Page 42 of Forbidden Royal Vows

He had always known that he could reach her in person if he needed to. That was the story that he’d told himself for years, and he’d proven it in August. He could do it again now. It was easy enough to direct his plane to fly him back to Las Sosegadas. This time, he wouldn’t need any kind of intermediary to bring him along. He was well enough known there now that he was certain he could show up, like an honored guest, with or without an invitation.

But what he couldn’t do was call Mila himself and ask her if she was okay.

He knew she wasn’t. There was no way they were coming after him and not her. She had to think her world was crumbling, and here he was, incapable of doing a single, solitary thing to help.

It was hard not to think that his mother had been right about him all along.

And that maybe he should have listened.

That wasn’t even a round of self-pity. The person he was sorry for in this was Mila. He should have known that going anywhere near her would taint her with the same slime that he only got away with because he’d always acted as if he was in on the joke. The joke being him.

Now she had to pay for that joke, and he couldn’t so much as text her that he was sorry for it.

The grief of that sat heavy on him for the rest of the drive, and it only got heavier. Once his plane was in the air, headed for his meetings in Hollywood instead of a tiny kingdom across the Atlantic where he was quite certain Mila did not wish to see him, he opened up his laptop and started looking for the story. Whatever it was.

It didn’t take long to find.

There was one tabloid article after the next, videos from every outfit he’d ever heard of, and a great many he hadn’t. Not to mention the user-generated content, which was far more scathing.

All of them using that single photograph to springboard into speculation.

He could remember walking out of the maze with her, but he’d been so certain they were discreet. It was something like an out-of-body experience to look at photographic evidence of the last five years of his life when for so long, the truth about the two of them had been something he’d thought only he even remembered. It was locked away, down deep, and had remained there until the summer. And even then, he hadn’t really imagined that they would ever stand in the light. Not where anyone could see them.

But here was a picture that told every truth he never had.

Here it was, displayed in color for everyone to see.

He had to sit with that for some time. Because for all his brave words to Mila in the September House and up on that trail with the view of that valley she would always love best, the truth was that he’d never believed that she would ever truly acknowledge him. He had never believed that anyone would ever know that they had this kind of connection.

And it was hard to reconcile how resigned he’d become to that with...this.

He felt inside out.

With a sense of impending doom, he switched on his mobile.

A queen, Caius? came a message from his sister, almost at once. I should have known there was a reason you were suddenly so interested in that random kingdom.

Thank you, Lavinia, he messaged back. Your support at this time will not be forgotten.

It makes no sense unless there are ulterior motives, she wrote. But I know you always have more than enough of those!

Then she added a spate of emojis that he supposed were meant to indicate that this was a lighthearted response from her.

And this was his sister. The only member of his family he actually liked.

Caius sat back in his seat, staring out at the patchwork quilt of the American continent far below, wondering why his chest felt tight, his heart was pounding, and sitting still felt more and more oppressive by the moment.

Then he made it worse. He started looking at the comments.

And by the time his plane landed in California, he had saturated himself with more dire opinions about himself than anyone should. Or could, really, without going a bit mad.

He had meetings to attend, but when he got into his car, he didn’t drive toward the studios. He drove for the ocean instead, feeling that same tightness in his chest. That same driving need to do something.

When he got to the water, he turned right on the Pacific Coast Highway and headed north.

Except he didn’t stop in Malibu, where he lived when he was in town. He kept right on going.

It was like something was chasing him, but he was pretty sure that the biggest threat to him was sitting right here in the car, inhabiting his body.

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