Prince Albert Read online

  Albie

  “Won’t you please excuse us for a moment?” my father asks. He stands with his back turned toward me on the other side of the library, the first room far away enough from the ballroom to be assured of privacy. The royal physician hovers over me, pulling at my forehead as he does a cursory examination.

  “I’m fine,” I say, an edge in my voice. “Is Belle all right? She fainted.”

  “She’ll be okay,” Doctor Evanston says. “You’re going to need a few stitches above your eyebrow. I can do it, but to minimize scarring, I think we should call in a plastic surgeon.”

  “Plastic surgeon,” my father scoffs. “Is my son going to bleed to death in the next few minutes?”

  “Of course not, Your Royal –“

  “Then won’t you please give us a few minutes.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The door shuts, leaving my father and I alone in the room. I know what he’s going to say. I can already anticipate it.

  I should be embarrassed, ashamed of myself for displaying utter and complete lack of royal bearing.

  I should be worried about Belle’s ex-fiancé’s accusation that Belle and I are together.

  I should be concerned about what my father will think. Or what Belle’s mother will think. Or what the public will think.

  But I don’t fucking care.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” my father asks. He doesn’t look at me.

  “I was thinking that Belle’s ex is an asshole who deserved to be punched in the mouth for the shit he was saying about her.”

  My father turns around slowly. “You are not eighteen,” he bellows. “You’re not a child. And you’re not a normal person. How long is it going to take you before you understand that? You’re a prince. Getting into a bar room brawl in the middle of a charity event is not something that a member of the royal family of Protrovia does. It’s not something the Crown Prince of Protrovia does!”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” I say sarcastically.

  “What in the world would possess you to do such a thing?” he asks. “All of the things you’ve done, the tabloid headlines and filth they’ve printed in the papers – I thought you’d left that all behind when you joined the Army.”

  “He called her a cunt,” I spit. My father flinches at the crudeness of the word. I wonder if anyone’s ever said the word cunt in front of the King of Protrovia before. I guess there’s a first time for everything in life, isn’t there?

  Some part of me, a warped part, finds that amusing.

  I think I might be a little delirious.

  “I don’t care what he called her,” my father says. “Did you even stop to think for a moment before you hit him? Prince Albert of Protrovia assaults a guest of the royal family – it’ll be all over the newspapers tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry it’ll distract from the PR pieces about the wedding,” I say.

  “I thought the Army changed you,” he continues. “I thought it instilled some sense of responsibility in you. But I can see that nothing’s changed at all. You’re still the same immature, irresponsible boy who has no appreciation for consequences – no appreciation for tradition and family and –“

  I stand up, the blood rushing to my head. “What the hell would you have done, if some guy were saying things about mom?” I yell. “I’m supposed to stand there, while some asshole talks about Belle that way?”

  “It’s not the same thing,” he roars. “You’re not married to Isabella. She’s barely family, not even your stepsist –“

  “She’s my wife!” I yell, rising to my feet, my hands balled into fists at my side. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, anger surging through me, and I don’t realize what I’ve said until I hear the words, practically echoing in the space between us.

  She’s my wife.

  Shit.

  This is a bell that can’t be un-rung.

  My father stands there unmoving, just looking at me. For a minute, I think he’s so angry, he’s going to hit me. I’ve rarely seen my father lose his temper, hardly ever deviating from the staid and steadfast King that he is.

  But right now, he’s angry. Really angry.

  “What exactly are you talking about?” he growls. His face is crimson. I’ve never seen him this upset.

  Yet I can’t seem to stop the words that come out of my mouth. I could take them back. I could simply say that I misspoke. But I don’t want to. I want him to know.

  “Belle and I,” I say. “I married her. We are married.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Belle

  The back of my head throbs where I hit it when I fell. I’ve insisted I was okay practically a thousand times, yet no less than five members of the royal staff have checked on me approximately a thousand times since I fainted, even though the physician said a concussion was unlikely.

  “Unlikely, but twenty-four hours of bed rest as a precaution.”

  I’ve texted Albie, but he hasn’t responded. The doctor said that Albie was fine, simply banged up and needed a few stitches.

  Stitches.

  Because he punched Derek in the face for calling me a cunt.

  I’m not sure whether to be flattered that Albie stepped in to defend me, or pissed off that he threw caution to the wind and got into a fight over me in front of everyone.

  You’re fucking that spoiled prick.

  Your own stepbrother.

  Derek’s words echo in my head, over and over on repeat like they’re playing on a loop.

  I text Albie again. For a second, I consider sneaking through the secret passageway to go see him, but that would be too risky. There will be doctors and his security and too many people around now.

  Instead, I lie against the pillow for a second and close my eyes. Just for a minute, I tell myself.

  Pound.

  Pound.

  Pound.

  I blink my eyes once, twice, three times, willing the pounding in my head to go away.

  Then I realize that it’s not in my head. It’s coming from the door to my bedroom. And there’s daylight streaming through the windows.

  I must have fallen asleep.

  “Isabella Kensington.” The door to my room swings open, and my mother blows inside like a tornado.

  Crap.

  My stomach sinks. She didn’t come to see me last night after the doctor examined me. The lecture I expected to get – something about decorum and propriety and how I ruined my own charity event by being at the center of a brawl between my ex-fiancé and my new stepbrother – never materialized.

  Instead, I’m getting that lecture first thing in the morning. Before I’ve even had a cup of coffee.

  I hold up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it, mother,” I say. “You had no right to invite Derek to the event.”

  “Derek,” she says, her voice going up practically an octave. “You think this is about Derek?”

  “My head is throbbing and I want to take a shower,” I say, avoiding her gaze. I sit up on the edge of the bed. “Save the lecture. You invited my ex-fiancé who cheated on me to my charity function and I embarrassed you. I’d say we’re about even.”

  I slide my legs over, about to stand up when my mother stops me by waving a newspaper through the air.

  “You think I care about your and Derek's little fight?” she asks, her voice shrill. “This, Isabella. This is what is plastered all over the headlines this morning. This is what’s all over the internet. Read it.”

  "What is it?"

  Then she holds it up in front of my face.

  PRINCE'S SECRET SHOCKER: IT’S A FAMILY AFFAIR!

  MARRIED…TO HIS NEW SISTER! THE STORY THE ROYAL FAMILY DOESN'T WANT YOU TO READ!

  I rip the paper from her hands, my stomach queasy as I skim the article, bits and pieces of phrases jumping off the page at me. A source close to the palace confirms that Isabella Kensington and Prince Albert have been sneaking around the palace for months now…married in a Las Vegas ceremon