He’s not happy about it, and he can likely tell I’m brushing him off, but those manners are incredible weapons I love exploiting, and he simply gives a firm nod and moves on his way.Good boy.
With that piece done, I float through the ballroom, keeping my head high while not making eye contact with anyone. My job is to listen. To hear but not be seen. To grab intel so we can plot the next course. So far, it’s proving dull and useless. I can’t get near the king and his new queen. They’re on the opposite side of the ballroom, and their reception line is hours deep.
Plus, I don’t exactly want them to see me. Not tonight. Not yet.
Turning the corner, I spot Prince Rowan engaged in conversation with a woman and her daughter. The moment he dismisses them, he takes a sip of his drink and yawns.
For some reason, it makes me giggle, and he hears it, his handsome face bouncing up into a self-deprecating grin, and I get a half-shrug when our eyes meet. Tall and broad, he’s devastatingly handsome with short dark hair that’s a bit longer on top and coiffed back off his face. He’s in a blue royal suit that’s perfectly tailored to him, with gold trim and epaulets, as well as medals of honor for service to his country.
“Bored, Your Highness?”
His eyes sweep languidly over me. “Not anymore.”
I dip my head but don’t engage. “Maybe a splash of espresso will help perk you up.”
“Maybe it’s the right company I’m lacking,” he volleys.
“Best of luck finding it then.” I wink and go to leave when he stops me.
“No, wait. Come back. Please come back.” He holds his hands up in supplication and gives me a sad puppy dog face with a crooked smile. “I don’t even know your name. At least give me that?”
I wave. “Goodbye.”
With that, I slip back into the congestion of the room, resisting the urge to turn around and see if he’s watching me go.
Unfortunately, I’m stuck with bullshit and not the sexy smirk of the prince. Men talking politics I’m not interested in, nor will they speak candidly with a woman. Women sneering about the new queen—she’s not that pretty; she can’t be that interesting; did you see how chubby she is? How quickly did she spread her legs to ensnare the king? How hideous is the scar on her neck?—that sort of catty bullshit jealous women like to gossip about.
Even their whispers are useless. This wedding is proving to be a waste of my time so far.
Naturally there are murmurs about the former prime minister and his attack on the king and his bride on the night of their engagement. But it’s nothing new. Nothing factual. More banal gossip and useless speculation that don’t further my cause.
“I bet she’s pregnant,” a woman in harsh red and too much makeup chides her friend. “Why else would a king, a man like Sebastian, marry crass American trash?”
God, I hate these people. I roll my eyes and turn away from them before her friend can respond, only to lock onto a pair of bright blue eyes aimed directly at me. I start, surprised by how boldly and unapologetically he’s looking at me, and when he holds a finger up to his lips, I can’t help but smile. He caught my eye roll.
Prince Rowan returns the wink I gave him earlier and polishes off the last of whatever it is he’s drinking before he addresses the ladies in French, since that’s what they were speaking. “As my new sister-in-law, I can attest Bellamy’s actually quite wonderful and enchanting,” he interjects. “Hardly…” His face scrunches up. “What did you call her? Crass American trash, was it?”
The women are appalled, instantly dropping into deep curtsies. “Your Royal Highness,” they whisper in unison, their voices now demur. “You misunderstood,” one continues after she rises to her full height, giving him come-fuck-me eyes without the least bit of shame. They all want to be the next to snag royalty and force him down the aisle. “We were simply reiterating the ghastly things we’d overheard others saying about her this evening.”
“Mmm. Yes. Ghastly and petty, I’d say. I hope the next time you hear such lies, you pass along my message about the new queen of Messalina.”
Savage. I like it. If only I weren’t here to ruin his brother’s life.
But I shouldn’t be part of this, and I shouldn’t have caught his attention.
I start to move away, only for a hand to wrap around my elbow, stopping me. “Running off on me again so soon?”
“Yes,” I tell him bluntly, speaking in French as I shirk his grip. “Gossip and female bashing make me thirsty, and I’m in search of a drink without bubbles.”
“Allow me to assist.” He holds up his hand, and magically a waiter appears at his side.
I give him an unimpressed look, though that was impressive. “Do you always have people at your beck and call?”
“It comes with the uniform. What can I get you?”
Great. No getting out of this now. “A vodka dirty martini.” I’ve never had one of those either, but it was what my father always drank.
Prince Rowan steps in front of me, standing annoyingly close. “You can’t dance with that in your hand.”
