Page 4 of The Cinderella Prince

I nodded, bending my leg over my knee and watching the queen glide away. She moved with enough grace to be on any stage, commanding the space around her as much with her sharp gestures as her immense aura.

While I might have been on the run, I had no better plans for the evening. And a party here might earn me another look at that handsome guy from earlier. He had promised to be here early.

Around me, queer people chatted and laughed. For all the progressive thinking and policies back home, I had never been allowed near a bunch like this. It wasn’t my family’s homophobia but their snobbishness that had kept me separated from our people.Our people, I thought bitterly while waiting for my Lavander Lemonade and my Quiche Lorrainbow. But even that thought failed to entertain and distract me from the problem at hand.

Sooner or later, I was going to run out of place to run and hide. Sooner or later, they would find me. Pretend as I might that it could be any other way, the second-born son of the Valois Montclair dynasty couldn’t go missing forever. The fact that Crown Prince Alexander allowed me to blow off some steam was all well and fine, but I couldn’t outrun him forever. Not without suffering some major consequences.

I know I have to return eventually, I thought grimly.

Whenever I directed my mind to the prospect of returning home, my stomach filled with ice. As though I wasn’t already sick of having to act all royal and fine for the people of Verdumont. As though it wasn’t enough that I had to have my handlers coming after me to all my flings and hookups with nondisclosure agreements. Myfamily now requested—no, they never requested; they demanded—the ultimate sacrifice. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

It wasn’t just my life they wanted to doom. It would wreck Marchioness Élodie de Beaumont’s life as well if I allowed this silly arranged marriage to happen. But Father and Alexander didn’t see it that way. Our line had married French nobility for centuries, and sexuality had never been an issue. In their eyes, it hardly mattered who I wanted, even if it was a completely different gender I was attracted to. Even if I would sell my crown for another glimpse at those clear, precise eyes and that dimpled smile.

I’m not going back, I told myself, sounding much more like the petulant boy Alexander had named me. To hell with him. There was never anything beyond or aside from duty for Alexander Louis Valois Montclair. But that didn’t have to be the fate I shared.

For once in my life, all I wanted was to have a choice.

My Lavander Lemonade arrived in the hands of a young server with a red sheen in his black hair. He offered help if I needed anything else but otherwise didn’t seem to have the faintest idea he was speaking to a prince.

Good, I thought.At least I can keep that much privacy.

And with the first sip, I let go of all the nightmare mazes that yanked my attention this way and that. Here, now, for a moment longer, I was just another gay guy enjoying his Saturday brunch.

CHAPTER 2

A Wild August Night

Tristan

Doorsaround the apartment banged a few times while I dried myself with a coarse white towel, locked in the bathroom, humming to the tunes of Billie Eilish coming from my phone. I could hear the distinct noise of the freezer drawer scraping the mounds of ice I’d never gotten around to defrosting and clearing out.I wonder if he’ll take the peas, I thought.I have big plans for the peas. Then again, frozen peas were the most versatile when it came to taking down the swellings.

I held a sigh, sprayed deodorant over myself, shaved off the hint of a mustache and chin beard that had grown in the last two days, and wrapped up my skincare routine in haste. I dressed for the party just as quickly. The cloud of steam preceded me when I stepped out of the bathroom, but as it dispersed, the sight before me made my heart sink a little. “You scruffy fucker,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Don’t get spooked,” Rome said. He spread himself onthe sofa, deep in the middle seat, one foot on the cluttered coffee table. The left sleeve of his black T-shirt had ripped at the upper seam, and my bag of frozen peas cooled the right side of his face. His lip had split and was a little bloody. “This is nothing.”

“Was it the cops?” I asked in alarm, anxiety fountaining in my chest. I crossed the floor in a hurry and reached for Rome’s chin to turn his head around.

Roman grabbed my wrist and thrust my hand away. “Said I was fine,” he growled.

The rebuke stung more than I wanted to admit. Catching a breath, I pushed it all away. “Who did this to you?”

“Stop, Tris,” Rome said in a no-nonsense tone.

My chest rose as I filled my lungs with air. Baring my teeth, I glared at my friend. “I want to know.”

“And do what?” Rome asked in a tone that almost had a hint of helplessness or hopelessness to it. “Kick their ass? You’re not getting involved, Tris.”

“I just want to know what happened,” I said without a trace of defensiveness that was starting to fill my chest.

“No. It wasn’t the cops,” Roman replied. “And it’s done now, anyway. They’re moving on with closing the center. We were too late. And too few.”

I wondered if he blamed me for not showing up. Had I not gone out to exercise at the park, or to fetch Mama Viv’s cupcakes, or to that goddamn class that was never going to get me anywhere, I could have added to Rome’s numbers. “I’m sorry,” I said.

Roman rolled his one visible eye, the other being covered by the bag of peas. “Here we go again.”

“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, taking a step back and putting my hands on my hips. Wet locks of hair fell over my brow, but I refused to be distracted by them.

Roman looked at me from under his eyebrow, lips pursed. He held his breath a moment, then sighed. “Nothing. Sorry I said anything.”

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