“Understood.” Hell if I know how, though. Or if I want to.
Ranier’s father says nothing.
I’m dismissed. Wyatt’s waiting out in the corridor, leaning against the wall like he’s been there the whole time. “How’d it go?”
“They want me to grovel or get out.”
He smirks. “Told you. Royals Anonymous has bets running on how long you’ll last. The current line is ‘less than a season.’”
I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Fuck off, Whitlock.”
He falls in step beside me. “You know, you don’t have to do it their way. You could just… bail. Do your own thing.”
“Says the guy who’s allergic to commitment.”
Wyatt shrugs. “At least I know what I want. Do you?”
It’s a good question. One I don’t want to answer.
We reach the lounge. Ranier’s still there, alone now, staring into a tumbler of something darker than regret. He looks up, sees me, and for once, doesn’t bother with a speech.
He just says, “You coming back?”
I sit. Pour myself a drink. Watch the light slosh in the glass. “Yeah. For now.”
Wyatt rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “Let me know when you’re ready for the next public disaster. I’ll be watching.”
He’s gone, leaving only the scent of rain and ozone in his wake.
Ranier finally looks at me. “They’re not going to let this go, you know. Sooner or later, she’ll be back in play.”
I swirl my drink, thinking of Emery Grey and her glitter-pink hair, her eyes steady even as she was crushed in front of a thousand people. “Maybe. But next time, we’re doing it my way.”
He snorts. “And what’s that?”
I grin. “The way where we win.”
I raise my glass. Ranier clinks it, hard.
Outside, the corridor hums with the noise of a hundred futures, all of them waiting to be set on fire.
CHAPTER 5
Emery
The best way tosurvive humiliation is to keep moving. That’s my policy, anyway, so the moment the selection ceremony ends, I’m dragging Eloise through the maze of coatrooms and mirrored corridors until the din of the ballroom fades into something manageable. My chest vibrates with every step like a blown speaker. Eloise matches my pace, heels clicking, emanating a poise I hope I mirror as she checks behind us for potential witnesses.
“We can leave through the staff entrance,” she mutters, voice low and urgent. “There’s a gate by the conservatory. No one will see?—”
I stop walking. Eloise bumps into me hard enough that my teeth click. But I’m not looking at her. I’m staring at a little alcove off the main hall, where a pair of familiar voices ricochet off the marble: one female, all dry sunshine and veiled scorn; one male, a jagged mutter that’s immediately recognizable.
“Helena and Richard Starling,” I whisper, flattening myself against a column. Eloise tries to tug me onward but I shush her, craning my head for a better angle. I prepared too much for this deal, so much I know all of these royals’ names, and Istillfailed.
Helena Starling—older, softer-edged, but still with that omega mix of poise and magnetism—is bracing her brother against the wall. Richard looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. His arms are crossed, his mouth a hard horizontal line.
“You have to be kidding,” Helena is saying, her tone all fake-calm. “You saw the Councilor’s face, didn’t you? They’re going to kill him if he doesn’t walk this back. It’ll go viral by morning.”
Oh no.I can just imagine the headlines from the press and tabloids. And thenRoyals Anonymous, too.
