The Wicked Prince

“Maybe you should just speak to him,” Pierre suggested as he parked on the side of the road. We were surrounded by woods and it was beginning to snow, so I stayed put for a moment.

“I can’t. What would I say? I mean, you heard him.” My shoulders dropped. “God, I’m so stupid. I warned Addie not to get involved with someone in this family and here I am. Involved.”

“For what it’s worth, he didn’t say he’d get together with Esmée. In fact, I think he made it clear that he wouldn’t.”

“She didn’t seem to get the memo.”

Pierre nodded. “I know you’re half-French, but you’re mostly English, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes. I mean, I grew up there, so yes.”

“And you’ve never met anyone from these nearby towns, have you?”

“Not really, no. I mean, in passing, but not really met.”

“Let me tell you something about them, for centuries, millennia, even, they’ve existed solely to serve The Crown. From the time of the Sun King, they were all at the mercy of those who lived inside of the palace walls. They were provided with jobs, and if they were called upon, they provided the King with whatever he asked. A lot of the women were called upon.”

Pierre shot me a look. “The kings often took advantage of their power. Up until even King Elias’s father. He had women brought in from various surrounding towns and well, use your imagination.”

“What does that have to do with Esmée?”

“Esmée follows that tradition. It is her duty to serve The Crown. It would be her joy to be in Aramis’s life, in whatever capacity. It used to be that women like her would end up as mistresses, but now with the media attention and the access everyone has, she doesn’t have to settle for that. If she can go on television and basically stake her claim and get the people to root for her, she may just become his wife.”

I let that sink in. I hated it even more than any of my previous thoughts. He wasn’t wrong. We used the media to create narratives we approved of, so what Esmée did today was get ahead of that.

“I hate her.”

“I don’t blame you.” Pierre smiled. “The good news is, Aramis doesn’t buy into all of that. He doesn’t care what the media says, what his family says, what his role in all of this is. He only serves himself. That should be enough for you to know that if he truly cares for you, he’ll be with you.”

“Why didn’t he say that then?”

“How could he tell the world something he hasn’t even told you yet?”

“How do you know he hasn’t told me yet?”

“If he had, you wouldn’t be so insecure about your relationship and he would have told the world.”

“You’re pretty smart, Pierre.”

“Thank you.” He chuckled.

We both turned to see one of the royal SUVs pull up beside us. My eyes widened when I saw Aramis get out of the driver’s seat. He looked like a bull ready for a fight. I lowered my window.

“Do you need something?”

“As a matter of fact, I do, but apparently you’re busy.”

“I’m busy? Aren’t you supposed to be having lunch with your potential future wife and son?” I raised an eyebrow, feeling every single ounce of anger flood back.

“Maybe you should go back with him,” Pierre suggested. “So you can talk.”

Aramis’s jaw ticked. I put the window back up.

“Thank you for humoring me.” I looked at Pierre and opened the door, stepping out and waiting until he drove back in the direction of the palace. Aramis was still mad when I looked at him.

“What?”

“What?” he snapped. “You disappeared and then I find you in a car with Pierre and you think that’s just fine?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Pierre is my friend.”

“Yeah, he’s my friend too but I don’t feel the need to go off into the woods with him. If he was just a friend you could speak to him in public.”

“I was trying to get away from you.” My voice was getting higher with each word. Not even the snow that was starting to fall around us could cheer me up this time. “I didn’t want to distract you in front of your potential girlfriend.”

“What are you . . . Esmée?” He blinked. “Are you serious?”

“She wants to be with you. She wants you to be a big happy family and she ensured the public would be rooting for that by saying what she did in that live interview.” I pointed toward the Palace.

“And what do you want, Joslyn?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want!”

“It matters to me.”

“I want what’s best for The Crown.”

“Fuck The Crown. I’m asking what you want.” He stepped closer still, until he was looming over me, covering my face so the snowflakes were no longer falling on it.