Royal Arrangement #2 Read online

  Royal Arrangement #2

  Renna Peak

  Ember Casey

  Casey Peak Publishing

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations or incidents are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Ember Casey and Renna Peak

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Edition: June, 2017

  Contents

  Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

  1. William

  2. Justine

  3. William

  4. Justine

  5. William

  6. Justine

  7. William

  8. Justine

  9. William

  10. Justine

  11. William

  12. Justine

  13. William

  14. Justine

  15. William

  16. Justine

  17. William

  18. Justine

  19. William

  20. Justine

  21. William

  Royal Arrangement

  Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

  Also by Renna Peak

  Also by Ember Casey

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  Character Interviews

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  William

  “What happens in ninety-seven days, Princess?” I ask Justine for the second time.

  She’s staring at me with wide eyes. The color has drained from her face. She knows something I don’t—something bad, or she wouldn’t be looking at me like she wants to sink into the floor.

  I step closer to her, closing the distance between us again. “You said we only have to deal with this for ninety-seven days. What happens in ninety-seven days?” I try to keep the impatience out of my voice, but I’m not sure I’m successful. What the hell isn’t she telling me?

  She blinks and shakes her head, snapping herself out of her daze. “Nothing happens in ninety-seven days. I misspoke.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Princess.”

  “I’m just…exhausted. I’ve ordered us breakfast. It should be here soon.”

  “Deflection isn’t going to work.”

  “Neither is an interrogation.” She starts to turn away from me, but as she does, I reach out and pluck her journal from beneath her arm.

  “Hey!” she says, spinning back around and grabbing for it. “Give that back!”

  I hold it over my head, high enough that she can’t reach it unless she tries to climb up my body. “I’ll give it back when you tell me what you’re hiding from me.”

  “I have nothing to tell you. And—”

  “Maybe I should make this more interesting, then,” I say, turning around. She makes another leap for the journal, but I manage to keep it out of her grasp. I flip it open, using my thumb to keep the pages back as I continue to hold it over my head. I clear my throat before beginning to read. “March third. He came by my place this morning and—”

  Justine jumps, leaping on my back and making another grab for the small book. The sudden weight on my back throws me off balance, and I stumble, her journal slipping out of my grasp. I grab desperately for it, and Justine lunges for it, too. We both fall forward, trying to push each other out of the way.

  My hand hits the journal, accidentally knocking it even further away. But it’s too late to stop myself from falling. I hit the ground hard, knocking the air out of me. Justine lands beside me.

  For a moment, both of us are too stunned to move. My eyes find the journal—it’s only a few feet away on the carpet. Before I can even push myself to my knees, Justine springs toward it.

  I grab her by the waist, holding her back. She tries to push me off, but somehow I end up falling on top of her.

  We both freeze. She’s on her back beneath me. I can feel almost the entire length of her against my body—her legs, her hips, the softness of her stomach, the roundness of her breasts. I can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, and the rapid thump of her heat against her ribs. My face is so close to hers I can feel her breath on my lips.

  God, I want her…

  I expect her to push me off, but she doesn’t. She seems to be as paralyzed as I am, breathlessly waiting for whatever comes next.

  What comes next?

  The smell of her fills my nostrils—it’s soft and floral, like luxury soap, but there’s something deeper there, too. Something rich and wild and intoxicating. I tilt my head a little closer, trying to take it in. Her heartbeat speeds up beneath me.

  Still, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t push me off.

  She wants me to kiss her.

  And if my wife wants something…I would be a fool not to oblige her.

  Slowly, I lower my head, closing the final space between us. Her breathing has become uneven.

  My lips brush against hers, so lightly it can hardly be counted as a kiss. Still, she doesn’t move, but I can feel her heart racing against her chest.

  I dip my head again. This time, I’m slow and deliberate, sliding my mouth across hers, pressing her lips open with mine. She gasps softly against me, and I take the invitation to kiss her deeper. Her gasp becomes a quiet moan.

  Heat flares through me, hot and hard, and my body aches with the desire it’s built up over the past twenty-four hours. I press against her, flicking my tongue against hers, drinking her in.

  Fuck, what is this woman doing to me?

  But in spite of the yearning coursing through me, I haven’t forgotten our conversation. She’s hiding something from me. And I intend to find out exactly what.

  As my tongue pushes deeper into her mouth, I slide my hand across the carpet past her head, fumbling for her journal.

  Instead, my fingers brush against her hand. She’s reaching for the journal herself!

  And she grabs it first, snatching it before I can. In one fluid motion, she tears her mouth away from mine, shoves me off her, and leaps to her feet. I’m left sitting on my ass, staring up at her, both impressed and pissed at the same time.

  She tucks the journal behind her and backs toward the door. “I’m putting this somewhere you’ll never find it.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “It’s a promise.”

  I laugh as I climb to my feet. “I don’t believe I can trust your word, Princess. Not when you’re obviously hiding something very important from me.”

  She continues to back toward the door. “Then I guess we’re even. Neither of us trusts the other.”

  “Good thing we only have to deal with this marriage for ninety-seven more days then, huh?”

  I know my words hit home because her step falters and her mouth tightens. Her face is flushed, and I try to ignore the throb of need in my groin.

  Before either of us can say a word, though, there’s a knock at the door. “Your Highness? Your breakfast is ready.”

  Justine strides to the door and opens it.

  “You can set it up over by the window,” she says to the servant pushing the breakfast cart. “My husband will be taking his breakfast there.” Then she brushes past and goes down the corridor, her journal still in hand.

&nbs
p; I consider going after her, but the servant is looking at me expectantly, and I know that causing a scene will probably backfire on me.

  If Justine wants to keep me from exploring, hiding her journal out there definitely isn’t going to help. I step aside so that the breakfast tray might be set up. And then I get an idea.

  “Forgive me,” I say to the man as he lays out the food. “But I’m wondering if you might help me with something.”

  “Of course, Your Highness,” he says with a bow. “What might I do for you?”

  “Do you happen to know of anything important happening ninety-seven days from now?”

  The man considers this. “Not that I’m aware of, Your Highness.”

  “Ah.” I clasp my hands behind my back. “Then perhaps you can help me with something else. I’m finding it rather challenging to learn my way around the palace—I don’t suppose someone might be able to provide me with a map?”

  The servant’s nose wrinkles slightly in thought. “I could certainly check for you, Your Highness.”

  “Wonderful.” I settle down in the chair next to the breakfast spread. “And one more thing—might you tell me the quickest way to the western wing? Apparently it’s the only place I’m allowed to go, and I intend to do some exploring today.”

  Justine

  That kiss… I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I know it was meant only to distract me from getting the journal I now carry in my hand, but… My God. What is it about these Montovian princes that they can put a woman under their spell with a thing as small as a kiss?

  Not that I am under William’s spell, nor will I ever be. Parts of me I thought would be dead forever seem to be waking up. Perhaps that is a good thing. Perhaps when I return to America, I can learn to live again. Maybe I’ll even fall in love again…someday. It might even make the next three months of this sham of a marriage less agonizing if I can think about it as a means to an end. Learning to let my guard down once in a while might not even be so bad—I just need to remember to let it down only enough to enjoy myself. Any more than that, and I run the risk of having my heart broken again. Or worse.

  And William has been all too eager to prove he wants nothing more than to torture me, even though he was the one who agreed to this marriage in the first place.

  If I wasn’t still so angry about the entire situation, I could almost see myself learning to like him well enough. He may not be as funny as he thinks he is, but he seems intelligent. We could likely find something we have in common. Perhaps we could even learn to be friends. It would be more than my parents have done in their long marriage—they barely tolerate each other, and my mother is so rarely sober that it hardly matters.

  But none of that is of any importance, as my father has assured me. In ninety-seven days, I’ll be free of Prince William forever. I may even go so far as to abdicate my title. At least then, I might have a chance at a normal life.

  I make it to my office in the western wing and hide my old journal at the bottom of a desk drawer, underneath a stack of papers. I’m not sure why I even care if William reads this particular journal. If I remember correctly, this one is from a few years ago, before anything truly terrible happened. Of course, I do reveal many of my feelings in there, and it’s probably better if William thinks I’m completely devoid of emotion. He seems to think me the vapid noblewoman he’s always assumed of me, and for all I care, he can continue thinking it. It just seems easier to make him hate me at this point. For as angry as I am, I don’t want to cause him any lasting pain when this is over. I know all too well what that feels like.

  I open my laptop and begin working. I suppose I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, trying to organize an international conference. It has grown exponentially larger than I ever expected it to—Rosvalia is a tiny country, even compared to Montovia—and I’m not sure we’ve ever hosted anything of this magnitude. It seems to grow larger by the day.

  I shouldn’t complain. This is growing into the event I’d imagined when I started, but at the time it seemed like little more than a dream. Now, if I don’t get some help, it’s going to consume me.

  Perhaps that won’t be such a bad thing, I think. It will at least keep me busy all day and away from my husband.

  Yes, that is definitely the best thing for me, at least for now. Considering how William and I almost always end up in some sort of argument, my office is probably the best place for me. And if I schedule things just right, perhaps he’ll be asleep before I return to the suite. And if he should happen to decide he’s welcome in my bed, I’ll take one of the nearby guest rooms. I’m certain the servants will talk, but I don’t care. I’ll make some excuse about William snoring, and that should suffice. My own parents haven’t shared a suite in my lifetime—why should I be any different?

  I must work for several hours—I’m jolted by the knock on my door.

  William doesn’t wait for me to call him in—he swings the door open, giving me his dazzling grin. “Good afternoon, Princess.”

  Afternoon? I hadn’t realized how long I’d been working—it hasn’t been just several hours, it’s been more like seven. I pull my thumb away from my mouth with a start. I haven’t chewed my thumbnail since I was a girl, when one of my governesses took to forcing me to eat a hot pepper each time my finger touched my mouth. I think I must have started doing it again around the time of William’s announcement of our impending marriage at the Montovian Salt Festival.

  I slide my hand under my backside. “What is it you want, Your Highness?”

  His grin widens and he pulls several books from behind his back—all copies of my book of poetry. He sets them on the edge of my desk.

  I shrug. “So?”

  “So, I found these. Unfortunately, I did not find any more journals. Even in our suite.” He tilts his head. “They’re in here, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Highness.” I frown. “I have a tremendous amount of work to do, so if you could leave me to it—”

  “Shouldn’t we be preparing for dinner?” He sits in front of me and splays his hands on my desk. “Unless, of course, you’d rather we continue what we started earlier. I’m certain your parents—”

  “My parents have nothing to do with anything. And we started nothing earlier.” Except that kiss. My God, how I long to have him run his hands the length of my body. Fist his hands in my hair and take me—

  “Princess, deny whatever you like, but I felt the way you reacted. And I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh, really? A proposition? For me? Aren’t those the sorts of matters you should be taking up with my father?”

  He flinches, but his smile never wavers. “I propose a truce.”

  I lift a brow. “A truce? I wasn’t aware we were at war, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, I think you know we’ve been at war for the past three weeks, Princess. But you are the only one fighting—”

  “I’m not fighting you. I’m merely standing up for myself. I’m sure you’d rather I be the perfectly pleasant noblewoman, spreading my legs for my husband whenever he decides it is time for—”

  “That is not what I am saying, Princess, and I believe you know it.” His smile falls, but only by a little. “What I am proposing is a truce. A do-over if you will.”

  “If I will what, exactly?”

  “I think we can be friends, Princess. I think—”

  “And yet, you continue to call me Princess. Do you not think—?”

  “And you continue to call me Your Highness. I believe we are even in that matter. And I have called you by your given name, if you’ll recall—”

  “I do not recall. Unless you’re talking about during our vows, and I would say that hardly counts—”

  “When you had my cock in your hand last night.” His smile widens. “Justine.”

  My cheeks burn so hot, I’m sure they might catch fire.

  “I thought as much.” I don’t know how it’s possible, but
his grin widens even further. “Now, if you’ll listen to my proposal—”

  “I agree, Your Highness. We don’t have to do this. We—”

  “Good.” He slides the books onto my desk. “I found these in a few of the libraries around this wing of the palace. Of course, I kept one for myself.”

  “Wonderful.” I take the books and toss them into the waste bin next to my desk. “Now, about this truce—”

  “Yes, I have a few ideas. I—”

  “I’ll take the guest room next door to my office. That will give you ample time to tear the other apart and search for whatever it is you think I’m hiding.”

  His smile falls and his brows draw together. “That wasn’t what I was suggesting, Princess. I was going to—”

  “You’ll need to order dinner. If you want to eat in one of the smaller dining rooms, I’m sure it can be arranged. I normally take dinner in my office on a day like this, or sometimes in my suite. But—”

  “I thought we’d be eating with your family. I thought—”

  “You’ll learn eventually.” If you learn in the next ninety-seven days. “If breakfast is canceled, so are the rest of the meals for the day.”

  “Why—?”

  “If I knew the answer, I would give it to you.” I shrug again. “Things aren’t run the same way here as they are in Montovia. You have to learn to be flexible—”

  The grin that returns to his lips has nothing to do with being amenable to my parents’ oddities, I’m sure.

  I shake my head. “Don’t even consider—”

  “You still haven’t heard my proposal, Princess.”