The Wrong Prince (20 page)

STUPID, STUPID, STUPID,
PAVOLA WARD had chided herself, stomping all the way across the foreign castle grounds, and at last, onto the decorated lawn, where the lavish ceremony was taking place. She should’ve been disgusted by her desperation, appalled at her own audacity. As it was, she only hoped she wasn’t too late. She had already long since abandoned all reason, and had made it this far.

Her eyes flew down the length of the festooned aisle to the betrothed couple. The sight of their entwined hands stirred indignation within her. Had the priest declared them one already?

At the sound of her protest, heads turned. A crew of knights immediately encircled her before she’d even the chance to reach the assemblage. She had no choice but to halt in place, although she was bursting to catapult herself from their obstruction and hurl herself upon the groom at the head of the crowd.

People began to murmur. But a familiar voice rose above them—a voice that had haunted her for moons. Regardless of the hot sun, Pavi shivered as Dmitri Straussen issued an order to his men, “Stand down! Please, let her speak.”

The knights stepped away, leaving Pavola and the Crown Prince of Tybiria gazing at one another down the long aisle. Her heart positively flung to her throat as she lifted each foot in a determined march forward. She barely noticed the figure draped in pale pink beside him, or the severe, confused stares of the Tybirian king and queen.

She rested her eyes upon the officiator, an austere-looking priest garbed in robes of black. “I am the King of Llewes’s legal ward,” she proclaimed. “And under the Mid-Ages Halvean Laws of Conquest, Chapter Twelve, Section B,
any wards or concubines of a king defeated become property of him who conquered.
So, you see,” she appealed, “I belong to Prince Dmitri before this woman does.”

Her defense was rubbish, she knew. A joke; she was grasping at straws. But she had to say something. After what had transpired between her and Mit during his time at Wintersea, and all of the promises and plans they had made together, she couldn’t allow him to marry another without first uncovering the truth for herself. Had Mit been authentic, after all? Could he possibly have loved her?

Chatter arose among the guests. Pavi noticed that the bride appeared politely stunned. She was sorry for interrupting the woman’s day—Luccia had been kind enough to her. It wasn’t personal; but Pavi simply could no longer endure the torment of another second yearning after Mit, and wondering what might have happened, had she only possessed the nerve to do exactly what she stood there doing.

The priest cleared his throat. “Young lady, it is no longer the Mid-Ages. Furthermore, a ward is an entirely separate entity from a spouse. You are no more eligible to be the Crown Prince’s bride than the king’s dog is to be his queen. Pardon the analogy, Your Majesty,” he apologized to the queen.

The King of Tybiria lifted a hand. “Guards,” he barked. “Escort this young woman from the premises, and see that she does not return.”

“No,” cried Mit, lunging forward. “You will not send her away!”

Pavi’s pulse skipped as his father gave him an outraged look. “And why the devil not?” demanded the king.

“Because I belong to
her.
”
At the Crown Prince’s declaration, the audience at large drew a breath. Dmitri’s sapphire eyes connected with Pavi’s, and she trembled, her heart melting to a puddle in her chest. “My heart, my spirit, mind and being,” he professed softly, “are hers.”

“Dmitri!”
The queen broke from her husband’s arm. “Who is this girl? What is going on?”

“Get back here, Emaxandra,” muttered the king to his wife. He turned to the priest. “Continue the ceremony.”

With uncertainty, the old man opened his mouth to issue his next line. But no one heard the words, for the other prince, Dmitri’s brother, jerked forth. “I object, as well.”

“So do I,” announced the bride, much to Pavi’s surprise, raising a bare, golden arm over her veiled head.

GEO IGNORED THE GASPING ATTENDANTS and disregarded his mother’s stupefied gape. He addressed only his father. “I cannot stand by,” he declared heavily, “and watch my brother wed a woman he does not love.” He took Lucie’s hand in his own. “The woman
I
love.”

The bride looked up at him, astonishment wrought across her beautiful face.

His father had clearly heard enough. “Pause the ceremony,” he growled, gripping Geo by the shoulder. “Dmitri,” he beckoned his eldest. “You too, Miss Camerlane,” he added. To Geo’s surprise, he also commanded Lucie’s father and elderly grandmother to accompany him and the queen to an adjacent courtyard. At the king’s behest, they vacated their positions, leaving the guests outright gabbing in their wake.

Once in privacy, King Marco rounded on the youths, looking painfully perplexed. “All right, now. Just what in hell is going on? Have you any idea the sacrifices we’ve made, the strings we had to pull to allow you two to be together?” He pointed between Dmitri and Lucie.

Dmitri looked bewildered. “But, Father…. Why?”

Geo was wondering the same as Lucie’s father, the Baron of Backshore, examined his daughter. “Lucie, weren’t you and the prince…involved?”

“We orchestrated this entire arrangement,” supplied the queen, exasperated, “because the servants had been gossiping for
moons
about an affair between the prince and the baron’s daughter! Surely, there were higher-ranking ladies, even foreign princesses, to choose from.” She frowned. “But we forewent all of them so that the pair of you could save face, avoid scandal, and have a chance to be happy together!”

Geo groaned in disbelief, and dropped his brow into his hands. Where could he even begin?

Before he could say a word, Dmitri exploded in indignation. “What are you people
talking
about?”
he cried. “I’d never seen this woman before in my
life,
until the evening you decided I would marry her! You believe the absurd rumors a few batty servants toss around?”

Geo glanced at him. “Dmitri.”

“What do you fancy me? Some philanderer, sneaking about, seducing unwed maidens in my spare time? What sort of womanizing, pleasure-seeking worm d’you reckon—?”

“Dmitri.”
Geo stood on his brother’s foot, and the man, though heated, relented.

Lucie emitted a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I’m afraid there’s been a dire misunderstanding.”

“You mean to say,” the baron scrutinized her, “you weren’t having an affair with the prince?”

“Nay, it’s true; I
was
having an affair.” Her voice cracked with the gravity of the confession. “But not with Prince Dmitri! You had the wrong prince. It’s
Georome
I love.”

Geo’s parents turned to one another, their faces faltering.

Lucie’s grandmother narrowed her milky eyes at the baron. “I told you, Winston, you fool.”

The baron was startled. “How would you know anything?”

“Lucie would never go for a mild fellow like the Crown Prince,” the old woman snapped. “No disrespect, Your Highness,” she added, bobbing her head at Dmitri. Her eyes gleamed mischievously at her granddaughter. “If she’s anything like her mother was, she likes them dark and dangerous.”

At that moment, footfalls interrupted them. The group looked up to see the priest encroaching upon their intervention. “Your Majesty,” he spoke under his voice, sounding apprehensive, “I’m terribly sorry, but the guests are waiting, and some are growing rather unruly.”

The king appeared on the verge of collapse.

“Father, look,” Geo petitioned him. “Lucie’s and our families are all present this morning, and we’ve everything prepared for a wedding. We shouldn’t waste it. Why not marry me to Lucie instead?”

His mother shook her head. “But this is supposed to be
Dmitri’s
wedding!”

“I am one hundred percent in support of his proposal,” said Dmitri. “If, of course, Miss Camerlane approves.”

“I approve,” the woman volunteered at once.

The old priest stared at the king. “Sire, the guests….”

Geo’s father twitched. “Damn it all!” he bellowed, turning his back on his sons. “What a disaster.” He removed his coronet to wipe the perspiration from his bald crown, and replaced it with a tremendous sigh. “And yet…perhaps Georome is right. We have promised Tybiria a royal wedding, and a royal wedding they shall have. Lord Camerlane, what say you?”

The baron stroked Lucie’s veil. “My daughter has always had my blessing to love whom she will. I am only sorry I wasn’t forthright with her about that, much sooner.”

“Father.” Lucie’s eyes shone as she stepped into his embrace. He patted her on the back before releasing her. Overjoyed, she then clung to Geo’s side.

“Right.” The king adjusted his cape. “Then I sanction the change.”

Geo’s heart soared.

“YOUR HIGHNESS
—MIT!”

“Pavola,” Dmitri breathed, emerging from the courtyard with his and Luccia’s families. The girl did not hesitate, but flew into his arms. Dmitri squeezed her. How he’d missed her! In turn, she held him with remarkable force, refusing to let go. He prayed she never would.

“I made it all the way up the boarding ramp on a ship to H
ä
ffstrom when I realized I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.” She pulled back far enough to gaze into his eyes. “I love you, Dmitri Straussen. Books aren’t enough. I would rather spend the rest of my days memorizing your face, your voice, than any old theorem.”

The man brought his mouth over hers, not caring that the priest and his parents passed by at that moment. The most precious thing in all the world was in his arms, and he didn’t mind who saw.

She suddenly relinquished him. “Oh! And I finished your novel—it was brilliant! Over all the odds, they triumphed! And Aquila was reunited with his wife, and Gustave got to marry the woman he loved…!”

“Pavi.” Dmitri laughed, tracing a finger down her cheek. Was it really her, there with him in Tybiria? He felt her skin, even warmer and softer than he recalled. She was more real than she’d ever been, outside of the gloomy tower, freely before him to touch and embrace, with strands of auburn in her hair he’d never noticed before, bright beneath the morning sunlight. “I’m so glad you liked it. Yours is the only opinion that counts.”

She beamed.

“And I want you to know that I love you, too.” He cupped her chin, and brought his face level with hers. “The wedding—it was arranged. I never knew the bride, nor belonged to anyone else, before you.” He kissed her again, certain that he would never tire of the privilege. “I meant it when I said I wanted my future to be with you. I still want it. And if you do too, I promise I’ll not let that incredible intellect of yours go to waste.

“Marry me, Pavola,” he urged her, “and you may hire any professors you wish, from any of the world’s esteemed universities. You will read every book ever written, if I have anything to say about it. And someday,” his voice rose with enthusiasm, “you will be the brightest, most educated queen who ever—”

“Dmitri.” His mother interrupted him, settling a hand on his shoulder. “Darling,” she shook her head uneasily, “the girl said it herself. She is but a dead king’s ward. There is simply no way she can wed you and become….”

“She is a Llewesian princess,” Dmitri announced at the top of his voice, drawing the attention of his father and the others, “borne by King Ira’s sister.”

Pavola flushed as his family stared at her.

“And today is not only a celebration of Georome’s nuptials,” Dmitri went on, “but of my engagement. For I shall marry this princess when the royal family of Llewes is present, and thusly allied, will end the conflict between our two nations.” He clapped his hands, causing the women to jump. “Now, on with the wedding!”

“Unbelievable.” His brother grinned as the others bustled past, hurriedly recounting the adjustments to the priest. “So, this is what you were hiding from me.”

Dmitri smirked. “You’re one to talk, Geo.”