But all I see is desire staring back at me.
“Happy New Year to me . . .” she giggles.
And what a new year it will be.
Itake Bellamy’s arm in mine as we wait to be announced behind the doors to the ballroom. “Are you ready for this?”
A small smile graces her cherry-red lips, and I wonder how long we have to stay at the event. An hour? Two?
“One day, you’re going to ask me that, and I’m actually going to say yes.” There’s no mistaking the teasing in her voice. “But sadly, that’s not today. I have no idea how long it’s going to take for me to feel like this is my world.”
There are so many things I want to say to her.
Things I need her to believe.
But before I can, the doors open as we’re announced.
Time for the madness.
Unlike the tree lighting or the work Bellamy has been slowly taking on, tonight’s ball is massive and steeped in tradition. Allof Mornea’s aristocracy is in attendance, and they all want a chance to meet their new queen.
Their queen who refuses to relinquish my arm.
Fine by me.
I have no problem spending the night by her side.
At least, not until my father catches us in his sights.Shit.I haven’t discussed my suspicions about my father with Bellamy. I was trying to protect her until I knew the truth. Part of me hoping I’m wrong, even if I’m certain I’m not.
That might be about to blow up in my face.
I lean into her and brush my lips over her ear. “This isn’t going to be good.”
“What...” The word dies on her lips as Father stops in front of us, a glass of scotch in one hand and an offensive look on his smug face.
We’ve never had a good relationship.
Atticus, Lennon, and I were part of his duty to the crown.
Marry the future queen. Produce heirs. Live your life fat, drunk, and happily doing whatever you please. Never caring who you hurt in the process. As a prince of Ellwyn, who’s fifth in line to that throne, my mother was his winning lottery ticket. His one chance to be close to what he’s always wanted—power.
When she died, his chance died with her.
He was never a good father or a good husband.
And the day we buried her, he stopped bothering to pretend to be either.
“Rhys.” Father nods, ignoring Bellamy.
My blood boils beneath my skin at the blatant disrespect, but somehow, I mask my hatred and keep my voice low and steady. “Father, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Bellamy Windsor, my wife and your queen. You will show her the respect she deserves.”
I catch Atticus walking toward us out of the corner of my eye.
A look of warning on his face.
We’re being watched.
We’re always being watched.
