CHAPTER ONE

PRINCESSBEAUGONIAFREJACAJAISABELLARENDALLsat sandwiched between her parents in the back of a sleek car that was winding through the curving roads of Divio, a small principality nestled in the southern Alps.

Her new home.

She supposed she was nervous, in a way, but she was also filled with purpose. She knew every step forward—no matter how far out of her depth, no matter how challenging—was in aid to her twin sister.

She owed Zia everything up to this point, and now she would return the favor.

She supposed a lifetime married to some crown prince she’d never once met was quite the sword to fall on, but Beaugonia had seen no other choice. Zia waspregnant, and in love with the father of her children—whether either of them wanted to admit it or not. Beaugonia may not be an expert on love herself, but she’d certainly read her fair share of books on the topic.

And certainly her sister couldn’t be expected to marry the crown prince of Divio in her state, even if Lyon Traverso would have married her already pregnant with another man’s twins.

Unlikely.

Which also meant Zia couldn’t be expected to continue on her life as heir to Lille.

Beau could have left it at that. Her father was a king and had the power to choose whatever heirs he liked—that was why Zia was heir in the first place, despite the fact Beau was three minutes older. But Beau had never been the ideal princess.

Maybe that, in part, was why she’d concocted this plan. Not only did it take the heat off Zia, but it ruined her father’s plans. He couldn’tchoosean heir if she’d set herself up as one he couldn’t hide.

Beau had reached out to Lyon herself. Even before Zia had been reunited with the father of her babies. The moment she’d learned of Zia’s pregnancy, Beau had begun laying the groundwork, and Zia’s upcoming wedding to Cristhian Sterling only pushed her plans into high gear.

Underneath her father’s nose, Beau had gotten the agreementsherself. So when she’d presented her father with her upcoming marriage to the crown prince, her need to be his heir in order to accomplish it, he had not had a choice.

He could embarrass them all and break off her agreement with Lyon, refuse to name her as heir. Or he could accept what she’d done. And she’d known, based on the way her father had treated her for the entirety of her life, he’d never choose embarrassment.

He’d berated her for what she’d accomplished once she’d informed him. If they’d been at home and he’d discovered what she’d done, instead of at Cristhian’s estate out of the scope of King Rendall’s power in Lille, he likely would have done a lot more than hurl insults at her.

But Beau didn’t see the point in worrying over things thathadn’thappened. She had plenty of worries in the present.

Like marrying a man she’d never met aside from emails and a spare few phone calls.

The car wound its way up to a staid,ancient-looking castle, majestic mountains soaring in the distance. The sun was just starting to set behind it, creating the kind of breathtaking scene that might ease the struggle of whatever she’d gotten herself into if she got to look out a window and see that every morning.

Neither parent had said anything on the flight from Cristhian’s to Divio, not on this drive from the airport to the castle, and that didn’t change as they were helped out of the car and led toward the castle entrance.

But as the doors opened, and they were ushered into a soaring room of archways and stained glass, full of stone and carpets and history you could practically see in the shadowy corners, her father finally spoke.

“We will go along with this farce, Beaugonia,” he said in that icy, furious tone he wielded so well. Not loud enough other people might hear, not hot fury that might show to anyone around them. Just pure, cutting ice only she, and her mother, would hear or feel. “But you will not come crying to me when it is a disaster of your own making. If you embarrass me, I will end you.”

Beau wanted to laugh. Cry to him? When had she ever? She’d cut out her own eyeballs first.

So she said nothing to him. She just waited as they’d been instructed.

The prince appeared at the curve in the staircase. She had never met Lyon Traverso, but she knew this was him from pictures. An older woman followed behind him. His mother, the countess, Beaugonia believed.

Hewashandsome. Even aside from pictures, Zia had always confirmed that. In the flesh, it seemed less a fact to accept and file away and more an actual...entity.

He seemed sotallgliding down the staircase in his dark, bespoke suit. His dark hair ruthlessly styled, and every moment as precise as a very sharp blade. The wholestateof him seemed to back up the oxygen in her lungs. Such a strange response to one man.

Of course, so much about this man determined what her future would be like, so she supposed this feeling of being rooted to the spot was simply...anxiety. That’s why it felt like carbonation in her chest.

He approached them, greeting Father and Mother first before he turned to her. His dark eyes took her in, and though she was usually very good at reading people from just a look, she had no idea what the expression on his face meant. Or hid.

And still, this was her fate. A fate she’d concocted for herself. Maybe they wouldn’t love each other, but they had an understanding. A mutual agreement that Beau had negotiated herself. Perhaps it wasn’t better than love, but it was certainly better than whatever her parents had.

She smiled at Lyon, willing herself to play a part she’d never been any good at playing.Sweet, accommodating princess.“It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness.” She offered her best approximation of a curtsey.