Temporarily His Princess (Married by Royal Decree 1)

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Nothing. No more games, Glory. But don’t worry. I’ll still help your family. Of course, they can never again as much as forge a note to your nephew’s kindergarten or take a cent from a tip dish.”

Her heart slowed, as if fearing every beat would make this real. “Y-you mean that?” His slow nod, his solemn gaze cleaved into her. “Wh-what will you do about King Ferruccio’s decree?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking on the fly here. Maybe I’ll ask someone else.”

Her heart boomed now, each beat almost tearing it apart.

She couldn’t bear thinking he’d marry someone else, even in pretense. “Why?”

His shrug was heavy; his spectacular face gripped in the brooding she hadn’t seen there since she’d met him again. “It just suddenly hit me, how wrong this whole thing is.”

It suddenly hit her, too. That he wasn’t only confounding. He was nerve-racking. Heartbreaking. And he probably did suffer from a severe bipolar disorder. What else explained the violent pendulum of his mood swings?

He forced out an exhalation. “You can go back as soon as you wish. If you want me to escort you, I will. If not, the royal jet is at your disposal.”

Feeling as if her whole world was being swept from under her, she leaned back on the balustrade before she collapsed.

He meant it. He was setting her free.

But she didn’t want to be free.

She no longer knew what to do with her freedom.

Before he’d reinvaded her life, she’d spent years nurturing the illusion of steadiness. His hurricane had uprooted her simulated peace and exposed the truth of her chaos, the bleakness of her isolation.

But she’d already succumbed and had woven a tapestry of expectations around this time she would have had with him. She’d anticipated its rejuvenation, thought it would see her through the rest of her life. In her worst estimations she’d never thought it would all end before it began.

But it had. He’d suddenly cut her loose, letting her plummet back into her endless spiral of nothingness.

She pushed away from the balustrade as if from a precipice and past the monolith who stood brooding down at her.

She looked around her stunning surroundings, every nerve burning with despondency.

In a different life, Vincenzo would have brought her here because he wanted to share his home with her. If not permanently, then at least sincerely, passionately, for as long the fates let them be together.

In this life, he’d brought her here for all the wrong reasons, only to send her away before she got more than a tantalizing taste of the place that had forged him into the man she loved.

Yes, in spite of the insanity and self-destructiveness of it all, she still loved him.

Now she’d only gotten enough of a glimpse of him in his element to live with their memory gnawing at her, to mourn what hadn’t and could never have been.

Needing to get it over with, she turned and found him still standing where he had been, his back to her, looking up at the sky. Thunder filled her ears as her gaze ached over the sight of his majestic figure…then she realized.

The din didn’t come from her stampeding heart. It was coming from above.

It took a moment to realize its direction then see its origin. A helicopter.

“The Castaldinian Air Force One, rotorcraft edition.” Vincenzo gazed at her over his shoulder, his eyes grave. “Seems Ferruccio couldn’t wait to meet my future bride.”

Hot needles sprouted behind her eyes. She didn’t want to meet anyone. She wasn’t even a counterfeit bride now.

He turned, expression wiped clean. “Please say nothing while he’s here. I’ll resolve things with him later.”

She only nodded numbly, making no reaction when he took her hand and led her from the terrace and down the stairs he’d carried her up what felt like a lifetime ago.

By the time they exited the castle, the helicopter was landing in the courtyard, the revolving blades spraying the fountain water at them. Glory shuddered at the touch of the warm mist, cold spreading in her bones.

As the rotors slowed down, a man stepped down from the pilot’s side. She recognized him on sight. So the king flew himself here. And without guards or fanfare. It said so much about him and his status in Castaldini.

But all photos and footage hadn’t done him justice. He’d looked exceptional in those. But the man was way more than that. He was on par with Vincenzo in looks and physique. He could even pass for his brother.

King Ferruccio rushed in strides laden with urgency and power to the passenger side as it opened. In moments, his arms went around the waist of a golden vision of a woman, lifting her down as if he was handling his own heart.

“And the king has brought his queen,” she heard Vincenzo mutter over the rotor’s dying whirs. “Or maybe it’s the other way around. She must be thrilled to see me entering the gilded cage at last.”

Glory’s heart contracted on what felt like thorns on hearing his words, and more as she watched the regal couple advance hand in hand, their bond blatant in their every nuance.

What attention they didn’t have focused on each other, they had trained on her. She looked from one to the other, feeling like a specimen under a microscope.

Queen Clarissa was what Glory had always imagined fairy queens to look like. In a sleeveless floor-length lilac dress and high-heeled matching sandals, she stood maybe an inch or two taller than Glory, with the body of a woman who’d been ripened by the satisfaction and pampering of a powerful man’s constant passion, by bearing his children. From the top of her golden head to her toes, she glowed in the afternoon sun as if she was made of its radiance. Glory could easily believe she had angels in her lineage.

King Ferruccio was as tall as Vincenzo, another overpoweringly handsome D’Agostino. There was no doubt the same blood ran in their veins. They had almost identical coloring, too. But that was where the similarities ended.

While Vincenzo was imposing, Ferruccio was intimidating. If his wife was the benevolent breed of angel, he was the avenging variety. And it had nothing to do with the way he looked. It was in his eyes. His vibe. This was a man who’d seen and done unspeakable things…and had those things done to him. Which made sense. He’d grown up an illegitimate boy on the streets, one who’d dragged himself from the dirt to the very top. She could only imagine what he’d been through, what had shaped him into the man who was now undisputedly the best king in Castaldini’s history. She felt no one could know the scope of his depths, and those of his sufferings and complexities.