towards the fountain...

...before sending the coin flipping through the air to land in the water before me with a soft plop.

Blinking my eyes open, I am somewhat disappointed to find myself still standing solo by the railing, and Drake has not magically appeared before me like the hot Italian guy did in The Lizzy McGuire Movie.

"Worth a shot..." I console myself somewhat dejectedly as I reach back into my bag to extract my phone so I could snap a couple of pictures to send to my mom.

Mission accomplished, I turn away from the fountain to make my way back to the edge of the square, Allard and Schweitzer falling into step behind me as I scan the various store-fronts clustered around the fountain, searching for the bakery with the pistachio croissants.

My eyes suddenly land on something in one of the window displays...

...and without really thinking about it, I let my feet carry me inside.

The little brass bell above the door jingles as I step into the cramped confines of what appears to be a shop selling a motley collection of antiques and touristy knick-knacks. A wizened old man sporting glasses and a thick head of white hair looks up at the sound of my arrival.

"Buon pomeriggio, signorina," he greets. "Posso aiutarla a cercare?"

"Umm... sì," I say hesitantly. "Hai avo... in the window?" I point at the item that had caught my eye with an embarrassed flush.

The man's face cracks into a grin. "Ah, certamente!"

Stepping out from behind the counter, he ambles his way over to the window display, to pull back the protective glass. Reaching in, he lifts up the silver chain and holds it out to me.

I run the tip of my finger across the edge of the pendant with a smile. "It's perfect."

"For you?" he asks, lifting the chain up to my neck indicatively.

"No," I laugh. "It's a present... Por mi amore?"

His eyes light up. "Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi!"

"Gracia," I say as he scuttles excitedly back behind the counter in search of a box.

Pulling one out with a conspiratorial flourish, he sets about packaging up the piece as if he were swaddling a precious child for a hazardous journey, even managing to dig out a slightly dusty ribbon to tie on top.

"Cento euro," he declares, presenting the completed ensemble to me.

Pulling my wallet out, I extract my card. "Visa?"

"Sì! Ovviamente!" he proclaims, slapping a brand new Square card machine onto the counter, that was starkly at odds with the otherwise Ollivander-esque décor of the place.

Slotting my card into the reader, I complete the purchase, and am just about to reach for the box to stow it away in my bag when I feel a sudden presence behind me.

"This is becoming a bad habit with you..."

I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice.

No way...

The story continues in Chapter 20 (Coming Soon!)

A/N: As per usual, translations below:

At the bridal boutique: Contessa! Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore! - Countess! Countess! Over here, please!

Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle - We got you, m'lady

Certainement. Vous allez bien? - Certainly. Are you alright?

C'est le bordel! Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?" - What mess! What was she thinking?

Sa mère la pute de— - Your mother is a whore of a—

Nom de dieu - Oh, my God!

Tu es une salle grace - You're a real bitch

Absolutement pas! - Absolutely not!

Je le jure - I swear

Out and About Par ici - This way

Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe - She is looking for some new shoes.

Che tipo de scarpe? - What kind of shoes?

Prego - Please

Gracia - Thanks

De rien, Demoiselle - No problem, m'lady

Buon pomeriggio, signorina. Posso aiutarla a cercare? - Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything?

Por mi amore?* - For my love? *This is a completely butchered attempt at Italian. The grammatically correct way to say it would be 'È per il mio amore'. However, Harper is improvising, so she's not going to get things completely correct 😇

Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi! - Ah, lovely! I will wrap it up for you!

Cento euro - One hundred Euros

Sì! Ovviamente! - Yes! Of course!

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[karahalloway]

Riley stepped closer and traced a finger across his lips. “I don’t regret it if that’s what you’re worried about.” He shivered as her touch sent a sliver of desire sparking through him and, without much conscious thought, his arm shot out to pull her in even closer. “Does that mean we can do it again sometime?”

Awww Maxy...

Max had been her best friend since they met in a ridiculously overpriced private kindergarten.

This! This is so cute 😆

Neville Van Couer, big for his age and just as disagreeable then as he was now, had yanked Max’s stuffed octopus from his arms and was holding it above his head, taunting him with it.

...hope Riley beat him up 🤬

Sir Inks a Lot

dying of cuteness overload here...!😍

Without warning or preamble, the girl moved. She darted forward so quickly that Neville had no time to process what was happening. A sharp blow to his stomach sent him pitching forward, grabbing his midsection as the toy was ripped from his grasp.

His arms tightened around her. “So to be clear, you know I love you and you’re okay helping me try to get Liam’s attention?”

I feel this will go sideways slightly... 🫣

Max cut her off by jerking her back into his embrace. “Don’t worry, padawan. We have two weeks. I’ll teach you everything you need to know!”    

Hahahaha my Max says this to Harper as well 😆

Can't wait to see what happens next...!!🤗

Behind Closed Doors Chapter 1: The Invitation

 Series: Behind Closed Doors

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for this chapter: Riley x Max, Liam x Max (he hopes)

Word Count: 916

Rating: R for mature themes

Warnings for this chapter: sex is alluded to

A/N: I teased this one a long while back. Finally had some inspiration for it, so here's the first chapter!

A/N2: This story explores a bit of relationship anarchy. Here's a link if you want to learn more.

Series Premise: Six people come together in a kaleidoscope of shifting boundaries.

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley’s eyes widened as her mouth fell open. “Wait…you want me to go to the palace with you?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded, “I need a wingman, Riley, and you’re really good at it!”

“But—”

Max took in her hesitation and a startling thought occurred to him. “Oh! Is this awkward because we…because of…”

“Oh, good god, no!” Riley threw her head back and laughed. It was a full-throated belly laugh. Her hand landed on his bicep as she leaned forward to catch her breath. “I love you, Max. Truly, deeply, madly, but as friends! You know that!”

“I know.” His fingers scratched at the freshly shorn hairline along the back of his neck as a flush raced across his face. “I just wanted to be sure…after what happened last month…”

Riley stepped closer and traced a finger across his lips. “I don’t regret it if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He shivered as her touch sent a sliver of desire sparking through him and, without much conscious thought, his arm shot out to pull her in even closer. “Does that mean we can do it again sometime?”

She laughed again as she gazed up into the cobalt-blue eyes that were as familiar to her as her own emerald-green orbs. Max had been her best friend since they met in a ridiculously overpriced private kindergarten.

Neville Van Couer, big for his age and just as disagreeable then as he was now, had yanked Max’s stuffed octopus from his arms and was holding it above his head, taunting him with it.

“Please give back Sir Inks a Lot.” Max’s trembling voice betrayed his fierce determination not to cry. “My mom gave him to me.”

“Oh, are you going to cry, little crybaby? It’s just a stupid toy. I tell you what—”

“Give it back.” A firm, uncompromising voice cut in.

Neville spun to find the interloper. His malicious grin widened when his eyes fell on the slight girl with the wispy brown hair. “And what are you going to do about it if I don’t?”

Without warning or preamble, the girl moved. She darted forward so quickly that Neville had no time to process what was happening. A sharp blow to his stomach sent him pitching forward, grabbing his midsection as the toy was ripped from his grasp.

“Here.” The girl thrust the plushie out to Max.

He wiped the moisture from his tear-streaked cheeks with one hand as he reached out for his beloved Sir Inks a Lot with the other. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a bright smile that washed all of his sadness away. “My name’s Riley. Want to play with me?”

“We can do it anytime you want.” She assured him. “It’s not like we’re not good at.”

Max smiled at the reference to their romantic and sexual past.

They had lost their virginity to each other in high school and spent six months exploring everything the other had to offer. Then Max had confessed to being bisexual and wanting to explore with other people. Primarily men. His relief when Riley had agreed to break up romantically but remain friends had been overwhelming. She was and remained the closest friend he had.

A month ago, they had gotten drunk and fallen into bed together. It had felt good, comfortable, and familiar. He loved her.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t in love with Liam and that’s why he needed her support at the upcoming Beltane Ball that the palace held every year.

His arms tightened around her. “So to be clear, you know I love you and you’re okay helping me try to get Liam’s attention?”

Her grin widened until her cheeks hurt. “Boy, yes. Did we or did we not discover relationship anarchy at the same time?”

Giddiness crashed through his chest. The idea that you could love people but still remain autonomous was brilliant enough. Add in the deconstruction of things like relationship hierarchy and mono-normativity and, well, it had been paradigm-shifting.

“Okay,” he nodded as relief washed over him. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Riley!”

“I know.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips.

He melted against her for a moment, then drew back. Because he had to know for sure everything was okay between them. “Then why the hesitancy when I asked you to go to the ball with me?”

“Because I’ve never been to the palace, silly!” Her family was insanely wealthy, but not noble.

“Oh, yeah!” Max tended to forget the difference in their social status. Mainly because it didn’t matter to him. People were people and titles like Duke and Count meant nothing when it came to what kind of person someone was. After all, Neville was noble.

“Oh, yeah! I mean…what do I even wear? Do I need to know how to curtsy? What if—”

Max cut her off by jerking her back into his embrace. “Don’t worry, padawan. We have two weeks. I’ll teach you everything you need to know!”    

“Great!” Riley bounced on her toes, excitement swirling through her midsection.

The palace! What an exciting adventure!

She threw her arms around him. “We could make a week of it! Go into the city. Shopping, dining, museums, the theater….”

He dipped his head toward her, his lips bare inches from hers. “Can we share a room?”

“Oh, we’re going to share a lot more than a room!” she assured him just before their lips crashed together.

[karahalloway]

Live Discussion: Novel Writing

Steps in novel writing will be our next topic.

I'm sorry I didn't get this out sooner. It's been a busy spring. Based on the results of the polls we did back in March, we will continue meeting on the fourth Friday of the month at 12 pm CST.

The top winners for topics were:

Steps in novel writing

Research and why it's important

Editing, proofreading, beta reading, etc

Writing with cultural sensitivity

These will be our next four topics, in this order.

Next Live Discussion: Friday, May 24th, 2024 at 12:00pm CST.

Tagging under the cut

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@ryns-ramblings @tate-lin @nestledonthaveone

@aallotarenunelma @kristinamae093 @coffeeheartaddict2 @memorias-depresivas

@jerzwriter

[karahalloway]

🤣

But accurate 😆

This just screams Unexpected Riley and Max to me......

[karahalloway]

Beautiful 😍

Art for the birthday girl 🥰

For my birthday this year I treated myself with two beautiful art works one by the wonderful @cammarada I still can’t shut up about it, it’s so beautiful I actually smiled and cried a little. Thank you so much for being so nice and generous and so fucking talented (pardon my French but I needed to use a curse word because I love it so much 😱🥹🥰😍🩷).

It was so hard to keep these art works to myself and I would’ve loved to hug you through the phone for making these art works seriously 🩷🩷🩷🩷

The other wonderful artist is on Instagram /@ohhheyitsjulia 🥰😍

Julia has really done my characters justice. It shows Bryce, Luna, Keiki and Luna & Bryce’s twins Kehlani Mae and Alaia Rose, showing them to be a few months old, having a wonderful day at the beach 🥰🩷 (I actually even included the art work in one of my WIPs Pink Lemonade).

I can’t wait to commission more art work for my wonderful characters 😍 Thank you for making this birthday wonderful and memorable.

And to all the wonderful people I met on here and became friends with 🥰🩷 Thank you for all your kindness and support you show to me everyday. I’m very thankful and feel so blessed so thank you for that.

Love you lots 🩷

-PR

I thought I’d share it with all my friends 🥰🩷

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[karahalloway]

Better this way...

Book:                   Crimes of Passion (Book 1)

Pairing:                Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Carolina Rose)

Rating:                 Teen+

Warnings: Mentions of death/loss    

Category:      Angsty Fluff??? / Pining.

Summary:   Alone in the office after a long day, Trystan and Carolina can only think of each other - if only the other knew.

Words: 2.3k

A/N: OK, it's my first time writing for these two! I hope it's somewhat decent. (It was supposed to be a drabble, but you know, shit happened. lol ) @choicesjunechallenge, Romance I'm tagging my PERMA list - if you'd like to be added or removed for CoP fics, please let me know.

He studied her carefully, observing her the way a connoisseur takes in a priceless piece of art they know they'll never see again.  He committed every line, contour, every gentle curve of her face to memory and did his best to conceal the grin attempting to travel from his heart to his lips.  He almost succeeded.  Almost. With a slight twitch, the corners of his mouth lifted, and he had to laugh to himself. He should have known better; emotions this strong can’t be contained. Not even by a man who had become a master of presenting a façade to the world.

She wore a worried expression while pouring over the papers scattered atop her desk. Jaw set, brow furrowed, that little crease that formed above her nose whenever she was troubled prominent. Carolina Rose had perfected her poker face for her job, but not when she was off the clock. At those times, the people who knew her best could read her like a book, and while Trystan Thorne wasn't yet a member of that privileged circle, he was doing all he could to get in... and he was a quick study.

Many small details that provided a glimpse into her soul had already been memorized, and he marveled over how even the slightest variance could lead her to morph into a different being. The woman across the room from him bore almost no resemblance to the one who rolled her eyes at his latest antics or pretended to be bothered by him, even as her expression so clearly told him the opposite was true. And those glorious moments when he earned her smile, perhaps a laugh… every trace of rigidity gone, her cheeks flushed with delight, and her eyes as bright as a child who had just been offered their favorite treat… he felt his breath escape him at the memory alone. Trystan was no stranger to this feeling welling inside of him; he had known it intimately before. When it left, it took a part of him and he insisted he'd never feel that way again. But look at him now.

The papers made a fluttering sound as they fell from her hands and joined the others on the surface below. She looked to the ceiling with a sigh of frustration, eyes clenched, her long, slender fingers rubbing her temples. He knew this wasn’t just a case for Carolina. Her Uncle Tommy had told him that none of them ever were. Each represented people… people who were hurting, people who had died, people she was working furiously to protect. Trystan wasn’t impressed with Carolina’s dedication and drive; he was in awe of it. The desire to do what was right, no matter the personal consequence; her ability to cut people down to size, to put him in his place with ease… she was one of a kind.

An undeniably beautiful woman, but beautiful women were a dime a dozen in his world; it took more than a pretty face to captivate his heart and awaken feelings he was certain died along with the only woman he had ever loved… but when he was with Carolina, he felt his heart coming back to life, and he was helpless to stop it.

With his eyes glued on her, Carolina met his gaze the moment hers opened. A slight smirk came to her lips as the tension visibly escaped her body.  

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Protecting you,” he simpered, and there was that roll of her eyes.

He couldn’t blame her. They both knew she could more than fend for herself. She didn’t need some playboy prince standing guard over her. Still, she never sent him away whenever he offered to stay behind.

“Coffee?” He asked, more of a statement than a question, as he was already preparing her cup. 

“Sure. You might as well make yourself useful while you’re here.”

She raised her hands to her stiff shoulders, gently massaging them as her weary eyes followed his movements. Trystan hadn’t impressed her at first. A fact that she knew left him astounded. He was charming and handsome, obnoxiously so; she’d have to be blind not to see that, especially since he was donning no more than an Egyptian cotton towel during their unplanned meeting. But wealthy exiled princes were not to her taste.  A cocky, wealthy exiled prince, even less so.

Trystan liked to pretend he knew more than he did, so Carolina watched him intently. There was no way he knew how she took her coffee, and she was eager to pounce on his first mistake… figuratively, of course—when he inevitably failed. That would be the catalyst to commence the back-and-forth banter that had quickly come to define them.

So she watched and waited.  He filled her mug three-fourths full, pouring fat-free Lactaid milk to fill the remaining space.  Carolina wasn’t lactose intolerant; she simply preferred the taste, and Trystan noticed. Her coy smile was growing into a wide grin when he began stirring. No sweetener. She knew he’d get it wrong and was eager to start the repartee… when he poured three packets of Splenda and one of Equal into her cup.  The ball was firmly in his court now as evidenced by the look of astonishment on her face.

“Something wrong?” he purred with delight.

“No..uh… it’s just… how did you know how I take my coffee?”

He fell back into his chair and gently shrugged. “It’s not the first time we’ve had coffee together, Carolina.”

“No,” she agreed. “But it’s the first time you’ve prepared my cup, and….”

“…and I pay attention,” he interrupted, the velvety tone of his voice doing things she wouldn’t readily admit. 

“Quick! How does Luke take his?”

Trystan bit his lower lip as he strained to remember, a blush that made Carolina warm inside appearing on his cheeks.  

“In a cup?” he deadpanned.

Carolina burst out laughing and raised her cup to her mouth, eager to watch him try to spin his way out of this web.

“I pay attention…sometimes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I pay attention when it matters.”

“And my coffee preferences… matter?”

“They are of the utmost importance,” he smiled.

“But Luke’s… don't?”

“Of course they do… to him, but to me… he can text me what he wants if I'm picking up coffee on the way to work."

Now, it was Carolina blushing, cursing her body for giving her away so easily. 

“It makes sense,” she shrugged. “I suppose it’s wise to be on your boss's good side.”

“My boss?” he challenged. “I hired your agency. There is a valid argument to be made that I am, in fact, your boss…but,” he emphasized, holding up a finger when she dared to interrupt. “But since both scenarios would make for delightful role-playing… I’m not going to argue the point.”  

A bark of laughter escaped her. By now, she knew he was a relentless flirt, but the way her pulse raced at his words… if that had happened before, she must have been in denial, but there was no sidestepping it now.

“In your dreams, Thorne.”

“Trust,” he winked.  “You are.”

He waited for the witty retort, but it never came. Instead, Carolina turned away, flustered and abashed. She was always fast on her feet and had a sharp comeback at the ready…but this no longer felt like a game, and retorts were the last place her mind was going.

“Well, uhm…” she cleared her throat. “I really appreciate your… initiative. It’s very… sweet.”

He glanced up playfully from under the hair falling onto his face. “Just like your coffee."

Her hands fumbled along her desk until she found her cup.  Grasping it like a life preserver, she took a long gulp, almost emptying its contents.  Anything to delay her response while she processed the places her mind and body were taking her. Was she falling? Carolina did not fall! And while she knew Trystan would catch her, that made it all the more terrifying. Unlike him, she was not familiar with these emotions.  She had loved before, of course.  Love was the guiding motivation in her life.  She loved her Uncle Tommy. She loved her late Father with all her heart.  How it would have broken him to know the impact his death had left behind.

It lived forever in her mind… the damp, dark garage… his lifeless body on the ground… his blood soaking her clothes, its smell permeating the air… the garbled sounds as he attempted to speak his last words… she remembered it all. Collapsing over his casket on that cold, grey morning.  Uncle Tommy pushing his grief aside to support her. He probably carried her back to the car, she couldn’t recall… but the ride home was forever etched in her mind.  One thing repeated in her mind as she watched the cityscape speeding by.  Love hurt.  Love equated to loss and pain, and she had to protect herself.  She couldn’t stop loving the people already in her life, but she'd be damned if she let anyone else in. By the time guests began to arrive at Tommy’s bar for the repast, Carolina had already wrapped her heart in a box and placed it in a vault in the furthest corner of her home. She locked it and tossed away the key.  An unconscious vow was made.

There had been other people in her life, but they were never a problem.  She knew they couldn’t get too close; if they did, she'd easily cast them aside.  She knew how to dance around the fire without allowing herself to get burned.  But with Trystan, everything felt different.  He was the fire, consuming her each time he entered the room.  If she opened this door, there was no question that the flames would engulf her, and perhaps there would be no escape. 

“Carolina,” he said, the sincerity in his voice touching her heart. “Are you all right? A penny for your thoughts?”

He waited patiently, knowing something was amiss.  Carolina Rose didn’t stumble.  She didn’t fluster easily.  She had to be… thinking… could he dare to believe she may have been thinking the same thing as him? He wanted to know… but sensing her trepidation… he waited until she was ready.

I think I’m frightened. I think I’m falling for you, Trystan Thorne, and I don't fall! This doesn't happen to me. It never does, but somehow... I can't make this stop... I can’t.  And with you! Of all people? Your head would grow another five sizes if I told you this, and we can’t have that. But I think… I think falling for you… and I don’t understand it... I'm not sure I can let it in, and I'm less sure that I can make it stop.

Those were the words that filled her mind as silence hung in the air.  But when her quivering lips finally uttered a sound, that's not what she brought herself to say.

“A penny?” she mocked. “With all your money, my thoughts are worth no more than a penny? Trystan Thorne, I’m insulted… and you’re out of luck… because my thoughts are far more valuable than that!”  

Was it possible for two opposing feelings to wash over you at once? Her response left him crestfallen, his hopes dashed, but he also felt...relief. 

“Then I’ll be sure to hit up the ATM before we do this again,” he jested, quickly pointing to the papers on her desk. “So… did you find anything?”

Grateful for the opportunity to steer their conversation in a different direction, Carolina began rattling off her thoughts.  But Trystan never registered a word above the sound of his pounding heart. The words he had hoped to hear echoed in his mind.  

“Trystan? Trystan…” Carolina said, tossing a crumbled ball of paper his way.  “Did you hear anything I said?

“Yes! Of course!” He startled.  “But… just to be sure… why don’t you tell them to me again?”

Carolina rolled her eyes and repeated herself, but it was futile. Trystan still couldn’t process a thing and the relief he had felt just moments before morphed into profound disappointment.  This is for the best, he told himself.  After all, he had been in love before, and love was… magical… until… His eyes screwed shut, and he was racing back in time.  The night he had hoped to erase from his memory that was never more than a moment away was fresh again. He swore he could smell the salt in the air and feel the waves shifting beneath him. Juliana was there, more beautiful than ever before; all was right with the world… until… his eyes shot open with renewed focus. Fortunately, Carolina was there... still speaking.

“So, the bottom line is, this didn’t give us any new leads, but it did place more suspicion on some we already had.”

“Then, it wasn’t time wasted,” he rebounded without missing a beat.  “I guess that leaves us with more work to do tomorrow.  So, why don’t I give you a lift home now?”

“You know,” Carolina hesitated.  “I’m going to hang back here a little.  I’ll be all right. Why don’t you head out.”

Trystan nodded sadly.  “If you insist, boss….I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He rushed to the door, taking one last look over his shoulder as his hand grasped the brass doorknob.  Carolina had already begun typing away on her laptop, as focused on her work as ever.  She was so beautiful, he thought, it would have been really nice if… no… he shook his head… no…he had to let this go. It was better this way.

[karahalloway]

😭🥰🫠

[karahalloway]

Squeeeeeeeeeze!!! You've been given a hug! Send this to all the people who you think deserve a hug. Let the hugging begin! ♥

Thank you!! Right back at you!

Sending hugs to all the lovely peeps out there, including (but not limited to!) @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @harleybeaumont @nestledonthaveone @alj4890 @petiteboheme @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @knaussal @tinkie1973 @walkerdrakewalker @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @tessa-liam

[karahalloway]

🤣🤣🤣

when other people just don’t get your pathetic fictional man who has at least 1,996 issues and 2,627 unresolved traumas with severe wet cat energy and murders for a hobby like you do 😔

[karahalloway]

I'm curious. Reblog this if you know how to cook

I don’t even care if it’s macaroni, ramen or those little bowls you stick in the microwave. Please, I need reassurance that most of the population on tumblr WOULDN’T STARVE TO DEATH if their parents couldn’t fix them food or they couldn’t go out to eat. 

[karahalloway]

Okay. I have to admit, I had no clue where this was going — I was expecting a police escort or something, but then he calms a friggin’ HELICOPTER and I died 🤣

Liam definitely doesn’t like waiting in traffic!!

So... how would your pairings do? lol

A Bird in Hand

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Rating: G

Warnings for this chapter: none

Word Count: 392

A/N: I feel like Liam does not sit in traffic and that gave me a whole idea!!

My other stuff: Master List.

“Seriously, what’s the holdup?” Liam grumbled as he lowered the partition.

“Sorry, sir.” His driver gestured to the gridlock traffic sprawled out in front of the limo as far as the eye could see. “But I think we’re stuck for a while.”

“Shit!” Liam swore softly under his breath. In Cordonia, they cleared the roads when he needed to travel somewhere, but this was California and he had little recourse.

Unless….

He closed the partition and pulled out his cell phone with a mischievous grin.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “I know that look. What are you up to?”

“Getting us to dinner on time.” He winked at her.

Riley shook her head from side to side. She knew Liam was a prince and used to getting his way, but he was on her home turf this weekend. He was about to get a lesson on how little his title meant in her world.

Spago Beverly Hills was the place to eat for everyone who was anyone in Hollywood and they did not hold reservations.

He finished typing into his phone and returned it to his pocket with a satisfied smirk. Riley Brooks was a woman not easily impressed. The American version of royalty, one of Hollywood’s brightest stars, she already had the world at her feet. He had to up his game.

He was determined to woo her, win her, and wed her.

She smiled at him, and his heart tried to leap out of his chest.

Riley leaned forward and patted his hand. “Really, Liam. It’s okay. We can just go to—what is that noise?”

The smug grin on Liam’s face got bigger. “That’s our ride!” He slid the moon roof open as a helicopter hovered in the air above them. A ladder fell out of the sky and clattered on the roof of the limo.

Riley’s mouth fell open. “You have got to be kidding me!”

Liam pulled himself through the moon roof and onto the top of the limo before reaching back and offering her his hand. “Oh, I’m dead serious. Shall we?”

She shook her head in amused astonishment. Delight and mischief spiked through her as she took his hand and let him help pull her through the opening in the car’s roof.

This man was a complete adventure, and she couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

[karahalloway]

One glance at the caller ID and he was wide awake. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed as he answered. “Bas. What’s wrong?”

I'm getting some bad juju already...!

She hesitated as her hand hovered over the knob. Something was clearly wrong, or the head of the Royal Guard wouldn’t be on the phone with her fiancé. The memory of being shot at engulfed her. The smell of gunpowder in her nose, the thunderous booming of the gun in her ears, the wet stickiness of Drake’s blood on her skin, and the crippling fear of loss all washed over her with incapacitating suddenness.

God, I get chills just reading this description...!

“Who is it?” “Riley? It’s Liam.”

Of-fucking-course 😣

The brokenness in his voice obliterated her fear and spurred her into action. She flung the door open, her eyes widening in shock and concern as she took in his expression.

Oh... This is the burning of Applewood, isn't it...? Sorry Liam...

She understood instantly why he was in her room, in her arms. She might not understand yet what had transpired, but she understood that he could not, and would not, show weakness to the world. Not that caring, tears or grief were weaknesses. No, she counted those things as strengths.

Eugh... As much as he has been pushing boundaries in this fic with Riley, I do hate that he is in this situation... That he has to keep his feelings bottled up publically, and there isn't really anyone else he can confide in, or find solace with, apart from Riley...

Drake exited the bathroom with a grim expression. His eyes darted from the empty bed to the sight that greeted him at the doorway of the bedroom. The king of Cordonian was wrapped in his fiancée’s arms.

😬😬😬😬😬

Riley’s eyes met his over Liam’s shoulder. He nodded at her as he read everything he needed to know in her expression.

Okay, phew! I was worried that the stuff that happened during the polo match was going to erupt here bc everyone is feeling super raw...! But, luckily, Drake seems to have a good read on the situation.

“Hey,” Drake’s voice softened considerably as he clasped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t be sorry for being human, Li. That’s a good thing. Unfeeling rulers are the dangerous ones.”

The extensive and ancient orchards at Applewood had been razed. The terror group Sons of the Earth was taking credit.

They better be praying to their maker...

A little thrill ran through her, despite the gravity of the situation. She was suddenly and intensely aware of the proximity of both men. Their body heat, the smoothness of Liam’s palm in hers, the roughness of Drake’s. Her heart beat a little faster.

This is going to end up in a poly set-up, isn't it? 😆

He leaned forward in his seat and turned sideways so he had a clear view of both Riley and Liam. “You’ll both wear body armor.” Liam tried to protest. “I don’t think—” “The ultra-light stuff. Under your clothes. Trust me, no one will know it’s there.”

I'm glad you put this in here! Under the circumstances, it make complete sense, and it really is like wearing another shirt under your clothes. That said, it won't stop anything with a large caliber... or a head shot 😬

“And remember,” Madeleine chided as she shuffled the notecards in her own hands, “You are representing Cordonia up there so for the love of God, remember to keep your back straight, make eye contact with a few of the reporters, and don’t forget your facial expressions! You want to convey—” “That’s enough!” The usually restrained and controlled Drake spun on the countess, the fury dancing in his eyes enough to cause her to jerk back in startlement. He released Riley and took a step in her direction as he fumed. “Could you lay off her for one goddamn minute? We have five minutes before they have to be on stage and I’m trying to save her fucking life!”

Whooo! Go Drake! I agree - Maddy is complete focused on the wrong things here...

Madeleine’s already anemic pallor went even paler.

This line... 🤣🤣🤣 👌

Riley stepped into Drake’s arms and took his face in her hands. “I love you. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

I've got a bad feeling about this... 🫣

Drake himself had tried to make Liam feel better, but nothing he said had made an impression. He’d watched as Liam’s friends and family members had tried to offer advice, condolences, and comfort. No one had succeeded in that endeavor. No one but Riley. Because Liam was still in love with her, and his love for her was deep and it was true, and it was real. Just like his own.

“There is a way for all three of us to be happy.”

🤣

Liam moved closer to Riley, then hesitated, shooting a glance at Drake. When he found nothing but encouragement there, he reached for her hand. “Please give this proposal due consideration before you make a decision. I implore you not to dismiss it out of hand. This is something that I want…. you have no idea how much…. but I won’t pressure you and I won’t rush you. Take all the time you need.” His eyes flicked back to Drake. “Both of you. If we move forward with this, we must all be on the same page. I want no room for misunderstandings or resentment.”

👏👏👏

I have to admit, I had my heart in my mouth throughout this entire chapter, wondering if when Drake was going to explode at Liam again, but I am happy to see that the gravity of the situation has forced a reassessment of priorities, and that he was actually the one to propose the open marriage solution 🥰 Well done, Walker! 🖖

The De Facto Queen Chapter 5: Come Together

Series: The De Facto Queen

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Drake, Riley x Liam

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: language, destruction of apple orchards

Word Count: 3,907 (approximately 30 minutes reading time)

Summary: Riley and Drake awake to devastating news about the orchards at Applewood.

A/N: I started this chapter thinking it would be the last chapter. Halfway through, I still thought that. Maybe three-fourths of the way through I was like...oh, no. This doesn't wrap up so neatly or so soon.

My other stuff: Master List.

The sun wasn’t even completely up when the shrillness of a phone cut through the early morning silence. Riley moaned in protest and scooted her body back, snuggling closer into the warmth of the man wrapped around her.

Drake’s arm tightened around her, and he drew her closer as his eyes blinked open, taking in the earliness of the hour. They weren’t scheduled to leave until after breakfast. There was no valid reason for anyone to be calling him at this hour unless something had gone wrong somewhere. “Sorry, babe.” He mumbled as he released her to roll over and grab his phone off the nightstand. One glance at the caller ID and he was wide awake. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed as he answered. “Bas. What’s wrong?”

Riley tried to go back to sleep, but the hard edge in Drake’s tone, despite his attempt to keep his voice low as he disappeared into the bathroom to keep from waking her, alerted her that something was amiss. She pushed out of the covers and reached for her robe. She had barely finished tying it when a knock sounded at the door.

Riley froze as her eyes tracked to the bathroom and back. Drake was still in there on the phone with Bastien. Whoever was at the door had to have gotten past her security detail, so she decided it was safe to open it.

She hesitated as her hand hovered over the knob. Something was clearly wrong, or the head of the Royal Guard wouldn’t be on the phone with her fiancé. The memory of being shot at engulfed her. The smell of gunpowder in her nose, the thunderous booming of the gun in her ears, the wet stickiness of Drake’s blood on her skin, and the crippling fear of loss all washed over her with incapacitating suddenness.

The knock sounded again. She jumped, jerking away from the door as if she’d been scalded. “Who is it?”

“Riley? It’s Liam.”

The brokenness in his voice obliterated her fear and spurred her into action. She flung the door open, her eyes widening in shock and concern as she took in his expression.

Liam stumbled into the room and, without warning or preamble, fell into her arms. His face pressed into her chest as a shuddering sob broke free.

Her arms wrapped instinctively around him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

His arms tightened around her as he pressed his face harder into her body. Half-coherent words fell from his lips as his body shook with tears. “Terrorists…. the orchards…. burned….”

She understood instantly why he was in her room, in her arms. She might not understand yet what had transpired, but she understood that he could not, and would not, show weakness to the world.

Not that caring, tears or grief were weaknesses. No, she counted those things as strengths.

Nonetheless, his father had instilled in him a deep shame of those very qualities. But Constantine had never broken Liam, merely forced the better parts of him into hiding.

She was the safe place for him to show all of his vulnerability. She wouldn’t judge him; she wouldn’t question his fitness for the throne. She would support him; she would console him. That part of their relationship had never changed, and it never would.

Instead of questioning him, she did her best to soothe him. Her fingers ran through his hair, her hand patted his back as she murmured quiet words of comfort to him. Her eyes flicked to the door to ensure it was closed.

His emotions didn’t make him weak, but there was no point in having a servant or a guard witness their king’s most vulnerable moment. The people of Cordonia would need to see him strong and steadfast when he dealt with whatever had happened.

Crying was for private moments. Stoicism and strength were for the public. Unwavering surety in their next course of action.

They clung together, sympathetic tears streaming down her face. She didn’t need to know what had happened to feel his pain and that was enough to stir her own.

Terrorists…. burnt orchards…..it was enough for her to gather there had been another attack. Just days after Liam had confessed his insecurities about being a good enough ruler to her.

Liam, in tears in her arms, and Drake on the phone with Bastien before dawn, hinted at just how dire the situation was. Her jaw set with resolve. “Whatever happened, we will get through it together and we will fix it, okay?”

He nodded, his tears slacked, but he remained still and silent in her embrace.

Drake exited the bathroom with a grim expression. His eyes darted from the empty bed to the sight that greeted him at the doorway of the bedroom.

The king of Cordonian was wrapped in his fiancée’s arms.

Riley’s eyes met his over Liam’s shoulder. He nodded at her as he read everything he needed to know in her expression.

Drake made his way across the room and then cleared his throat to get Liam’s attention. “I just got off the phone with Bas…”

Liam’s head jerked up, and he stepped away from Riley guiltily. “I’m sorry…I just…”

“Hey,” Drake’s voice softened considerably as he clasped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t be sorry for being human, Li. That’s a good thing. Unfeeling rulers are the dangerous ones.”

Drake’s eyes flicked up to Riley’s again, acknowledging to himself that she brought out the softer, more in touch with his humanity side of his best friend and that it was a good thing.

Of course, Liam was upset. It wasn’t just an attack on his country. Applewood was the seat of House Rys, his ancestral home. It was a strike at his very heart. Nothing represented Cordonia more than the apple orchards at Applewood. It was a clear message that Liam could protect nothing and no one.

It could not be allowed to stand.

Liam stared back into his friend’s eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Drake’s jaw clenched. “Don’t thank me until we catch the bastards that did this.”

“Would one of you like to fill me in on what’s going on?” Riley looked expectantly back and forth between them.

Drake pulled out his phone and handed it to her.

She watched the video in horror.

The extensive and ancient orchards at Applewood had been razed. The terror group Sons of the Earth was taking credit.

“Oh…” tears streaked down her face again.

Drake looped an arm around her as he retrieved his phone from her grasp. “It’s going to be okay, baby, I promise.”

Her grief steeled Liam’s resolve. He pulled himself completely upright as he decided, “We’re diverting the unity tour. We have to go to Applewood. Get Katarina looped in. She can meet us there with the PR team. We need to address this publicly as quickly as possible.”

“On it.” Drake was already dialing the palace press secretary, Katarina Trakas, as he released Riley and stepped away to make the arrangements.

Less than half an hour later, they were in the back of a bulletproof SUV on their way to Applewood, joined by Max and Hana.

Riley sat in the middle, Liam on one side of her, Drake on the other. Max and Hana were across from her. Liam’s face darkened as he recounted all the information he had on the situation at Applewood. She reached for his hand without thought, instinctively comforting him.

He looked over at her in surprise, then gave her a grateful smile as he squeezed her hand. His gaze went to Drake, then back to Riley, indecision creasing his brow briefly before coming to some sort of decision. He went back to the conversation without releasing her hand.

She watched his face for a moment. Stress shown in the grim lines of his face, but there was a subtle relaxing of his shoulders, a slight but noticeable easing of tension in his body at her touch.

Riley’s head swung around to find her fiancé, anxiety gripping her as she anticipated his response. Drake met her gaze with equanimity. He gave her a reassuring smile as he reached for her other hand. There was nothing but love and acceptance in his eyes as his thumb stroked the back of her hand.

A little thrill ran through her, despite the gravity of the situation. She was suddenly and intensely aware of the proximity of both men. Their body heat, the smoothness of Liam’s palm in hers, the roughness of Drake’s. Her heart beat a little faster.

Riley’s eyes lifted to meet Hana’s. Her best friend lifted an eyebrow in question. Riley widened her eyes a little to convey her uncertainty about what was going on.

While she struggled to put her focus back where it belonged, Liam and Drake coordinated over secured lines with the head of the King Guard and the Royal Press Secretary. Liam wanted to hit the ground running the moment they arrived. Drake was determined to have as much information as humanly possible before Liam set foot in front of a podium.

“I’m just saying it would be safer to just televise the press conference from a secure location to ensure that—”

“No,” Liam cut him off, “I won’t hide. That would send the exact wrong message.”

“It wouldn’t be hiding—”

“We’ll do the conference on the west lawn,” Liam said firmly, with finality.

“Fine,” Drake grunted with a shake of his head. His best friend was about to risk an assassination attempt and all he could do was quadruple security and search every person who stepped foot on Applewood grounds and hope it was enough.

Even worse, Riley would be on that stage with him. He clamped his mouth shut with a great deal of effort. What was he going to say? He had encouraged her to accept this role. Some degree of danger would always be present. It came with the territory. He squeezed her hand tighter as his mind whirled with ways to minimize the risk. An idea seized him.

He leaned forward in his seat and turned sideways so he had a clear view of both Riley and Liam. “You’ll both wear body armor.”

Liam tried to protest. “I don’t think—”

“The ultra-light stuff. Under your clothes. Trust me, no one will know it’s there.”

Liam hesitated as he considered it.

“Do it so I can focus on the security.” Drake pushed the one trump card he knew would sway Liam. Riley’s safety. “I won’t be able to think straight if she’s up there unprotected.”

It was the thought of Riley being shot at again that convinced him. With a curt nod, the king agreed. His eyes cut sideways at her as he gripped her hand a little firmer.

He couldn’t…he wouldn’t risk her life.

Drake let out an audible sigh of relief as he released her hand and typed furiously into his phone. “Everything will be ready when we arrive.”

Two hours later, Riley was fidgeting nervously as she read over the notes Madeleine had thrust into her hands while Drake was strapping her into the bulletproof vest.

“Would you stand still?” He grunted in annoyance as he tugged one of her side straps a little tighter.

“Sorry,” she murmured as her eyes flicked from the notecards in her hand to the blond who was giving her instructions as if she’d never done a press conference before.

“And remember,” Madeleine chided as she shuffled the notecards in her own hands, “You are representing Cordonia up there so for the love of God, remember to keep your back straight, make eye contact with a few of the reporters, and don’t forget your facial expressions! You want to convey—”

“That’s enough!” The usually restrained and controlled Drake spun on the countess, the fury dancing in his eyes enough to cause her to jerk back in startlement. He released Riley and took a step in her direction as he fumed. “Could you lay off her for one goddamn minute? We have five minutes before they have to be on stage and I’m trying to save her fucking life!”

“I—” Madeleine gulped as she took another step backward.

Drake swiped the cards from her hands as he fixed her with a death glare. “She’s done dozens of these. She knows how to fucking stand!”

Madeleine’s already anemic pallor went even paler. “I just—”

“Drake!” Riley touched his shoulder. “It’s okay! She’s just doing her job. The one I asked her to do!”

Drake’s eyes fluttered briefly shut as he beat his fear, anger, and anxiety back. He blew out a careful breath before turning back to face her. “I’m sorry, baby. I just need you to focus on the thing that’s going to keep you alive before worrying about the rest.”

Riley nodded vigorously. “I am. I will! Please finish helping me with the vest. I’ll read the cards after we’re done.”

His shoulders relaxed as some of the tension eased out of his body. He resumed fussing with the vest as he told Madeleine without looking back. “Sorry. This is just stressful.”

“For all of us.” The countess sniffed. She looked down at her shaking hands then back up at Riley, watching as Drake strapped her into a bulletproof vest, knowing she was about to step onto a public stage outside in broad daylight where she could be the potential target of another assignation attempt. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. This is just…all I can contribute.”

“It’s fine.” Drake finished, stepping back to inspect his handiwork with a critical eye. “Okay, you can get dressed now.”

Riley hurriedly dressed as she directed her next remark to Madeleine. “Could you please go let Liam know that I need two more minutes?”

“But the press—”

“Can wait.”

Madeleine hesitated a fraction of a second, then nodded in acquiescence and retreated from the room.

Riley stepped into Drake’s arms and took his face in her hands. “I love you. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He whispered before pulling her into a long, lingering kiss. He poured all his love and fear for her into that kiss, wanting nothing more than to grab her, get back in the limo, and get her as far away from danger as possible. Instead, he released her and forced himself to step away. “Okay, it’s time.”

Applewood had been secured before they had arrived and swept again after they arrived. There were no buildings close enough to the manor for a sniper to hide in and, thanks to the orchard burning, no trees either. He was still a bundle of nerves as he watched her climb the steps to the stage.

Riley stood at the podium next to Liam, like she belonged there. It was becoming commonplace. Drake tried to remember the last press conference Liam held where Riley hadn’t been standing right beside him.

Perhaps when he’d announced the itinerary for the engagement tour. Madeleine had been beside him then and the stiffness in his posture had radiated his discomfort, at least to those who knew him well.

His body language when he was on stage next to Riley was different. More relaxed. More open. More at ease. Even in these exigent circumstances, a simple glance in her direction and his shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly. Confidence flooded back into his posture. Hope shone from his features.

Drake had to admit that Riley’s speech was well received by the public, perhaps even more so than Liam’s. They loved her. He didn’t blame them.

When the press conference was over, Riley joined Liam in the orchard to plant a new apple tree. A sapling. A symbol of Cordonia, of hope for the future. The area was cordoned off to keep the masses away from the royal couple.

Not that they were a couple, and only Liam was royal. Though the image they presented was very much one of a royal couple. A king and his beloved queen.

Drake shook his head to clear it of those thoughts as he circulated through the press of people, his eyes scanning the crowd for threats, his ears open for anything suspicious.

What he heard were hundreds of conversations about what Cordonia had lost by not having Riley as its queen.

“Would have been an amazing queen….”

“It’s a shame that scandal happened. I heard it was all a setup. She never…”

“They say that’s why the king ended his engagement with the countess….”

“The king still loves her…. “

“She’s so down to earth. Just want Cordonia needs…..”

“She should have been queen…”

The crowd cheered as Riley and Liam packed the dirt around the sapling. They stood and waved to the onlookers before the security team ushered them inside the manor.

Drake let out a long sigh of relief as the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders.

There had been no assassination attempt. Riley and Liam were safe inside Applewood.

His relief was short-lived.

The moment the last of the public was cleared from the property, Liam stepped out the front door with Riley on his arm.

“What the actual fuck?” Drake growled, taking a step in their direction. A firm hand on his arm stopped him.

He turned to find Bastien giving him a sympathetic shake of his head. “Let them be. The grounds have been cleared. Liam wants to see the damage up close. It’s his prerogative.”

Drake shook off his godfather’s touch as a shadow crossed his face, but he stayed put. Bastien was right. The grounds had been cleared and there was no immediate danger. He watched from a distance as Riley and Liam walked through the remnants of the once-verdant landscape.

Mere hours before, a vibrant, lush thousand-acre orchard had stood there. Living hues had painted the grounds. Deep greens and vibrant reds had delighted the eye. The crisp, apple-scented air had pleased the nose. Now charred stumps rose toward the sky, blackened husks dotted the scorched earth. The acrid scent of carbonized trees wafted on the breeze.

They walked cautiously across the blistered ground, tendrils of gray smoke curling around their ankles and rising into the late afternoon air.

Drake stood on the sidelines watching as his fiancée and best friend stopped walking and held each other in the middle of the charred orchard. Not in a sexual way. It was clear she was comforting him. What was even clearer was that it was working. Much of the tension had drained out of the king’s body as he returned her embrace. There was a genuine smile on his face as they pulled apart.

Drake himself had tried to make Liam feel better, but nothing he said had made an impression. He’d watched as Liam’s friends and family members had tried to offer advice, condolences, and comfort. No one had succeeded in that endeavor. No one but Riley. Because Liam was still in love with her, and his love for her was deep and it was true, and it was real. Just like his own.

Liam entwined his fingers with hers as they made their way back toward the manor.

Drake couldn’t stand still a moment longer. He charged across the grounds, intercepting them at the front door. “I need to speak to you both. Privately.”

“Oh, I…” Liam dropped Riley’s hand and stepped away from her. He shoved his hands in his pockets with a flush. “I hope I haven’t overstepped any bound—”

“That’s what I want to talk about.” Drake ushered them both through the entryway and into a small sitting room just off the main hall. He shut the door behind him and then turned to face his best friend. “You still love her.”

“Drake, I’m sorry I’ve tried—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Drake clasped, then released his shoulder quickly. “You love who you love.”

He would know. He had fought his feelings for her for months and failed abysmally. Turning to face his fiancée, he stated, “You still love him, too. It’s obvious.”

Riley’s lower lip started to tremble. This was exactly what she didn’t want. Her head shook back and forth. “We talked about this! I thought—”

He nodded impatiently. “We did talk about it, and I’ve realized something.”

“What?” she asked with trepidation.

“I don’t want to spend our lives together constantly worrying about you and Liam fighting these feelings.”

“Drake! I love—”

“I know.” He held a hand up to stop her. “I’m not questioning that one bit. I love you too, Riley, and I’m not breaking up with you. Would you just listen?”

Riley pressed her lips together with a fair amount of effort.

“There is a way for all three of us to be happy.”

Riley blinked. “What do you mean?”

Liam’s body froze as his head jerked up, his gaze suddenly penetrating and intense as he watched the exchange.

“I mean…” he took her hand in his and pulled her into his body, “What if you didn’t have to choose?”

Her brows pulled together in confusion. “I already chose—”

“You chose to marry me and to spend the rest of your life with me, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. But you also chose to close off a part of yourself and fight your feelings for Liam. Believe me, I have some experience with that. I’m telling you that you don’t have to.”

“Wait…” Riley’s mind spun. “Are you saying that you’re okay with me having…with Liam and I…. what are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m telling you that I would be okay with you continuing your relationship with Liam. I’m amenable to an open marriage. Well….” His eyes darted to Liam and then back to Riley. “Maybe not entirely open, but I’m willing to make room for Liam in a triad situation.”

Riley shot a sidelong glance at Liam before responding. “Drake. That’s incredibly generous of you…”

“But?”

“What would that even look like?”

He lifted his shoulders expansively. “We’ll figure that out together.”

Riley stared at him for a long moment as confusion turned into astonishment. “You’re serious!”

Drake nodded with equanimity. “Mm-hm.”

“May I speak?” Liam’s voice was quiet but filled with restrained hopefulness.

“Please do.” Drake gave a respectful nod as he stepped back and turned so that he was looking at Liam instead of Riley.

Liam moved closer to Riley, then hesitated, shooting a glance at Drake. When he found nothing but encouragement there, he reached for her hand. “Please give this proposal due consideration before you make a decision. I implore you not to dismiss it out of hand. This is something that I want…. you have no idea how much…. but I won’t pressure you and I won’t rush you. Take all the time you need.” His eyes flicked back to Drake. “Both of you. If we move forward with this, we must all be on the same page. I want no room for misunderstandings or resentment.”

Her resolve to reject Drake’s offer out of a sense of loyalty faltered in the face of Liam’s impassioned plea. Dropping her eyes from his, she nodded. Her voice was barely a whisper as she told the floor, “Okay, I’ll consider it.”

[karahalloway]

Olivia's sharp eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?"  "No," Sam scoffed, before reconsidering his statement. "Well, a little. I may have had one or two shots."  "Or a whole bottle," Olivia murmured, rolling her eyes. 

"It wasn't like I was trying to kill myself or anything," Sam grumbled, as he staggered off in the direction of his room. "I just couldn't remember if it was gas or electric. It's a common mistake."  "No, it's a common sign of early dementia," Olivia retorted.

"Liam has requested my assistance. Apparently, you need remedial lessons in proper manners."  "Remedial...?"  "Yes. We have already seen that you cannot handle an engagement," she says, glancing at Olivia, who glared back, "or a marriage, or a mistress, or even a simple friendship..." 

Ouch...

"What? You're not my superior." Olivia objected, glaring at the tall blonde.  "I am if Liam says so," Madeleine shot back. 

Hope Bert is okay with this... 😬

"Oh, really?" Madeleine challenged, raising her eyebrow. "Then how come your wife is threatening divorce?"  "That is none of your business, or Liam's for that matter," Leo snapped, opening his eyes. "And just for the record, my life is none of yours either. You don't know the first thing about love, or me."  "I know you can't keep it in your pants," she retorts, rolling her eyes. 

Madeleine is really letting rip, huh? 😓

"So do I," a voice came from the doorway.  Leo turned towards the speaker in shock. "Katie," Leo breathed shallowly, pushing himself upright. 

“Who did he partner you with?”  “Olivia Nevrakis! She is terrifying! Put a dagger to my throat when I dissed her. She threatened to go lower if I didn't pay attention.” 

Sounds like Olivia! 🤣

Isle of Misfits 

Chapter 9 – Inconvenient Truths 

Fandom: TRR x Platinum x OH x CoP x TNA x ?

Series: Isle of Misfits, Round Robin 24, hosted by @choicesprompts 

Word Count:  1405

Characters: TRR – Liam Rys, Leo Rys, Olivia Nevrakis, Madeleine Amaranth 

                       RoE – Katie Rys 

                       TNA – Sam Dalton 

                       CoP – Trystan Thorne 

Warnings: M *(swearing, references to depression, alcohol abuse, suicide, infidelity) 

“Something’s burning…” 

Leo stopped short. The scent was subtle, but unmistakable. 

Smoke. 

Olivia and Leo exchanged worried glances, before darting down the corridor, following the faint acrid scent to its source. 

It didn't take them long to track down the fire, the smoke was now billowing out from beneath the door at the end of the hallway. 

Olivia pushed Leo back. "Get back! I'm calling the fire department!" 

"But—" 

"Just do as you're told, for once in your life!" the fiery redhead ordered, already stabbing at the numbers on her mobile phone. 

Leo's shoulders raised in defiance. But no sooner had he complied, than the door to the suite burst open, and a large plume of dark grey smoke billowed out. 

Coughing and spluttering, Sam Dalton, was waving the acrid haze out of his face. 

"Sam?" Leo exclaimed concernedly, stepping forward. "What the fuck, man.!?"

"I'm okay!" Sam assured him, trying to clear his throat. 

Olivia put her phone on hold, her eyes darting over the wayward billionaire, looking for any injuries. "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure..." Sam said, taking a few shaky steps into the corridor. 

Olivia's sharp eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?" 

"No," Sam scoffed, before reconsidering his statement. "Well, a little. I may have had one or two shots." 

"Or a whole bottle," Olivia murmured, rolling her eyes. 

"I don't know about that..." Sam muttered, looking around himself in bemusement. "I was just trying to put together some food, and... well, next thing I know, there's a fire. Must have forgotten to turn off the hot plate." 

"Are you kidding me?" Leo exploded. "You nearly set the building on fire, just because you couldn't be bothered to make a sandwich?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I know..." Sam mumbled. "It was stupid." 

"I'll say!" there is a Michelin star chef here on the island, why are you even trying to cook?"

"It wasn't like I was trying to kill myself or anything," Sam grumbled, as he staggered off in the direction of his room. "I just couldn't remember if it was gas or electric. It's a common mistake." 

"No, it's a common sign of early dementia," Olivia retorted. 

"Nah," Sam scoffed, raising his middle finger and slammed his door shut.

The sound of an elevator sounded down the hall. Countess Madeleine Amaranth, a member of Liam's council and Leo's former betrothed, strode towards Leo and Olivia.

Madeleine's cold green eyes took in the smoke damage to the door. "What's going on here? The building is still standing, I see."

Liam had enlisted Madeleine to help reform Leo as a role model for royal decorum since she was a stickler for etiquette and was the queen of spin. True to his promise.

"It's called karma, you idiot," Olivia muttered back, folding her arms and smirking. 

"Oh, what fresh hell is this?" Leo growled.

"Ah, Madeleine," Leo greeted her, turning on the charm. 

"Leo," Madeleine acknowledged coolly. 

"What brings you here, on this fine evening?" Leo asked.

"Liam has requested my assistance. Apparently, you need remedial lessons in proper manners." 

"Remedial...?" 

"Yes. We have already seen that you cannot handle an engagement," she says, glancing at Olivia, who glared back, "or a marriage, or a mistress, or even a simple friendship..." 

"You're not seriously still mad about that, are you?" Leo exclaimed. 

"About being publicly embarrassed, or humiliated? Oh, no. That is water under the bridge," she mocked. "However, Liam has asked me to tutor you in proper decorum. So, if you are finished with your tantrum, perhaps we can begin?" 

Leo's jaw tightened. 

"Well, I think we've got things sorted here," Olivia said, laying a hand on Leo's arm. "If you'll excuse me, Maddy." 

Madeleine's eyes narrowed. "You're not going anywhere. You are to meet with Trystan Thorne. I'm sure he'll find that your presence will be beneficial during his sessions." 

"What? You're not my superior." Olivia objected, glaring at the tall blonde. 

"I am if Liam says so," Madeleine shot back. 

Leo's shoulders raised as Olivia's grip tightened painfully. 

"Now, if you don't mind," Madeleine continued imperiously. "I need to have a chat with my wayward student." 

"Your wayward—!" 

"Ow!" cried Leo, wincing. "You're going to leave a bruise, Livvie..." 

"That's the plan!" Olivia retorted, digging her fingers into his bicep. 

"Come on, Olivia," Leo implored, gently prying her fingers loose. "Let's just get this over with." 

Olivia looked like she wanted to argue the point, but Leo's pleading gaze eventually softened her resolve. 

"Fine," she growled. "But you're on your own next time, your highness." 

"Sure," Leo agreed, sighing. 

Olivia gave him a warning look, before stomping off down the corridor. 

"Shall we?" Madeleine prompted Leo to offer his arm for her to take.

*** 

"This is pointless," Leo announced, leaning back on the lounge chair and closing his eyes. After many hours of intense etiquette lectures, role plays, quizzes and more, he felt his stomach rumble as they waited for lunch to be prepared by the Michelin chef, sans alcohol. 

"What's pointless is the amount of money Liam has spent on trying to make you a decent human being," Madeleine bit back, flipping the cover of her personal binder of court decorum closed. 

"I am a decent human being," Leo countered, frowning. "I'm a far better man than you'll ever know." 

"Oh, really?" Madeleine challenged, raising her eyebrow. "Then how come your wife is threatening divorce?" 

"That is none of your business, or Liam's for that matter," Leo snapped, opening his eyes. "And just for the record, my life is none of yours either. You don't know the first thing about love, or me." 

"I know you can't keep it in your pants," she retorts, rolling her eyes. 

"So do I," a voice came from the doorway. 

Leo turned towards the speaker in shock.

"Katie," Leo breathed shallowly, pushing himself upright. 

"Don't get too excited," Katie told him, folding her arms. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for the kids." 

"You're... you're..."  Leo stammered nervously. 

Looking at her husband, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. 

"Why are you here, Katie?" Leo demanded, standing up. 

"Your brother sent me to help," she explained, looking everywhere but at him. 

Madeleine excused herself and quietly sauntered out with her binder in hand.

"Yes. He thought it might help to have me here. Help you remember what is important. Family, love, loyalty." 

Leo shook his head, moving slowly towards her. "You don't get it. I'm not the same man anymore." 

"Then maybe it's time to prove it." Katie said. 

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Leo shot back, stopping in place. "I'm here, aren't I?"  

At that moment, Leo understood why Liam sent him to the island. His epiphany.

"I have to go," Katie said, her eyes softening. "I'll be back later, when you've had time to process this." 

Leo watched her walk away, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. 

*** 

Later, Leo found himself sitting on his balcony, staring at a glass of scotch. He had resisted the urge to drink it, but he was still tempted. His phone buzzed on the table, and he reached for it. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey," came the reply. 

"I made a grave mistake ..." 

Leo paused, relieved at the sound of his fellow 'in-mate'.

"Thorne." 

“How so?” 

"Well, remember when we met at the bar with your brother. I should have believed your brother. That he would be true to his word with his threat." 

“Oh boy, this sounds painful.” Leo smirked, already knowing where this conversation was heading.. 

“Who did he partner you with?” 

“Olivia Nevrakis! She is terrifying! Put a dagger to my throat when I dissed her. She threatened to go lower if I didn't pay attention.” 

"Did she now? Maybe she's the one you need to focus on," Leo mused. 

"She's so intense, it's scary. And she has no interest in me. She is only here because Liam asked her to be.” 

"And here I thought she was coming here for me," Leo sighed, taking a swig of the scotch. 

"Hey, what happened with that countess?" 

Leo paused. "I... I... what did you hear?" 

"That she's going to stay a couple more days." 

"That's just great," Leo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just what I need." 

>>next writer @twinkleallnight

[karahalloway]

"I'm just trying to understand why the two of you sought me out here, Cordonia One and Two. Aren't you," he pointed at Leo, "one of us degenerates in need of a PR miracle? And you," turning to Liam, "a little busy ruling a country?"

I have to admit that I have not played CoP, but I love the way you have written Trystan here! His snark is off the chart and I'm all here for it!!

"Which brings us to why I'm here," Liam added. "I've been assigned as your partner." "You're fucking with me. How the hell does a king get roped into playing PR consultant in a reality show?" "Hypothetically, a king gets a desperate call from an old friend after your original partner quit."

"I see Bertrand is not above a guilt trip. Good for him. But what makes you think I want your help?" Liam leaned closer. "Let's be honest here, Trystan. Your public image is a mess. At this point, short of solving a murder, I'm your only option." "I'll take the murder. Got any dead bodies handy?"

"You're calling me an alcoholic?" "Considering I haven't seen you in almost eight years, I have no idea. But you certainly look like one, and that’s what matters."

Ouch...!

"Hey, you're not my partner, I'm just along for the ride. Besides, may I remind you, I'm happily married." "I'm aware, and I also know you're faithful to Katie. But if you keep acting like you did before you were married, the public will think it's not a big leap from getting wasted and puking on bushes to cheating on your wife."

Double ouch... but - sadly - accurate :(

Trystan exchanged a commiserating look with Leo. "Was he always like this?" "Unfortunately." "Pity."

*snort*

"He can't help it," Leo put in. "Put a man on a throne long enough, he'll start to sound like an etiquette manual. Then again," he turned to his brother. "I'm not sure you weren't born this way."

"Maybe? I vaguely recall something about proper." He laughed when Liam dropped his head into his hands. "Relax, Your Majesty. I'll be on my best behavior all week." "By whose standards?" "There goes my loophole." Trystan sighed.

Dying...!!!

This was great! I loved the pairing of Liam and Trystan! They are like polar opposites of each other, which makes for some great comedy!

three princes walk into a bar

Books: Crimes of Passion, The Royal Romance, Rules of Engagement

Pairing: M!Trystan Thorne, Liam Rys, Leo Rys

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1200+

Summary: Liam has been roped into fixing Trystan's public image. Leo? Leo is just along for the ride.

A/N: This is the seventh chapter of the Round Robin 2024 saga, hosted by @choicesprompts.

Over the rim of his martini glass, Trystan examined the two men watching him. 

"You two trying to get into comedy or something? Three princes walk into a bar?"

"I'm a king," Liam corrected.

"I've had to deal with a lot of bullshit this week, Drakovia," Leo shot back, hunched over his own glass. "Don't test me."

"I'm just trying to understand why the two of you sought me out here, Cordonia One and Two. Aren't you," he pointed at Leo, "one of us degenerates in need of a PR miracle? And you," turning to Liam, "a little busy ruling a country?"

Leo downed his whiskey like a shot of tequila. Appalled, Trystan shook his head. "It ought to be a crime to treat a fine blend like that."

"Believe me, if you'd had the week I had," he glared at Liam, "you'd want to gulp down a good whiskey too." 

"Which brings us to why I'm here," Liam added. "I've been assigned as your partner."

"You're fucking with me. How the hell does a king get roped into playing PR consultant in a reality show?"

"Hypothetically, a king gets a desperate call from an old friend after your original partner quit."

"I see Bertrand is not above a guilt trip. Good for him. But what makes you think I want your help?"

Liam leaned closer. "Let's be honest here, Trystan. Your public image is a mess. At this point, short of solving a murder, I'm your only option."

"I'll take the murder. Got any dead bodies handy?"

"Afraid not. And no offense, but I really don't see you as a detective. You're too scatterbrained for that."

"Ouch." Trystan sipped from his martini. "Enlighten me, then, Coach. How do you plan to make an honest man out of me?"

Liam took Trystan's wrist and pushed it down. "First of all, you put that drink down. According to a cursory Google search, there are barely any pictures of you from the past three years, minimum, where you're not holding a drink."

"You're calling me an alcoholic?"

"Considering I haven't seen you in almost eight years, I have no idea. But you certainly look like one, and that’s what matters."

"Ohh, appearance makes reality. Is that a royal saying? I always thought it was a Queen Viktoria saying." 

"It's a rational person saying. The next step is making you look like you have other thoughts besides who you're going to screw next." He made a face. "Maybe Leo could take some pointers there."

"Hey, you're not my partner, I'm just along for the ride. Besides, may I remind you, I'm happily married."

"I'm aware, and I also know you're faithful to Katie. But if you keep acting like you did before you were married, the public will think it's not a big leap from getting wasted and puking on bushes to cheating on your wife."

Trystan exchanged a commiserating look with Leo. "Was he always like this?"

"Unfortunately."

"Pity."

"Back to you," Liam continued unaffected. “You were exiled almost eight years ago, and it doesn't look like you'll be welcomed back into the fold any time soon. We both know you didn't have anything to do with Countess Juliana's death..."

Trystan drank again. "Do we?" He asked softly. 

"Right. I know you didn't have anything to do with Countess Juliana's death." He jerked a thumb in Leo's direction. "So does he."

"You're a lot of things, Drakovia," Leo agreed. "But a murderer isn't one of them."

"Too bad everyone else disagrees."

"Indeed. But you're still a prince, your actions still reflect on your country, and it's only a matter of time before King Maksim and Queen Viktoria tighten the leash."

Trystan sighed and ran a hand over his jaw. His stubble contributed to the general air of dissipation that enveloped him like a mist.

"If you want to keep your comfortable life," Liam continued. "You'll make sure to go from 'drunken waste of space'..."

"Christ, Rys. Why don't you tell me how you really feel."

"... to 'proper gentleman.'" 

"Proper gentleman? Seriously?"

"He can't help it," Leo put in. "Put a man on a throne long enough, he'll start to sound like an etiquette manual. Then again," he turned to his brother. "I'm not sure you weren't born this way."

"Carry on like this, brother dearest, and I'll make sure your partner swaps places with Olivia. She finished with Carrera early anyway, I'm sure she could fit you in."

Leo grimaced. "As I was saying, Liam makes excellent points."

"Coward." Trystan gestured to the waitress. "Bring me another one, will you, darling?"

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did anything I said in the past twenty minutes get through?"

"Maybe? I vaguely recall something about proper." He laughed when Liam dropped his head into his hands. "Relax, Your Majesty. I'll be on my best behavior all week."

"By whose standards?"

"There goes my loophole." Trystan sighed. "Look, I couldn't care less about my public image, but I'm not in any rush to face my mother's wrath. Besides, you're quite frankly pitiful right now. Saying no would make me feel like I was kicking a puppy. A sweet, annoying puppy."

Leo slapped a hand on the table. “Thank you! That's what he reminds me of! A thirty plus year old mystery, solved in a single night. Maybe you really should be a detective.”

Liam looked heavenward when Trystan and Leo laughed and clinked glasses. Praying for patience, no doubt. "Not quite what I was going for, but I'll take it."

"So what's the plan, oh wise one? We've already covered my drinking.”

“We’re going over the basics.”

“How to Be a Productive Member of Society 101?”

“Exactly. And as your partner…”

Trystan sighed. “Can we come up with a different word? I don't really do partners.”

“As your mentor…”

“Partner it is.”

“... It's my responsibility to make you look squeaky clean for the cameras.”

Leo groaned. “Liam, no. I'll grant you that he needs to improve his reputation, but squeaky clean won't do. People will start theorizing that he died and was replaced with a clone. Or a very elaborate AI video.”

“You might be right. What do you propose instead?”

“He leans into the role of loveable rogue. He works hard, he plays hard. He's aware of his privilege and doesn't take it for granted.”

Liam turned to face his brother. “That's rather good. Why the hell haven’t you been doing that?”

A shadow passed over Leo’s face, but he grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know? But you’re not my partner, thank God. So let’s focus on our exiled prince here.”

Trystan blew out a breath. “Look, I’d like to get out of this island sooner rather than later. Can we get this over with?”

“Surprisingly, Leo makes a good point. Too big a change wouldn’t feel authentic. You still need to come across as you, just…”

“An upgraded version?”

“Exactly. So.” He pulled out a leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen. “We begin.”

Three hours later, Trystan had a headache, Liam was inching ever closer to a migraine, and Leo… Well, Leo had his face buried in another drink. But the sense of satisfaction permeated the air.

“There’s hope for you yet, Thorne,” Liam said delightedly. “Two more days or so and you’ll be ready for the cameras.”

“Oh joy.”

“But.” He planted his hands on the table and leaned forward. “If you screw this up, I’ll personally make sure that your next partner isn’t as nice as me.”

Trystan laughed. “Fear not, young Jedi. No offense, but I’m done with partners. Never again.”

[karahalloway]

@harleybeaumont I can't believe you managed to find a dominatrix Riley gif!!!

Wishing my bestie the best birthday ever! Happy birthday @angelasscribbles ❤️🥰

And can’t forget the fuckboy you made me fall in love with ..

And gonna throw in my boy too because .. well, this..

[karahalloway]

Ahhh the baseball game! I want to reread that fic now 😆

Spring Writing Reblog Game Prompt 1

Answer for yourself or your MC (or whatever character you wish to!)

Answer in a reblog

Tag however many you wish to play along!

What is your favorite thing about the spring season and why?

Tagging some people I think will enjoy it, no pressure to participate whatsoever! Please let me know if anyone wants to be added to the list for future prompts!!

@karahalloway @harleybeaumont @aussiegurl1234 @alj4890

@nestledonthaveone @peonierose @dcbbw @bebepac @kingliam2019 @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @storyofmychoices

@secretaryunpaid @walkerdrakewalker

@bascmve01 @twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @twinkleallnight

@kristinamae093 @indiacater @aallotarenunelma @inlocusmads

@lizzybeth1986 @noesapphic @thedistantshoresproject @petiteboheme @thosehallowedhalls @liaromancewriter @justcallmefox89