#trr bertrand

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

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 greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

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

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[cantfuckbracket]

Can't Fuck Bracket - Group Stage. Group 28: Characters That Inspired Paragraphs

Jiang Cheng (MDZS/The Untamed) versus Bertrand Beaumont (The Royal Romance) versus Joe Goldberg (You)

[ID: The unfuckable pride flag overlaid with the "no bitches" meme. Jiang is a Chinese man with long hair, shown with a woozy face; Bertrand is a white man in a sweater and blazer, frowning; Joe is a white man with short hair, shown staring blankly. Over it are pictures of the contestants. Over them are sparkles and a heart with a butt, and in between them are peach emojis crossed out with the word "vs" in them. End ID]

Propaganda:

Jiang Cheng: "He’s literally such a bad date that he is blacklisted from dating pools. He’s ranked as the 5th most handsome bachelor in the cultivation world (who is the panel of judges that decide this? I really don’t know!!!) yet despite this and him ALSO being rich and powerful on top of that, women still hate him!!! Hes just that unpleasant!!!!! He’s constantly being one-upped by his adoptive brother (deserved) (4th most handsome bachelor, btw) so much so that it’s become a meme, he even lost a best mdzs character poll tournament (in the first round iirc) to said adoptive brother’s pet donkey. Literally no one wants him!!!!! He is the loneliest saddest most pathetic sopping wet cat of a man I’ve ever seen!! I’m convinced he will die a virgin" / "Guy has no game, in the drama version (the untamed) he goes after a chick who’s clearly a lesbian and just never gets any"

Bertrand Beaumont:

• like father like son innit

• he's a cunt but not in a cool sexy way. in a pathetic overgrown rat kind of way that makes you want to punt him back into the sewers

• his name is bertrand archibald beaumont. would YOU wanna fuck him???? i thought not

• the amount of times you have to help him with his relationship. like the countless apologies for being a dumb stupid shit. helping him propose. help with his vows. im 110% convinced mc had to get on video chat for their wedding night so she could instruct bertrand on what to do

• yeeeeah you can't convince me they dont sleep in separate beds in separate rooms

• and also that nasty sweater vest and jacket?????? i know he hasnt washed them in years. of course no one would go near him

• that one country outfit

• killer eyebrows? eye'm gonna kill meself x

Joe Goldberg: "The first time he gets to fuck a woman that he's stalked he finishes in like 2 seconds. Never appears to be any better at fucking any of the countless times he fucks after that. I bet his dick feels like a limp fish. Also got arrested for having sex in a public place and constantly jacks off in public like I think if you were any good at sex you wouldnt need to be doing that. Tried to have a bisexual foursome once to get his wife to leave him and he wimped out so hard at the idea of fucking another man even though he is arguably bisexual himself. The most sexual tension he ever actually had was with a hallucination of another man he had in his own head. Just kind of pathetic"

[twinkleallnight]

Isle of Misfits

Chapter 10: Dealing with the Paparazzi.

Fandom: TRR x Platinum x OH x CoP x TNA x ?

Series: Isle of Misfits, Round Robin 24, hosted by @choicesprompts

Characters:

TRR – Liam Rys, Leo Rys, Olivia Nevrakis, Madeleine Amaranth

RoE – Katie Rys

TNA – Sam Dalton

Word count: 1240

The phone pinged.

‘1 new message’

Leo sighed and picked up to read. He was tired of explaining himself to Katie. The world never understood him or his desire to live a care free life. The paparazzi won’t let him breathe. But he thought Katie would understand. She would always know. He had tried to be honest with her, always.

He was struggling to stay abreast sailing through the rough waters when his brother decided to take the corrective action for Leo’s deeds . He was forced into this PR stunt of a circus with his childhood friend, Bertrand, playing the ring master. And as if Gods had not had enough of entertainment, he was paired with his ex, Madeleine! Just perfect!

Coming out of his reverie, he tapped his fingers on the home screen to check the new message .

‘Meet me at the beach restaurant in 10minutes to collect your dossier .

Countess Madeleine .’

“Better than having Sam Dalton as a mentor” he consoled himself. “His brains function through that Rocket in his pocket. At least Madeleine has her head over her shoulders.”

He dragged himself out of his bed. Sharp after 10 minutes he presented himself in front of the Countess.

“What do you plan to do with this?” He lifted the heavy bundle of papers filed into a folder neatly. ‘Prim and proper. So much like Madeleine.’

But Madeleine’s reply was totally off beat. “why you have not shaved?”

Leo shook his head as if trying to decipher. “What?” He moved his fingers through the over grown messy beard.

Madeleine scoffed, “ Let me make it clear Leo. You are constantly under lens.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t want.” He cut her off.

“You were the crown prince.”

“And I abdicated.” He tried to prove his point.

“Doesn’t matter. You can’t change who you are born as.”

“Why?” He pulls his fingers through his sandy blonde hair In frustration.

“Prince Harry abdicated too. But he is always in news.”

Leo scowled, “For heavens sake! Can’t they let me live in peace?”

“Only if you don’t give them chance to rip through your peaceful personal life.” She air quoted.

He nods in agreement. “And I can see, you are here to tell me, how.”

“Now you are talking business.” Madeleine smiled.

Leo closed his eyes for a moment. He had to do this for Katie, for his children. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what am I supposed to do?”

“You need to look perfect when you walk in public. It shows that you are leading a perfect and happy life.”

Leo smirked, “Yes it’s a very happy life.”

“Make it look like one and I can tell you, they will stop chasing you.”

“Fine! What next?”

“I have appointed a valet for you. He will help with your attire, hair and your over all appearance. You will not leave your room before he checks you.”

Leo rolled his eyes. He had no other option but to accept what was thrown at him.

For the next hour he went back and forth over the plans Madeleine had laid out for him.

******************************************

Bertrand’s office next day

Olivia was seated across Bertrand, discussing their next modus operandi. Olivia had successfully completed her task with Raleigh Carrera and was now assigned to the case of the exiled crown prince, Trystan Thorne, of Drakovia.

An urgent knock on the door brought them to a halt. They both looked at each other. Bertrand voiced, “Come in” , wondering who was their uninvited guest for the meeting .

Leo stormed in and slammed a tabloid onto the desk in front of Bertrand. Olivia stared back at Leo’s fuming face while Bertrand looked in confusion, “ What does this mean?”

“Open and see for yourself.” Leo pointed out his finger.

As soon as Bertrand picked the newspaper and unfolded it, his eyes went wide with shock. Olivia leaned towards him to peer into the news.

The newspaper had images of Leo and Madeleine sitting in a cafe. The first one had Madeleine gleaming at Leo and the second one showed them shaking hands near the exit. The tag line read ‘Former crown prince Leo Rhys, spotted with his ex, Countess Madeleine, at leisure on a private island. Do we smell something burning in Katie Rhys’ sweet home?”

A smile played on Olivia’s lips.

“Seriously?” Leo asked looking at Olivia’s reaction.

“It’s not about you.” She fanned away with her hand.

“From what I can see, it’s definitely about me.” He turned to Bertrand angrily, “This is how you were going to help me save my image and my marriage?”

Olivia spoke instead, “Its not his fault. Madeleine should have been more discreet while planning her meetings.”

Just as on clue, Madeleine stepped inside the office. “Speak for yourself. I know my job well.” She snatched the tabloid from Bertrand’s hand and glanced at the pics, dismissing it in an instant.

She focused on Leo, “ This is the reason I insisted you need to dress up properly. Had you been in a formal attire, this would have been ignored by the media as just another business meeting.”

“Great ! So now it’s all my mistake? You know what my mistake is? Trusting you guys with my future.”

Bertrand replied in a calm note, “I think you are over reacting. It’s just two pics, we can change the flow of events. My PR company can assure you, we are good at turning the waves in your favour.”

Before he completed his sentence, the doors to his office opened with a bang. Drake barged in raging in anger. “The hell you turn things only in your favour. You Beaumonts are the most mean and selfish men walking on this damn planet.” His voice echoed across the halls outside the office.

Bertrand’s eyes roamed behind Drake to check if there were any audience at his doors. He settled his gaze back on Drake. “May I know the reason for this intrusion?”

Drake sneered, “You call yourself CEO of a PR firm yet you don’t have updates of the newsflash on TV channels across Cordonia?”

Bertrand gave Drake an irritated glare and picked up the remote to switch on the flat screen hanging on the wall across his table. The screen brightened up with flashes of red haired lady bouncing on a dance floor. All of them in the room knew that was Olivia but the next few moments left everyone’s mouth hanging open.

Bertrand came into the frame trying to dance. He made some lewd gestures and then grabbed Olivia into a smooch.

Leo and Madeleine jolted back at Bertrand. Even Olivia had shock written all over her face. Definitely she was drunk that she didn’t remember this incident.

Bertrand gulped and fumbled with the remote to switch off the TV. He didn’t want to listen or let others in the room listen to the reporter’s remarks.

“I... I ... I can explain”, he said nervously.

Drake sprinted to him in two steps and held him by collar. “How many times are you going to explain? First my sister, then your back stabbing brother took Riley and now you target my girl friend?”

“Riley is with Max?” The baritone voice from the entrance of the office brought everything to standstill. They all turned to see Liam standing in a thunderstuck state.

Tags : @angelasscribbles @alj4890 @tessa-liam @lizzybeth1986 @3pawandme @annabellewynter @bascmve01 @bebepac @busywoman @dcbbw @choicesficwriterscreations @harleybeaumont @iaminlovewithtrr @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @neotericthemis @mom2000aggie @phoenixrising0308 @princess-geek @sazanes @secretaryunpaid @sfb123 @sillydg @tinkie1973 @txemrn @walkerdrakewalker @rubiwalker @703cowbarn @kyra75 @likealotus @kskvb20 @marietrinmimi @aussiegurl1234

[peonierose]

Round Robin: Chapter 5 - Don’t call me Angel

Book: OH & TRR crossover

Characters mentioned: Luna Auclair (F!OC - OH), Bryce Lahela (M!MC - OH), Tobias Carrick (M!MC - OH, Maxwell Beaumont (M!MC - TRR) and Bertrand Beaumont (M!MC - TRR)

Words in total: 3,373k

A/N: Masterlist for Round Robin @choicesprompts I’m participating for Round Robin for the 1st time and I really hope I could do the characters justice 🥰

Side note: Thank you so much for helping me with this story and helping me get inspired @aallotarenunelma & @annieruok94 🩷🩷🩷🩷

A few weeks ago…

Luna

The phone rang somewhere in the house while I was in the middle of an art project.

A few seconds later I heard footsteps and when I turned around I saw Bryce appear in the doorway, handing me my phone.

”Who is it?“ I asked and turned to my canvas again.

”No idea some fancy talking guy said he wanted to talk to you.“

”Is he sure he got the right person?“ ”Beats me.“

I furrowed my brow and pushed my dark blonde hair out of my face and accidentally got some teal paint in my hair. Good thing it’ll wash out.

”Hello?“ I wiped my paint covered fingers on a cloth I kept handy when I painted.

”Am I speaking to Ms. Luna Auclair?“ A deep voice with a slight accent can be heard from the other end.

”Yes. And who is this?“ I put the phone on speaker and got up slowly as I took my brushes to the sink to wash them.

”My name is Bertrand Beaumont from House Beaumont in Cordonia. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.“

”Hmm. Sorry doesn’t ring a bell.“ I say not able to resist teasing him. Bryce snickered next to me.

”You’re so mean.“ He mouthed, and I kissed his stubbled cheek, making him smile.

I turned back to the conversation, putting Bertrand out of his misery. Poor guy must’ve thought the worst of me.

”I’m just kidding Mr. Beaumont I know who you are. So what can I do for you?“ I turned off the faucet and put my paint brushes upside down so they could dry.

”I could use your help.“ He sounded hesitant, which made me instantly curious.

”Help with what?“

”We have our PR firm that we founded, and we’re trying to give some people a better public image.“ I took my phone into my hand.

”What does that have to do with me? I’m not a PR person. I have a bachelor's degree in fine arts, and I’m currently teaching art at the University of Hawaii.“

I took a look at my half-finished painting sitting on the easel, and decided to let the painting dry for now. I’ll keep working on it later.

When I closed the door Bryce and I walked towards the backyard, where we sat down in our beach chairs, while Bertrand’s voice kept coming out of the speaker.

”I’m very well aware. But I know you’re someone who’s skilled as an artist. And I know you think outside the box, and that’s exactly what we need.“

”I will need more information than that if you want my help.“ I could hear some commotion before another voice replaced Bertrand's.

”Luna right? Hi I’m Maxwell, Bertrand’s brother. Look, my brother's social skills suck sometimes. I have the cliff notes version if you want it?“

”Um…sure fire away.“

”Alright. A few weeks ago there was a bit of an…let’s call it an incident. Tobias Carrick was caught making out with the daughter of one of the hospital directors of Mass Kenmore. Someone apparently posted it online. Of course, it’s gone viral. The damage is done and he could get fired. Because apparently it’s unethical.“

”Poor Tobias. He’s a good friend of me and my fiancé Bryce so he has our sympathies especially since this a massive violation of their privacy to put the video online. I’m really sorry he’s going through that.“

I looked at Bryce who was as surprised as me to hear about this.

”Both Bertrand and I feel terrible, because Tobias seems like such a great guy and then for someone to swoop in and destroy his image like that. This is actually where you come into play. Let’s just say we’ve tried other people to fix his image, but it didn’t work.“

”Like I told your brother, I’m not a PR person. I have zero experience.“

”That’s not what we’re looking for. I’m talking about your other accolades. You’re not only one of the youngest people to finish your bachelor degree, but one where all your professors had only glowing compliments for you. You also published your own book, called Kala Kala - Overcoming anxiety with the help of art. Very nice read. I loved it, it’s also super colorful by the way. Not only do you teach art at the senior center, you’re an active member at arts on the fence, a non-profit organization in Honolulu, Hawaii. You love malasdas and are allergic to ginger. Should I continue? I’ve got more.“

”I…no…that’s fine. But how did you find out that much about me? Not everything is available online.“ I was wondering how the hell they got my phone number, and all the things in my bio Maxwell just mentioned. Why would they even be interested in seeking out my help?

”Let’s say a mutual, redhead found out about it. She bought some of your art, and she said you could be a good fit. I think the phrase »ovaries of steel« was mentioned.“

I gasped in awe.

”You don’t mean Olivia Nevrakis do you? Because then I’m so in. I’d love to meet her. And of course help out in any way I can.“

I heard a whoop and a sigh.

”Is that a yes?“ Maxwell asked unsure.

”Hold on a sec.“ I muted the conversation.

”What do you think B?“ I asked Bryce and I could see his beautiful face, that I could sketch every single day and not get tired of looking at.

”I mean I’m sorry Tobias is going through this. He’s our friend, but are you sure you’re up for it?“ His brown eyes were filled with worry as he gently caressed my stomach.

”I’ll be fine. Women have gotten pregnant before and have worked until they’ve given birth.“ I said with more conviction than I felt right now.

”I know you’re trying to be strong but okay. If you’re really sure, then I’m okay with it, but the smallest hitch, and we’re going back home. And don’t think of going alone. I don’t care who they are. You’re my fiancé and the mother of my kids. So they better believe I’ll be going with you.“

”I love your protective mode.“

”Out of all the things I’ve said, that’s what you focused on?“

I grinned and then I unmuted the conversation.

”Maxwell? I’m in.“

”Thanks Luna. I promise you won’t regret it.“

”I better don’t. Otherwise, you’ll hear me yell at you.“

Maxwell chuckled.

”You got it. There’ll be a private jet to pick you up. I’ll send you the arrival date. Can’t wait to meet you. From the pictures I’ve seen, you're really beautiful.“

”Careful there Casanova.“ Bryce chimed in, and I grinned as I pushed my hand through his soft brown hair, making him relax.

”No worries, I know she’s taken. We’ll see you soon in Cordonia, bye.“

Before I could say anything else the phone call ended. Bryce and I just stared at the phone and then laughed at how surreal the situation was.

Who would’ve thought I’d meet members of House Beaumont?

Though it looked as if a new adventure was coming our way.

5 days later

So here I was on day five not making any kind of improvement whatsoever.

I’ve tried talking to Tobias, but nothing worked to get through to him.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and there’s no part where he could lose his job. He’s been painted as the bad guy but doesn’t seem to care.

I got up this morning, let Bryce sleep in a little, as I went down to the pool to figure out a new strategy for how to fix this mess.

That’s when I saw Tobias flirting with a woman by the pool.

You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m trying to repair his image, and he’s out here flirting? Oh, hell no!

”Having fun?“ I asked when I stood next to him. Tobias turned his light green eyes to me, focusing on me rather than the woman he was just talking to a minute ago.

As if he wasn’t already good-looking enough, the smile he threw my way made his face even more beautiful.

”Good morning to you too, gorgeous.“

”Sorry buddy but that charm is wasted on me. I’m engaged and I’m expecting.“

”Does that mean I can’t flirt with you?“ Tobias smirked.

”You can. But it won’t have any effect.“ I said and took a towel from the rack and threw it at him.

”Get dressed.“ I said, and he took the towel, but didn't move. He threw an apologetic smile at the woman who was sitting next to him. She slipped him a small piece of paper and left. He watched her walk away and nodded his head in appreciation.

I cleared my throat, and he turned his gaze on me.

”Let me guess you have another glorious idea how to restore my image?“

”You can call it that. You have 10 minutes to get dressed and be back.“

”Let’s make it 15 alright?“ Tobias laughed.

”Now it’s 10 minutes.“

”Does that tone ever work on Bryce?“

”I’m not going to repeat myself.“

”Now you sound like a school teacher.“ He replied but got up. That’s progress I guess.

”Look, I was assigned to give you some sort of glowing makeover for your reputation. If you don’t want it? Fine. I have better things to do.“

Tobias stared back at me, his charm gone.

”Like what? Be all sunshiny? No offense, but don’t you ever have a bad day or get angry? In all the time you’ve been here you’re always smiling and never losing your cool. You’re more like a robot.“

His comment hit me more than I thought it would, so I got up in his face. Which is hard since he’s taller than me, but I made it work.

”Don’t mistake my bubbly personality for being just that. There’s a lot more to my character and my personality than being happy and positive. You don’t know me that well if your words are any indication.“

His eyes widened for a fraction.

”My bad.“

”And that was lesson number 12.“

Tobias rolled his eyes.

”What I don’t get is why they even assigned you to me? We’re polar opposites.“

”You know what’s interesting? In our whole convos, you’ve avoided talking about this whole incident that led up to this moment right now. You keep acting as if you don’t care, and it’s no concern of yours. But you avoid talking about the core problem.“

Tobias crossed his arm.

”Please enlighten me.“

”You’re not a bad guy. But you’d rather have people believe you’re a dick then let them think you have a heart. That’s interesting.“

”Are you done psychoanalyzing me?“ His voice sounded more and more irritated.

”If you think that we’re done? Then you don’t know me at all. We’re just getting started. Get dressed. And don’t be late. If you’re not down in 5 minutes I’m leaving. So dealers choice.“

”Fine, I'll go get dressed. Doesn’t mean this conversation is over.“

”Now it’s 9 minutes.“ I said and watched him quicken his steps while I sat down and enjoyed the nice view of the ocean.

10 minutes later…

”What is this place?“ He asked without really seeming to pay attention.

”It’s called a room. With walls and windows. And sometimes there’s even a door.“

He snickered.

”I know what a room is. I meant what are we doing in this room?“ He looked at all the cans of paint I had people assemble for this exercise.

”That’s the fun part. Team building exercise. It’s also pregnancy safe, which is a plus.“ I grinned, but he just looked at me and didn't reply.

”The point of this exercise is to let go of past hurts. Look at it this way, you can just let all your anger out. I like to call it angry painting.“

I take a can of paint, open it and see the color coral crush. I took it and threw some at the wall.

Tobias regarded me and I handed him another can, he took but stared at it as if it’s been touched by Medusa herself.

”Do you even know how to get angry?“ He looked at me skeptically as he kept holding the pint can in his hands.

”Excuse me?“

He opened the can of paint and a soft canary yellow joined the coral crush tone on the wall.

”Look, all you’ve said is how I have a heart and I don’t let others see it. But you don’t even know me. How do you expect me to trust you?“

”Is this finally the heart-to-heart you’re giving me? One that the others failed to get?“

”Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to partner up.“ He set the can down and was about to walk away.

”Giving up so soon? That’s a shame.“

”What?“ He stopped and slowly turned my way.

”I know you’re the type of guy who likes to do things rather than sit around and talk.“

”You’ve been paying attention? I’m shocked. Everybody knows I’m competitive, that's not a secret.“

”Of course I’ve been paying attention. You know I have bad days and angry moments too. I’m not just some blonde bimbo, who can’t count to three. I notice a lot more than people think.“

”Such as?“ He raised his eyebrows daringly as he leaned against the door frame.

”When you get nervous you bite your lip and clench your left fist. Which would lead me to believe you are left-handed.“

I kept going.

”Whenever I ask you a personal question or try to tackle the issue, you laugh it off, meaning you’re not ready to talk to me or improve your image. You think it’s fine and it doesn't need any polishing. If people don’t like you or think you’re a dick that’s on them.“

Tobias doesn’t say anything.

”I’d wager you’re someone who likes to do things his way or the highway. You don’t play well with others because you like to be in control. It’s hard for you to give anyone even an ounce of your trust because you believe trust is earned. You said it yourself I don’t know much about you, so why should you trust me? So did I get any of that right?“

Tobias didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move a muscle.

”Your silence indicates I got something right.“

”Even if you did get it right, it doesn’t mean I need your help.“

”So what you’d let your image get destroyed and let others decide on the narrative rather than trying to fix it? That doesn’t sound like the Tobias I got to know.“

”I can’t control what people think.“

”Maybe not. But you can let them see that there’s more to you. Do you know what I see right now?“

”What?“

”Someone who’s been hurt in the past, and now you’re hurt again. But you’re trying so hard to bury those feelings that you’re drowning in them.“

”Sounds like a therapy session.“ He mumbled.

”Art is therapy. Did you know I basically got bullied out of the art gallery I worked at in Boston?“

He shook his head. By the look in his eyes I could tell I got his attention.

”I had no idea, but I’m sorry to hear that. Why did you get fired?“

”I quit. I’ve been struggling with anxiety for years. And they’ve seen me as someone they can demean and push around. My voice was snuffed out. I’ve always seen art as freedom, choosing to make art work for you. Art has helped me find an outlet, find my voice. Let me be creative and put paint on a canvas when I can’t name my own feelings.“

He rubbed his neck as if uncomfortable by my word vomit.

”I had no idea. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick. I just…“

”You needed to vent so you let it out on me. I get it. We all lash out when we’re angry. Usually at the people we’re close to.“

”But you seem so calm and composed. You and Bryce never even fight. You’re so perfect.“

I threw my head back and let out a laugh. Making it echo from the walls.

I turned back to Tobias who was looking at me as if I grew another head.

”Do you really believe that? Of course Bryce and I fight. We have disagreements all the time. But we’ve learned how to handle them. Even if we don’t speak to each other for days, it doesn't mean we hate each other. But it means hey I need space I’ll talk when I’ve cooled off. We found our rhythm. We love and understand each other.“

He sighed and sat down, leaning on the wall that was just covered with paint, he winced when he realized it, but he didn’t sit down somewhere else.

”What a mess I’ve created, but maybe you’re right.“

”I must have a fever, or did you just say I’m right?“ I grinned and he smiled back.

”No you heard me correctly. You’re right. I’m scared to end up alone. So that’s why I pushed Chloe away. The woman from the video. We’ve gotten pretty close, and I don't know I panicked. I mean whoever took the video had no right to do that, but I guess people judge me and say how I’m sleeping with her because I’d like to get to the top. But that’s not true. I like the job I have. I have no desire to work in an office. I love working with patients. Hearing them tell me what’s wrong and finding a way to make things better for them.“

”Could it be that you’re scared you won’t measure up? Wanting to prove others wrong? You’d rather be the one who ends a relationship rather than the one who gets his heart broken?“

”Yes to all of the above.“ He nodded.

”Alright. That’s something we can work on.“ I said with renewed energy.

”How? We can’t just fix this mess in a matter of days.“

I smiled softly at him.

”No. But we can slowly build towards improving. You know there is a Hawaiian proverb my grandma always uses: A’ Ohe Pu’u Ki’eki’e Ke Ho’a’o ‘Ia e Pi’i.“

”Uhh…meaning?“ He asked.

”No cliff is so tall it cannot be climbed.“

”I kinda like that phrase.“ He said thoughtfully.

”Yeah it’s beautiful. You know what else? You’re not broken. It just means you haven’t figured out the right formula. I don’t want to turn you into someone you’re not. I just want you to realize that if you keep pushing people away who’d like to be in your life you’ll end up all alone. And that’s not what I want for you. You’re smart, funny and good-looking. Don’t let it go to waste.“

Tobias shook his head as grinned at me.

”You know? Now I understand why Bryce fell for you.“

I grinned at him.

”I told you so. There’s more to me than you might think.“

”I can see that. Also, please tell me I’m not the only one you boss around. At least tell me you do that to Bryce too.“

”Oh trust me I do.“ I laughed again because it felt as if we reached a good point. And I’m glad I could get him to open up.

I can see a big grin forming on Tobias face and I already knew there’s something snarky coming.

”Also I did get something right on the first try.“ He grinned.

”Let me guess how to do sex right.“ I sighed.

”No. It was actually how to pick friends. Maybe after we solve this mess I can try and restore some of my friendships.“

”You got this Carrick.“ I slapped his arm.

”Now you sound like Lahela.“

I winked at him.

”Now what?“ He asked after getting up.

”Now we slowly improve your image. With me by your side things can only get better.“ He laughed out loud and we continued to throw paint at the wall. We might’ve not solved everything, but we’re getting there.

[angelasscribbles]

Unexpected Chapter 7: Red Flags

Series: Unexpected

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Maxwell, Riley x Liam

Rating: MA

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word Count: 2,221

My other stuff: Master List.

Liam lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, turmoil swirling through him.

He had finally bedded the American suitor. She was still naked, sleeping innocently beside him as he struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions she inspired in him.

His moment of vulnerability had been real. His developing feelings for her were also real, but he was leading her on with even the implication that he was going to choose her to marry.

He couldn’t. The council would never approve it, his father would never allow it, and the rest of the nobility would never accept it.

The common people and the press might love her, but she was ill-suited to be queen.

None of the other suitors interested him, it was true, but his interests were never the point. He had tried to be fair, tried to give each woman an equal chance but that ended today. There was no point. She was the one that he wanted, but he would never be allowed to make that choice. Last night everything had seemed so simple, but in the cold, harsh light of day, he knew better.

So, while he was done pretending that any other woman had a chance of taking his heart, his impassioned resolve to choose her for marriage crumbled in the face of reality.

He had to tell her, had to be honest with her. He determined to explain the situation to her immediately but as he glanced down at her sleeping form, refusal to accept his fate surged through him. There had to be a loophole. His mind spun with possibilities, solutions, and avenues that would give him what he wanted. There had to be a way. There was always a way.

He picked up his phone and typed a quick message. She stirred in the bed beside him. Tossing the phone aside, he rolled back toward her just as her eyes fluttered open. He smiled at her with genuine warmth. There was no reason to spoil the night they had just shared, especially when there might be a way around all of it.

He ran a hand down the side of her cheek, “Good morning, my love.”

“Mm,” she stretched her entire body before responding, “Good morning.”

God in heaven, why did she have to look so damn good lying in his bed? Like she belonged there. He placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before telling her, “As much as I’d love to stay here with you, I have a meeting to get to. But please, stay as long as you like. I’ll let the guards know to bring you whatever you require. Breakfast, a change of clothes, whatever you need.”

He would give her the world if he could.

“Are you sure you can’t spare a few minutes?” She purred as her arms wrapped around his neck and her body arched into his.

His entire body exploded with heat in response, “I can be late….”

Forty minutes later he was out the door of his suite, humming happily as he made his way to the monthly budget meeting.

He hurried through his morning engagements distractedly, impatient for the only meeting that mattered. The most important one of the day, perhaps of his life.

Just after his luncheon with the Prime Minister of Italy, the answers he’d been waiting for all day arrived.

They were not the answers he had hoped for.

“You can’t marry her,” Drake slapped a manilla folder down on the desk in front of him, “You asked me to look into her background, I looked. She has a criminal record! Even if the council could overlook her commoner status, they won’t, and shouldn’t overlook her history of scamming and fleecing romantic partners.”

“No,” Liam shook his head in denial as he pulled the folder closer, “The initial background check would have found that!”

“Well, technically she’s never been convicted of anything. But I went beyond the initial check. You said to do a deep dive, so I did a deep dive. She’s had more than one complaint lodged against her by people she scammed out of their money.”

“She’s a con artist?” Liam flipped through the file quickly.

“Specifically, she targets men and women with a little bit of wealth. Takes them for what she can get financially, wipes out their bank accounts then disappears. I’m sorry, Li. I know you really liked her. But I doubt her being our waitress that night was an accident.”

“No,” he shook his head again as he closed the file and pushed it back across the desk, “No one knew we were there; she had no way of knowing who I was-“

“Come on, man,” Drake scoffed, “She didn’t have to know you were a prince to know you were loaded. Your high-end clothing, that Rolex on your wrist, Tariq whining for filet mignon…”

“Perhaps. But it couldn’t have been pre-planned. You chose that restaurant at the last second.”

Drake held his hands up in front of him, “All right. I’ll concede that it wasn’t premeditated. But when she realized you had money….”

“But she knew that it was only for one night. She could not have predicted Max asking her to come back with us.”

“No. But when he asked, she sure jumped at the chance, didn’t she?”

“But she couldn’t have known ahead of time that was going to happen. So, what happened between us in New York was real, Drake, I know it was!”

“Even if it was, there’s no way you can marry her. The optics-“

“The press loves her. We can bury this.”

“Look, I get it,” Drake softened at the desperation in Liam’s voice, “Leo had to abdicate the damn throne so we could be together. But-“

“Can it be suppressed?”

“Maybe. But if it ever comes to light, it will do irreparable damage to your reputation. I don’t think it’s a risk worth taking. Especially since she’s probably only playing you for your money. What happens if she marries you then absconds with millions from Cordonia’s coffers?”

Liam’s body sagged heavily into the leather upholstery of his chair as he considered the repercussions. He had to put Cordonia first no matter his own feelings.

Was she really faking everything?

He could handle the nobility; council members could be bribed. His father would be the biggest obstacle to a union with the American.

But he couldn’t marry her if she was only after his money. He couldn’t risk Cordonia, or his heart, like that.

Drake’s voice drew him out of his musings, “Besides that, I’m pretty sure there’s something going on between her and Beaumont.”

Liam’s head snapped up, his brows furrowing, “Bertrand?”

“No,” Drake snorted, “Maxwell.”

Liam sat up straight in his chair, steepling his fingers and bringing them to his lips, “Why do you think that?”

“They’re always together. He acts weird around her-“

“You always think he’s weird.”

“Weirder than usual. And he’s at her door at all hours of the day and night.”

“His house is sponsoring her.”

“It is,” Drake rubbed his eyes with a sigh, “I have no proof. Just my gut instinct.”

Liam tapped his lips as he thought, “He does have a history of being….inappropriate with women at times.”

“At times?” Drake snorted, “Okay.”

“Do you think he’s been harassing her?”

Drake’s mouth fell open, “That’s what you got out of this conversation?”

“No one deserves to be harassed, Drake.”

“No, of course not! I just meant….” He looked up at the ceiling as if beseeching the almighty for intervention, “Fine. I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

“Yep,” he muttered under his breath as he rose, “I’ll make sure the scammer isn’t being harassed by the pervert that brought her here.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Liam checked his watch. He had ten minutes before his next appointment. Pulling his phone from his jacket pocket, he sent a text to Riley asking her to meet him after the official Suitors Dinner Regina had scheduled for the evening.

He got an immediate response. He always did. Was that because she was falling for him or because she was playing him? He needed answers, and he intended to get them.

Riley breezed down the hallway in the suitor's wing of the palace, still on a high from her time with Liam. After a little earth-shattering morning sex, she had ordered a  decadent breakfast of raspberry crêpes, rashers, and a ham and cheese soufflé and then taken her time eating it, savoring every bite.

She had taken Liam up on his offer and sent the guards for her favorite bath products and a change of clothes from the palace boutique. After a long leisurely bath in the impossibly huge soaking tub in the royal suite, she had booked an appointment at the palace spa. Her nails had needed a touch-up. She had gotten in immediately.

Yes, she thought as she made her way back to her room, a girl could get used to this life. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t see him until he spoke, “Where were you last night?”

She slid her eyes sidewise at him, “None of your business.”

Max matched her pace, keeping his body as close behind hers as he could without actually touching her, his hands shoved into his pockets to keep himself from touching her, “But you never came back after your meeting with Bert.”

“I came back.”

“To the palace maybe, but not to your own room.”

She stopped outside her door, and he stumbled into her. Turning to face him, she pinched his cheeks between her fingers and leaned close, “We need to have a talk about boundaries, Max.”

She turned back to open her door then pulled him through and closed it.

At the end of the hall and around the corner, a figure watched them from the shadows.

Drake’s brows were drawn together in a frown. Maybe Liam was right. Maybe Max was being creepy with her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d been inappropriate with a woman. If he were a commoner instead of a son of the nobility, his ass would have been in a jail cell long ago. But his brother always managed to dig him out of trouble somehow. Bribery most likely.

Surely Bertrand would want to know if his brother was harassing their sponsee. He turned on his heel and headed toward the duke’s room.

Bertrand’s head lifted from the copy of Civility: Manners, Morals and the Etiquette of Democracy that had him thoroughly engrossed as an incessant pounding noise issued from the door of his room. With a sigh, he placed a bookmark between the pages, carefully closed the tome, and sat it on the end table with meticulous precision, ensuring it could not be knocked off by a careless passerby.   

He rose from his seated position and took a moment to smooth his clothing out. One never wanted to look rumpled or unkempt, after all. He crossed the room unhurriedly and pulled the door open slowly. His eyes widened as he took in his visitor. “Sir Drake! What are you-“

“Can I come in? It’s kinda important,” Drake shoved past him without waiting for an answer.

“By all means,” Bertrand grumbled as he moved aside, “Why wait for an invitation?”

“Don’t need one.”

“It is my room-“

“In Liam’s palace,” Drake reminded him drily, “Do you want to know what your brother’s up to or do you want me to just report him to-“

“No, no, no!” Bertrand closed the door quickly before anyone happening by could overhear, “Please…” he gestured toward the scattered seating before squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “What has he done now?”

Drake didn’t bother to sit as he dove in without preamble, “He’s been harassing Riley.”

Bertrand froze as his eyes popped open. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I overheard him questioning her about her whereabouts last night and when she told him it was none of his business, he pressed the issue, and she told him they needed to have a discussion about boundaries.”

“Where was she last night?”

“That doesn’t matter. The point is-“

“Was she with Liam?” Bertrand tried to suppress the glee in his tone.

“I’m not here to divulge Liam’s business. Are you going to put a leash on your brother or do I need to do it?”

“No need for that. I’ll handle it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Yeah…sure,” Drake started for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob, he turned back to Bertrand, “By the way…how much do you know about her past?”

“Lady Riley?”

“No, Queen Regina. Yes, Lady Riley!”

“Just that she was your waitress in New York and shared some kind of adventure with the prince. Why do you ask?”

Drake regarded him critically for several long seconds as Bertrand’s body twitched and his eyes darted around the room, landing everywhere but his face.

He was lying.

“No reason.” Drake exited the room and then stood in the hallway outside Bertrand’s door contemplating the duke’s deception. What was he hiding?

He didn’t know, but he was damn sure going to find out.

[cordonianroyalairlines]

Cordonian Royal Airlines

…where we treat every passenger like royalty. The ultimate in air travel. Luxurious private jets for booking to exclusive locales. Small, private, elite.

Welcome to Cordonian Royal Airlines (CRA), a TRR AU in the spirit of Wings and LA to Vegas.  

Leo and Liam Rys, two brothers, both pilots, decide to go into business together, operating a small, private, elite airline that flies exclusive clientele to exotic locales in the lap of luxury. A non-chronological series of loosely related one-shots and drabbles around the exploits of the crew of CRA.

This collaborative project is a joint effort of six creators: angelasscribbles, karahalloway, harleybeaumont, aussiegurl1234, nestledonthaveone and alj4890. Updates might not be frequent or often, but we hope they’re hilarious.

Pilots/Owners: Leo Rys, Liam Rys

First Officers: Drake Walker, Bertrand Beaumont

Flight Attendants: Riley Brooks, Maxwell Beaumont, Hana Lee, Kiara Theron

Office Manager: Madeleine Amaranth

World Renown In-Flight Chef: Olivia Nevrakis

Receptionist/Booking: Penelope Ebrim

Security: Bastien Lykel

Masterlist

Turbulence: Riley confronts Drake with unexpected results.

All I Want for Christmas Part 1: The crew is grounded by a blizzard.

All I Want for Christmas Part 2: Drake does something unexpected.

Ball Drop: Drake and Riley end up in the same place on NYE.

Staking a Claim: Riley's ex shows up on a flight. Drake is less than pleased about it.

[txemrn]

Book: TRR/TRH (events actually occur in TRH Book 1)

Pairing: Liam x MC (Riley); Bertrand x Savannah

Word Count: ~2500

Warning: innuendos; a little language; fluffiness

A/N: I usually enjoy writing fairly angsty TRR material, but when I started gearing up for this past week's @kingliamappreciationweek, I decided I really wanted to write something new that wasn't so dramatic. So, I started thinking about how Liam is a history buff... and if y'all don't know this by now, I'm from Texas, and the thought of that tall glass of water knowing about my home state's history...whew... Give me a moment... This is pure silliness. It's a re-write of Bertrand's bachelor party/Savannah's bachelorette party, and it's just... silly. It does not follow canon very well. But, I hope you still enjoy it! Happy KLAW 2023, friends!

A/N 2: This is my submission for @choicesflashfics week 30! I will be using prompt 3: "That's how the story goes." It will be in bold.

A/N 3: These characters and some of the plot belong to our dear friends Pixelberry. This was not truly pre-read or beta'd. Please excuse my errors.

~👑~

"Alright, lil' ladies with the beautiful bride-to-be!" A burly bartender with a thick drawl and matching beard comes out from behind the counter, making his way to Savannah Walker's bachelorette party.  Delivering a tray of golden caramel-colored shots, he piles each one high with decadent whipped cream. "Here ya go: six blow job shots."

Hana spews out her cocktail, covering her mouth with rosy cheeks.

"Mon dieu! Did–did he just say–"

"Like you don't know what that is, Kiara," Olivia snorts. "Drink up, poufiasse."

Savannah, Madeleine, and Riley cover their giggles, leaning into one another as they take their drinks.

"Wait," Hana holds up her hands as they prepare to toast their third round of shots. "Where's Penelope?"

"Oh, I'm here! I'm here!" She runs up, out of breath, her short hair and denim dress completely drenched.

"What on earth happened to you?" Riley starts grabbing napkins.

"I was checking in with my dog sitter, but the reception here is awful. Plus, it's raining like cats and dogs out—oooooo!" Penelope's eyes beam at the sight of the shots. "What are these?" She leans down to sniff before humming in approval.

"Blow jobs," Olivia smirks.

"Oh!" Penelope nods with curious fascination. "Leo said that about my lips one time–"

"He said what?" Madeleine raises an eyebrow.

"I know, I didn't understand what he meant either."

"No, that's not–nevermind."

"Hold up." Riley raises her hands to silence everyone before turning to Penelope. "Raining like cats and dogs?" She grimaces, glancing at Savannah. "I hope the guys are alright–"

"Gunther!" 

The sudden boisterous voice of Drake Walker echoes through the dive bar, the doors swinging loudly, clapping up against the wooden walls. The large bartender turns, then brightens when he sees his old-time customer and friend coming into his establishment. 

"Whiskers, is that you?"

The girls quietly glare at one another, mouthing the word 'whiskers.'  

The two men grab each other's hands in a shake before pulling into a brotherly hug. Liam, Bertrand and Maxwell file in through the door, shaking droplets from their wet clothes.

"You guys!" Riley jumps up to greet her husband. 

Savannah follows behind, wrapping her arms around Bertrand before brushing a kiss against his lips. "What are y'all doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Maxwell chuckles, throwing his thumb behind his shoulder.

"The campgrounds were rained out," Liam explains, combing his wife's hair behind her ear. "We thought we could stick it out as long as the creek didn't rise too high. But then," he shakes his head, chuckling, "the tents flooded. The truck almost got stuck in the mud."

"Our clothes and shoes are airing out back at the house," Bertrand states, watching his bride fix his wet hair.

"Wow," Olivia snickers, "so much for roughing it for your bachelor party, huh, Beaumont?"

"I beg your pardon," Bertrand stiffens in annoyance, "we almost died out there, duchess."

"It's water."

"Centimeters upon centimeters–"

"Imagine meters of it. Frozen–"

"Well," Riley interjects the budding feud, "I, for one, am happy you guys are out of the nasty weather." She holds her hand up to the bartender, "first round on the crown!" 

"I like the sound of that," Maxwell chuckles.

"'First round on the crown'?" Liam whispers in his wife's ear, humored.

Riley scrunches up her nose, a mischievous grin crawling across her lips. "What can I say?" She giggles, slinking an arm around her husband’s waist. "I've been a queen for over a month, and I haven’t declared anything yet." She turns to her friends. "Let them drink booze!" She glances back at Liam, who's shaking his head at his tipsy wife. "What? I was channeling my inner Marie Antoinette."

"I… caught the reference," he narrows his eyes, gently placing a grip around Riley's neck. "I hope she’s not the inspiration of your own reign," he squeezes his fingers playfully, lowering his voice into a growl. "I'd hate for you to end up like her."

"You're not convincing me otherwise with your hand around my throat, my king." They knowingly snicker to one another, sharing a kiss.

"Okay, you newlyweds," Olivia snickers, rolling her eyes before turning to Drake. "So, um, Whiskers?"

He crosses his arms. "Yes…Red?" He collects a tray of glasses and a fifth of whiskey from Gunther to bring to the table.

"Curious minds want to know about this nickname."

"Awww, you’re thinking about me, Red?" She scoffs as he purposely bumps into her shoulder. "Maybe you'd rather a demonstration of why they call me Whiskers–"

"Drake Elmer!" Savannah scolds. "You're disgusting." She glances to the ladies. "Only Gunther calls him that, and the only reason he calls him that is because of Dad."

"Dad had a rule," Drake air quotes, "that I couldn't taste whiskey until I had whiskers." He nods towards the bartender, "Gunther there served me my first whiskey right after Dad's funeral–"

"Drakey!"  The syrupy voice of Savannah's ex-boyfriend bellows from across the room. "And he brought his royal round up!" The broad-shouldered red-head gives a curt bow, removing his Stetson as he notices Liam, switching to a British accent. "Your majesty."

Liam nods cordially before casually turning towards Riley. "What is it with you Americans thinking everyone in Europe talks with that accent?" Riley giggles under her breath, pinching her husband teasingly.

"Bert!" Chuck opens up his arms, pulling the duke into a tight, bear hug. "How's our groom? Come down here to flex your trivia knowledge?"

"Trivia?" Maxwell questions.

A sudden jolt of excitement hits Drake, his eyes widening as he looks to Gunther. "Is that tonight?"

"You bet yer' asses, Whiskers. $250 cash prize and a bottle of Jack to share."

"Whatd'ya say, Drakey? For old time's sake?" Chuck holds out his hand. Without giving it much thought, Drake clasps Chuck's calloused hand, pulling him into a quick hug. The men begin to hoot and grunt, clapping as they turn to join the rest of Chuck's friends in the corner.

But then Chuck stops, spinning on his heel. He glares at Bertrand before fixing a charming smirk to his mouth. "Where are my manners? Bert, the team is full, or else I'd invite you to join–"

"That's–" Bertrand clears his throat, "--quite alright, I assure you–"

"I mean," Chuck motions to Liam and Maxwell, "unless y'all wanted to make your own team." He glances over his shoulder, “Gunther, what’s tonight’s theme?

"Texas history, fellas," Gunther announces. "Trivia about the greatest fucking country in the world. Texas."

"Ahh. See?" Chuck swings out his arms, shrugging. "That’s how the story goes. Y'all better sit this one out."  With the deep clack of his cowboy boots, he adjusts his belt buckle before slowly strutting back to his seat. 

Seeing the defeat in his face, Savannah runs a hand across Bertrand's chest before giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry about it, hun," she softly croons, "that's not even your idea of fun anyway."

Bertrand grows rigid. "What do you mean? I like to have fun–"

"Of course, B, just… in other… ways–"

"I," he pulls away from his fiancée, pressing his finger into his chest, "am… the epitome of fun–"

"You're right, but–"

"I'm a crate full of apes!"

Riley looks over her shoulder to Liam, whispering, "Does he know that it's a barrel full of–?"

"Shhh," Liam softly hushes, "just let him go."

"You there!" Bertrand shouts to Gunther, causing everyone to freeze. "We would like to play."

"Uh, Bertrand? A word." Maxwell motions for his brother to join him as he stumbles over to Liam. "Are you crazy?" He whisper shouts. "These people already enjoy making fun of us. Why do you want to do this?" 

"It's the principle of it all," Bertrand grows serious.

Maxwell sighs. "What do you think, Li?"

Liam looks up at Bertrand whose gaze is now attentive to Savannah. She laughs at something Kiara says, causing Bertrand's demeanor to slump a little more, as if each second with her reminds him he's not worthy of her.

Liam gets that.

"I think we should do it."

"See, Bertrand? Even Li–wait, what?" Maxwell's jaw drops. "You think this is a good idea?"

"It's just a game, right?" Liam winks handsomely. "Besides, I think Bertrand needs this."

"But Li… Texas trivia? Those guys reek of BBQ, football and leather."

“And we have survived how many secret coups attacks? Liam shrugs before patting the younger Beaumont on the back. "This could be fun."

—

Liam, Bertrand and Maxwell settle at a bar top table near four other teams, including Chuck and Drake's group.  As Gunther passes out electronic buzzers, he explains the rules. Chuck rubs his hands together in cocky delight as Bertrand wipes his brow with small drink napkins.

"Alright! Is everybody ready?" Gunther announces over a karaoke machine microphone. "Let's begin. When is Texas Independence Day?"

Chuck buzzes in with a proud, sarcastic snicker. "March 2nd."

"Correct!"

"Ahh, snaps, you guys," Maxwell hangs his head in his hands. "This was a bad idea."

"It's only been one question," Liam encourages.

"And we're already losing!" Maxwell whines, covering his eyes. 

"Next question. Before her independence, Texas was governed by how many different nations?"

Liam hits the buzzer, turning to an unsuspecting Bertrand. "Psst… how many forks are in the traditional Cordonian place setting?"

Bertrand scoffs. "Six!" He barks out loud before realizing everyone is silent, staring at him.

"Correct!"

"Huh?" Maxwell looks up, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Way to go, Bertrand!" Riley and Savannah cheer as the other ladies clap and whistle.

"Alright," Gunther starts, "next question…"

The trivia night continues, back and forth, question for question. The other teams at the bar had opportunities to answer, but overall, Chuck and Drake's team remained in the lead.

But not by much.

The men from Cordonia gave them quite a run for their money, thanks to Liam and his wealth of knowledge. But although Liam knows the majority of the answers, he is yet to speak for the team; rather, he turns to Bertrand each time after hitting the buzzer, prompting him with a different question that possesses the same answer.

"Okay, folks," the bartender announces, "this is the last question. If this team," Gunther points to Bertrand, Liam and Maxwell, "chimes in and gets it right, it will tie the game, sending us into sudden death." The bar fills with cheers, patrons shouting with excitement and pounding their fists on the tables. "Here we go. The Texas Revolution started in what year?"

There's a slight hesitation, but finally Liam turns to Bertrand and states, "The ending of the Bavarian Regency of Greece." Bertrand furrows his eyebrows, but Liam gives him a reassuring nod as he hits the buzzer.

He clears his throat. "1835?"

Everyone freezes, a hush falling over the bar in anxious anticipation.

"Folks? We've got ourselves a tied game!"

Bertrand exhales heavily, closing his eyes. Liam pats him on the back while Maxwell cheers, tugging on his brother's shoulder.  The entire bar is in a fuss as Chuck and Drake stare confusingly at each other. Gunther gets back on the mic, and explains the sudden death round, which requires for each team to choose one member to represent them.

"You've got this, Li," Maxwell applauds, Bertrand smiling and nodding.

"I think… Bertrand should take this."

"Pardon my insolence, sir, but I do not find that to be a wise decision," Bertrand argues.

"I agree with my brother, Li," Maxwell nods, "you knew all those answers–"

"But Bertrand scored us those points," Liam counters, "he needs to put up a fight until the game is over. It's the principle, remember?"  

Hearing Liam repeat his words, Bertrand grins, courage blooming in his chest. He looks to Savannah who is clapping, mouthing the words 'I'm so proud of you.' 

"I'll do it."

Bertrand and Chuck step forward for the sudden death round, peering into each other's eyes. "Are we ready, gentlemen?" Gunther asks. Both men shake their heads yes, their gazes not leaving each other. "Let the best man win."

For a split second, Bertrand glances at his fiancée, and realizes he might not be the best man, but to her, he is. And no matter what, he's already won.

"Here's the question: made popular by an Alamo hero, this portable weapon that can kill and butcher game. Name the weapon–"

Chuck buzzes in. "The Swiss army knife." He smiles brightly, pulling out his own pocket blade and twirling it in victory.

Bertrand turns back to Liam and Maxwell, shaking his head. Maxwell mouths, 'that's okay! You did your best!' Bertand shakes his head more adamantly, but now he’s starting to grin.

"Actually," the bartender starts, "that’s incorrect, Chuck." Gunther turns towards Bertrand. "Do you have an answer, my foreign friend?"

Bertrand smirks. "You are referring to the Bowie knife."

A stillness hushes the crowd; Savannah and Riley anxiously wait, hands clasped with bated breath.

"That… is correct!"

The entire room erupts with shouts of praise and earth-shaking applause.  Several men remove their ten-gallon hats to whoop in honor of the winner, the women of the bachelorette party squealing in glee.

Drake shakes Bertrand's hand before pulling him into an endearing hug. Liam and Maxwell both clap the duke on the back in congratulations. Savannah quickly cuts in, throwing her arms around her fiancé as her lips crash into his. Gunther comes over with the prize, and shakes Liam's hand. Maxwell snatches the bottle of Jack and the cash, and holds it over his head like a trophy.  More shots and drinks are ordered, the night carrying on into a wild honky-tonk of a dance party.

Riley finds Liam, roping her arms around his neck as he secures his large hands to her waist.

"I'm so proud of you, partner," Riley attempts a drawl. Liam laughs, kissing her forehead as they begin to sway to the slow country beat. "Bertrand said that you actually never gave him any answers; you just… asked him questions that had the same answer"

Liam nods slowly, "Yep."

"Why?"

"Oh, my queen," he beams looking down at her, "it's the principle."

"The principle?" She cocks an eyebrow.

"A man wants to win a woman's heart."

"But Savannah loves him–"

"That's not the point," Liam counters. "A man wants to win her over… and over and over again. If I gave him the answers, that would've cheated him out of proving to her and to himself that he's worthy of her."

"Do you ever feel that way about me?" She croons.

A rosy hue swirls across Liam's cheeks. "More than you realize."

Riley presses a tender kiss to her husband’s chin before continuing their dance. "But… I gotta ask. When did you become so smart about Texas history?"

Liam chuckles. "I've been best friends with Drake Walker since I was 8 years old. We used to do our studies together, and… he was terrible at history."

"So?"

"So?" Liam stifles his toothy grin, licking his bottom lip. "Who do you think did his Texas history homework?"

"William Rys!"

~👑~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~👑~

Tags (please let me know if you wish to be added/removed)

PERMA

@alj4890 @ao719 @charlotteg234 @issabees @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @neotericthemis @nikirennie87 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

ALL TRR

@3pawandme @alyshak92 @iaminlovewithtrr @katedrakeohd @lovingchoices14 @malblk21 @rubiwalker @sfb123 @twinkleallnight

[choices-binglebonkus]

I just realized that every single main character in TRR/TRH/TRF needs a shit ton of therapy. Particularly Liam, who gets consistently fucked over throughout the series, and the MC, who had a remarkably traumatic birth without an epidural or any pain relief of any kind in addition to all the other shit she’s been through.

[kristinamae093]

Thank you so much for the tag, @txemrn !!! 🙃

I have two, yes two snippets to share. I'm shocking myself right now, lol.

What are you working on??? @ao719 @queenrileyrose @dcbbw @harleybeaumont @angelasscribbles

I hope I did this right 🤣 if not it's because I'm new to this, and still learning.

Good stuff under the break! 🙃 👇 👇 (Proceed with caution.)

Ghosted- Chapter 2- A Plan. (This is more than six, lolololol)

Maxwell sat across from Liam at dinner, but avoided eye contact. The two didn’t speak, in fact nobody really spoke. Regina asked about Riley’s whereabouts, but Bertrand quickly steered the conversation elsewhere. The King and Queen were the only two at the table who finished their meals, everyone else opted to pay more attention to the wine.

Maxwell was pulled from his daze by Bertrand, as he tapped on his glass to get the room’s attention. “If everyone would please enter the reception hall, we will proceed with the festivities.” He stated, very matter of factly.

Maxwell continued to sit at his seat and ignored Bertrand’s request. He knew it was time for their infamous toast, and his anxiety began to heighten the more he thought about it. Everyone expected to see three Beaumonts, and he had no idea how Bertrand planned to spin things.

The next snippet is a sneak peak of what I've been working on for the @springfeverpitch event happening this week!

One Shot- A Wild Ride (This is not more than six lololol 🙈)

At that moment, he would have cut off his right leg to trade spaces with the foreign object she rode. Give up the throne, throw everything away, all for her to tame him as if he were the rowdy steed beneath her. His mind swirled with fantasies as the saliva from his mouth fully dissolved.

[harleybeaumont]

Never Have I Ever

Chapter 21 - Let's Just Forget the World

Book- TRR

Series- Never Have I Ever

Pairings- Bertrand x MC 

Chapter Synopsis- Bertrand has a surprise for Riley.

Chapter Warnings- language, drinking, innuendo -but mostly this is a fluffy chapter

Rating - Mature

Word Count- 1,830

A/N - once again, sorry it's been a while since I've posted a chapter. I included a snippet of what happened in chapter 20 to refresh your memory.

A/N 2- submitting for @choicesprompts flufftober event

Song Inspiration - this song is absolutely perfect for this chapter and gives me all the feels. Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.

_____________________________________________________________

When they arrived back at the estate, it was already dinner time. Riley quickly popped into Max’s bedroom to check on him, and found him sound asleep in bed.

“I’m starving.” Riley sighed as she made her way toward the kitchen, taking a seat beside Bertrand at the bar.

“What would you like to eat? The chef has left for the night, but I can call and have something delivered for you.”

“Anything.. But you pick! I am mentally drained and honestly don’t think I could make another decision tonight if my life depended on it.”

Bertrand opened his mouth to protest, but paused as an idea hit him. “I know just the thing,” he smiled shyly and pulled out his phone.

He was going to have to step way out of his comfort zone for this. 

Chapter 21- Let’s Just Forget the World

After half an hour of bustling around the estate, Bertrand was finally ready to let Riley into his room to show her what he had been working on. He paused outside of the closed bedroom door nervously, starting to have second thoughts. “Why don’t we just go out and pick up dinner instead?”

“Nuh-uh. I have got to see what you’ve been up to. Now let me in.. before I make you,” she smirked teasingly, tracing her fingers down the front of his chest.

Bertrand sucked in a sharp breath and a shiver ran down his spine at her touch. There was no way he could say no to her. He had already accepted that fact. “Alright,” he grinned, reluctantly stepping aside.

He slowly swung the door open and Riley gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth. “Bert..” Her eyes began welling up with tears as she stepped toward the sitting area of his bedroom which had been converted into a blanket fort, with pizza, wine, and pillows on the floor. Fairy lights, which she was pretty sure he got from Max, were laid across the top of the blankets, casting a warm glow around the room. 

Bertrand watched her face with a mixture of hope and apprehension. He had never done anything so ridiculous or sentimental for anyone before and it was terrifying. “I.. I just thought that-”

Riley immediately engulfed him in a hug, squeezing tightly and burying her face in his chest. She sniffled and when she pulled back she was grinning ear to ear. “You did this?”

“I.. Yes.”

“You, Bertrand Beaumont, made a blanket fort.. for us?”

He felt his cheeks heat up and he opened his mouth, not sure what to say. “If you don’t like it, we can go to a nice restaurant or something!”

“This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me!” She wrapped her arms around him again, squeezing tightly. “I’m so touched that you would share such a special family tradition with me. Thank you.” 

He grinned, shocked that she recalled the story he told her about he and Maxwell doing this with their mother when they were young. “You remember?”

“Of course I do! I remember everything you say, Bert.” She laughed at his skeptical smile, “I mean, most things. I’m sorry I can’t remember things like King Leopold’s favorite goldendoodle’s middle name.. but when it comes to you, I remember everything.”

He chuckled as his cheeks pinkened, “You’re just flattering me.”

“I’m not, but I accept your flattery.”

The two sat beside one another under the blanket canopy and Bertrand poured them a glass of wine while Riley placed a slice of pizza on each of their plates. She was absolutely radiating excitement and Bertrand couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

“What?” She grinned in his direction before taking a sip from her glass.

Bertrand shook his head, chuckling. “Nothing.”

“Are you laughing at me?!”

“I am not. I’m just..I just feel..”

He looked away shyly and she took his hand. “Feel what?”

He met her eyes. “Happy.”

Her heart swelled and she rubbed her thumb across the back of his knuckles. “Me too.”

Bertrand looked up at the blanket draped over their heads, grinning thoughtfully. “This is the silliest thing I have ever done in my entire life, but I cannot imagine anything else I’d rather be doing right now.” 

Riley laced her fingers with his and squeezed. “Me too.”

Once they were full of pizza and wine, they lay on their backs in companionable silence. Riley turned to face him. “So what should we do now?”

“Are you ready for bed?” He yawned, “I’m afraid I had a bit too much wine and my eyelids are getting heavy.”

“No way! I have a tipsy Bertrand Beaumont in a blanket fort.. We have to do something fun.”

“Oh?” His mouth went dry as he pictured what type of fun she had in mind.

“Let’s play a game!”

“Oh.” He realized that he sounded way too disappointed, and tried to correct that. “Alright, what did you have in mind?”

She leaned closer and grinned. “What about, never have I ever?”

He gulped, “I uh.. I believe we’ve played that one before.”

Riley rolled onto her back, a light-hearted laugh escaping her. Her eyes traced the intricate pattern and stitching of the quilt that rested over the chair backs, forming the ceiling of their blanket fort. She couldn’t hold back a smile as she continued to gaze straight up, too overcome with emotion to even glance at the man beside her. She could feel his eyes on her and hear his steady breathing, and she closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne.. Subtle notes of bergamot and sandalwood and the natural pheromones on his skin that both comforted her and drove her wild. 

Her heart was bursting from the unbelievable feeling of normalcy, contentment, and utter joy she felt just laying beside him.  

“Never have I ever.. Done anything like this before.”

“Like what?” Bertrand asked.

“Blanket forts! Camping on the bedroom floor.. None of that.”

Bertrand smiled, “I suppose you got me there. For once, there’s something I’ve done that you haven't.”

Riley laughed, and Bertrand sat up slightly and took a sip of his wine. He lay back down, thinking for a moment before grinning. “Never have I ever.. received a gift on Valentine’s day.”

Riley’s mouth dropped open. “Never? Not even from a little secret admirer in school or anything? I find that hard to believe.”

“Nope. Go ahead and drink,” he nodded to her glass of wine. “I’m certain you have received loads of Valentine’s gifts.”

Riley took a sip of her wine and shook her head. “I’ve had a few. Not for a while, but..”

“So what were your best and worst Valentine's gifts?”

“Oof, that’s a tough one,” she groaned with a smile. “The worst was probably from a boyfriend I had in highschool. He gave me a bouquet of fake daisies that were missing half of the flowers from the stems. And inside the middle was a jewelry box. But when I opened it, there was just a condom inside.”

Bertrand made a face. “Wow. That is.. quite a presumptuous gesture.”

“One that got him nowhere,” she rolled her eyes. “The best Valentine’s gift was probably when I was in elementary school. This cute little boy with curly hair, Jordan McCall.. He gave me a plastic ring he had won at the arcade and a bunch of wildflowers he picked from his yard.” She turned toward Bertrand with a smile. “It’s the thoughtful things that mean the most, you know? Something that you put your heart into.”

Bertrand smiled at her for a long moment, but feeling like he had been staring too long, he cleared his throat and looked away. “Um, it’s your turn.”

Riley tapped a finger against her lips in thought. “Ok. Never have I ever.. had sex with my brother’s best friend.”

Bertrand’s mouth dropped open and his face flushed bright red. “Riley!”

She couldn’t stop her laughter and handed him his glass. “Drink up!”

He took a sip, unable to meet her eyes while a small smile pulled at his lips. “That was a cheap shot.”

“I came to win!” Riley nudged him and grinned, “Besides, I can’t help it. I love making you blush.”

“I'm glad that my humiliation amuses you.”

She rolled onto her side to face him and put a hand on his arm. “It’s cute. It totally gives me butterflies.”

Bertrand blushed deeper and looked away as butterflies of his own swarmed his insides. He tried to change the subject. “So, I suppose we’re tied.”

“Not for long,” Riley smiled cheekily. “You’re going down, Beaumont.”

“Oh really?”

“Really! Hit me with your best shot.”

Bertrand thought for a moment before a confident smirk alit his face.  “I definitely have you now Ms. Brooks. Get ready to take a drink. Never have I ever.. had sex with someone because I felt bad for them.”

Riley met his eyes with confusion and she shook her head. “Never.”

Bertrand arched an eyebrow skeptically. “What do you mean? What about.. You know..” He gestured at himself.

Riley’s heart sank. Had he thought this the entire time? “No, Bertrand. That’s not why I- no, never.”

His mind was racing as he asked, “Then.. why?”

Riley chewed the inside of her cheek, trying not to cross the line they had been tiptoeing toward for the last couple months. Screw it. “Bert, I had sex with you because I wanted to. I wanted you.”

His jaw dropped and he was nearly rendered speechless. “You- really?” Like, you really actually wanted to- not as a lesson, but like- really?”

Now it was Riley's turn to blush for once. She hugged her knees to her chest and smiled shyly. “Yes.”

Bertrand stared straight ahead, mind reeling. The silence between them stretched, neither knowing what to say now. 

Riley took a deep breath and reached out, grasping his hand. She looked directly into his eyes as she spoke. “Never have I ever.. told someone that I was in love with them.”

Bertrand released a breath, his eyes searching her face for a few moments. He was certain his heartbeat was loud enough for the entire duchy to hear.

Bertrand rested his hand against her cheek, swiping his thumb gently across her bottom lip. His eyes were full of a deep longing and affection she had never seen from anyone before. 

“Riley..” he breathed out softly and pressed his lips against hers, cradling her face with his hands. The kiss was tender, yet passionate and nothing like anything they had ever shared before. He lay her back against the soft pillows and blankets on the floor, relishing in the fact that it was really Riley kissing him. Her perfect, soft, gorgeous lips were actually against his. She had wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her, and as unbelievable as that was, it was amazing and perfect. Bertrand was so overcome with emotion, he thought he might burst. 

They broke apart after a few moments, and Riley leaned forward giving him one more soft kiss before snuggling up to his side and resting her head on his shoulder. Bertrand wrapped his arm around her, resting his hand against her lower back and tracing soft circles with his fingers. The minutes stretched on as the two lay together on his bedroom floor. 

“Riley.. I.. really need to tell you something.” Bertrand murmured softly. When she didn’t respond, he raised his head slightly to look at her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and steady. She was sound asleep in his arms and everything was right with the world. Heart in his throat, he kissed her head and whispered. “I love you.”

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 17 - News Flash

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 and the Beaumonts get on a plane to Italy… but they are not riding solo

Word Count: 4,500

Rating/Warnings: M (using the Lord's name in vain, shocking revelations, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: And… we’re back! I know this is a bit delayed, thanks to my new Heaven’s Secret distraction, but I am hoping to refocus myself on this continuously neglected series again for the next few weeks/months so we can make some headway towards wrapping it up. Also, I know we all miss him, and he hasn’t had as much page time as we all (Harper included!) probably want, but I promise that after this chapter there will be a lot more Drake again 🥃

A/N2: Astute readers will probably notice that there is nary a train in sight (in this chapter, or any future ones). This is deliberate because (i) I never understood why PB went in that direction in canon (is a travelling boutique really that important?!), and (ii) trains don’t make sense from a security point of view anyway (apparently the UK’s Royalty and Specialist Protection — which provides close protection to the royal family — used to hate it when Elizabeth II travelled by train, because it was always a massive headache to ensure her safety as trains travel on a fixed route and schedule, with no opportunities for diversion or evasion of things go to pot). So… planes it is ✈️

A/N3: Finally, another special shoutout to @thegreentwin​ for giving me the inspiration to have a crack at creating the tabloid cover page featured in this chapter. If you have not read The Rebel Prince, please do so! It is cute, funny, insightful and the gossip magazine covers that accompany several of the chapters are something else!

Chapter 17 - News Flash

"I thought we're going to Italy..." I remark the next morning as we pull to a stop on the tarmac of a secluded private airfield.

"We are," confirms Bertrand, jamming a fedora onto his head to protect against the ferocity of the morning sun... and hide the brutal sunburn he managed to acquire as a result of spending the entirety of yesterday's Festival outdoors without any SPF protection.

"Then what's with the literal mountain of luggage?" I ask as we step out of our customary limo.

Bertrand fixes me with a red-faced glare over the roof of the vehicle. "Have you learnt nothing from the social season?"

I throw him a deadpan look. "You mean apart from the fact that you insist on packing everything, including the kitchen sink?"

Maxwell's snort drifts up from the backseat.

The elder Beaumont is not impressed with my clapback. "The engagement tour will be one high-profile event after the other, which means that we will have neither the time nor the opportunity to engage in slap-dash shopping sprees. Not only would such proletarian behaviour be rude, but it would be misguided as well, given that we need to ensure that for each event we abide not just by the formal dress code indicated on the invitation, but also that we do not clash with, or indeed overshadow the hosts — or the King and future Queen, for that matter! — in terms of style and colour, all while being thoughtful in ensuring that we incorporate elements from both local and Cordonian designers to visually showcase the strength of the bonds that knit our respective nations together. On top of all that, it is imperative that we—"

"How the heck is anyone expected to pull all that off?" I blurt in disbelief.

"Through careful planning and coordination," Bertrand declares as he comes to join Maxwell and me on the other side of the limo. "Which is why I have taken the liberty of pre-selecting each outfit for each event of the tour, in consultation with the Palace's Master of the Robes."

My mouth drops. "You... Put a wardrobe together? For me?"

"Yes," comes the diffident affirmation. "Given that all eyes — not just those of our fellow Cordonians, but of our host nations' — will be on us constantly, we cannot afford any fashion faux pas."

I stare at my former sponsor mutely, mouth opening and closing like a dumbfounded goldfish.

Maxwell attempts to diffuse my slap-faced reaction with a jovial grin. "Bertrand used to lay my clothes out for me all the time when we were younger. I know he doesn't look it, but he has excellent—"

I shove an accusatory finger out. "He tried to foist me into a Medieval cosplay dress! That is the exact opposite of excellent taste!"

The elder Beaumont bristles. "It was hardly—"

"And how the hell did you afford all of this anyway?" I interject, throwing my arm out towards the carefully stacked Eiffel Tower of suitcases. "Because last time I checked, you were flat broke!"

Bertrand's already ruddy complexion darkens further. "There is no need for you to concern yourself with—"

"How?!"

After the way Maxwell had tried to sell covert photos and Christian and me from New York to the press in a bid to make bank, I am not willing to take any kind of half-baked deflection when it comes to the Beaumonts and money. I've been used one too many times for someone else's gain, so my trust is virtually non-existent at this point.

Bertrand swallows thickly as he averts his eyes. "I... I may have made recourse to an old sewing machine I found in the attic..."

My eyes just about pop out of my head. "You what?!"

I'd expected any one of six million other explanations — he'd sold the vineyard... remortgaged Ramsford... auctioned off every last chair and curtain from the manor... Even offered his soul to the literal Devil...

But using a sewing machine...? To make actual clothes...?

I had obviously caught the sun yesterday as well, and am now suffering from heat stroke...

"Bertrand has always been interested in fashion," explains Maxwell with a perfectly straight face. "He even wanted to enroll at the world-renowned Istituto Marangoni International in Milan to study Fashion Design. But then our father took unexpectedly ill, and—"

"Yes, yes..." interjects Bertrand with an embarrassed wave of his hand. "No need to revisit broken dreams and unfulfilled promises. The point is that I made the best use of what meagre funds and resources we had at our disposal to curate a serviceable selection of outfits for each of us. With a little help from Maxwell, of course."

"I was the mannequin," he declares proudly. "I admit, I got poked a few times in the line of duty, but it was worth it. Bertrand did a stellar job – you're going to love what he made for you."

"I... I don't know what to say..." I admit faintly.

And here I'd been thinking that Bertrand's closet Harry Potter obsession had been a big reveal...

"Yes... Well..." Bertrand clears his throat uncomfortably. "We each have our unique talents. Speaking of... I trust you have been practicing your Italian?"

I frown. "My what?"

"You were supposed to give her lessons!" cries Bertrand, smacking his brother over the back of the head.

Maxwell's retro '60s sunglasses fly off his face. "My Prada’s...!"

"What about French?" Bertrand demands, rounding on me with all the intensity of a furious tomato on the verge of exploding.

"Allard and Schweitzer have been teaching—"

"Some initiative at last!" exclaims Bertrand, throwing his hands up in the air in deliverance. "Good — you'll have some semblance of a basis, then. However, while both languages share a common root — that being Latin — and a border, as a result of roughly fifteen centuries of historical and linguistic divergence, Italian has become markedly different from its Gallic cousin, so we will have our work cut out in making you even semi-proficient by the time we land in Rome. So, I hope you brought pen and paper with you."

My shoulders slump as I watch Bertrand stride off towards the waiting plane. "Great..."

There goes the next hour and a half of my life...

"I knew I had forgotten something..." admits Maxwell, rubbing the back of his head as he retrieves his sunglasses from the tarmac. "But I thought it was just my second favourite pair of boxers."

"It's fine..." I assure wearily him as I begin my own trudge towards the jet. "It wouldn't be a true Beaumont travel experience without a droning Bertrand lecture..."

Though I guess it could be worse. I could be stuck on the royal jet with Christian and Madeleine. Which — after what happened yesterday — would be like staging an aristocratic rendition of Squid Game... 20,000 feet in the air. So, on that basis, I'll willingly subject myself to Bertrand's monologuing any day of the week, if it means I can—

"And there she is..." remarks a familiar, though very much unexpected voice as I step onto the plane. "The woman of the hour."

Jerking my head to the right, my eyes land on Olivia, lounging on one of the cream-coloured leather seats, her killer spike stiletto boots dangling over the armrest as she casually peruses a broadsheet.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in disbelief.

Olivia lowers the paper to meet my eye with a quirked brow. "You mean, on my own aircraft?"

I cast a glance in Bertrand's direction as I make my way down the gangway. "Guess your meagre funds and resources didn't extend to sourcing jet fuel?"

Bertrand coughs evasively as he stores his briefcase in the overhead locker. "Since we are all heading in the same direction anyway, Lady Oliva was kind enough to—"

"Shut it, Beaumont," Olivia snaps. "I am doing this as a personal favour, not an act of charity. As Lord knows that I wouldn't normally tolerate sharing recycled air with this many people in a confined space. So, if you want to stay on this plane, you will save the histrionics for the Italian President."

Bertrand promptly clamps his mouth shut to sink into his seat without another word.

"Wow..." I say, settling in across from Olivia. "He must've been really desperate to come to you for help... No offence."

"None taken," she replies with a breezy shrug as she flips the broadsheet closed and nods to the cabin attendant. "Because the request didn't come from the Beaumonts."

My head snaps up in surprise. "Then who?"

She regards me for a long moment, as if debating whether to tell me. Finally, she lets out a resigned exhale. "Drake."

My jaw hits the floor. "What!"

Olivia scrunches her mouth up ruefully. "He twisted my arm into agreeing to look out for you while he's off playing desert soldier."

I stare at her. "How in the world did he—?"

Maxwell thrusts his head 'round the back of Olivia's seat. "Drake's playing video games! Instead of coming to Italy?”

The Duchess of Lythikos shoves the intruding face away with the palm of her hand. "No, you imbecile! Drake's gone to Dubai." Glancing at me she adds, "I presume they know?"

"They do now," I concede with a sigh.

Thanks to the slew of quick-fire developments at yesterday's Festival, followed by the rabid packing to get ourselves ready for the international leg of the tour, I haven't had a chance to bring the Beaumonts up to speed with everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours.

But they're bound to find out about Drake's last-minute side-trip at some point, so this is as good a time as any to level with them.

Maxwell’s mouth drops with an aghast look. "But I didn't hit him that hard!"

Olivia quirks a brow at me.

"Long story, don't ask," I tell her wearily. Glancing up at Maxwell, I add, "He's gone after Tariq. Bastien found him hiding out on some rich cousin's yacht out in the bay."

"Oh." Maxwell scratches his head abashedly. "That makes more sense..."

"How do you put up with these two?" asks Olivia with a shake of her head as Maxwell sinks back into his seat.

I give her a shrug. "They have a weird way of growing on you..."

"Like some deadly fungus..." she mutters with a roll of her eyes.

"I heard that!" objects Maxwell from behind her.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't eavesdrop, then!" she throws over her shoulder snidely. Turning back to me, she adds, "And speaking of funguses, you can remind your boyfriend when he gets back that you both owe me. Big time."

My gaze darts to hers. "I— We're not—"

"Thank you for confirming it," she interjects with a sly smile. "But also, I'm not an idiot. It's obvious to anyone with a set of eyes that the fool is in love with you... and you with him. It's all quite disgusting, really..."

I feel my cheeks redden. "So, why help us, then?"

She heaves a low breath. "Because you stuck your neck out for me when you didn't have to. Despite everything I did to try and undermine you during the season. And because we have a common enemy."

She tosses the broadsheet that she'd been reading over to me.

Catching the copy of the Cordonia Sun before it has a chance to slide off the table between us, I glance down...

...and my heart sinks as I take in the unflattering picture of myself seemingly facing off against Madeleine under the sensationalist headline.

I shove the paper angrily away. "Hey. I didn't start it..."

"And yet you somehow always manage to find yourself in the middle of it, don't you?" she counters with an arched brow as the jet revs its engines for take-off. "The half-nude pictures... The Beaumonts' financial troubles... The speculations about the real reason Christian gave you a duchy... I mean, even the Duchess of Sussex would have a hard time competing with you when it comes to front-page scandals."

"And you think Madeleine is behind it all?" I ask tightly, indicating the tabloid.

"She would certainly have a lot to gain from waging a targeted media campaign against you," Olivia affirms. "She isn't married to Christian yet, and after what happened with Leo, she no doubt feels threatened by your continued presence at court. So, discrediting your integrity in the eyes of the Council would help her ensure that Christian can never formally pick you over her to become Queen."

"Because she doesn't know I turned him down..." I grumble dejectedly as the plane pulls into the air.

"And certainly would not believe you if you told her, either," she adds. "But she is not the only one with something to lose."

I sit up straighter. "You mean there are other suspects?"

"Yes," she nods. "Namely Godfrey and the Queen Mother."

Bertrand erupts from his seat at the mention of the two names. "That is an outrageous accusation! The Queen Mother would never—!"

"Madeleine is her niece," counters Olivia flatly. "Given that she has no children of her own, she practically treats that golden-haired harpy as if she is her heir. And since she was the one who brokered the original marriage contract between Leo and Madeleine, she clearly doesn't want all that work going to waste."

I frown. "But if everything was in place already, why have a social season at all? Why not just sub out Leo's name for Christian's in the contract?"

"To give Christian the illusion of choice."

My jaw drops. "You're not serious..."

"It would have been in poor taste to simply swap one prince out for another," Olivia advises. "Leo hadn't died... merely abdicated. But that decision nevertheless rocked the kingdom to its core."

"It's true," supplies Maxwell, leaning around with a mouth full of jelly worms. "The headlines were vicious."

"So..." I muse with a frown. "The Palace needed a distraction?"

"Yes," Oliva affirms seriously. "To draw attention away from Constantine's failing health."

"Wait," I cut in. "Constantine is dying?"

Olivia nods. "Prostate cancer. By all estimates, he has less than a year to live."

"Oh, my God..." I gasp, hand flying to my mouth. "No wonder Christian didn't want to talk about it..."

"The Palace is under strict instructions to keep the whole thing tightly under wraps..." she explains. "At least until after the coronation and wedding are both out of the way. They don't want the news to overshadow the first few critical months of Christian's rule."

"So, how did you find out?" I query.

She cuts her eyes over at me. "Like I said at the Masquerade Ball... Christian and I share a special connection. There are no secrets between us. Also – look at who you're talking to. I have files on each of the suitors from the social season. You seriously think I wouldn't know about something as vital to the functioning of the kingdom as the state of the King Father's health?"

"I guess not..." I concede, still trying to process this bombshell. "But how does giving Christian an illusion of a choice during the social season help cover up Constantine's cancer?"

"In the wake of Leo's abdication, support for the Rys family fell to an all-time low. The press started to question Constantine's policies, and the direction that the kingdom has been heading over the past few decades, implying that the country's current trajectory was unsustainable... and uncorrectable."

"I remember reading something about that on the flight from New York..." I recall. "There were suggestions that Leo abdicated because he didn't believe in the future of the monarchy."

"Which wasn't the case at all," she cautions. "But the Palace was worried that such intense media scrutiny would unearth evidence of Constantine's ill health... which would in turn intensify the calls from the republican factions of the country to abolish the system of hereditary rule completely. So, in a desperate bid to reunite the people behind a common cause, and shore up support for the monarchy, the Palace decided run the season again."

"But why?" I ask, still not seeing the connection.

"To charm the country with the fairytale of a royal romance," denotes Olivia sourly. "Because people apparently go ga-ga for that shite..."

Bertrand narrowly avoids choking in his seat across the aisle. "That is a crude and absolutely salacious interpretation of—!"

I whirl across the aisle. "Wait. You knew about this?"

Bertrand folds his arms across his chest. "I am a serving member of the Council. Of course I knew about the Palace's decision to run the social season again. But to suggest that it was all done simply for the sake of—"

"God, you're thick..." interjects Olivia.

Bertrand blanches. "I beg your pardon?!"

"You've been at court long enough to know that the truth is never the whole truth — there is always some hidden purpose or ulterior motive."

"But to suggest that—"

"The Palace needed a believable story — one that could capture the public's imagination — while still serving the needs of the kingdom," Olivia states. "A story of duty and love."

"Between Christian and Madeleine?" I ask sceptically. "But they don't even like each other."

"So?" scoffs Olivia. "The aim was to sell the lie to the populace. Everything else is inconsequential. And can be made to fit the narrative."

"But if you knew all this," I counter, "why did you join the competition?"

"I joined exactly because I knew the season was a sham," she replies heatedly. "To give Christian a genuine choice... not just the one that everyone else was determined to steer him towards."

"Because you love him..."

Olivia nods tightly. "Yes. And I knew it was a long shot. But even if he wouldn't end up being able to choose me — Regina would've made sure to stack the Council votes in her favour — at least I could be there to support him... as a friend."

I feel my heart go out to her, knowing from personal experience how difficult it is to be in a situation where you desperately want to be with someone, but can't because of circumstances that are outside of your control.

"But then, of course..." adds Olivia, once again with her customary breeziness, "you show up from out of nowhere with your hideous accent and relatable backstory—"

"Hey!"

"—and the whole country — Christian included — loses their collective minds. With the result that Regina's plan to make her niece Queen begins to unravel at the seams."

"Which is why she decided to set me up..." I surmise heavily as the jet levels off.

It's been fairly obvious from the start that I'm not Regina's favourite person... But the knowledge that she'd go to such lengths to publicly blacklist me? That's just inexcusable.

"You have no proof of that!" objects Bertrand, butting in again.

"Not directly, no," Olivia admits. "But all the evidence we have to date fits. The money Tariq received for his involvement came from a numbered account located in Switzerland. The blackmail letters distributed at the Coronation Ball were printed on Palace stationery. And as far as motives go, the Queen Mother would have more reason than most to influence the outcome of the social season."

"I cannot believe I am hearing this...!" decries Bertrand with a shake of his head. "The implications alone would be—"

"Ruinous to the Rys family," confirms Olivia. "I am aware. Which is why we must tread carefully in order to avoid tarring Christian with any of this. The monarchy would not survive the ensuing scandal."

"What about this other guy?" I ask. "Godfrey? How does he fit into this?"

Olivia throws her hands up. "Lord, you're more clueless than him!"

"Excuse me for not knowing every single Cordonian nobleman by name," I snark back. "I've only been a duchess for a day..."

"I'll send you my files," Olivia huffs wearily. "All two hundred of them."

My eyes widen. "There's two hundred—?"

"There's more, but those are the important ones," she replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. "And if you want to be an effective duchess, I suggest you study up because you need to have the entire contents of those dossiers memorised and ready to deploy in any given conversation."

"Sweet Jesus..." I gasp faintly, making recourse to Drake's favourite invective, as it certainly fit the magnitude of the task Olivia has just dumped on me.

"You didn't grow up in this world, so you have a lot of catching up to do," Olivia shrugs unabashedly.

"Yeah, I'm very much aware of that..." I concede dryly, rubbing my temples. "So, who is this Godfrey?"

"The Third Earl of Huntford, and Duke jure uxoris of Krona."

My brows furrow in recollection. "Krona... Does that mean he's—?"

"He's Madeleine's dad," supplies Maxwell, popping his head into the aisle again, this time in the company of a CapriSun juice pouch.

My eyes widen. "The man at the garden party! But what does he have against me? I've never even met him!"

"The fact that you are still here..." offers Olivia blandly. "Competing against his daughter for the attentions of the King."

"It's not exactly a competition," I scoff. "I'm not trying to steal him away from her."

"Except that isn't how the press is portraying it," counters Olivia pointedly, tapping the front page of the Sun.

I open my mouth again, but quickly shut it, realising that Olivia is right. As regardless of my personal reasons for being back at court — as the Royal Consort, no less! — the view from the outside presents very differently. And given that Madeleine herself clearly feels threatened by my continued presence at Christian's side, it's no small jump to imagine that her father — who, based on what I saw at the garden party a few days ago, is just as power-hungry and image-conscious as his daughter — would also feel the same.

"Crap..." I huff, falling back into my seat dejectedly.

"Not the most elegant of phrasing," muses Olivia. "But certainly succinct."

"What am I going to do?" I ask morosely, starting up at the cabin's air vents.

"Help me gather as much proof as we can during the course of the tour," Olivia instructs. "So we can narrow down our suspect list... or indict all three of them. In either case, we will be more effective if we work together."

"That plan is akin to sedition!" cries Bertrand, clearly aghast by the very suggestion. "Bordering on treason! All of us are in enough hot water already without—"

"Which is why it is imperative that no word of anything that we have just discussed leaves this aircraft," declares Olivia with a steely look. "Or I will personally hunt you down and turn your face inside out."

I gulp at the gruesomeness of that particular image. "What... What about the staff? Can you trust them?"

"They are all Lythikosians," Olivia states. "Who have sworn blood-oaths to House Nevrakis. They would never dare betray me."

"Good to know..." I admit, watching the cabin attendant re-appeared with a selection of drinks, and wondering if underneath her uniform she is as armed to the teeth as Olivia supposedly is.

"I presume the same goes for your beefcakes?" asks Olivia, nodding her chin towards the back where Allard and Schweitzer have taken up residence for the duration of the flight.

"Yes," I confirm. "I trust them with my life."

She dips her head in approval. "Good. So, as first order of business, I suggest—"

"Can we tell Hana?" interjects Maxwell, bobbing up from behind Olivia again. "She's helping us, too!"

Olivia heaves a breath. "Yes, fine. But—"

I hold up a hand. "And Drake will probably want t—"

"Yes, fine!" she snaps irately. "Anyone else? Your maternal grandmother, perhaps?"

I bite my bottom lip as I peek up at her. "Do we tell Christian?"

Olivia holds my gaze for a long moment. "No. Not until we have concrete proof. One way or another. He has enough crises to manage right now without lumbering him with a major constitutional one as well."

I nod in understanding. The mere suggestion that his godmother and future father-in-law have been conspiring to put Madeleine on the throne (potentially with his fiancée's own buy-in!) would be soul-destroying. Which is why we need to find that smoking gun — ideally several — before we present our accusations.

"Not sure if it will be of any help at all," I say, "but Ana de Luca managed dig up some information on the freelance photographer Tariq was working with on the day of the Jamboree."

"Did you bribe her with another exclusive?" chaffs Olivia dryly.

"We'll need someone to help us set the record straight," I affirm. My shoulders slump suddenly. "But I gave the flash-drive to Drake."

"Which he gave to me," smirks Olivia, pulling the device from the pocket of her jacket.

I gape at the piece of plastic in her hand. "Drake really trusts you, huh?"

"More than most," she shrugs coyly, flipping the drive over to me.

I catch it with both hands. "We should review whatever is on here. Who knows? Maybe the photographer is part of the press corps covering the tour."

"I have my laptop with me," Maxwell offers. "I was going to use it to mix some tunes, but—"

"You'll only get one chance to unravel a high-stakes aristo racket!" I quip, dangling the drive between my fingers.

"God, your incessant American optimism is stomach-turning..." Olivia groans. "And you've clearly spent too much time with Walker."

"Hey," I hit back. "This is the best lead we've gotten yet. We shouldn't discount it. This photographer could be key to linking Regina and/or Godfrey to the plot to influence the outcome of the social season."

"Assuming you can find them..." counters Olivia. "And get them to talk."

I meet her eye with a level look. "Good thing that's your area of expertise, isn't it, Duchess?"

The corner of her mouth lifts craftily.

"But what about Harper's Italian!" disparages Bertrand. "We'll be landing in less than an hour, and she still doesn't know the proper way to greet the President in his native tongue without insulting him!"

I swallow a groan. "Do I really need t—?"

"Being able to carry a conversation with the Head of State in Italian will go a long way in demonstrating to both the public and the press that you are serious about your new role as Duchess of Valtoria," he advises frankly. "And will score you some much-needed diplomatic points with our hosts as well."

"Guess we have our work cut out for us, then," I accede with a sigh. "Any chance for some coffee?"

"Turkish, Irish, or Sicilian?" asks Olivia.

"Which is closest to a latte?"

"Probably the Sicilian," she advises. "If you make it into a granita di caffe."

"I'm feeling Italian already!" I gibe in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit.

Bertrand groans loudly from his seat. "Oh, Dio..."

The story continues in Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

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Cinderfella's Adventures in Cordonia - Chapter Nineteen

An AU of The Royal Romance with a male MC and a bisexual prince.

Masterlist

Liam finally faces the consequences of his actions.

Drake and Liam jump, startled by the stranger’s sudden appearance.  They had been so engrossed in their conversation that hadn’t even heard the door to the apartment open.  Deep green eyes study the pair intently as the stranger makes his way towards Callum’s abandoned chair.  He sits back in the chair with fluid grace, neatly straightening his charcoal colored suit and crossing his legs, not a strand of silver hair out of place. 

“Now,” the stranger begins pleasantly as he adjusts the cuffs of his suit jacket.  He gaze zeros in on the two younger men, intense and predatory.  “I would like to have a small chat with the two of you about my son.”

********************************************************************

I exit the Uber, expecting to see firetrucks, flashing lights, EMTs, and a parade of pissed off clubgoers.  Instead I see a long line of mildly impatient twenty-somethings waiting for the pair of bouncers at the doors to card them and adorn their hands with a UV stamp so they can enter.

He lied to me?

“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”  A husky voice floats out from the shadows, quickly followed by a handsome man in a brown leather jacket.

“Wasn’t expecting to be here,” I respond, smiling briefly.  “But Pops text me; said there was an emergency situation here and an owner was needed on-site.”

Jax Matsuo’s brown eyes glitter as he smirks and makes a show of peeking around me to study the semi-orderly line that snakes around the building.  “Well, everything seems to be in order.  You wanna get out of here?”

Someone calls my name, saving me from giving my occasional friend with numerous benefits an awkward answer of why I can’t invite him over to my place and let him fuck me into my mattress like I usually do on Friday nights. 

“Callum!” Donny yells at me from his illegally parked car, motioning for me to come over.

“Another time maybe.”  Jax gives me a brief kiss, then meanders over to the club doors, joining the line of people waiting to be let in.

I jog over to the car, sliding into the passenger seat.  I barely have time to buckle my seatbelt before Donny rockets into the flow of traffic, heading in the direction of our apartment building.

“What’s going on?”

“You never should have left those two in your apartment,” he mutters, simultaneously jerking the wheel hard to the right and flipping off some poor soul in the bike lane.

Spidey senses activate.

“Donny… what’s going on?”

“You father decided to pay your little boyfriends a visit.”

“What the fu-”

“Ioan’s with him.”

Pure fear rockets through me.  “Drive faster!”

*********************************************************************

Drake and Liam exchange a worried glance, each one slightly afraid to speak. 

A wheezy laugh catches everyone’s attention as an elderly man saunters out of the kitchen, leaning heavily on a cane, sugar cookie in his free hand.  “Good job, Niall.  Now do your Batman voice and really scare the shite out of these boys.”

“Christ almighty, Da.”  Callum’s father closes his eyes and exhales heavily, massaging his forehead with the tips of his fingers.  “I thought Donny was going to take you home.”

“I decided to come help you instead.”

“So help me and go home, you wrinkled menace to society.”

The old man rolls his eyes and slowly walks to the empty recliner.  “You’ve gotten so tetchy since your last birthday, Niall.  I swear, the closer you get to sixty the crankier you get.”

Liam giggles nervously, but quiets instantly when Niall shoots him a nasty look.  Callum’s grandfather settles into his chair, shifting this way and that until he’s fully comfortable. 

“Go on, son.  Introduce me and then say whatever it is you want to say,” he commands, waving his hand imperiously. 

Niall sighs heavily and tips his head back, closing his eyes and no doubt praying for the patience to keep from throttling his father.  He opens his eyes, emerald gaze falling directly on Liam.  “I’m Niall, Callum’s father.  And this living museum artefact is Callum’s grandfather, Ioan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Drake and Liam mumble in unison. 

“You know, my very first job was in Boston.  At a fish market.  I didn’t move to New York until a few years later,” Ioan suddenly muses, apropos of nothing.  “What is it that you two boys do again?”

“Oh um.”  Liam nervously clears his throat.  “I am the king of Cordonia, Mr. MacKenzie.  Sir.”

“That’s right,” Ioan murmurs, stroking his thumb over his lower lip the way Callum does when he’s thinking.  “You’re the one who made my grandson compete.”

Liam pales.  “It wasn’t…  I mean… I didn’t personally make him compete, no.”

Ioan gazes sharpens and he raises one silver eyebrow.  “Oh?”

“It’s Cordonian tradition,” Liam sputters.  “There are standards one must meet before they can become the spouse of a king and -”

“Are you saying my grandson isn’t up to your standards, young man?”

“My standards and Cordonia’s standards are two separate things, Mr. MacKenzie.  Callum is lovely, but my future spouse must be approved by both the Cordonian council and the public,” Liam rushes to explain, falling directly into Ioan’s trap.

“So you encouraged Callum to play a losing game?”

Liam makes a strangled noise and shoots Drake a look of pure terror, silently begging him to step in.  Drake shrugs, quietly gleeful at Ioan’s interrogation of Liam.

“Drake, isn’t it?  What do you do for work?”  Niall’s green eyes, just a few shades lighter than Callum’s, pierce Drake with their intensity.

“I- um,” Drake falters while Liam hides his snickering behind his hand.

“Yes?” Niall prompts.

“I… help Liam?”

Niall looks unimpressed.  “In what capacity exactly?”

“With- uh… whatever he needs?”  Drake shrugs helplessly.

“So you’re a professional friend then?  Are you paid for your time and services?”

Ioan chuckles.  “Maybe he gets paid the same way you pay Donny for his ‘services’.”

“Da!”  Niall’s voice pitches higher for a moment and a faint pink colors his cheeks, before he scowls and returns his attention to the two young men on the couch.  “Why are you here?”

“Here as in…?” Liam ventures carefully.

Niall’s right eye gives a barely perceptible twitch.  “As in my son’s apartment.  As in the building that I own.  As in this city.  As in this state.  As in this fucking country.  So I repeat myself, which I truly hate to do.  Why.  Are.  You.  Here.”

Liam frowns and straightens his spine, annoyed by the other man’s tone.  “New York is the final stop on my engagement tour.  An international engagement tour.  It’s not as if I picked this city solely because Callum lives here.”

“Any yet…” Ioan murmurs, pointedly gazing around the apartment.  “Here you are.  In Callum’s home.”

“When you’re engaged to someone else.”  Niall’s gaze flicks over Liam, studying him, and he frowns, as if finding the young king lacking.  He glance over at Drake.  “I still don’t quite understand your part in all of this though.”

Drake guiltily avoids Niall’s gaze, picking at a small hole in his jeans.  “Some of this is my fault,” he admits in a small voice.  “I encouraged Callum to meet up with Liam.  To talk.”

Any pretense of civility leaves Niall in that instant.  “I don’t know what either one of you could possibly have to say to my son that has any value at all, and to be frank, I don’t care.  Get out of this apartment.  Go back to Cordonia.  And never speak to Callum again.”

“With all due respect,” Liam begins.

Drake closes his eyes and braces himself for the inevitable fallout that always follows any statement that begins with ‘With all due respect’.”

“Just because you’re his father doesn’t give you any right to dictate who Callum does or does not speak to,” Liam continues indignantly.  “He’s a grown man.  He doesn’t need you to interfere in his personal affairs.”

“And yet you allow your father to interfere in yours,” Ioan murmurs, studying his fingernails.  “I’ve always found hypocrisy so interesting.”

Liam falls silent, red-faced and fuming.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Your Highness,” Niall snarls.  “Callum loves too deeply, cares too much when he shouldn’t care at all.  I’ve seen my son broken before, held him while he cried over some boy.  I watched him go to prison for five years when he was innocent, to protect someone who probably never really loved him.  I was just starting to get my Callum back, my son who used to laugh and joke and come over for Sunday dinners and to watch football.  And then you came along.”

Niall fairly spits the word ‘you’, so intense is his anger.

“A few weeks with you and he comes back to New York a broken shell.  I held my son as he cried over another boy who didn’t deserve him.  Do you have any idea how many nights he cried for you?  Of course you don’t.  You moved on with your life and got engaged as if he never mattered.  My son was barely a blip on your radar.  I had to pick up the pieces you left behind.  I had to coax him to eat when all he would do is lay on that fucking couch and stare at the wall.  I was the one who got him to shower, to get dressed, and go to the therapist I arranged for him to see.  I was the one who encouraged him to start working, to leave this apartment and start interacting with people again.”

Liam’s eyes never leave Niall; he stares at the older man as if he’d been struck, the full implication of how his actions had hurt Callum hitting him for the first time.

“And yet, he’s still in love with you.  He misses you every single day, and you being here is only dragging out his pain.  You’re going to leave him again, go back to your pretty little castle and get married, have children.  And he’s still going to be here.  Alone and mourning the future he should have had with you.  Just leave… quit tormenting him with hope, with thoughts of a future you never intend to give him.”

“I…  I never meant… I…”  Liam looks helplessly to Drake for assistance, to help him explain the rolling turmoil of emotions stealing his words and the air from his lungs.

“Stop. Talking.”  For the first time that night Ioan raises his voice.  “You’re going to leave and never speak to my grandson again.  As far as you’re concerned he no long exists.  You ever attempt to contact him, even once, and I will gut you like the spineless sack of shite you are.”

The old man’s eyes are flinty, the cold, pale blue of them startling in it’s intensity.  Drake has no doubt that he means every word he just said.

“Pops!  Grandda!” 

All four men turn their heads towards the sound of a door slamming and footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor.  Callum skids to a stop in the living room, studying the impromptu gathering warily.

“What’s going on?”

[alj4890]

Snap

(Bertrand Beaumont x MC) in a Choices Royal Romance Drabble

Thirty Kisses in Thirty Days Challenge with the prompt: a kiss to end sexual tension.

Masterlist

A/N There's no way on earth I can do justice to Bertrand x MC like @harleybeaumont is doing with her series, Never Have I Ever, which if you haven't read it- go do it now! She made me fall in love with the idea of these two together, so I have been inspired to try my hand at a drabble with them, LOL. In my HC for this, it was Bertrand who met Riley and invited her to be Beaumont's suitor that fateful night in New York. No Liam, Drake, or Maxwell involved with that initial meeting. He only wants a suitor to keep up the pretense that House Beaumont is still in good financial shape. A poor waitress in want of a change of scenery seems like the perfect last resort.

The Night of the Beaumont Bash...

Once the king and queen left the party, Bertrand began to relax. After months of pretending all was as it should be, he'd finally gotten through the biggest subterfuge of the season. He grabbed a bottle of champagne from a passing waiter, popped the cork, and took a long swig straight from the bottle.

I did it, he thought. I gave a dinner that impressed their majesties. Guests are dancing without a second thought. No one is the wiser to how I've struggled to pay for all of this.

He could finally relax in not having to host the court for at least another year. After the coronation, Bertrand Beaumont could return to work on expanding his sparkling wine business. He'd already received orders from New York. Many of the hotels he visited during that trip a few months back had finally paid off. He had contracts in place for his wines to be front and center at many of their bars.

His gaze landed on the other windfall he'd acquired during that trip.

Riley Brooks was wading through the guests, smiling and talking to many she passed. Who knew when he wandered into her bar that night that she would end up here as an official lady of the court vying for the hand of Cordonia's future monarch?

He certainly wouldn't have thought so, given he asked her to come here while slightly inebriated on cheap whiskey. What woman would take an invitation like that seriously from a foreigner who was drenched from searching for a taxi in the rain?

Though he at first thought it would end up being an unmitigated disaster, she'd impressed him with her willingness to learn and do all that was asked of her.

He grimaced somewhat as he took another gulp from his bottle. When the horses were brought into the ballroom, he made his way out of the chaos. He knew Maxwell would keep the party going at full force throughout the night.

No need for me to remain here, Bertrand thought.

He glanced back once more to see Riley atop a black horse. Her eyes were wide with alarm yet she kept a smile firmly in place as she joked with those nearby.

I should have been nicer to her.

He slipped into his study, did a quick sweep to make certain no one had sneaked in to get up to anything scandalous, and settled on one of the well worn leather couches.

That last thought revolved around his mind as he finished off half the champagne. He'd been hard on her throughout the lessons and what should have been pep talks before each event. Instead, he found himself being overly critical with Riley, demanding she do nothing to embarrass the name of Beaumont.

He dropped his head back on the cushions and stared up at the intricate crown molding dividing the ceiling into numerous rectangles.

Why couldn't I be honest with her and admit that I'm more worried about my own failures as a duke being revealed than any faux pas she could possibly do? Who cares what fork she uses? I'm the embarrassment! She's been nothing but an angel to come and try to help a stranger live up to a falsehood.

Bertrand's attention drifted over to the two portraits framing the fireplace. His father's and grandfather's stern expressions reminded him of the legacy he was forced to live under. He knew he should be grateful for the life and position he was born to, but there were times he wished he'd simply been born a commoner. He wouldn't be under this constant struggle to be a duke of renown, one who must always be ready to show nothing but the best at a moment's notice.

But that's exactly what he had to do. No escape from such a fate. No surrender either.

He raised the bottle to his lips, completely ready to drink himself into oblivion, and paused partway when he heard the doorknob click.

Riley quickly skirted inside then shut the door behind her. Her eyes were closed while her chest heaved with stuttered breaths. A light sheen of sweat glistened upon the skin revealed by her deep blue gown.

"Is something the matter?" Bertrand asked.

She gave a startled yelp, tensing with her hand upon the doorknob. Once she recognized the voice and the man sitting in the dim light, she released a deep breath then proceeded to walk towards him.

"Not really. I suppose I got a little claustrophobic in the ballroom." She sat down on the same couch he was on. "Actually, I got really claustrophobic. The animals, acrobats, guests...it became too much."

Her eyes dropped to the bottle in his hand.

"That isn't because of me is it?"

"Hmm?" He flushed some over being caught imbibing in such a manner. "Er, no. I suppose I got caught up in celebrating this season nearly being over."

She smiled softly at the sight of him finally cutting loose.

"Could I have a drink?" She asked.

"Of course!" He clumsily got to his feet. "Where are my manners?"

Riley reached out and stopped him from going over to a well stocked sideboard.

Bertrand watched in amazement as she took his bottle and tipped it to her lips.

She took two gulps then handed it back to him.

"Thanks." Her smile grew bigger. "I really needed that."

He chuckled, settling back down beside her.

"Lady Riley?"

"We're alone, Bertrand." She reminded him. "You can call me by my first name without the honorific."

"Of course." He raised the bottle once more to his mouth.

It struck him that his lips were touching the very object hers had mere seconds ago. Heat began to spread throughout his body. He gulped down a mouthful of champagne in his haste to stop his wayward thoughts.

She was his savior. He had no right to think of her in any other manner. No matter how often he found himself thinking about what it would be like to have her for his own, he knew he had to treat her with nothing but respect. She was a lady in every sense of the word. She deserved better than anything he could possibly offer her.

Plus, why would she ever want me after how I've treated her?

"Bertrand?" She prodded.

"Yes?"

"What were you going to ask me?"

Color flooded his face over being so distracted.

"I..." He averted his eyes from her lovely face. "I suppose I was wondering if you enjoyed yourself this season, save for the recent bout of claustrophobia."

"I have." She turned towards him, tucking her feet under her skirt. "I've been to beautiful places and met so many interesting people."

"Many interesting people?" He snorted while offering her more champagne.

Riley giggled while taking another sip "Okay, you caught me. There are a few I enjoy talking to."

"I hope I'm on that exclusive list."

"Of course you are on my list!" She reached for his free hand. "How could you not be?"

Bertrand lowered his eyes to her hand slipping into his. Swallowing nervously, he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"I know I haven't controlled my temper very well these last couple of months." He admitted. "I do hope you accept my apology for my abominable behavior towards you when you've been nothing short of a blessing. I don't know of any lady who would willingly help a destitute nobleman keep his pride in place ."

Riley laced her fingers with his. "You have nothing to apologize for. You've been a perfect gentleman." She playfully shook his hand to get him to look up at her. "You were stressed. Anyone would be with all the pressures I see you under."

"Still," he hesitated, "in case I don't show it, I am forever grateful I met you my last night in New York."

"Me too." She smiled softly at him.

****************

Two months earlier, New York City...

The night Duke Bertrand Beaumont walked into the bar Riley worked at had been a godsend. She was desperate to find a new place to escape. For the past year, she'd been moving from one city to another to escape an abusive ex-boyfriend. He loved to stalk her and adhered to the many orders of protection she had filed in every city she lived in.

Trace liked to reveal his presence while maintaining the distance he had to keep from her. She did everything to hide where she was. She deleted all her social media accounts, cut her hair in a different style, dressed differently, and made no lasting friendships. She'd thought she would lose him in New York City, but somehow he found her.

She was exhausted from having no safe place left to run to. She'd been in the process of searching for a new state and city to disappear in when a poor guy walked in, dripping from head to toe. One look at him made her cautious heart soften. She'd quickly poured him a drink, gathered some clean bar towels, and tried to make him more comfortable.

He expressed his thanks, his gaze lingering on her as she went about refilling drinks for the few other patrons. She'd come by every so often to top off his glass, insisting it was on the house.

"There's no need." He tried to insist.

"Everyone deserves kindness after being caught out in the rain." She propped her elbows on the bar, tilting her head as she studied him. "Your accent, I can't quite place it."

"I suppose you don't get many people from Cordonia in here." He mumbled, nursing his third glass.

"Cordonia?" She narrowed her eyes in thought. "Where's that?"

"Europe, of course." He grumbled. "The Mediterranean."

"I've always wanted to go there." She smiled softly. "Go to Italy and Greece. Eat good food, drink even better wine, and relax at some beautiful vineyard."

"I have a vineyard."

Her eyes widened. "You do?"

"I do. I inherited it. It's been in my family for hundreds of years." Bertrand explained.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through photographs of Ramsford to show her.

"It's beautiful!" Riley exclaimed.

"Yes, it is." His lips curved. "It is the reason why I'm here in America."

He somehow ended up giving her his life story. She listened, occasionally asking a question, and prepared him a cup of coffee once he began to slur a few words. When he was finished bemoaning his fate in not having a suitor for Prince Liam, she spoke up.

"Does the suitor have to be a noble?"

Bertrand shook his head.

"Does she have to be from Europe?"

"No. She can be from any walk of life." He eyed her. "You could be House Beaumont's suitor if you wished to."

"I could?" Riley thought Europe would give her the perfect buffer she needed between her and Trace.

"Yes." He grimaced somewhat. "Though with my financial situation, I can't give you much of a wardrobe. I'll provide the rest such as your flight, place to stay--"

"I'll do it." Riley told him. "I don't know much about courtly manners , but I'll do my best."

"I can teach you." He staggered to his feet. "Whatever you need to know, I'll do my best to tell you."

"Great!" She clasped her hands together. "When should I be ready to leave?"

He blinked at her. "I intended to return home in the morning, but I can delay--"

"I'll be ready." Riley checked the time. "My shift ends in an hour. I can be packed and ready to meet you at the airport whenever you wish."

"Why?" He couldn't help but ask. "Why are you willing to come with a man you don't know?"

Glancing about at the now empty bar, she shared her own troubles with him. Bertrand listened, his brow furrowed over the genuine fear he could easily detect in her voice.

"I can help you keep up appearances." She explained. "And you'll be helping me find a place to stay while figuring out what I should do next."

He couldn't see any reason not to follow through with this plan. If it ended up being beneficial for her as well as himself, then what harm could it do?

He held his hand out.

Her face lit up with a relieved smile.

Once she grasped his hand, Bertrand cleared his throat.

"Our flight leaves at four a.m."

*****************

Bertrand found himself staring at Riley once again as silence fell between them. They were both lost in thoughts of the past two months. Between the dress searches, lessons in court etiquette, and dance lessons; the two spent a great deal of time together.

Maxwell befriended Riley right off the bat and was more than ready to do all he could in making her stay with them as pleasant as possible. As much as she enjoyed spending time with the fun loving noble, she tended to gravitate towards Bertrand. There were many evenings that she would seek him out to talk about an event. Their conversations then turned towards more personal matters.

It was in those moments she allowed herself to daydream of Bertrand pulling her within his arms and finally giving her the kisses she desired. She had steadily grown more and more attracted to him as time went by. It wasn't just that she found him handsome. Riley ended up liking everything about him.

Bertrand discovered the full story of her background. He found himself in awe of her inner strength as she faced life alone. He at least had Maxwell to turn to when at his wit's end. His brother might not come up with the most feasible ideas on how to handle their financial problems, but he was at least able to give the emotional support Bertrand needed. Riley was truly on her own. No help. No true home. Nothing at all.

Bertrand thought her generous, never shirk her promises nature shouldn't exist after all her hardships. To see her still have an optimistic outlook on life was something he himself wished to have for his own somewhat jaded self.

Riley in turn was amazed at all that Bertrand had done with his duchy. Though born to a life of privilege, he hadn't been afraid to roll up his sleeves and start revitalizing a business that had been treated by his late father as nothing more than a hobby. As he shared pieces of his teen years spent in charge not only of his younger brother but also in keeping their duchy afloat, she grew more impressed. She could see the affection he had for Maxwell through the gruff spoken memories. She also saw just how deeply he cared.

He wasn't one to run away when the going got tough. She couldn't recall knowing anyone in her life like Bertrand. She wished she had someone like him to be there as her rock throughout life.

Bertrand's eyes drifted along her face. He tried to avoid all the thoughts of how irresistible she looked with her bare feet tucked under her skirt. The soft light from the sconces caused her tan skin to practically glow. He wondered if it was just as warm to the touch as it looked.

He glanced down at the nearly empty bottle of champagne resting between them. He might need something stronger to help control those thoughts of his.

Riley reached for the bottle at the same moment he did. She jerked her hand back as if burned. She knew it was foolish to dream about a future with the man who hadn't shown any interest outside of friendly regard for her. She was nothing, no one, in this world of his. Just because he invited her here and helped her appear like she belonged, it didn't mean that she did.

She couldn't fall for the lie they were living in, no matter how much it was becoming a dream of hers.

Bertrand picked up the bottle, a little shaken by her reaction to his innocent touch.

Grimacing over the little bit of champagne left, he set it on a table.

"Care for something stronger?" He asked.

"Sure." Riley got up the same time he did. "Why don't you relax and let me make the drinks?"

She winked at him to hopefully diffuse the tension developing once more between them.

"After all, I'm the one with the most experience with mixology."

He nodded, attempting to be pleasant.

"I'll leave it to your expertise then."

She smiled at him on her way to the sideboard.

"I think we could both do with something both simple yet strong enough to get the job done."

Bertrand raised an eyebrow in question.

She returned with two tumblers filled with his favorite whiskey.

"Excellent choice." He murmured in approval.

"I try."

She sat down a little closer to him. Neither was sure if she'd done so consciously or not.

Bertrand angled his body a bit more towards her. He held his glass out for a toast.

"To a successful end."

Tears sparkled in Riley's eyes. She tapped her glass against his.

"The end." She mumbled.

She wasn't ready for it to end. She didn't care that all the balls and such were nearly over. It was the thought that once Liam was crowned king, she wouldn't have a reason for remaining at Ramsford.

With Bertrand.

Bertrand hesitated, then set his arm along the back of the sofa. His fingers brushed her bare shoulder as he leaned a bit closer.

"Riley? Are you crying?"

"No!" She angrily wiped at the tears that proved she was lying.

"What is it?" He scooted closer to her. "Did I say something to upset you?"

"No. Yes." She gulped down her glass without worry over how it might look. "It's nothing."

"I beg to differ." His hand now rested on her shoulder. "I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything that worries you."

She bit down on her lip, swirling the dregs of whiskey around and around her glass. She knew if she told him she didn't want to leave that he'd find a way to allow her to stay. She didn't want to be a burden on him.

Perhaps she could find a job here. Make Cordonia her home. Surely he would continue their friendship after all they'd been through. She could bury her feelings that he couldn't possibly share.

"I suppose, I mean, I don't really..." She raised her eyes to his. "I don't know what to do once all this ends."

Bertrand's lips curved. That was something he could actually help with if she allowed him to. Even if he was the only one suffering with longing for her to stay here with him, perhaps he could at least persuade her to remain in Cordonia.

"There's no reason to rush on deciding what you want to do next. You're a member of my house now."

"I am?" Riley asked.

"Of course. We sponsored you. I'm afraid you're a Beaumont in the eyes of Cordonia whether you want to be or not."

"I want to be!" She clasped her hand over her mouth for nearly saying all she did want.

"Good. I don't think Maxwell and I would know what to do with ourselves if you decided to leave." His hand trailed down her arm to tangle with her fingers. "You would be greatly missed, my lady."

"I would miss you." She said softly. "I was thinking that I might like living in Cordonia from now on."

"Excellent." Bertrand lifted her hand once more to his lips. "Then it's settled. You'll remain here with us." He flushed thinking that she might take that as he meant to keep her here forever. "At least until you find somewhere you think is more suitable."

She laughed at the notion that anywhere would be better than Ramsford.

"Thank you, your grace."

Riley pulled their clasped hands towards her and rested her cheek against them. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as a warmth seemed to infuse her body. She knew it wasn't the whiskey, it was the knowledge that she wouldn't have to leave his side anytime soon.

Their unspoken feelings intermingled with months of suppressed desire between them began to stretch taught, like a rubber band being pulled to its very limit.

When she pressed their hands to her cheek, Bertrand inexplicably leaned forward, drawn in by the feel of her skin and the look in her eyes.

Riley's own body swayed towards him as if pulled in by some magnetic force. She didn't bother to fight it. She knew deep down she was tired of the nightly battle.

Bertrand let go of her hand. Once free, he slid his hand along her cheek and on into her hair. His fingers dislodged some of the pins holding her hair in a formal updo. Waves of silly brown hair tresses tumbled over his hand.

Riley's breath caught with the first feel of his lips against hers. Their hesitancy brought out her own boldness. She gripped the collar of his shirt, and yanked Bertrand against her.

Their mouths crashed together as they surrendered to what had been smoldering between them after all this time. With clumsy effort and a few sounds of ripped cloth, Riley managed to stretch out underneath Bertrand as their kiss dipped into carnal territory.

His tongue plunged and retreated between her plump lips in a heady rhythm that made her head spin. The feeling of her hands drifting down his back, pressing him as close as her ball gown would allow drew moans from him.

He dipped down to kiss along her bare shoulders, traveling further towards the hint of cleavage peeking from her dress.

Riley arched into the feel of his mouth at last on her skin. Her fingers gripped his hair as he fanned the flames she'd done her best to keep at bay.

He slid back up, his mouth once more slanting over hers. All his imaginings of how she would feel and taste could not measure up to finally discovering the truth. He was drunk on her and needed more.

They broke apart to momentarily stare at each other in amazement. Their breaths intermingled as they fought through their haze of desire to finally say the words they'd kept secret all this time.

"Riley, I've been--"

"Bertrand, I need to tell you--"

They both froze when the door clicked open.

"Where did I put that flail?" Maxwell mumbled as he began to search through the bookshelves that held some weapons of old.

His back was to the couch. He was completely oblivious that anyone else was in this dim room with him.

"Hmm?" He stepped back, bumping his hip into the end table that the empty bottle of champagne sat upon.

"Crap!" He lunged to grab the bottle before it tumbled to the Persian rug.

He froze when he saw the tangle of limbs on this end. One set looked suspiciously like the type of slacks his brother usually wore. The other set had a similar tan like Riley had.

His bright blue eyes curiously made the slow path up, catching sight of the familiar blue gown he'd picked out the night before, his brother's formal vest, and finally to the panicked faces of the two people he adored the most.

Maxwell's gasp seemed extra loud in the silent room.

"O.M.Geeee." He whispered. "Are you two--I mean were you...umm..."

Bertrand dropped his head momentarily against Riley's shoulder. Of all the people who could discover them like this, he was both grateful and frustrated that it was his brother. Gratefulness though seemed to be winning out the more he considered the situation.

He could feel Riley shaking underneath him. Worried she was crying again, he quickly looked up at her.

Tears of mirth were in her eyes as she shook with laughter. It bubbled up as she kept him close to her.

Bertrand's own chuckle spilled out as he realized there really was no point in denying it any longer.

He pushed himself off of her then tugged her into his arms.

Maxwell's jaw dropped at the sight of his brother being so affectionate with someone.

"I can only speak for myself," Bertrand declared, "but yes. As for me, that is a yes to your question."

Maxwell stared wide eyed at Riley's face.

"That's a yes from me too." She pressed a kiss to Bertrand's cheek.

"Oh!" Maxwell's dimpled smile burst forth. "This is huge! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know about you," Bertrand got to his feet, "but I feel a great deal of longing to be in my bedroom."

Maxwell's eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing within his hairline with his brother's next words.

"Would you care to join me, my lady? I know we won't be disturbed in there."

Riley nearly tripped over her skirt as she hurried to her feet. Grasping his hand in hers, she gave a brief nod.

Maxwell could only watch as they walked out of the study, as if they had all the time in the world, their arms wrapping once more around the other.

[angelasscribbles]

Unexpected Chapter 11: Let's Be Happy

Series: Unexpected

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Maxwell, Riley x Liam

Rating: MA

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word Count: 2,919

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley folded clothes and placed them into a suitcase as her mind ran through last night’s events.

Everything was out in the open now. Max had always known about Liam, of course. But now Liam knew about Max as well.

The reveal had gone far better than she would have imagined. She wouldn’t go so far as to say Liam hadn’t cared. He had been a little hurt, a little angry, a little jealous even. But by the night’s end, they had been on the same page.

She would stay in Cordonia. She would continue her relationship with him. He would marry someone else. She would be free to continue her relationship with Max.

Bertrand was going to be livid. She did not doubt that he would make good on his promise to withdraw House Beaumont’s support, both publicly and financially. He’d likely cut Max off as well.

Liam had brushed her concerns about the future aside, telling her not to worry, he’d handle it. For now, she would keep her room at the palace. She would attend the engagement tour and before they left, she would move into a new suite of rooms in the royal family’s wing.

She wasn’t crazy about not having a solid plan for the long term and she was even less thrilled about living in a room right down the hall from Liam’s wife, especially if that wife turned out to be Madeleine.

Liam had assured her he had no intention of marrying the countess, but Riley wasn’t sure that Kiara or Penelope would treat her much better.

There was a knock and Riley crossed the room to open the door for Hana. She pulled her inside and enveloped her in a hug. “I’m so happy to see you!”

Hana returned Riley’s embrace with a laugh. “I’m always happy to see you. But why, specifically?”

“I have a lot to tell you, but you first!” Riley released her and returned to folding clothes to place in her luggage. “I am dying to know what you were talking about last night. What did you mean when you said you weren’t sure you still wanted to marry the prince?”

Hana sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at her hands. “I don’t want to marry Liam. I mean, I did, when I first got here. In addition to making my parents happy and being able to put my considerable skills to good use as queen, he is hot as hell.”

“Right?” Riley laughed in agreement. “I didn’t hear a downside in there!”

Hana looked up with heated cheeks. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“If he chooses you, will you say yes?”

“Oh, he’s not going to choose me.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I can. We discussed it last night.”

Hana couldn’t hide the astonishment that crashed through her. “I knew you were close, but I didn’t realize he was confiding in you about such things. And if you’re that close, then why wouldn’t he—”

Riley dropped the blouse she was folding and grabbed Hana’s hands. “I’ll tell you everything, but not until you tell me why you don’t want to marry Liam. You would be a great queen.”

An idea seized hold of her. Hana would be a great queen. And she wasn’t a bitch.

Hana screwed her courage up, determined to say what she had come to say. The next time she would see Riley would be at the Beaumont Bash, an event sure to keep her too busy with hostessing duties to find a moment alone for a conversation. Then after that, the Coronation Ball.

It was now or never.

She drew in a deep breath and blurted out, “I can’t marry Liam because I’m in love with you!”

***

Drake lifted his hand to knock just as the door to Liam’s office opened and the prince’s personal lawyer stepped out. “Rashad, I didn’t realize you were here today.”

“Last minute meeting,” He explained as he nodded at the other man, “Nice to see you. I’m on my way out.”

“Nice to see you, too. Hello and goodbye.” Drake chuckled as he entered the office and closed the door behind him. He took in his best friend’s demeanor. “Wow. You look downright chipper this morning.”

Liam grinned at him from his place behind the highly polished mahogany desk. “Oh, I am! I spoke to Riley last night and I think I have everything figured out, Drake.”

Drake suppressed a long-suffering sigh. “I thought we settled this. You can’t marry her—”

“Oh, I’m not. I can’t. You were right about that. And she doesn’t want to be queen, anyway.”

Drake had been reaching for a donut on the service cart. His hand froze midway as he did a double take. “What now?”

“She doesn’t want it, Drake. Can you imagine? A woman who doesn’t even want the damn crown!”

“And you’re happy about that? Because yesterday you were still trying to find a way to marry her.”

“I realized I can’t marry her. You were right about her and Max.”

Drake poured a cup of coffee to go with the donut and sat down across the desk from Liam. “I’m very confused. She doesn’t want to marry you, and she’s fucking Beaumont. Why are you happy?”

“Because my overstepping, interfering stepmother is right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Queen is a job title. One that Riley is neither prepared nor suited for.”

“Okay….”

Liam leaned forward with excitement. “I thought I needed her to marry me to be happy, but I don’t!”

Drake lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “You don’t?”

“No. I don’t. I just need her in my life, and she’s agreed to it. I’m determined to make this work. My marriage will be in name only.”

“But….she’s still sleeping with Max, right? You’ll never be able to reign her in. That girl is a wild card.”

Liam leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Perhaps I like that about her. She just follows her heart and does whatever the hell she wants. What freedom that must be.”

“That’s one way to look at it.”

“Yes. But also look at it this way. I’ll always know she’s choosing to be with me because she wants to, not because she has to.”

“How do you figure?”

“You know I’ve always had issues with women wanting the crown more so than me.”

“Yes…”

“She doesn’t want it and she won’t have it. There will be no marriage contract to bind her to me. Every moment we spend together will be because she wants me. Liam, the man. Not the king, not the crown.”

“I think you’re forgetting one very important thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Your money. She may not want the responsibilities of the crown, but how can you ever be sure she isn’t just enamored of your wealth?”

“Ah. I have a solution for that as well. That’s why Rashad was here.”

“I don’t follow.”

Liam pushed a folder across the desktop.

Drake flipped through it and whistled. “Wow. You really have thought of everything.”

 “I know.” Liam gave him a self-satisfied smirk as he rose from the desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pack.”

Drake’s head snapped up. “Pack? Why? We don’t leave for Ramsford until tomorrow.”

“Court doesn’t. Riley and the Beaumonts are leaving this morning. I plan to surprise her there.”

“At Ramsford? Where she’ll be with Max?”

“I can handle Max,” Liam assured him with a scowl. “It’s Bertrand I’m worried about.”

“Bertrand?” Drake sat up straighter, “Explain.”

Liam quickly filled him in on what Riley and Max had confided to him before heading to the royal quarters to pack.

***

Thirty minutes after arriving at Ramsford, Liam was alone with Riley. Bertrand had been thrilled to provide them with a private sitting room and shoo all the servants away from the area.

Riley’s eyes flicked back and forth from the paperwork in her hands to the man standing in front of her.

Liam was vibrating with excitement as he waited for her reaction.

She shifted through the documents in confusion. “I don’t understand. You’re giving me Valtoria?”

His grin broadened. “Yes!”

Her brows drew together. “What is it?”

“It’s a duchy.”

“Wait. You can just give someone a duchy?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Yes, of course?” She scoffed, “This is brand new information to me, Liam!”

“You’ll be a duchess, complete with full Cordonian citizenship and voting rights in the House of Lords.”

“I’ll be a duchess….”

“Yes, with everything that entails. Lands, titles, bank accounts—”

Her head jerked up as her eyes flew from the document she was holding to his face. “Bank accounts?”

“Naturally. You don’t need Bertrand’s money and you won’t be beholden to him or anyone else for anything from here on out.”

“Liam, this…this is incredibly generous, but I don’t know anything about running a duchy!”

“You don’t have to run it, Riley. You can appoint a prime minister to do all the work.”

“And I’ll keep this as long as I’m your mistress?”

“You’ll keep it, regardless. I have signed and filed all the paperwork, Riley. It’s yours with no strings attached.”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief. “Why would you do this?”

“Why?” He took her hand in his. “Because it would kill me if I ever thought you were sleeping with me out of some sort of obligation or because you felt backed into a corner financially. And because I love you. If you cut me out of your life tomorrow, I can live in peace knowing that you’re taken care of.”

“Liam…”

“I’m sorry I can’t marry you, Riley. But your future is secure, with or without me in it, so would you please stop worrying about that?”

She threw herself into his arms.

After several moments filled with laughter, tears, and lots of kissing, she pulled away from him. “This is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me, Liam. I love it and I love you. I feel selfish for asking, but there is one more thing I’d like to ask of you.”

“I’m gratified that you’re so happy. It gives me great satisfaction to please you. If there’s something else I can do, please tell me.”

“I want you to marry Hana.”

***

The moment the guests arrived, Liam pulled Hana aside for a confidential chat. Then he spoke privately to his father.

“I had hoped you’d choose Countess Madeleine.”

“And I had my heart set on marrying Lady Riley.”

“The council—”

“Won’t approve her. And neither will you. I know. Lady Hana isn’t your first choice, nor is she mine, but she’s an excellent compromise. She has the correct background and education. She’s poised, talented, charming, and beautiful. She should have no trouble securing council approval.”

Constantine laughed with relief, proud to see his son making logical compromises. He had been worried Liam was going to be intransigent about marrying the waitress. The lady from Shanghai was indeed an excellent choice. Regina wouldn’t be happy, but he could handle his wife. Clapping his son on the back, the king assured him, “I’ll have them get the approval pushed through by tomorrow.”

***

The Beaumont Bash went off without a hitch. The overnight guests were served a late brunch the next day. Liam insisted Riley return to the palace with him.

“Surely you don’t need her for the cleanup? You have staff for that, right?”

Bertrand nodded his agreement with glee. “Yes. It’s fine. Go. Go.”

Liam pushed away from the table and held his hand out to her. “Come, Riley. I’ll walk you to your room. Max, would you please join us?”

Max looked up from his plate in surprise. His eyes flicked to Bertrand, who was shooting daggers at him, then back to Liam. “Um…yes, sure.”

Liam ushered them into Riley’s bedroom and closed the door before turning to face them. “Take anything you care about. You too, Max. The day after tomorrow Bertrand will realize that his plan has failed. I want you both out of his reach. The worst he can do is withdraw his support of Riley and disinherit you. It won’t matter. As I’m sure she’s shared with you by now, Riley is a duchess in her own right. Regardless, you’re both welcome to stay at the palace for as long as you want.”

“With pleasure!” Riley was already pulling her suitcase out.

Max watched Liam’s face closely. “I understand why you’re helping her. But why are you helping me?”

“It’s the same answer. You’re important to her, she’s important to me. I hope you prove worthy of it. Now go pack. We’re leaving in an hour.”

***

It was coronation night, and everything was in place. Liam hummed happily as he stepped out of the bathroom into the small but elegant sitting room just down the hall from the grand ballroom to find Madeleine waiting for him. His jaw clenched in annoyance. “What are you doing in here? This is a private room.” He was going to have a very stern talk with his head of security.

“We need to talk.”

“What could we possibly have to discuss?”

“Our engagement.”

Liam tipped his head back with a sigh. “We are not engaged, Countess.”

“But we should be. I know you’re in love with…” she grimaced, liked the words burned in her mouth, “…the American. But arrangements can be made for that…”

“I’m aware of what I can and can’t do!” He turned his back on her and headed for the door.

She lunged after him, grabbing his sleeve and jerking him back toward her. “What other woman is going to offer you the freedom to—”

“Any of them!” He jerked his arm free. “Do you imagine I’m going to enter into a marriage contract without a Cordonian Arrangement codicil? Looking the other way while your spouse has dalliances is politically arranged marriages 101, Madeleine. You should know this.” Liam shook his head. “I’m disappointed, honestly. For all the talk of your political acumen, you have very little.”

“I have what it takes to be queen, Liam, and you know it!”

“No, you don’t. You’re not fit to rule. You paint yourself as regal, but you’re not, you’re just plain mean. You intend to rule through fear and intimidation based not even on any power of your own, but on mine. The fact that you don’t realize you have no power is pathetically evident in the way you’re behaving right now, as if you’re holding all the cards in this dynamic.”

“I’m simply trying to look out for you, Liam. The monarchy needs to be strong, you—”

“You think you’re the best choice for Cordonia?”

“Yes, of course! It’s my duty—”

“You don’t care about duty. You like lording your position over the other ladies of the court. Do you think I don’t see that?”

The countess straightened her shoulders indignantly. “That’s not true! I am committed to serving my country!”

He adjusted a cufflink as he gave her a considering look. “Do you wish to be queen, Madeleine?”

“You know I do!”

He stepped into her personal space. “How much?”

“What?”

He took her arm and pulled her closer. He lowered his head so that his lips were just inches from hers. “Will you fulfill your wifely duties?”

She flinched, but she didn’t pull away. “Of course. We must produce heirs—”

He ran a finger down her cheek, then down her bare arm. “And you’ll look the other way while I take whatever lovers I so desire?”

“I’ve already agreed to this! What—”

His fingers dug into her arm deeper. “Will you be nice to the other ladies of my court? Stop being a bitch to the servants?”

“I…I suppose I could be a little…softer…”

“I don’t like your father. Are you willing to cut him out of your life?”

She hesitated for a scant moment and then whispered softly, “Yes, I’ll do it.”

He shoved her away with a laugh. “See? No power. Stop acting like you have anything to bargain with.” His eyes ran down her body, “Other than your physical attributes. But every other lady here has those as well. What else do you have to offer? You are not smarter than Kiara, you are not more cultured than Hana, you are not more charming than Penelope and you’re sure as hell not Riley.”

A primal roar broke out of the usually composed blond. “You can’t marry her! The nobility will turn on you. You—”

“I never said I was going to marry her.”

“But….the matching outfits at the Beaumont Bash….the diamond and sapphire necklace around her neck that she obviously can’t afford….the two of you sneaking off into the hedge maze…”

“I’m sleeping with her. I love her. But I’m not foolish enough to marry her.”

“Then who—”

“You’ll find out when everyone else does.” He pulled the door open and then paused. Looking over his shoulder, his voice dropped low and menacing. “Oh, and Madeleine? If I find out you were involved in the attempted sabotage of Lady Riley or Duchess Olivia, I will make sure you pay for it.”

Madeleine stiffened slightly as her eyes widened. Then she sniffed indifferently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“For your sake, I hope that’s true.” He left without another look back.

[txemrn]

Déjà Vu

Chapter 1

Series Summary: After an unforgettable night with a stranger, Princess Eleanor finds herself caught in a secret love triangle between a noble and a commoner.

Chapter Summary: Eleanor prepares for a night out with her best friends despite her mother's wishes for her to attend a special family dinner.

Pairing(s): Liam x Riley (in discussion); more to be revealed

Word Count: ~2740

Warning: 🔞 Mature Audiences Only 🔞 this chapter references drinking; brief language

A/N: Welcome to my Crack Fic! No one asked for this... at least no one of sound mind, and if you're a big fan of TRR, you might actually hate this (no, I'm not killing Liam!). When I pitched this idea (half-joking, half-serious) to some buddies after reading the book Birthday Girl by Penelope Douglas, the eager encouragement I normally receive was met with (what's that TikTok trend with that T Swift song?) "horrified looks from everyone in the room". But... I could not get this idea out of my head. So, here we are! I have a general idea of where this story is going... but I'm actually leaving myself open to possibilities. No matter how the road twists and turns, I would be honored if you join me!

A/N 2: This story takes place approximately 2 decades after TRR/TRH. I have made some canonical changes (they will be mentioned). Characters and some plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry! Huge thank you to @charlotteg234 for looking over this for me (and laughing like a maniac with me)! This was not Beta'd; please excuse my errors.

~🖤~

Eleanor

Tapping my newly manicured nails against the glass topper to my vanity, my gaze nervously shifts back and forth between my choices for the evening. I don’t know why this is so hard–or why it’s taking me this long to decide–but somehow, here I am in quite the conundrum.

Perversion or Temptress: that’s it. But, when it came to darkening the outer-corner of my eyelid, picking the right hue of eyeshadow matters. Yes, yes, they’re both a deep black; one is a dark matte that has the potential to smudge all over my porcelain face, but the other one, while dark, has little flecks of silver.

Biting my lip, I look at myself in the mirror before looking back at the YouTube tutorial I was following.  I feel silly making such a big deal over the color; afterall, this is supposed to be fun. Normally, for me, it is.  I’m actually really good at doing my own make-up, thanks to the internet and to my mother who convinced my father when I was fourteen that mascara and lipstick would not lead me down the path of destruction and eternal damnation.

Well, I guess I should clarify: I do a great job on my make-up, my everyday natural, diplomatically poised look. Think lots of pinks and taupes. It’s the latest trend for crown princesses; I should know.

But tonight, I wouldn’t be Princess Eleanor. I didn’t want to be Princess Eleanor. 

Dangit, that came out wrong. I don’t mean to sound like some stereotypical spoiled brat that is born into money and power, who craves freedom from her poor little privileged life.  I am content–actually, very grateful for the life I have been born into. I have been given incredible opportunities and experiences because of it. But, I’m not naive; I know I have a high-calling, one filled with much responsibility and dedication. Someday I will be queen of Cordonia.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves... 

Tonight, I’m just Nora–at least that’s what my friends call me, and since I’m turning twenty this coming Tuesday, they wanted to take me out over the weekend. This weekend. See? Responsible. But, there is just one problem…

There’s a sudden knock on my door, my mother instantly inviting herself in.  “Dinner’s in thirty Eleanor–”  she freezes as her eyes grow wide. “Y–you’re make-up… don’t you think it’s a bit on the, um… heavy-side?”

“Mom,” I singsong, "it's supposed to be. This is how all the celebrities and models wear their make-up when they hit the town." 

"Hit the town?" My mother gave me that eyebrow, the one that gives away her true unspoken feelings. "You're going out tonight?"

"Mhmm. To dinner." I settle on Urban Decay's Perversion, and start tapping the color against my eyelid. "I told you and Daddy that Josie and Beth were taking me out–"

"Eleanor," my mom shot her first warning signal with her tone. "We discussed that tonight wasn't a good night. And if you ladies could do things tomorrow–"

"It's just a family dinner," I continue to work on my look. "Daddy said it was fine–"

"But you know how important this dinner is. We have a special guest."

Yes, yes. We know.

His name is Drake Walker, and he is–well, was, my parent's best friend back in the day before I was born. He actually grew up with my dad, Drake's father serving as my Grandpa Rys's royal guard when he was king of Cordonia.

But, then there was a falling out of some sort…well, that's according to my Uncle Leo. He means well, but I'm fairly certain the truth has been stretched.

Anyway, I'm not too clear on what happened, but shortly after my parents got married, Drake moved back to his home in America to start a normal life. He never settled down with a wife, but he kept busy with his construction company.

That is until four months ago when he discovered his business partner had been siphoning company funds into off-shore accounts. Now he spends his days laid up on the couch with a fifth of whiskey. And broke as a joke.

Drake's brother-in-law Bertrand Beaumont, the Duke of Ramsford, serves on the royal council with my parents, and after a late meeting one night, he shared the truth about their former best friend. 

Daddy and his bleeding heart… sure, he can see fiery red from time to time and his temper can bubble over, but my father is known for his grace, forgiveness, and charity towards others. He contacted his old friend… which then led to an invitation back to Cordonia.

'It's only for a little while, until he gets back on his feet,' Daddy assured my mom.  'We'll give him tasks around the palace until then.'

Mom called it a 'midlife crisis'. I don't think I was supposed to hear the latter part.

I began to draw on my eyeliner as my mother crossed her arms, glowering at me. Feeling the disappointment radiate from her glare, I stop, shrugging my shoulders. "What?"

"Part of being royal is posing as a unified front as a family."

"You act like this is some official business or a press event–"

"Our closest friends are going to be here, Elle, and–" she stops, her eyes playfully smoldering as her voice becomes angelically romantic. "--I think even Bartie is coming." 

"Mom!" I chuckle, my cheeks pinking in embarrassment from her inflection. "It's not like that with him."

Oh, but it was…

Bartie Beaumont is one of my closest friends. He's a few years older than me and well… I really enjoy spending time with him.  He's incredibly kind and charming in and out of social situations. He's quite handsome with his dark, well-kept hair and deep chestnut eyes. And smart–goodness, he's smart. He can keep up with my father, round-for-round in debating politics and foreign policies.

He's always been fiercely protective of me, even when I was a little girl. But he was always just Bartie, my honorary older brother… that is until he asked me to dance at a charity gala when I was sixteen. I had never been asked to dance by a boy before; I was normally paired with other noble children, usually from the suggestion made by their mothers. But this? It was different… and special. Someone chose to dance with me because they wanted to. And until that moment, I never understood what it meant to let a partner 'lead you', and well… I digress. It was nice. Bartie… he's just nice.

"But seriously, Mom," I continue, "the girls have already set everything up for tonight, and I'm the guest of honor for that. I can't just stand them up."

My mom gives me a long sigh. She's having that internal argument with herself where she compares her younger years as a commoner versus her younger years as a royal. "I guess I was hoping you'd get to meet your Uncle Drake tonight–"

I couldn't control my giggles. Growing up, Mom and Dad always referred to their close friends as 'Aunt' or 'Uncle', like my Uncle Max and Aunt Livvy. But they were also active members in my life that I saw frequently. 'Uncle Drake'? I don't even know the guy. 

"Isn't he living on our couch for a while? I'm sure I'll meet him at breakfast sometime." 

My mom pursed her lips. I think she realizes she has no other reasons to keep me home. Thank goodness.

"Is Lars going with you, or is one of the other guards?"

"Mom," I whine.

"Eleanor, you know the rules–"

"But I just want to be a normal twenty-year-old for the night–"

"Almost twenty-year-old," she smirks, stepping forward to fidget with my wavy, honey-brunette hair. "It's just not safe, baby. People know who you are–good people… and bad people. Even under all of this make-up, people will still recognize you."

I give a little huff, but she was right. I once dyed my hair purple and wore thick-rimmed frames to a show for a local punk band, and I'm pretty sure I posed for more photos with fans than the musicians.

"Fine, I'll ask Lars," I give my mother a half smile. "Anything else, your majesty?"

"One more thing," she twirls me around to face my reflection in the mirror. I'm keeping it pretty casual tonight with a white shirt and black ripped skinny jeans. I am pairing my black moto jacket with some gold accessories and my red Jimmy Choo pumps. Surely the woman doesn't think I'm showing off too much skin. 

Suddenly, she raises my shirt in the back and unclips my white bra.

"Mom!" 

"Eleanor," she snickers, shaking her head at me. "We've been over and over this ever since you got boobs: white shirt, nude undergarments."

I whip off my bra, quickly grabbing a skin-tone t-shirt bra. "No one's going to be looking."

"Someone is always looking." 

After hooking my bra and smoothing out my tee, Mom gave me an approving nod. And then she put her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. "Have a good time tonight. I love you, my twenty-year-old baby."

"Almost twenty-year-old baby." We both fall into titters as we squeeze each other closer. "I love you too, Mommy."

------

I text my bodyguard Lars to let him know about the evening, and as expected, he'll be ready with the car in ten minutes. 

Poor guy was ball-and-chained to me when I got my driver's license. I'm sure when he signed up for the guard, he pictured himself traveling around the world, looking like a badass with my dad. Instead, he got me, and the only traveling he normally does is to gather my morning espresso and cronut. He's made more trips to Sephora than any man should ever make in his lifetime–even more than my Uncle Max.

He's a good guy… if you like the serious, never-crack-a-smile type. He looks like John Cena with a permanent angry expression, complete with a single bulging vein in the center of his forehead. He's a man of few words despite my attempts to make him laugh, but underneath all the brawn and muscle, he has a big heart. He has literally given me his coat so that I wouldn't have to walk through a puddle of half-melted snow. And to think, he has sworn to give so much more for my own life… 

My phone abruptly pings. Beth.

>>> "Hey, bday bish! R U ready for the nite of ur life?"

I chuckle under my breath after reading the text. Night of my life… She always has a flare for the dramatics, but then again Beth has always been the life of the party. She has more personality in her pinkie finger than all of the citizens of Cordonia combined. Her mother is the Countess of Fydelia, and ever since Beth's father left, she's been indisposed.  Mom says that's a more tactful way of saying, 'alcoholic'. 

Beth walks more on the wild side, a real risk-taker. When I get in trouble, chances are she is somehow involved, like the time I got caught with a bottle of Smirnoff Ice at the Baron's Ball. Ugh, talk about the hangover from hell… and that wasn't even my punishment…

But she, along with Josie, are my ride-or-die. My BFFs. My "You jump, I jump, right?". We've grown up together, became women together, and nothing was about to ruin that bond.

I fire a text back to Beth. 

>>> "Can't wait! My car will be ready in a few. What restaurant are we meeting at?"

My phone instantly dings, catching me off guard in my attempts to glide on some lipstick. That was fast. I tap on the message.

>>> "We're coming 4 u! Be ready!"

My face falls. I know it's probably hard to believe, but my friends often forget that I'm a princess. Like, the legit crown princess of Cordonia, and because of that, I need a bodyguard present during all activities outside of the palace that have not otherwise been secured by the royal guard. As you can imagine, that rule made me so popular in grade school when my parents tried giving me a 'normal life'.

In retrospect, I'm quite grateful for the security through the years, especially when I hear about plots made by secret coups against my dad. But still, it would be nice to get my own darn breakfast. And I'm sure Lars would love to sleep in for once.

I text back.

>>> "And Lars"

>>> "R U kidding me? Ur shadow has 2 come?"

I let out a defeated exhale.  She knows this. My phone suddenly rings, her picture lighting up the screen. "Hey–"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She sounds irritated, as if I did this maliciously to her.

"Beth, you know my parents won't allow me out without him or any other–"

"He can't come with us," she interrupts. I can hear Josie in the back, trying to calm Beth down. 

"And do tell–" I cross an arm over my chest, raising an eyebrow, "--why is that?"

She lets out a huge sigh. "Fine. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday, but–" she hesitates, sucking on her front teeth.  "I got us three VIP passes into Core!"

I blink a few times, racking my brain for this to somehow trip a memory. "Core?" Nope. No tripping. "What's Core?"

"Nora!" She scoffs in disbelief. "It's only the newest and hottest club in town. Tonight is opening night. Half price shots–"

"Uh, Beth–?" I could feel my stomach sinking under the weight of her excitement. And Josie wasn't any better, squealing over the line. 

A club? Like, with dancing and drinking? I had never been to one before. And something tells me that the king wouldn't be too approving of his nineteen-year-old daughter partying with half-drunk strangers, groping her in the name of dancing. Still, it sounds like so much fun.

"--and we have a VIP table with bottle service until midnight!"

"Beth!" I call out to get her attention again. "There… there's just no way I can do that. Especially without Lars."

"C'mon, Nora. It's your freaking birthday. You're supposed to let loose–"

I hang my head into my hands. "You know I want to, but… I–I can't do that. My parents–"

"--don't have to know."

That silenced me real quickly into deep thought. I might not be the world's most perfect child, but I have learned never to hide things from Liam and Riley Rys. Never. 

But I'd be lying if a glimmer of hope and excitement didn't blossom in my chest at the thought of going out despite my parent's knowledge. Besides, I am an adult; I'm almost twenty for crying out loud. If anything, I've shown them how responsible I am, and that I can be trusted. Plus, Aunt Livvy has taught me more than enough self-defense maneuvers that I could probably take a second job as a spy with her wife.

Okay. Maybe Beth has a plan.

"And how won't they find out? Lars has to give a detailed report–"

"We won't bring him."

That's the plan? I snicker under my breath, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "And… how do you suggest I get rid of him?"

"Why not a sleepover?" I hear Josie suggest in the background.

A sleepover. That could work. There were few places I could go where security didn't have to be right beside me once a building was given the all clear. Beth's house happened to be one of them. 

"But I'm already dressed up. And–and I told my mom we were going out–"

"So?" Beth interjects. "We changed our minds. We'll have dinner catered."

Crap. Am I really considering this? I look at my reflection in the mirror as I twist my lips. Dangit. And I'm having a really good hair day.

"What's it gonna be, Nora?"

I take a few cleansing breaths. I can feel my pulse, galloping like a racehorse in my ears. Could I actually get away with this? I've been to Beth's house thousands of times. The guard comes in, does a quick sweep, and then keeps watch outside, never to return until it's time for me to leave. We could sneak out the back through the guest house. He would never know.

I swallow thickly, adrenaline pouring into my veins.

"Okay. Let me make a call."

~🖤~

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------

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

[damejudywrench]

I remember when first playing this I thought Bertrand would be a love interest from the way they were describing him 😂