Page 37 of Princess Bride Swap

BEAUHADHALFexpected him to order her out of the chalet. Back to the palace and his precious controllable life. But she lay in bed for at least an hour, and he never returned with more ridiculous orders or arguments.

Or an apology.

She’d finally gotten dressed, accepting that he wasn’t coming. And it was her own fault. She had believed that no matter what happened, this new life would be better than her old one.

But it was just going to turn into the old one, wasn’t it? He’d threatened to lock her away. An old threat. One she should be fully familiar with.

But she hadn’t expected it from him, and that made her want to cry. But she’d be damned if she gave him the satisfaction.

She sat in the chair by the window and figured she was already miserable so she might as well call her sister.

“What have you done?” was how Zia answered the phone.

“What needed to be done, of course,” Beau returned, trying to sound flippant. “But you may lecture me if you wish.” Maybe that would take her mind off of Lyon’s threats, and how awfully familiar they were.

There was a beat of silence. “I never lecture.”

Beau smiled in spite of herself. “All is well, Zia. I promise. I even...” She looked at the closed door. She couldn’t tell Zia everything. So, she stretched the truth. “Lyon’s been very kind.” Minus a threat or two. “I’m not unhappy. Nor will I be.” She wouldn’t let herself be. “Everything is well. How is it with you?”

“I am not happy with you.”

“Of course not.”

Zia grunted in irritation. Then caught Beau up on the past few days. A slight pregnancy scare, but she was healthy if on bed rest now. Cristhian, who had been insisting on marriage, walking that back so that it was up to Zia. She complained about that bitterly, but Beau could read what was really under all that bitterness.

Hurt and fear.

Beau sighed, thinking of what Lyon had said on their hike. About being a payment to a debt. It made Beau very much not like his grandmother, which was ridiculous since she was dead and Lyon was clearly devoted to her memory.

But it also made her realize that his outburst, his threats had come fromsomewhere. And if she didn’t quite understand from where, maybe it was the same as Zia.

Hurt and fear.

Could she excuse that his hurt and fear meant if she didn’t bend and scrape to what he wanted, she would be locked and hidden away once more? Artificially inseminated into having his heirs, all so he avoided this supposed slippery slope of desire.

Why don’t you tell him all about your panic attacks then? That’ll really get him going.

But the thought made her sad rather than mad. Because she did notagreewith him about anything he’d said, but she was beginning to understand it all the same. He believed he had to be...perfect, she supposed. Better than his uncles and cousins.

A responsibility put there by someone he cared about. Not just himself.

“How am I supposed to know what the right choice is?” Zia demanded, pulling Beau out of her thoughts.

But Beau didn’t know. Even if she did, Zia had to work it out on her own.

Beau listened and made the appropriate comforting noises. Maybe this was how she needed to deal with Lyon too. Maybe there was no pushing. Maybe he had to come to his own conclusions. Maybe he had to realize on his own that threats were...cruel.

But was that fair, she wondered after hanging up with Zia. He wasn’t like her father. There was something noble about what Lyon was trying to do. It wasn’t abouthisposition, it was about what he felt he owed to his grandmother’s memory and his country.

She sat with that for a moment, an uncomfortable worry creeping in. That she was excusing his bad behavior because...because she cared for him.

She rubbed at her chest that suddenly felt too tight. Hewasn’tlike Father. That was a fact, not her being blinded by...whatever it was she felt. Not love, no. It was too soon for that. There was still so much they didn’t know about each other, and she’d never trust him with her secret.

But there was the chemistry. That was undeniable. And she enjoyed his company. But why shelikedhimwasthe sense of being...noble or responsible or something. An inherent sense of right and wrong. It made him a good man.

These were facts. Not things she’d convinced herself of because she had feelings for him. And facts were what she should focus on. She reached into her bag and pulled out the boring, dry biography of Lyon’s royal line.

Maybe the answers to his...rigidity were in these pages. She skimmed the first few chapters. All ancient bloodlines and wars for “freedom” and “ways of life” which were really only ever about one group having power over another. The history of the world forever.

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