Page 1 of Undeclared Heir

Prologue

ANNA

“He’s a rake, my lord. He doesn’t deserve to wear the crown,” James seethed, adjusting his cufflinks.

“We have no other options… unless you plan to be wed in the next month?” Reginald sighed, “What would you have me do? He’s your brother and the rightful heir.”

“Find me a wife.”

SMACK!

My book hits my forehead and nose, narrowly missing my eye. I check the time, and, shit, how is it already two in the morning? I have work in four hours, but I need to know if James is going to take a fake wife…

I already know. It’s the fourteenth time I’ve read this one. But seeing these two fall in love is like no other story I’ve read. Fake dating is never fake. I’ve yet to read a book where they part ways to live their best lives separately and not madly in love. While this particular novel isn’t exactly Jane Austen-level literature, no one can deny that the pining isn’t equally delicious.

Adjusting my position in bed, my book light detaches, and I scramble to recreate the perfect reading experience. Unfortunately, my cat, Dinah, has other plans. The little cunt swats my light, pulling it from my book a second time—there’s no chance I’ll be getting to the ball at this rate.

Reluctantly, I give up; turning off my light and placing the book on my bedside table. I set my oil diffuser to pump out lavender like it’s a damn factory chimney as Dinah curls up next to me, purring.

Four hours of sleep is plenty, but… maybe one more chapter? No, James and Eliza will need to wait until tomorrow.

Anna

“You’ll be late, Miss Anna.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I grumble, covering my head with my pillow.

“Miss Anna, your mother will be furious with me if you’re not dressed and downstairs this instant! Prince James will be here soon,” the woman demands.

“Miss Anna? Prince? Huh?” I pull the pillow down and blink my eyes a few times to clear them of sleep. This isn’t my room. “Uh, where am I?”

There’s a vanity across from the bed. I don’t own a vanity. The ceilings are twice the height of mine, adorned with intricate crown moulding. Velvet curtains span the length of the wall… And what is she wearing? What am I wearing?

“There’s no time for theatrics, Miss Anna. We must get you dressed at once!”

She rushes across the room and begins preparing what can only be described as a white nightgown, which is most definitely not mine. As I take stock of my surroundings, I’m worried that I’m either drunk or still dreaming. A quick pinch indicates I’m not still asleep and must be on some kind of mushroom hallucination.

I knew that the tea I bought at the farmers market looked suspicious…

Playing along with this imaginary woman, I ask, “What time is Prince James arriving?” My hand flies to my mouth; I have a thick RP accent that isn’t my own.

“Any moment, Miss.” She continues scurrying around the room, and I slide out of the extremely comfortable sheets. My feet hit the cold hard floor, and I wince, drawing attention to myself. Unfortunately, she hears it. She stops whatever the hell she is doing, and is by my side in an instant. “My sincerest apologies, I’ll ring for assistance. Tea and your new dress will be here right away.”

“There’s no need, I just need to use the bathroom.” Shit, no, that’s what they called it in the romcom I read last week.

“There isn’t time to draw you a bath, Miss,” she insists.

“Right, yes. Of course. I am still tired. I meant a”—what the fuck is it called here?—“chamberpot.”

“Sorry, Miss. One moment.”

She retrieves what can only be explained as the fanciest porcelain bowl I’ve ever seen in my life. Do I squat? Do I hold it? “May I have some privacy?”

Damn, my accent is fucking amazing! Priv-ah-see. Whenever I wake up from this fever dream, I’m forever going to pronounce it this way.

“We must make haste, Miss Anna.”

“I’ll only be a moment,” I assure her, afraid my bladder might explode if I don’t use this giant gravy boat soon.

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