Capturing the Crown: The Heart of a Ruler

He considered what it was that Reginald was telling him. So Amelia had gained some spirit, had she? Good for her. Russell remembered the princess, a fair, shy girl with vivid, violet eyes, who, for the most part, attempted to hide whenever the prince and he accompanied King Weston on royal visits to Gastonia.

On those visits, the adults would converse, leaving Reginald and him to their own devices and wiles. Reginald would entertain himself by ordering around everyone—especially the princess—like a spoiled child while he, well, he had to admit he wasn’t exactly an angel in those days either, Russell remembered with a smile. He loved to play practical jokes. Still did, actually, although it was no longer dignified for him to indulge himself that way.

The poor princess had been his chosen target for water balloons. Hers was always his bed of choice when it came to depositing the vast variety of bugs that the almost fairy tale-like kingdom of Gastonia had to offer. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her high-pitched, blood-curdling scream the night he’d slipped a huge black spider in between her sheets.

He remembered that Amelia always looked so relieved whenever their royal vehicle would be pulling away from the palace, signaling an end to their visit. Hers was always the last face he saw as he left the country. He’d focus on her, standing there, beside her father, a small vision in pinks and whites, her blond hair moving in the breeze, her smile widening as they disappeared into the distance.

And now she was going to marry Reginald. He wondered if he would ever see her smile widening again.

That was none of his concern, Russell reminded himself. Reginald was his prince, his soon-to-be king.

The man was going to be unbearable then, Russell thought, feeling sorry for Amelia.

Reginald was shifting from foot to foot, anxious to gain the door.

“There’s no reason to bandy this about any longer,” Reginald said in a dismissive tone. “You will go in my place and you will bring Princess Amelia back. End of discussion.”

Russell found his own impatience difficult to bank down. Maybe because, as an adolescent, whenever he’d heard Reginald ordering Amelia around, something inside of him had rebelled, softening to the look in Amelia’s eyes. It was a necessary political alliance, but that didn’t mean that Reginald should be able to treat the princess like chattel. “Do you intend to be so careless of her feelings once you’re married?”

“Feelings?” Reginald jeered incredulously. He looked at Russell as if he thought that he’d lost his mind. “She doesn’t have any feelings. She’s a princess,” he pointed out. “She has duties. I’m sure she makes love that way, too. Like it’s her duty.” Reginald smirked. “It will be our royal duty to make the Princess Amelia attempt to make love like a flesh-and-blood woman.” Smug superiority highlighted his features as the prince delivered another patronizing pat to his shoulder. “That’s a royal ‘our’ in case you think that’s an invitation to sample the royal goods before delivery.”

Russell shrugged the prince’s hand off. “Have I ever told you that you disgust me?”

Reginald took a step back, hatred flashing in his eyes. Hatred, Russell knew, because the prince knew that in a contest of wills or strength, he was more than Reginald’s match.

“Frequently. With your eyes.” And just so that there was no mistake in intent, he added, “You’re the only man I’ve ever let live who did that.” The smirk on Reginald’s lips grew larger. “Because at the end of the day, I will be King and you will not.”

Russell knew Reginald thought he was taunting him. Russell was next in line for the throne. The rules of the kingdom were such that if the King had no male heirs, then the Duke of Carrington would be the next King of Silvershire. He doubted that Reginald believed that there was nothing that he would have wanted less than to be King. But his ambitions had never taken him in that direction.

As far back as he could remember, he had always hated being in the limelight. Hated being singled out for any reason, for any amount of time. He would have shrugged off the order of succession in a heartbeat, but it wasn’t his decision to make. And he was too loyal to his king, and his family’s honor meant too much to him, to ever do more than simply contemplate walking away. His path was clear. He had his duties.

As did Princess Amelia. Hers were harder, Russell thought, looking at the prince. At least he didn’t have to marry Reginald.

He supposed there was no point in arguing. Reginald wasn’t going to be dissuaded from his planned revelry. Maybe the prince did need to get it out of his system one last time. At least, Russell thought, he could hope.

Inclining his head, Russell surrendered. “All right, I’ll do it. I’ll go and bring the princess back for the wedding.”

Reginald smiled coldly, triumphant. “Of course you will. Was there ever any doubt?”

Before Russell could trust himself to safely respond, the prince had left the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Princess Amelia of Gastonia stood on the palace terrace, overlooking the lush green gardens she loved so much. The gardens where she had played with almost reckless abandonment as a child. While other little girls might have fantasized about being princesses, she, as a princess, had fantasized about being just like any other little girl.

But even then, she’d known that she wasn’t like every other little girl in Gastonia, the once-quaint country that her father had brought into the twenty-first century. She was different. On her shoulders was the weight of the kingdom. The welfare of her people. That had been taught to her from a very young age.

And if, by some wild fantasy of fate, she ever forgot for a little while, there had been Prince Reginald’s visits to remind her.

She sighed inwardly.

Prince Reginald. The toad. Her fiancé.

Not that the Prince of Silvershire was actually ugly. As a boy, he’d been decent enough to look at. Not like his companion, Russell Southgate, the current Duke of Carrington, of course, whom she’d secretly had a fleeting crush on, but decent. It wasn’t the prince’s face, but his soul that was ugly.

Amelia strove now not to shiver even as she wrapped her arms around herself for comfort. In another lifetime, she was fairly confident that Reginald could have been, and probably had been, Ivan the Terrible, the bloodthirsty Russian czar.

At least, that was the feeling she always had whenever Reginald was around. He treated everyone around him as if they were less than the bugs that were so plentiful in her garden. She was accustomed to being treated with respect, yet Reginald would order her around as if she were, in his mind, a lowly peasant.

It was Russell who would intercede, distracting Reginald and getting the prince to leave her alone. Russell who reminded her, in those instances, of a medieval knight in shining armor. With his sandy-brown hair, charismatic smile and beautiful dark brown eyes, he had been her hero.

He had also, she remembered, been her tormentor. Russell had never missed a chance to drop a water balloon on her head, or infest her bed with a myriad of bugs. Weeks after the royal party had left, she would have trouble rounding a corner beneath a balcony or getting into bed at night without first stripping off all the sheets, shaking them out and then remaking the bed.

Still, she thought, of the two, Russell was far preferable to Reginald. So when her father had just now come to tell her that Lord Carrington, not the prince, would be the one coming to take her to Silvershire, she’d received the news with a wave of relief, though she was acutely aware that her reprise was only temporary.

She’d always known this day would come, that she would be required to fulfill her obligation as Gastonia’s princess. Amelia tried not to shudder; the full impact was only now setting in. She was going to be marrying Reginald. Sharing a crown with Reginald.

Sharing a bed.

Oh, God.

Perhaps if she’d had siblings, someone could have taken this burden from her. But there weren’t any siblings. She was her parents’ only child. And her marriage was Gastonia’s only hope of security.

Still, knowing it would come intellectually was one thing. Absorbing the full impact with her heart was really quite another. Now that it was happening, she felt trapped by honor, duty and circumstance. If she hadn’t been born a princess, this wouldn’t be happening to her.

“It’s not fair, you know,” she murmured, more to herself than to the regal man who stood behind her.

Did he feel as helpless as she did? she wondered. Did some part of her father regret having to sacrifice his daughter’s happiness in order to insure his country’s continued safety?

Amelia turned around to look at her father. “In this day and age, it’s not fair, you know. Not fair to have to marry a man who, if not for his lineage, would have trouble securing a date even on the Internet.”

King Roman frowned deeply. His eyes looked sad, she thought. There was never any doubt on Amelia’s part that her father did love her. And, she hoped, if there were some other way, he would want to see her happy. But King Roman was steeped in tradition and so, she knew, should she be.

With an air of frustration, the king waved an aristocratic-looking hand at her comments. “Be that as it may—”

She wasn’t going to make this difficult for him. She was her father’s daughter, and well-taught. Amelia nodded. “Be that as it may, I will honor the treaty and my obligation, even though it’s obvious that Prince Reginald doesn’t think very much of me.” She saw her father raise his eyebrows in silent query. “Otherwise, he’d have come here himself.”

“I’m sure that Prince Reginald has other pressing business, my dear.”

Amelia laughed softly. She, like everyone else in both her kingdom and his, knew of Reginald’s reputation. “I’m sure ‘pressing’ is involved.”

Gray-and-white eyebrows rose high on her father’s forehead in shocked disapproval. King Roman was an enlightened man, but not where his daughter was concerned. Even though he had given her the best tutors and trainers he could find, in some areas he tried to keep her unworldly. “Amelia.”

Amelia forced a smile to her lips. “I will not disappoint you, Father,” she promised.

Even though I’m horribly disappointed myself, she added silently.

King Roman took her hand in both of his and then raised it to his lips. “You have always been my treasure,” he told her before he left.

Amelia turned toward the garden again. She heard her father’s footsteps recede on the stone terrace until they faded away altogether. With a sigh, she made her way down the terrace steps to the garden. Maybe the flowers and the vast green scenery would help soothe her agitated state.