Six: Wine with the Prince

Despite her anger, Isabel still returned to redo my makeup the next day. She didn’t speak to me the entire time, mouth pursed tightly, eyes glinting with rage and worry in equal measure. She sent me off from the inn with a warning that if I wasn’t back by nightfall, she’d come looking for me herself.

Not that there was much she could do if I was really captured, but my chest warmed, nonetheless. Part of me wanted to tell her not to bother, not to worry about me so much, not to care, because regardless of how this went, I was leaving.

But I couldn’t face her expression if I were to tell her that.

So, like a coward, I simply smiled and left, pretending I couldn’t feel her anxious stare on my back until I disappeared around the corner.

Isabel was in this for the money just as much as I was, but we still cared about each other. And the difference between her and me was that the direction of her life didn’t depend solely on getting this payout from the princess. Isabel was trying to save enough money to get her own place and leave her parents’ house, start her own life without a husband. Our goals were similar, but the stakes were vastly different.

If I got this money, we’d both be able to achieve our goals. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, Isabel had decided she valued me more than her goal. A mistake on her part, but it was one I couldn’t bring myself to scorn her for.

The meeting with the princess and Ewan was, once again, at The Premier, but this time, when I arrived, they were expecting me. The host, a different one from last time, led me straight up the stairs, past where we’d been yesterday, and through a door at the very back.

So they’d reserved a private room for this. That meant there might be shouting. How exciting.

Inside the room was a table, four chairs, and a large window that had a beautiful view of the palace, its golden towers glinting in the afternoon light. The other walls were hung with pretty paintings of the sea, flowers, and a startlingly realistic painting of a tomato for some reason.

The princess and Ewan sat across from each other at the table, and the third seat, the one directly facing the door, was occupied by a man with his arms crossed over his chest.

My lips twitched at the sight of him, not because I recognized him, but because my gut told me he wasn’t just any old chaperone. And also, I was annoyed because he perfectly embodied the tall, dark, and handsome appearance that I had tried and failed to create for my Darren persona.

How dare he be more charming than me?

All eyes flew to me when I entered. It was unnervingly silent in that room, so silent and tense that I was certain no one had been speaking long before I arrived. The princess glanced at me and then away, quickly. Ewan was sitting extra still in his seat, eyes trained on the table. He reminded me of a small rabbit, freezing in front of a predator, as if the danger couldn’t find him if he didn’t move.

Well that wasn’t very promising.

But I was here now. Might as well see it through to the end.

With a grin, I slid into the final seat and planted my elbows on the table, leaning in towards the princess.

“Hello again, my love. I’ve missed you.” I went to grab her hand to plant another kiss on her knuckles, but found that another hand came up to block me before I could. That hand was large and tanned, but smooth. Clearly a well-taken care of hand, which confirmed that the man glaring at me across the table wasn’t a simple servant.

“No touching,” he said sternly, voice a pleasant baritone. I held my hands up in a gesture of obedience and sat back, casting a glance at Ewan.

“No touching, understood. I’d like to ask, though – what is he doing here?”

The other man sat back as well, narrowing his eyes. “As of right now, he is still my sister’s betrothed. Until we fully investigate your claims about Count Englewood, he remains so. He is here at his own request.”

I continued smiling, but I was frozen inside, a drop of sweat silently forming at my temple.

…Sister?

Fuck my life.

The king and queen of Pansolum had one son. The crown prince. Prince Valentin.

Valentin was no pampered royal. He was a war hero who had led hundreds of thousands of troops and returned victorious, despite his young age. He was his father's faithful dog, waging war wherever the king pointed. He had traveled all over the world, made friends with some countries, made enemies of others, and he was known by said enemies as “the vicious prince.”

I had no business meeting the vicious prince, and if there was anyone in the palace who had personally met the real Darren Faraman before, it would be Valentin.

…But he hadn’t called me out yet. So either he hadn’t met Darren, or he was playing my game to get information out of me.

Alright, maybe the money wasn’t worth it.

“’His own request’?” I echoed, voice surprisingly steady considering how fucked I was. “Why would you allow that? So he can argue his case? Do you even realize what he was about to do to your sister?”

Prince Valentin’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I am well aware, and I thank you for bringing it to our attention. I am curious, however – how exactly did you know? The Faramans haven’t been to the capital in years, and according to my sister, you only rode in yesterday. So tell me, Darren,” he leaned across the table, folding his hands together in front of him, “how did you come by this extremely important information?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“The princess had mentioned in her letters that her parents were considering betrothing her to him. I’m a jealous lover, you see, and I made it my business to know everything about the Count.”

“Interesting.” Valentin’s eyes were trained on me. I couldn’t read him, though, as if he had a stone wall protecting even a hint of his innermost thoughts from showing on his face. “That’s very interesting. I would be quite curious to read these letters. I asked my sister for the ones she received from you, but unfortunately – ”

“I got rid of them,” the princess blurted, darting a nervous glance at me. “After I read them, I got rid of them. I didn’t want anyone else to find them.”

“Yes, such a shame,” Valentin said. He didn’t speak very loudly, but there was something about the way he spoke that made it seem like he was projecting anyway. Or maybe that was just my own fear amplifying his words. “It does make one wonder though – why the secrecy? If you had only said that you wanted to marry my sister, you would have had a much better chance than the Count. Your family is far more important to us than his, and if you two were already in love, all the better. So tell me, what made you so scared to come forward?”

I swallowed hard. Not even the implied insult to the Count was enough to lessen my anxiety.

I was a professional liar; I’d been doing it for several years now. The issue with lies was that the more deeply they were examined, the more they spiraled out of your control. That’s why when I was impersonating someone else, I did as much research as I could in order to give some truth to the falsehoods – the less I had to make up on the spot, the better. And while I knew quite a bit about Darren and his family, I didn’t have access to their home or their personal correspondence with the royal family to know what kind of relationship they had.

So unfortunately, I had to pull this one out of my ass and pray.

I took a sip of water from the complimentary glass settled to my right. “My father,” I said, looking at the table instead of right into those piercing dark green eyes. “I am his only son, and as such, am going to inherit his position. The princess loves the capital and her family – I could never force her away from it.”

Marquis Faraman dealt almost exclusively with Pansolum’s foreign relations, and thus, had to remain at the border most of the year. So it was true that Darren, once he took over for his father, would also have to remain at the border.

Whether or not the princess actually loved the capital, I had no idea. With my luck today, it’s possible that princess Beatrice was famous for wanting to move away from the palace as soon as she was married, and I had just given away that I knew jack shit about her.

But thankfully, my luck seemed to hold for a moment as Valentin thought about that, rubbing one thumb slowly over the other, like a panther gently swaying the tip of its tail. The princess’s expression remained mostly the same, which meant I probably hadn’t been too far off and she either really was family-oriented, or at least hadn’t given an indication one way or the other to her brother whether she wanted to move away or not.

“Quite thoughtful of you,” Valentin murmured after a moment. “Would you like a drink, Darren?” The prince gestured to a bottle of wine sitting next to him on the table.

No, thank you. I bet you poisoned the fucking bottle.

“I would love one. Princess, would you like one?”

Beatrice’s head jerked up, like she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Oh, um. Alright.”

Valentin pulled the cork out with one twist, the sharp pop making Ewan and the princess both flinch. My spine shuddered, but I miraculously managed to remain still. Valentin poured each of us a glass, including Ewan, who apparently didn’t get a choice in the matter. Not that he was in any position to refuse.

As Valentin poured, eyelashes lowered so I couldn’t see his eyes, one corner of his mouth rose, revealing a white canine tooth. There was a hint of savagery to it.

“I think I quite like you, Darren.”