The Royal and the Rebel (Royally Pitched 2)

18

2 March

Xavier Hall

Between the throbbing in his knee, the pounding of his head, and the dagger Juliana had stuck through his ego, he was shocked he was able to appreciate the beauty of the room around him. It shimmered with the representations of the day. All around them, the people glittered in their finery. Golds, silvers, reds, greens, blues. And yet, Juliana, beside him in basic black, outshone them all.

“Wow,” Juliana whispered from beside him. “What wonderful decorations.”

Rowan grunted. He was back to that. Better than wasting words and giving her something else to judge and jury him with.

Rowan wasn’t sure of his next move in the room. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to get the spectacle with his father over and done or if he wanted to make his father wait for him. Juliana suddenly waved her arm in the air next to him, and he saw her start in a direction he wasn’t sure he wanted.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She seemed to remember she was there with him. “Sorry,” she responded, ducking her head a little. She stepped closer. “Bela was waving to me. I don’t see Jamie. Do you mind if we go see the girls?”

Rowan contemplated standing with a bunch of haughty women intent on snatching a rich, titled aristocrat or confronting the duke and his cronies.

Juliana presented the better option, so he said, “Lead the way.”

She moved through the room, careful to avoid narrow passages and tricky sidesteps. He knew she was doing it for him, and he was silently thankful. After her comment earlier, he was happy to hide behind his “miserable ass” demeanor, so he made no mention of it. They finally reached the women she’d referred to as “the girls,” and he realized what a misnomer it was. Compared to them, Juliana was the only girl.

She greeted them all and then turned her body, so Rowan was invited into the circle.

“This is Rowan,” she said, a plasticky smile on her face. “Rowan, this is Bela.” She held her hand out to the dark beauty. “And Tatiana.”

The Russian eyed him like a side of beef, and he shifted his gaze from hers to a petite brunette.

“Lacy,” Juliana said. Then, a real smile broke over her face as she spied someone behind him. “And coming up behind you is Meena.”

Rowan froze. When he didn’t turn, Juliana looked at him questioningly.

“No introductions needed.” Meena’s voice tripped down his spine like a cattle prod.

Juliana continued to study him, but he turned away from her to face Meena.

“Your Grace,” he said, unable to keep the soft caress of his voice in check.

Meena dipped her lovely head. “So, the prodigal son has finally come home.” Then, her face broke into a wistful smile. “Ro,” she said as she stepped to him and tenderly placed her hand on his cheek, “it’s so good to see you.”

Her scent surrounded him, pushing memories through his head, rapid-fire.

His introduction to Meena had come at an etiquette class when he was fourteen. She was sixteen, acting as a chaperon for a younger cousin. Then, at twenty, replete with satisfaction, lying in his bed. At twenty-two, begging him to give in to his father’s demands so that she wouldn’t have to marry the Duke of Palmela. From innocence to infatuation to love in a small window of time. He hadn’t thought of his time with Meena in years but seeing her reminded him he’d once given his heart away. He remembered the vulnerability and how much he hated it.

“We should probably go find Jamie,” Juliana said, meeting his gaze and then Meena’s.

“Of course. We shouldn’t try to monopolize your time tonight. We can catch up tomorrow,” Meena said to Juliana.

Juliana moved to Rowan’s side. “I think I need champagne,” she remarked.

“Me too,” he agreed, following her gingerly toward the front of the room.

“We should probably find a place for you to sit.”

He followed mutely, blindly, already exhausted by this farce he’d orchestrated. He knew this was the only way to his freedom, but why did this path have to be so rocky? Stumbling along, he focused only on placing his crutches in the right spot and landing correctly on this other foot. His asshole-like behavior from earlier came back to him. He’d been so pissed when Juliana called him out, especially after telling her secrets he’d guarded his whole life. But even in his anger, he had to admire her spunk. And her grace under pressure. He’d sensed her dismay when he greeted Meena with more civility than he’d ever allowed for her. Yet her face remained a calm mask, unaffected by Rowan’s demeanor with another woman when he was supposed to be so in love with her that he was giving in to demands he’d fought against his whole life.

With nothing but foot placement to focus on, he could watch her unabashedly. All sinewy lines and unparalleled beauty. It wasn’t the arrangement of her features or the way her legs ate up the space or even how her breasts seemed to be the perfect proportions for her long, lean lines. It was this presence of hers. This untouchable essence that could drop you to your knees, even as you were reaching out to grab on to it. He shook his head. This was the wrong track to go down. She stopped, pulled out a chair for him, and waited until he was seated before she took his crutches and set them beside him.

“How much longer do you think you can hold out?” she said, close to his ear.

Her breath fanned out down his neck, and he moved his head away from her, not trusting where his thoughts had been taking him. With space between them, he was able to process her question and catalog his injuries. His knee continued to throb, and his foot weighed like it was anvil on the end of his leg. His left leg trembled with the exhaustion of an overused muscle, and his head beat a staccato rhythm. His armpits ached, and he could tell the shirt and coat marked the newly hardened skin with fresh chafe marks. On a scale of one to ten, he was a solid two-point-five.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew two Paracetamol tablets. Without having to ask, Juliana poured some water into a pretty crystal glass from the pitcher in the middle of the table. It wouldn’t do much but take the edge off the pain. And he could do his best to get through most of the reception.

“I’m good,” he finally replied. “Have you seen the duke?”

Juliana smirked. “He is busy introducing Jamie to everyone in the room. Mission accomplished, I’d say.”

Rowan’s head popped up, and he searched the room for the duke and the crown prince. There, in the middle of the reception, Jamie held court. As much as he hated the duke, he could admit the man possessed the requisite amount of charisma to hold the room in the palm of his hand. And yet, the Duke of Waverly had nothing on Prince James. For the first time, he was happy Juliana’s family had arrived.

“Was his mission to distract?” Rowan asked, curious to what the Altamiranos had concocted.

Juliana lifted an elegant shoulder, her voice distracted. “So it seems.”

“Brilliant.”

“Yes. He’s a star.” Her voice had this dreamy quality to it, and Rowan decided it was admiration.

He wondered, so briefly that he wasn’t sure he’d really thought it, if maybe she would ever speak of him the same way—a little bit of respect, a little bit of awe, a lot of love.

“Maybe we should rescue him.”

“Are you up for it?” she asked, meeting his gaze.