Royal Line Read online

  That’s what made us royals. We hid from the public, and sometimes from ourselves, but we got things done.

  And we helped our people.

  And that was enough of that.

  “Okay, I want cake.”

  “That’s my girl. First, you must dance, cake is much later. Aunt Rebecca wouldn’t allow us to cut the cake too early.” Breck screwed up his face when he mimicked her voice. “That just isn’t done.”

  Laughing, I rolled my eyes as I slid my hand into his, following him out onto the dance floor, my dress swinging around my ankles as others joined us.

  “Why do we let her run everything?”

  Breck twirled me around the polished marble, demonstrating the three-times-a-week dance lessons that had been forced on him as a child.

  “Because she helped raised us, because she has been the one organizing the social schedules of the kingdom since we lost our parents, and because if you don’t let her do something, she’ll do it anyway and scold you about it, all with a polite smile.”

  I laughed at that, ignoring the warning look from one of the husbands of a councilwoman who didn’t like the idea of royals amongst them. It might be my birthday, but they were sure to remind me that they paid for everything and I was just a pretty princess on a cloud with no job and no prospects.

  What was with me tonight?

  I pushed those thoughts out of my head and turned back to Breck. “Oh leave her alone. Aunt Rebecca doesn’t snap. Or yell. She’s...kind.” And pushy and overbearing, but I didn’t say those things. My brothers had, of course, had to deal with Aunt Rebecca’s needling and orders as she helped raise us. But as we had all said before, it was for our own good. Truth be told, she was a larger part of my life than my brothers were. They had been well into their teen years when my parents died.

  We had lost our parents long ago, and when Roman became king, we had been shoved to the front of the news, the country, and into the eyes of the world. And Aunt Rebecca had been there in the wings, waiting, making sure we were taken care of. And I would never be able to thank her enough.

  There was always a part of me that wanted to be somewhere else. Even if it wasn’t grateful or what a princess would do.

  “How is planning for the trip?”

  I shrugged. “I’m still not sure I’m going.” I held back a growl since my latest attempt had once again been thwarted.

  “What? Why? You should go,” Breck said, as if he could read my mind.

  “We both know Roman won’t let me.” And he’d already sent his henchman, aka our brother, to make sure I couldn’t.

  “You’ve been mumbling about this project for how long? Just do it.”

  “Working princesses can’t be travel photojournalists. I want to go out and experience the real world, and not from behind bulletproof glass or with pearls around my neck. I want to get to know what’s truly beneath the surface, and I can’t do that. It’s just not done.”

  “And when has that ever stopped a Waterford before?” Breck asked, that haughty tone back in his voice that made me smile.

  “We always do what’s expected of us.”

  “If that were the case, Roman would be married.”

  I gave my brother a sharp look, and he had the grace to wince. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

  “We’ll all do what we need to do, what’s expected, but you know as well as I do that Roman’s not ready.”

  “When is he going to be, L?”

  Luckily the waltz ended. I shook my head and moved off the dance floor as the music shifted to a more upbeat song.

  “Let’s talk about something happier. It’s my birthday. I should be happy.”

  From behind me, someone said, “It is your birthday. Last one before you hit the big 3-0.”

  I turned to find my other brother, Wilder, and smiled, holding out my arms as if I hadn’t just seen him a few hours earlier. He hugged me tight, kissing the top of my head, and I sank into his hold. I knew I shouldn’t have favorites, but Wilder had always been mine—even if I hated him just a little bit for not letting me leave as of yet. Maybe if wasn’t for the party, he’d have helped me live my dream. I had to believe that. But for now, I was still hurt about the whole thing.

  All my brothers were big, muscular, and handsome as sin, according to the tabloid magazines and paparazzi that hounded us. Each of them had dark hair and light, bright eyes that seemed to shine in every photo.

  People said I looked like them, but I didn’t agree. Their eyes were just a bit brighter, their hair a bit shinier. And maybe it was because I was the baby sister who always saw my brothers as larger than life.

  After all, they were literal princes. What else could they be in my eyes?

  “We’re not supposed to call her old yet,” Breck said, leaning toward me as he stood by Wilder. The two were a sight for sure, and one of the ladies passing noticed. She practically tripped over her feet.

  “We’re not supposed to call me old, ever.” I snapped it out, but the boys didn’t listen. They never did.

  “Well, if she’s old, then so are we,” Wilder said.

  “No, we’re men. We age like a fine whiskey.”

  “And what am I?” I asked, my hands on my hips. I might have a tiara on my head and silk and lace wrapped around my body, but I would throw down right here and tackle my brother if I had to.

  Just because I might own night cream didn’t mean I was ready for dotage. I knew they were just teasing me, but I loved trading barbs with them.

  “Why are the three hosts of this party standing in a corner and not socializing?” a deep voice asked from behind me.

  I turned, a tentative smile on my face. “Roman.”

  “Happy birthday, baby sister,” my brother said as he leaned down and brushed a small kiss on my cheek. He looked every bit the king he was.

  It was a breach of proper etiquette, but it was my birthday, and the king did break the rules sometimes. Or perhaps he just bent them to his will with his fierce gaze and that stern frown that was perpetually on his face.

  “We’re just deciding which of us is going to start getting wrinkles first,” Breck said.

  “Well it’s already you, isn’t it?” Wilder asked while Breck frowned.

  “Not me. If anything, it’s going to be Roman here. Old man.”

  I was the baby sister of four, with Wilder being only a year older than me, and Breck being a couple of years older than that. But Roman had a larger gap in age than the rest of us.

  Our parents had loved each other, had a whirlwind romance, and had been amongst the greatest kings and queens of the ages, according to Alden’s history.

  When we lost them, the world had mourned.

  But before that happened, they’d had four children. Each one brought into the world with love, light, and paparazzi flashes in their eyes.

  I wasn’t a fan of the latter and considering what I wanted to be instead of a princess, it made sense.

  I was a photographer. Not a princess in my head all the time.

  I wanted to find a blend of both, one where I could see through the lens and take pictures of the world and understand human nature and nature itself.

  I wanted to do all of that and see the world without having a bodyguard at my side or a royal reason for being there.

  Wishes didn’t make choices, and unless I stood up for myself and finally asked, it was never going to happen.

  “Come with me,” Roman said, frowning.

  I looked at Breck and Wilder, who just shrugged, and we followed the King of Alden out of the room, wondering what on earth he could have to say to us tonight.

  “What is it? You were just meeting with the King of Sweden, right? Nothing could have happened there,” Breck said.

  “I like Sweden,” Wilder said.

  “As do I, hence why nothing would happen to occasion this meeting.”

  “You can’t go,” Roman said.

  I froze, my hands fisting in front of me. �
��Excuse me?” I turned away from him, looked at my other brothers, then turned back. “How does everyone know what I want to do before I even say it?”

  “We have our ways. This trip of yours is going to be too dangerous. I know you want to go and take photos and do something that you’re passionate about, but you can’t. It’s too dangerous considering the times we’re in. I’m sorry. But I forbid it.”

  Rage curled in my belly, and I swallowed hard, trying to understand exactly what he had just said.

  “You’re forbidding it?”

  “Roman,” Wilder whispered.

  “Really? That’s the line you’re taking?” Breck asked in a quiet voice.

  “I can forbid whatever the hell I want to. I am the King of Alden. I am your king.”

  “You are my brother, you might be my king, but you are not my owner and not my father.”

  He didn’t wince at the reminder of what we’d lost, but I saw his eyes narrow infinitesimally.

  “No, I’m not either of those things, but I am your ruler. You have a job here. You are to act in place of my queen until it is deemed that I find a queen of my own. You have duties here that you are neglecting every time you see fit to leave this kingdom on another jaunt of yours.”

  “Really? A jaunt. It’s a job. An actual job. One where I’m not cutting ribbons and smiling for people instead of doing what I want.”

  “Then find something that you like to do here. Be someone. Make a contribution. But I can only keep you safe if you’re here.”

  Breck and Wilder just stood with their mouths agape, but I was shaking. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.

  Before I could say anything in rebuttal, heels clattered on the marble floor behind us, and I whirled to see Aunt Rebecca running in, her face pale, her hands on her dress, lifting her skirts so she wouldn’t trip.

  Aunt Rebecca never ran. She was always poised and in control, her royal majesty in all but name. She would have been an amazing queen if she had not been born second to my father.

  “Roman, you must listen.”

  “I’m busy. I can’t meet with the council right now. I just got back into the country, and it’s London’s birthday. We’re celebrating.”

  “Some celebration,” I mumbled.

  “I know you’re busy, but you must listen.” A chill of foreboding slid over my body as I narrowed my eyes at her, the tone of her voice one I hadn’t heard in far too long.

  “Listen to what?” I asked carefully.

  “London, if you run off and chase your dreams and neglect your duties, you’ll lose your throne. And Roman, you’ll lose everything.”

  Chapter 2

  London

  Royal lines never fade. Memories do.

  * * *

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Aunt Rebecca?” Roman’s voice boomed, causing it to echo off of the walls in his study. It was unusual that my brother lost his temper. He was always so self-contained. This was the first time I’d seen absolute fury on his face.

  Our aunt didn’t cower though. She stood her ground and lifted her chin. The trembling in her hands was the only thing that belied her fear. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Roman. I’m sorry to interrupt, but you need to know this because I’m trying to help.”

  Her words seemed to calm Roman down, and I stepped forward and grabbed her arm.

  He tried again. “Sorry, Aunt Rebecca. What’s going on?”

  She patted my hand. “London, sweetheart, I’m sorry to do this on your birthday, but I’ve only just been made aware of it.” Her gaze flickered around to meet each of ours. “An emergency appeal was brought to the council tonight.”

  Roman’s voice was still tight. “What kind of emergency appeal?”

  Aunt Rebecca licked her lips, her makeup so expertly done it almost masked the lines around her mouth. “There is an obscure law that has never been used before until now. The law states that there must be a child born to the royal line before the last child in that line reaches thirty. I’m so sorry, darlings. You know I’d never want to see this happen to any of you. I love you all so much.”

  A nervous laugh bubbled out of my throat. “What? That’s ridiculous.”

  “I agree,” Aunt Rebecca said. “But it’s one of those things that was likely brought about to enforce alliances with neighboring kingdoms to ensure that there was always new royal blood.” At my stricken expression, she squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  My brother Wilder shook his head. “No, there’s no way. How in the world did this happen, and why didn’t we know?” He tilted his chin up at Roman. “You’re the king. Change the rule.”

  Roman’s expression was tight, and the muscle in his jaw ticked. “You know full well I can’t just change a law. It requires the Council of Lords to vote. And they’re not due to meet for another month. Obviously, London has just turned twenty-nine. That gives us a year to figure out what to do.”

  What the hell were they talking about? No way could they be entertaining any of this. A hysterical laugh bubbled up. “You guys, what the hell am I supposed to do if you can’t get the law changed? Get married, get knocked up, and have a baby just so you lot can rule? No, thank you.”

  Aunt Rebecca took both my hands. “Look, it’s not going to come to that, okay? I have a plan. First, we’ll go to the Council of Lords like your brother said, okay?”

  The squeeze of her hands was soothing. Calming. Ever since Mom died, Aunt Rebecca had stepped up so often to help, to keep me calm. Growing up in a family of men was difficult. But she was always there. “Look, I will make this right, okay?”

  From the corner, Breck watched us all. “This is bullshit. You can’t make London have a baby. Her womb isn’t up for auction.”

  Aunt Rebecca turned to him. “I know that. And you know that. But the laws are the laws, and we still need the Council of Lords to change them.”

  Roman rubbed his jaw. “All right. Aunt Rebecca, can you convene an emergency council meeting? We need to resolve this quickly.”

  “Yes, I will. But also, I have another solution.”

  Roman’s brows drew down. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, just in case, we can help London find someone.”

  Breck snorted. “Have you met London? Her dating life is a disaster under the best of circumstances. What? You’re going to find a ready-made royal somewhere who is her type? Which means, really, too pretty to be useful for anything. He has to be eccentric and quirky and like going on adventures with her. Oh, and we have to approve of him. Good luck, Auntie.”

  Aunt Rebecca released my hands and crossed her arms. “Well, are you offering a solution? I have someone London could meet. She’s actually met him once or twice already. He’s lovely. You spoke to him tonight, even.”

  Roman’s eyes went wide. “You’re serious? You’re proposing we marry London off?”

  “Well, none of you seem to be doing your duty. And Roman, honestly, I know how difficult things have been for you. But you left it too long, and now it’s up to your sister. Can any of you have a baby?”

  My brothers all shuffled on their feet. Assholes. “Aunt Rebecca, I love you, but it’s not happening.” I gestured toward my lower belly. “Nothing is coming to live here. It’s inhospitable. Babies don’t go well with photojournalism.”

  She gave me a soft smile. “I know. But we are in a tight spot now. We’ll try and get the law changed, but we need to prepare ourselves while we still can.”

  Roman shook his head. “London, don’t worry. We’ll make sure this doesn’t happen.”

  “Roman, I appreciate you wanting to protect her,” Aunt Rebecca said. “But you have to understand, since an emergency appeal was put forth, she has to show that she’s taking this seriously. Otherwise, the Council of Lords will be against her. If she’s making no effort, there are those on the Council who will think that you’re trying to skirt them.”

  Roman lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I am trying to s
kirt them.”

  “You can’t. Or at least you can’t be seen as doing so. We have to follow the rules until we can get them changed or re-assessed. London, it’s in your best interest to announce your engagement posthaste.”

  My jaw unhinged. “Engagement?”

  “Well, yes. If you meet the duke and he’s at least good-looking enough for you, we can start those proceedings and then show good faith… Like you know the rule, you understand the rule, and you’re willing to play ball. And then when we get it changed, you won’t have to get married.”

  “I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.”

  She sighed. “Sweetheart, you know full well that many royal marriages are not about love.”

  “I’m the girl. I don’t have to fulfill the duty. It’s Roman’s job. And Breck is right behind him. Why do I have to be involved? You can’t sell me off to the highest bidder.”

  Aunt Rebecca huffed. “I’m not selling you. We have hard truths to deal with right now. What else can we do?”

  Breck gasped. “Wait, so the next line, that’s...bloody Barkley?”

  Aunt Rebecca winced. “I think everyone in this room knows what would happen to the throne if my son sat on it.”

  My brothers all grimaced. Another hysterical laugh bubbled out of me. “Jesus Christ, is this for real?”

  My aunt nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  My brothers and I just stared at each other miserably.

  “Look, I’m going to go speak to some of the lords in attendance and let them know we need to have an emergency session in the morning. Roman, you might as well get some notes prepared on why we’re not going to allow this to occur. Even offer up Wilder and Breck if you have to. Something. Anything. We have to stop this.”

  Tears welled in my eyes. There was no fucking way. I was not getting engaged to some random duke, and I was certainly not having a baby. I had plans. Things I needed to do. I didn’t even want to be a royal. So why the hell did I have to suck it up and fulfill the duty? Just so my brothers didn’t have to? “Aunt Rebecca, thank you. What would I do without you?”