CHAPTER ONE
Prince Alexander of Durham had grown up with the best of the best, and that included his education. But all of his highly skilled and extremely well-paid teachers, tutors, and professors had failed to tell him what a train wreck falling in love created. Right now, he was definitely cursing the day he had met that harpy Isla Martin.
“So there’s been no improvement in public opinion?” The king’s voice boomed around the council room, bouncing off the fifteen foot tall ceilings. The crystals on the chandelier hanging directly above the two-hundred-year-old mahogany table shook. His icy blue eyes pierced each adviser in turn, and Alex watched as they visibly shrank in their crushed velvet chairs.
Six months ago, Alex had thought that one day he’d command a room in a similar way. Now he’d be lucky to command an ant, let alone a country.
“Approval ratings continue to drop, Your Majesty.” Maggie adjusted her red glasses, pushing the frames up the bridge of her nose. She was perhaps ten years older than Alex, with frizzy red hair and a typically happy demeanor. But her smiles had been noticeably absent since Isla began telling every media outlet who would listen what a cheating scumbag the crown prince of Durham was.
The dull ache behind Alex’s eyes grew more piercing. Isla flashed into his mind, with her tousled bottle-blonde hair and ruby-red lips pursed together in a pout. She was half American, so he’d tried to ignore her advances. But eventually he’d fallen prey to her charms.
He’d been toying with the idea of proposing when he found Isla with another man. She’d wasted no time spreading lies about the breakup, proving just how talented an actress she was.
“How much lower can the approval ratings get?” His mother’s mouth pulled down in a deep frown and her eyes narrowed. Queen Nicolette was used to things going her way.
Maggie adjusted her glasses again. “Isla appeared on another talk show this morning. A small one, but the clip is circulating on social media.”
“Surely she’s spoken with every reporter in Durham, the United States, and most of Europe by now.” A hint of a Galian accent slipped through the queen’s words—a sure sign that she was upset.
“Apparently there are still a few left,” Maggie said.
Frustration made Alex’s chest tighten, but he refused to let his emotions show. “I’m avoiding the press as much as possible. I could go on talk shows and tell the truth, but we’ve agreed that trying to change the narrative is too risky. What else is there to do?”
Nicolette sniffed. “We keep our heads held high and hope this storm passes. Royalty do not engage the media. I refuse to let Isla drag you into the mud with her.”
Alex gave a mirthless laugh. “From where I stand, it’s looking pretty muddy. The only thing that will make Isla back off is ruining me for good, or wearing the crown herself.” Initially, Alex had wondered if Isla went to the press in hopes of hush money. But their only discussion after the breakup had made it clear she was after something money couldn’t buy—fame. And being dumped by the crown prince of Durham had put her on the radar of every producer and director in Durham and the United States.
Nicolette laughed, scorn making each note a sharp barb. “I will die before I allow a gold digging American to become a member of this family.”
At least they were in agreement on that. “Then I don’t know what you want from me.”
“What about a new girlfriend?” one of the advisers suggested. “Someone to take the attention off Isla.”
Alex leveled him with a glare. “You can’t be serious.”
The man’s face paled, and he looked down at the tabletop. “Only a suggestion, Your Highness. I apologize.”
“A ridiculous suggestion.”
“I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind,” Maggie said. “What we need is a bigger news story to steal the spotlight. A blossoming relationship might accomplish that.”
“You can’t be serious.” Alex’s shoulders ached from the tension lodged there. “I’d never subject some poor girl to Isla’s wrath.”
Maggie held up a placating hand. “It was just an idea that crossed my mind.”
“Well, get it off your mind, because it’s not happening.”
“I want everyone to take the day to think up possible solutions to our PR problem,” King Geoffrey said. “We’ll revisit the issue at tomorrow’s briefing. Now, where are we with the president’s upcoming visit?”
The moment the meeting ended, Alex strode from the room. What he wouldn’t give to escape the palace and sit on a bench in Castlebridge Park, an anonymous citizen of Durham enjoying the late summer breeze as he spent a relaxing afternoon people watching. But anonymity wasn’t in the cards for royalty. So instead he headed toward the administrative wing of the palace, where a room full of monitors was constantly watched by an entire team. It was as close to his fantasy as he got in the palace.
He pushed open the door without knocking, his shoulders instantly relaxing. At least fifty monitors filled the space and five uniformed men sat in chairs watching them.
Alex’s personal bodyguard, Finn, glanced over at the sound of the open door, then instantly rose. The other men jumped to their feet as well.
“Your Highness,” Finn said with a short bow. He was a mountain of a man, with a barrel chest, dark skin, and a face that rarely smiled.
“Please sit,” Alex said. “Don’t let me distract you.”
The guards all nodded and returned to their tasks, used to Alex’s frequent visits.
“Is there something I can assist you with?” Finn asked.
“No, thank you. I just needed a few minutes to breathe.” Alex dropped into the chair with a sigh and motioned to the monitors. “Anything interesting today?”
“A few things.” Finn pointed to the throne room. “These parents have their hands full. They’ve got five children who couldn’t obey a command if their lives depended on it.”
Alex chuckled as a small boy of perhaps three tried to slip under the velvet rope that kept tourists from sitting on the thrones. The mother grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
“He’s a curious one,” Alex said.
Finn nodded and pointed to the music room. “The new tour guide has mixed up the facts for each room. Right now he’s giving the script for the Hall of Victory.”
The guide’s navy jacket hung loose on his frame, giving the appearance of a boy wearing his father’s suit, and his hand shook as he pointed out the features of the room. Alex shook his head in sympathy. “Poor guy.”
“I think he’ll be all right in a month or two,” Finn said. “He seems determined to do well.”
Alex slowly let his eyes travel over the dozen monitors that comprised the tourist section of the palace. He never bothered watching the other feeds, which covered the governmental wing and the royal family’s private quarters—that felt like an invasion of privacy. But he’d always loved watching the tourists. The look of wonderment on their faces reminded him how blessed he was to be crown prince of Durham. Although these days it felt more like a curse.
His eyes lingered on the group Stan led. He was definitely the palace’s crankiest tour guide and Alex always felt bad for the visitors in his group. His eyes skimmed over the elderly couples wearing fanny packs, passed by the young backpackers wearing baseball caps, and landed on a woman with a baby strapped to her chest.
He leaned forward, examining the woman. She didn’t fit the typical tourist profile, but didn’t seem like a local, either. Like many of the tourists, she carried a backpack. But this one was small and had the fancy look of a purse. A diaper bag, perhaps? She took a step forward, and he noticed she was wearing sandals, not tennis shoes—another indication she might be a local. Her sleeveless dress flowed to the floor while her hair hung down her back in loose curls. Something caught her attention on the wall, and her face turned upward toward the camera, making his heart lurch. Even on the grainy black and white security screen, her beauty was evident. She had a pixie nose, wide eyes, and high cheekbones. The look of wonderment on her face was definitely not one locals usually wore.
The woman disappeared off the screen, and Alex quickly found the monitor for the throne room, the next stop on the tour. But the woman didn’t immediately appear on the screen.
“Where did she go?” he muttered.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness?” Finn asked.
“The woman from the Hall of Victory. She was just there … oh, there she is.” He pointed to the woman.
Finn leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “She’s pretty.”
That was like saying the palace was merely nice. Alex watched as the woman stayed near the back of the group. She seemed entranced by the thrones. The others wandered around the room, admiring the artwork and statues, but she stayed put, even when the rest of the group moved toward the crown jewel exhibit. There was a relaxed ease in her posture that Alex craved. She seemed so at peace with her surroundings. What would it be like to feel that kind of calm?
Finn squinted at the screen. “What is she doing?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said.
The woman reached into her pocket, then leaned over the velvet rope and placed something between the two thrones.
A light immediately lit up on the wall, indicating a silent alarm had been tripped in the throne room. Finn grabbed his radio. “We’ve got a code yellow in your sector,” he said. “A woman, mid-twenties, with a baby in a carrier. She placed something between the thrones and is headed toward you.”
“Wait.” Alex leaned forward, squinting at the object. “It looks like a coin.”
“Copy that,” came the crackled response from the radio. “Moving to intercept.”
“Zoom in,” Alex demanded. Finn complied, and Alex shook his head in disbelief at what the woman had placed. “It’s an American penny.”
“It’s an unknown object. That penny could be laced with anthrax or explosives or any number of dangerous things.” Finn pushed the button on the side of the radio. “Waiting for your report, Colin.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Alex pushed back from his chair, exasperation making his movements jerky. Whether tourist or local, she hardly seemed like a political extremist bent on the royal family’s destruction.
“Where are you going?” Finn demanded.
“To stop this woman from being arrested,” Alex said.
337 Pages
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68k Words
