King Andrew and Queen Deirdre are riding in a separate horse-drawn carriage than the one Malachi and I are sharing with Philipp and his wife, Cordelia, the Princess of Corwick. Their two-year-old son, William is riding with his grandparents, which means there’s not an innocent child present to act as a buffer for any discreet, but stinging shade the other three royals in my carriage might throw at me.
We ride in silence through the ancient, cobbled streets of Gallarney’s old city center, and the nineteenth-century buildings and lampposts are bedecked with fanciful holiday garnishes. Holly and garland drape the iron balconies where well-wishers stand and wave small Corwickian flags at us, while excitement lights up their faces even brighter than all the lights that twinkle gold amidst the festive decorations. Traditional Celtic-style Christmas songs fill the crisp, damp air from a band that leads the small parade, and the children who are lining the streets with their parents bounce and skip and dance in place.
“Duchess Isla!” sweet little voices ring out. “Duke Malachi! Hi! Hello! Hi!”
I smile and wave at each individual child as best as I can keep up, and Malachi, sitting to my right, lifts his white-gloved hand in dignified acknowledgement. He’s dressed in another of his black military uniforms, as is Philipp, and they both are admittedly the picture of perfect, dreamy princes. A form-fitting, deep garnet winter coat was selected for me to wear, along with a diminutive tiara of yellow gold and diamonds styled after a traditional Celtic knot. Cordelia is dressed in a similar emerald green coat, a perfect complement to her fiery, Irish-red ringlets and fair skin. Her tiara is a lover’s knot design, fitted with six large drop emeralds that frame the crown of her head. Hers is not diminutive. There is a pecking order amongst the four of us, and I am at the bottom of it.
Nevertheless, everyone looks stunning, and none of the enamored onlookers have any clue of the tension in the small, vintage carriage.
“Your face has healed quite well, Isla,” Philipp says after about fifteen minutes of riding.
I cut a glance at him, still waving demurely with my hand at the level of my chin. “Yes, thank you. It feels much better.”
“Yes, we’re certainly glad for that,” Philipp says with a smug-as-fuck air. “We’d hate to have a repeat of that press incident from a number of weeks ago.” He nods his sharp, distinguished chin at Malachi. “Aye, Malachi?”
“Indeed,” Malachi murmurs in acknowledgement.
“Perhaps next time you could ensure that your wife’s appearance is acceptable before leaving the palace, baby brother,” Philipp goes on. “I realize you’re new at this, but there’s a certain public perception required once you’re—”
“I am not new at anything,” Malachi clips, his expression deceptively and expertly pleasant, belying his nasty tone. “I can’t help the fact that my wife chose to defy me and cause a scene. I did what I could to remedy it, and it was, indeed, remedied. In fact…” He drags his glinting silver eyes toward his brother. “If you haven’t noticed from the follow-up press, that incident actually garnered quite a bit of sympathy for us because everyone believed exactly what I told them to.”
“‘Tis true,” Cordelia finally speaks up in her dainty, bird-like Irish brogue. “The people seem to have great affection for Isla.”
“And ‘tis because they know nothing of her true character nor her treatment of the Duke,” Phillip remarks, mimicking her accent in a snide manner.
Cordelia merely bats her long, fluffy eyelashes and flits her fingers in a wave.
“It seems both you and the Duke have been duped regarding my treatment of him,” I can’t help but clap back, albeit maintaining my demure smile and lifted hand. “And regarding my character, it seems you both conveniently forgot eighteen years’ worth of my loyalty to him.”
“Neither of us have been duped, Duchess,” Malachi says with an even-keeled, yet completely cold tone. “Despite it conveniently slipping your memory, Philipp is fully aware of what you did. As are my parents. As is Cordelia. And if your faulty brain could actually recall it, you would understand how reasonable it is for it to have negated any previous behavior.” He lifts his hand in another dignified wave before leaning toward me to speak in my ear. “Everyone in this family knows you’re a whore. Consider yourself fortunate that we’re protecting your reputation by keeping it a secret. And perhaps consider how petulant that makes you for pulling the stunt that you did weeks ago.”
I fight the urge to make any kind of face that gives away the surge of anger and righteous indignation through my veins, and then turn my head to speak in his ear.
“I am not a whore, Malachi. I don’t who lied to you, but you are the only man I’ve ever been with. Even after you disappeared and deserted me, I never so much as spoke to another man, let alone slept with one.”
He offers a pleasant nod to the cheery, rosy-cheeked onlookers, then tenderly wraps his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close to my side and finds my ear again. “The only person lying is you right now. In fact, the person who informed me of your whorish behavior was you.”
I’m facing forward, and Philipp’s smug-as-fuck expression is right in my line of sight. He’s a handsome, older, near-carbon-copy of Malachi, and just like his younger brother, he has transformed from a sweet boy into a sinister, hateful man.
“And, yes,” Malachi continues in a low growl into my ear, “it has occurred to me that you have possibly forgotten what you did, however, at the time, you proudly and callously admitted it. You had no remorse. So regardless of you remembering it or not, regardless of whether or not you’re lying now about not remembering it, you still did what you did. You still shoved your infidelity into my face. You still broke me, Duchess. My abhorrence of you is justified, as is my brother’s, as is my parents’. If I did to you, what you did to me, both you and your family would hate me as much as I and my family hate you. Both your father and Joaquin would have come after me with far more vengeance than a few sharp, yet honest words. If anything, Philipp and I are being merciful and gracious to you. So, it would bode well for your place in this life by learning to behave with equal grace.”
At his lengthy reprimand, I can’t fight the subtle tremble of my chin. Like so many moments in my former life with him, I seek him out as a source of protection, albeit protection from prying eyes in this situation, and turn my face to hide behind his cheek.
“Tell me what I did to you,” I quietly plead. “I swear on my life I don’t remember, Malachi, and I swear on my life that I would never have done the things you’re accusing me of. If what you’re telling me is true, it has to be some kind of misunderstanding, because I would never—”
His gloved fingers suddenly clamp like a death grip on the side of my neck in a way that causes an electric, shooting pain to surge down the entire left side of my body. It’s so intense and crippling that he may have caused nerve damage, and I wonder if I might actually be partially paralyzed now.
“This is neither the time nor the place, Duchess,” he hisses into my ear. “Further, it isn’t my fucking problem that you forgot what you did. I will not rip open my old wounds simply for the sake of placating your pig-ignorant, dull-witted mind. You did not hide the fact that you are a treacherous, duplicitous slut when you bragged about your sins to me, and that was all I cared to ever hear of the situation.”