Royal Arrangement Read online

  Royal Arrangement

  Renna Peak

  Ember Casey

  Casey Peak Publishing, LLC

  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 © 2018 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: May, 2018

  Contents

  Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

  Royal Arrangement #1

  Royal Arrangement #2

  Royal Arrangement #3

  Royal Arrangement #4

  Royal Arrangement #5

  Royal Arrangement #6

  Royal Delivery

  Royal Birthday Surprise

  Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

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  Character Interviews

  Behind the Scenes information and excerpts

  Deleted scenes

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  Royal Arrangement #1

  Prologue

  Justine

  The only thing I can think as I run from the ballroom is…no.

  I’ll be the first to admit that I was unhappy at first with the idea of marrying Andrew. But it wasn’t a decision that was forced upon me—coming to Montovia to participate in his auditioning of potential brides was a choice I made myself. When I found myself the frontrunner, I wasn’t disappointed. Not exactly. Andrew is refined and honorable, and I found we had a great deal in common. But William… While he’s closer to me in age, he couldn’t be more unlike me. And he’s made his distaste for noblewomen clear, saying as much at every encounter I’ve had with him.

  I’ve never liked the idea of an arranged marriage, but I suppose I’ve known it was always a possibility. It makes no sense that William, of all the princes of Montovia, would avail himself of such an arrangement.

  And while my father has made it clear that I exist only for the good of our country, he’s always made me aware of the plans he’s making for me. I’ve always been given some amount of choice in the matter. And a decision like this—giving someone my entire life, for the rest of my life—seems like something I should have had some amount of freedom in making.

  I’ll run away, I think as I return to my room to gather my things. No one can force me to marry if they can’t find me.

  I rush into my room, throwing a few essentials into a bag as I remove my ball gown. I rifle through my clothes, trying to find something—anything—casual enough to make a quick getaway, but almost everything I’ve brought with me is formal attire. I was only in Montovia to make a match with Andrew, after all, not to lounge about. I have my pajamas, of course, but I can’t imagine wearing those out in public, even if I do mean to run away.

  I decide on a simple black cocktail dress—it is still far too formal for a getaway, but it will have to do. Perhaps I can stop somewhere and purchase more casual clothing before I reach my final destination.

  Where is my final destination? I could return to the United States where I went to college, though I suppose most of my friends there would report my whereabouts to my father. No, I’ll have to find a place where I can just disappear. I’ll get on a train tonight and go wherever it happens to be going. Perhaps a destination will reveal itself to me if I just get on the train…

  I’m not finished throwing my essentials into my bag when there’s a knock on the door of my suite. It’ll be Reginald, I think, trying to talk me out of leaving. Trying to talk me into doing what is right for our country. Or at least doing what our father thinks is right.

  I have no time for this—no time for Reginald or being argued with. I’m not going to stand for this treatment. I’m no longer going to live under the thumb of my father or my brother. I’ve had enough of the antiquated rules of our country, limiting the rights of women wherever they can. If I can just get out of the palace, I can be out from under all of this forever.

  The knock comes again at the door and I decide to answer it. Reginald is a twat, and no doubt he’ll try to stop me from leaving, but he’ll not physically restrain me. He wouldn’t hurt a woman…

  Of course, he did punch Princess Sophia right in the face not three nights ago…

  A misunderstanding. I know my brother, and it must have been a misunderstanding.

  I swing open the door of my suite, ready to list all the reasons why my brother needs to let me pass—needs to let me leave this godforsaken continent—to allow me to live my own life for once. But it isn’t Reginald on the other side.

  It’s William. And relief washes over me for a moment at the notion that I won’t have to argue for my right to refuse an arranged marriage, but then I remember that William is the one who arranged it.

  I try to slam the door in his face, but he stops it with his foot. “Justine…Princess.” He clears his throat. “Please, allow me to explain.”

  I straighten. “There is nothing you could say to me, Prince William. Nothing at all.”

  “I know this isn’t ideal—”

  “You know this isn’t ideal? Then why would you make such a decision without discussing it with me first?”

  His mouth twists with something—it might almost be anguish, though I doubt that very much. “After we spoke the other day—”

  “The other day? You mean after your brother jilted me on live television?” I glare up at him. “You were crass. You joked with me about how it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

  “It was the best thing that could have happened to you.” His brow furrows. “Marrying my brother would have been a mistake on far too many levels to explain, not the least of which was how he is in love with another woman. Surely you can understand—”

  “Surely you can understand that my participation in Andrew’s pageant was my decision. He did not go behind my back to my father to arrange a marriage without my consent.”

  He frowns. “Well, I suppose you’ll have to get over it. The decision has been made in the best interest of both of our countries. We are going to marry. Whether either of us like it or not.”

  William

  Fury flashes in Justine’s eyes, and the emotion is so intense I find myself stumbling back a step in surprise.

  “I don’t care if you chain me up and drag me down the aisle,” she says. “I will never marry you.” She tries to shut the door again, but I’m still in the way. “I refuse to be treated like some piece of property to be bought and sold as part of some sort of peace treaty.”

  “You’d rather our countries go to war?” I barely contain my temper.

  “That’s the problem with you men,” she says. “Everything is black and white to you—things are either good or bad, right or wrong. Either we go to war or everyone ends up happily ever after. The world doesn’t work that way, Your Highness. And God forbid you ever stop to ask a woman’s opinion on how to deal with sensitive diplomatic matters.” She moves toward me, and before I can respond, her foot comes down—hard—on my instep. Even though she’s only wearing dancing slippers, the pain shoots all the way up my leg.

  I yowl and stumble back. She takes the opportunity to grab the door and pull it toward her.

  “The next time you decide to plan someone else’s fut
ure, don’t.” She slams the door.

  Pain is still shooting up my leg, but I manage to stumble back to the door.

  “Justine,” I say, still trying to keep my temper in check. “Princess, if we could just discuss—”

  “I’m done discussing this,” she says through the door. I hear the lock click.

  I press a hand against the door, my chest aching with frustration. Does she think I actually want this? That I’m excited about sacrificing the rest of my life so that our countries might be at peace and my brother might be happy? Yes, what I told Andrew was true—I saw this as an opportunity, a chance to do something meaningful with my life. But I didn’t want this.

  This is exactly why I usually stay away from noblewomen. The sense of entitlement is astounding.

  I consider trying to continue this conversation through the door, but I know I won’t get anywhere.

  Let her sulk, I tell myself. The agreement has already been signed. We’ll marry each other, and even if we’re both miserable for the rest of our lives, at least our countries will be allies again. That’s enough for me, and maybe, with time, it will be enough for her, too.

  As I limp back down the corridor, though, I feel a bud of hope in my chest. When I agreed to marry Justine, I thought her a quiet, inoffensive, polite woman. Pleasant but rather dull. There are certainly worse traits in a future wife.

  Now that I’ve seen her temper, though…my view of her has changed. She’s definitely going to be a handful, this one. And though that should worry me, instead I find it…excites me.

  I always found Justine attractive, but in a detached sort of way. Pretty, but nothing to inspire any sort of great passion. After our encounter just now, though, my body has very different ideas. Very wicked ideas.

  I smile to myself. I think I might end up enjoying my upcoming marriage very, very much. Either that, or I’m about to spend the rest of my life in a special sort of hell.

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  William

  If someone had told me I’d be the first of my brothers to get married, I’d have laughed them right out of the palace.

  As the third of Montovia’s five royal children, I spent most of my life thinking my marriage would be something of an afterthought—if I even married at all. It was far more important for my oldest brother, Andrew, to marry well, since he’s the heir to the throne. I guess I always assumed that there’d be no need for me to wed for political reasons, and that I’d do so if—and only if—some woman tricked me into it. I’ve never been the womanizer my brother Leopold is—or was, before he met Dr. Eleanor Parker—but I also never really saw myself settling down.

  Until today, at least. And since my wedding begins in half an hour, I’m fairly certain there’s no backing out of it now.

  I straighten my collar and give myself a once-over in the mirror, trying not to notice the way Andrew is watching me from the chair by the window. He’s here because he feels guilty. He’s the one who was originally supposed to marry Princess Justine, but he went and fell in love with an American woman instead. Truly, I am happy for him—Victoria Simpson is a strong, charming, and intelligent woman—but I don’t think any of us will ever forget how I ended up in this situation.

  Andrew leans forward in his chair, frowning and rubbing his jaw. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  It’s the first thing he’s said all morning. And we both know it’s a lie.

  “The agreement’s been signed,” I tell him, though he doesn’t need to be reminded. “And I’ve made peace with my decision. You should too, Brother.” My fingers tug at my cuff. I’m stalling now, fidgeting with my wedding suit, but despite my nerves, my words to him are true—I have no intention of backing out now.

  “Don’t look so miserable,” I add. “You’re bringing down the mood. This is supposed to be a happy day.” I turn around to face him. “And just think—you might get some ideas for your upcoming nuptials.”

  My lighthearted tone doesn’t even get a hint of a smile from him. Andrew has always been very serious—some might even call him brooding—but since Victoria agreed to marry him, he’s been happier than I ever seen him. Today, though, his old self is back. I swear, my brother carries more guilt and shame than anyone I’ve ever met.

  There’s a light rap on the door, and Gustav, one of our valets, speaks from the other side. “Your Highness, the car is waiting for you.”

  “Coming,” I call back. To Andrew, I say, “You heard the man. It’s time.”

  Andrew stands slowly. “There’s still time to slip out the back. Say the word and we can go right to the airstrip. We don’t even have to tell anyone. I can fly us somewhere—”

  “Forgive me, Brother, but the last time you flew a plane, you crashed and nearly killed yourself.”

  Andrew flinches, and I hate myself for the low blow. I quickly rush on.

  “Besides—I don’t think Victoria would ever forgive you for running off without telling her. Even if it was to help me escape this wedding.” I straighten. “I’ve made my decision, Andrew. And now I ask only that you respect that choice.”

  My brother has always been stubborn and proud. I know it kills him to let me do this, to allow me to marry Princess Justine so that he can marry the woman he loves. He’s always taken on far more responsibility than any one man can bear—and now it’s time that I took on some responsibility, too. He’s not the only one who loves our country. He’s not the only member of this family willing to make sacrifices for Montovia.

  He must see the determination in my eyes, because he gives a single nod, apparently accepting the inevitable.

  “Not everyone is as lucky as you,” I say, nudging him in the side with my elbow. “If you hadn’t finally gotten your head out of your ass and proposed to Victoria, I might have swooped in there and—”

  “Enough,” he says. “If you’re determined to promise your life away, then let’s go ahead and get this over with.” He crosses over to the door but pauses with his fingers on the handle. “You could do worse than Princess Justine. She’s a sweet girl. Perhaps, in time, the two of you might develop something of an affection for each other.”

  I almost snort out loud, but I manage to restrain myself. I used to think Justine was sweet, too—until she and I became engaged. When she found out about the agreement that her father and I had made, I got to see another side of her—a fiery temper I never knew she had. She’s definitely going to be more of a handful than I initially anticipated, but if I’m being perfectly honest, that excites me in more ways than one. When I agreed to this, I thought I was resigning myself to a dull, passionless union for the sake of my country and my family. Now I suspect my new life will be anything but dull. I always thought Justine was pretty enough, but witnessing that passionate temper of hers on the night we became engaged stirred me in a way I hadn’t dared hope for. If she only knew how much I’m looking forward to our wedding night…

  No doubt this marriage will be difficult, but I find myself excited—even eager—to face the challenge.

  Either that, or I’ve gone mad. I know Andrew certainly thinks so.

  Justine and I have only come face-to-face twice since our marriage agreement was signed. The first time was on the night of the Masquerade ball at the end of our annual Festival, when I announced our engagement to the country and to Justine in one reckless but well-intentioned attempt to keep Andrew and Justine’s bastard of a brother from coming to blows. That night she swore that she would never marry me, no matter what her father decided. That night I realized how much I wanted her.

  The second time I saw her was a week and a half later, when the wedding details were discussed. I don’t know what made her change her mind, but she was there with her father. She didn’t say a word to me the entire time, but there was fire in her eyes as she glared at me across the table. She’s definitely still pissed. I d
on’t blame her—forging this agreement behind her back was a callous thing to do. But I was thinking of my country and my brother—it’s not like I did it out of selfishness or spite. I didn’t want this.

  I rub my neck. The time for agonizing over the right and wrong of this is over. It’s time to head down to the cathedral for the ceremony.

  Without a word, I follow Andrew and Gustav through the halls of the palace, down to where a car is waiting in the courtyard. We decided to hold the wedding here in Montovia—rather than in Justine’s home country of Rosvalia—because it was all happening so quickly. It also allows my father, who’s still recovering from his recent heart attack, to attend.

  Tomorrow, though, I’ll go with Justine and her family back to Rosvalia, where I’ll live out the rest of my days. Rosvalia isn’t far, all things considered—a couple of hours by express train—but it will still be jarring. I thought Montovia would always be my home.

  Funny, how quickly things change. Not even a month ago, marriage was the last thing on my mind. Now, in the next couple of hours, I’ll become the husband of a near stranger.

  A near stranger who hates my guts. And who inspired the most erotic dream last night…

  Andrew lets me get into the car first. Then he stands at the door and looks down at me, his frown deepening again.

  “This is your last chance,” he says. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes,” I say, grinning in spite of myself. “Let the adventure begin.”