“That is why we must stop him before he takes the crown.”
This was ludicrous.
“I can follow a script,” I said, “but what you’re asking of me requires more than a script. I need to have knowledge, to know what Roman knows. Without that information, I could make a mistake that would have devastating consequences.”
Mrs. Drake inhaled and nodded.
“Bring me everything,” I said.
“It is classified.”
“I am the prince.”
She stood tall. “Molave will need your vow.”
“You will have it.”
She nodded. “Your Highness.”
Mrs. Drake left after promising me that the information I requested would come in the morning. There would be more studying. In essence I would need to learn in a matter of weeks what Roman Godfrey acquired through four decades of life.
My head ached.
“Your Highness,” Lord Martin said. “Shall I prepare the bedchamber?”
“I need to get out of this apartment.”
“It is best…”
“Help me, man,” I implored. “An hour outside.” I turned toward the windows. “It’s cold and rainy. No one else in their right mind will be out. I just need to breathe.”
Lord Martin nodded. “I know of a place.”
“Thank you.”
Lucille
My eyes opened to the dim glow of the nightlight radiating from the bathroom. For a moment, I sat straight, wondering if I’d heard something, and stared into the corners of the bedchamber. The shadows lurked unmoving, nothing but darkness covering the fringe of the room. The tall windows were covered with heavy drapes.
Blinking in the dark, I found my eyes scratchy and my temples throbbing from the tears I’d mostly held at bay. When I first moved to Molave, I was taught the history of the palace. I’d learned the names of duchesses and princesses who had slept in this same suite. I knew their names, dates of birth, and dates of death. I’d studied their portraits, and yet I’d never known about them, their thoughts, hopes, and dreams. I didn’t know if they were content or melancholy or if they had ambitions.
As I lay back on the soft pillow recalling my last row with the prince, I found myself curious as to the novelty of my plight.
Could it be that others were unhappy as I have been?
Was I not special as Roman had said?
Was I ordinary?
The world saw me as a princess living a fairy tale with a charming prince. That was the reflection we portrayed, not the reality.
The tips of my fingers went to my left cheek. While the flesh was tender to the touch, the ice pack had stopped the contusion from swelling, hopefully avoiding much in the way of discoloration. No one would know. Lady Buckingham was a wizard when it came to concealers.
Part of me wanted everyone to know, to walk into the dining room tomorrow morning as I was now, without makeup, to look the king and queen in the eyes, and show them the way I was treated by their son.
And what?
Did I want them to intervene?
I didn’t.
I wanted me to intervene, and with each tick of the clock, each chime for the hour, and each page of the calendar, I was less competent to stand up to the man I married or perhaps less willing—it was the definition of insanity to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result. If I was incapable of intervening, then maybe it could be Roman’s doing. If only he would see me, not as someone who would dare to make him look or feel inferior, but as his mate.
Helper.
Partner.
Our relationship wasn’t always as it was now. There was a time I was attracted to him, smitten by him, and perhaps even cared for in his presence. There had been joy in our interactions, a delight when our gazes met, and anticipation of our unions.
The current reality was a sucker punch to the stomach.
Roman wanted me gone.
The seclusion of Annabella Castle was truly wearing on my sanity.
I thought about my parents. It had been over a year since I’d visited the United States. If my husband wanted me gone, I would inquire about a holiday with my family. Yes. That was my plan.
My mind filled with the possibilities in New York.
I imagined donning a Yankees hat and sunglasses, and walking along Fifth Avenue as if I wasn’t the Princess of Molave, but simply an ordinary woman. My heart and soul soared as I thought about visiting the Met or strolling in Central Park. While there was nothing I couldn’t afford in the high-end stores, there was nothing I wanted or needed.
Nothing material.
Those everyday occurrences of my youth were unappreciated until they were gone. A trip to the US, even to my parents’ home, would require an entourage. Lady Buckingham would be at my side nearly every minute. I’d given away more than my last name when I agreed to marry Roman Godfrey. I’d signed away my freedom to be a real person.
Giving up on sleep, I threw back the covers and went to the cupboard. Wearing only a nightgown, I selected a long satin dressing gown and wrapped it around me. The walls of the bedchamber were closing in, and I needed a moment, just a moment truly to myself.
Before Roman and I married, I was housed in a different area of the palace, apartments in another wing. That was where I studied and stayed. At the time, I was enthralled with the attention and eager to learn. I’d always been willing to glean knowledge. That was what was infuriating about my situation. If only Roman would see that I could be an asset.
Jealous.
That was what Isabella said.
Pushing away the memories of the horrible things Roman said, I stepped into the parlor connecting our suites. My gaze went to the doors leading to Roman’s side. They were closed tight. With the lateness of the hour, I could assume he was inside. With a chill skirting my skin, I wrapped my arms around my torso.
Roman hadn’t called for me.
There was a time when he would at least try to make up for his actions. My empty stomach twisted with the realization that that time had passed. I shouldn’t leave the apartments without makeup or wearing nightclothes. My hope was that I wouldn’t run into anyone royal. No staff member would dare discuss the princess taking a night stroll.
Opening the door to the hallway, I peered right and left.
The passageway was empty of people.
There were no assistants, secretaries, or guards.
The direction of Francis and Isabella’s apartments was equally as quiet. The king and queen’s apartments were down another hallway. My bare feet padded along the long rugs as I made my way down a back staircase. My destination was the gardens.
It was where I would go during those first few months.
Nestled safely within the walls of the palace, the gardens were a retreat of sorts, a place where I could feel the cool breeze against my skin and see the stars overhead. Along the paths created with stone slates, I could wander to my heart’s content.
I was no longer naïve enough to believe I would find contentment. I was perhaps searching for a moment beneath the large sky to remember that I was but one person, not a princess or queen to be, but a single soul in need of a change of scenery.
My hopes dashed as I came to the tall French doors off one of the parlors. The panes were sprinkled with water droplets and the pathway was wet.
How had I not bothered to even peer beyond the window?