Page 38 of Princess Bride Swap

Eventually she reached his great-grandfather. It seemed he’d been an excellent leader. Loved by all, as his wife had been. His life had been cut rather short by a sudden heart attack, and then the instability had begun.

The next crown prince, his grandmother’s eldest brother, it didn’t appear had done anything all that wrong. There had been rumors and stories about the prince and princess, and some lurid pictures printed, apparently, but nothing illegal or particularly wrong. He’d died young though. Another heart attack.

The next crown prince, another brother, had held the position for only a year before he’d been forced to abdicate to his brother after it was brought to light he’d been using palace funds to pay off illegal gambling debts.

The next prince had held the position for almost three years—before the grumblings of the female palace staff had become so great they couldn’t seem to hire anyone to work at the palace. It didn’t take a detective to figure out why.

He’d abdicated, claiming health issues. It went on from there. Sons. Brothers. Each story a little more salacious than the last so that she had to consult the internet to fill in the blanks as the book glossed over the more despicable acts.

A series of prostitutes given free rein and then stealing historical artifacts from the palace. Affairs that ended in public feuds. An inappropriate relationship with an underage woman that would have ended in actual jail time if the prince hadn’t “suffered a heart attack.”

There were all sorts of internet conspiracy stories about his death.

Yes, Lyon had quite the history of men who couldn’t handle themselves or their power stretching out behind him. She didn’t understand why the misdeeds of his family would hang around his neck like a noose, but she could see that they did, and why that might have him lash out in all that fear and hurt.

She closed the book and put it away, considering. If he truly believed giving in to anything he desired was a slippery slope to destruction, then perhaps she should not be angry with him.

Or are you turning into your mother?

She scowled at that thought. She was hardly going to twist herself into a pretzel for him, but she had promised him she would be the wifeheneeded. For Zia’s future, she had promised to be a picture-perfect princess.

If that meant ignoring chemistry and enjoyment and keeping her distance from her husband who made her feelalive, well. That was the deal she’d made, wasn’t it?

She blew out a breath, her stomach’s growling only growing louder. Loud enough she could no longer ignore it. She finally got up and left the room. Perhaps he’d abandoned her here.

But the minute she left the bedroom she smelled food. She followed the scent to the kitchen. Where he stood over the stove, working on something.

Quite the sight. A handsome prince cooking a meal in his beautiful chalet kitchen. She had no mad left, and it filled her with a certain amount of anxiety. Shouldn’t she still be mad? He had threatened to essentially lock her away. She should be furious.

But she found none of her ire watching him cook. Thinking of what he’d said about debts and payments. Bloodlines and respectability.

“It is almost ready,” he said without looking at her.

She sighed and settled into a seat at the table. He served them dinner, making no eye contact whatsoever. It was a hearty-looking stew, and warm rolls glistening with butter.

“You’ve utilized your afternoon wonderfully,” she offered, hoping to ease some of the tension choking the air.

He only made a vague agreeing sound before taking a seat at the table.

Beau was half-tempted to say something shocking, just to get a reaction out of him. But that wasn’t being a good princess, was it?

So she said nothing. They ate without speaking to one another at all.

It kind of made her want to cry. But she was going to prove to him that she could give him what he wanted. She was going to try, anyway. So, she did everything he did. She helped him clean up the dinner without saying a word. When he retired to their rooms to take a shower, she retired to their rooms and read in the chair until he emerged. Then she silently went into the shower herself. She put on her coziest, baggiest pajamas and returned to the room.

He was already in bed. All the lights off, save one.

The small one by her side of the bed. It was an oddly thoughtful gesture that had tears springing to her eyes. And a horrible thought infiltrating.

She wanted him to care for her. In little ways and small ways. And she worried that it would come at great cost to herself, that want.

So maybe she understood him and his worries after all. She didn’t want to be her mother. She’d never once thought she could be.

Until she’d started to develop these soft, caring feelings for him, and sometimes considered putting his own needs before her own. Would that only get worse? Until she too was bowing and scraping to make him happy at the cost of everyone else?

Terrible,terriblethought. One that made her cold straight through. But in that cold, she felt even worse for having argued with him earlier.

They really weren’t all that different, were they? And his concern about falling into the traps of his family wasn’t so outlandish, was it?

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