The Royal and the Rebel (Royally Pitched 2)

37

21 March

Austin Manor

Rowan was restless and claustrophobic. In the three hours since Nico had arrived, more personal protection officers descended. Robert and Ele appeared, and Millie came, bearing food and a personal chef. The quiet of his post-surgical haven had been shattered in the most complete way. Even his dogs were worn out from their watchfulness and preemptive screening of everyone who entered the house. Aside from the absolute chaos, Rowan was worried about Juliana, concerned because he’d overrun his friend’s house, and pissed off that he was not in control of everything happening around him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been surrounded by so many people in a place he considered his sanctuary.

After Jamie’s declaration of a potential problem, he’d gone all crown prince on Rowan. Whispering with his PPO, coordinating with someone—presumably Robert—by phone, generally taking over. Rowan was the fucking skipper. He did not appreciate being relegated to bystander status.

He was in the library—Juliana’s favorite room—crutching a route around the exterior of the room when Nico found him.

“Bit of a cock-up, yeah?” Nico said as he moved to the small bar in the back of the room.

“Sorry about taking over your home,” Rowan grumbled.

Nico poured some scotch into a glass and looked over his shoulder at Rowan. He lifted the tumbler in a silent question. Rowan had been off his meds for three days, so he nodded his assent and moved to sit in the first chair he came to. As soon as he sat, he remembered the last time he been seated there and what he’d gotten up to—or into. He almost smiled at the thought. Nico handed him a glass, and they clinked in a wordless toast. Then, Nico sat across from him.

After taking a healthy sip, Nico leaned back and crossed his leg on his knee. Even coming in from being on the road, Nico painted a picture of natural elegance. In his forties, he was still fit, and the few times the lads had managed to get him to touch a football, his skill had still been evident and impressive. Rowan knew Nico had had a rough year with the implosion of his marriage, but to look at him, you would never know.

“Good trip?” He didn’t want to know about Nico’s trip. He wanted to discuss his fear for Violet and the feelings he might have for a certain princess. In his head, the worry swirled, but the best he could come up with was innocuous conversation.

Nico eyed him over the rim of his glass. “Lost your head, did you?”

Rowan shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe,” was all he could give.

He didn’t want to talk about his feelings. He wanted to know where the hell Juliana had disappeared to, and he wanted to do something. Did people still storm castles? He was willing to if this mess could be over. His life had become this weird tumble into the bizarre. He was a man who wanted to kick a football around a pitch, and here he was, stuck in a loop of political intrigue and a coup d’état. Oh, how he rued the damn tackle that had upended his life.

“What can I do?”

“Besides give up your home?”

Nico smiled. “Other than that.”

Rowan was unsure what he was allowed to disclose. But, hell, he needed to do something. He leaned forward, cutting the distance between himself and Nico. Nico followed suit, so their heads were close.

“Something is happening. I don’t know what exactly, but I am worried about Violet. The prince seems to concur. I was hoping you could go to Nava and get her.”

Nico’s brow furrowed, and his forehead puckered with concentration. “Who is Violet?”

“Fuck,” Rowan lamented. “My fifteen-year-old half-sister.”

Nico leaned away from Rowan. A smile appeared before he laughed. “Maybe you should have gotten hurt sooner. Suddenly, you have a princess fiancée and a teenage sister. It’s like some higher power thought, What can I do to fuck with Rowan Beckwith?”

Rowan growled low in his throat because wasn’t it the fucking truth? He’d been riding high on life, playing the game he loved, winning world championships, doing whatever the fuck he wanted. Then, it’d all changed. And here he was, more concerned with protecting his little sister and worrying about Juliana instead of checking scores and watching who was top of the table. Who had he pissed off?

“Or maybe,” Nico continued, sipping his scotch slowly, “it was more about what you needed.”

This time, Rowan scoffed. “What the fuck, mate?”

“I see your vocabulary has degraded since your injury,” Nico remarked before he set his glass on the table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The smile he’d worn fell away. “You’ve lived a pretty sterile life, football aside. You shut yourself up at your house with your three dogs. You have two close friends, who you quite easily distanced yourself from at the time of your greatest need. Perhaps”—he shrugged—“this happened for a reason.”

Rowan was incredulous. “The fuck?” he gasped. “What metaphysical bullshit are you slinging? My popliteal artery was severed because I don’t have any friends?”

Rowan was so angry that he wanted to kick something—Nico’s face for instance. He’d thought if anyone understood what he was feeling, it would be Nico. For him to chalk it up to fucking fate hurt more than Rowan understood.

“You want me to cry for the loss of your career? I will. Boohoo.”

Rowan clambered to his feet, his ire pushing him to reach for his crutches. He needed to get out of this room, away from these truths Nico seemed determined to unload on him.

“But you’re alive, you’re healthy, you’re in love, and you’ve finally connected with your family.”

“I’m not in love. It’s a bloody farce,” he bellowed.

Everything around him quieted. Even the conversation in the other rooms, the constant movement of all the people in the house. He stood, motionless, the echo of his words ringing in his ears.

And some voice inside of him whispered, Liar, liar.

He shook his head and wisely sank back into the chair. Nico forced Rowan’s half-empty glass into his hand. Rowan drank robotically, mulling over his outburst.

“That’s not true,” Rowan announced quietly. “She drives me absolutely crazy. But she’s so kind and caring. And even though she’s probably the most beautiful woman in the world, you would never know it by the way she acts and carries herself. She’s funny and witty, loyal as hell. She never lets me get away with any shit, and she calls me on my growling and moodiness. She’s barely out of school, not even a quarter-century old, and she’s wise as fuck and maturer than I am.” He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “And when the queen ordered us to get married in two weeks, I didn’t even flinch, didn’t even attempt to come up with fifty ways to get out of it. She left here a few hours ago, and I have no idea where she is, but I’m ready to storm the fucking palace.”

“Good,” Jamie said.

Rowan’s head snapped up, and he turned to look at the prince.