Page 5 of A Girl and HER Prince
“Where are you?” His father’s concerned voice flooded through his ears. He was always concerned… at first.
This might go okay if I don’t mention Achilles.“I’m on a boat.”
His father groaned. “What part of my telling you that going out is too big a security risk did you not hear?”
“I heard all of it, Your Majesty, and… I’ve got Turner.”
A snort followed his reassurance. Turner was Venice’s bodyguard, but also their family friend; he’d actually dated Venice’s younger sister for a while there, though the two had hit a rough patch lately, which wasn’t too hard considering that it was…Bris. Either way, Turner was the only one Achilles deemed cool enough to lead their security on their impromptu trip.
“Are you on that yacht with Achilles?” Rather than listen to his son’s stammers, his father pressed on, “What did I tell you about providing any more fodder for the papers?”
Venice always felt like he was getting quizzed on his listening skills on these phone calls. “Your Majesty, I…”just want to live!His father would have very little patience for that. Every scandal, every questionable association, his father took personally. Quite frankly, Venice had hoped that he could just take one last cruise without his father finding out. “We’re taking a holiday before we attend the UN peace talks,” Venice said. “We’re taking every precaution.”
“It’s dangerous.” His father no longer bothered to mask his thick Tirrojan accent in his agitation. “You know what kind of threats we’ve been getting—those terrorists aren’t just going after Princess Helena.”
And what was new? The Myrdons were always after their blood, especially now.
The world had been thrown through a loop at the return of Princess Helena. She was the last surviving child of the former assassinated king, Venice’s cousin, and the rightful heir of Tirreoy. Helena had found such powerful allies in America that the treacherous Myrdons were the ones who were chased into hiding, but Venice wasn’t such a fool to believe that the terrorists would stay down for long.
That didn’t mean he could put everything on hold either. He wasn’t going back to the life in hiding that he knew before. “The Myrdons are busy going after the real heir,” Venice said. “I’m safe.”
“No, they’re going after you now.” That was just the kind of dramatics that his father had wanted him to swallow since he was a kid. Watch out for the killers pretending to be friends, the ant tattoos, the knives hidden in canes, the cold stares from strangers. He was tired of living in fear.
“Why would they come after me?” Venice asked flatly.
“Listen to me, Aeneas.” Venice stiffened. His father never used his given name unless it was serious, and he feared what came next: “Your cousin Helena refuses to rule Tirreoy. It’s on your shoulders. She abdicated the throne to you.”
His stomach dropped, along with his whole world and every hope for freedom that he’d secretly been harboring since they’d found his cousin. “She can’t do that.”
“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” his father said. “You gave me no choice.”
Venice leaned heavily against the railing, wanting to throw up. That kind of “unprincely” behavior was exactly what the media wanted, wasn’t it? Venice couldn’t bring himself to care. The wind swept against his feverish face and tugged at the ends of his unruly hair as he stared down at the smiling, happily chattering guests below him, spared for now from the effects of his nausea.
They were so free. Would he truly never have that?
“Come home and accept your role as heir apparent,” his father said.
This wasn’t happening. What did his family owe their countrymen anyway? Venice hadn’t grown up in Tirreoy because the revolutionaries had chased the royal family out. Now that the Myrdons had scurried for cover, why should Venice stick his neck out for that treacherous, miserable lot those terrorists had left behind in their dust? Tirreoy was full of populists waiting for a chance to chop off the new monarchies’ heads as soon as some other seemingly powerful, competitive force danced in to fill their greedy minds with empty promises of a better life.
“I don’t want it,” Venice breathed out. And to say it aloud was almost unheard of.
His father sucked in his breath at the shock. His children werenotto defy him, and the more they tried to run away, the more Chises Mnon Tyndarian managed to shorten the reins.
“And whatdoyou want?” his father snapped. “To run around and party with Achilles, spend our money on empty-headed women? Look what has happened already!”
“That was a fluke!” The only time Venice had ever agreed with his father was when he’d said going out with a social media star wasn’t becoming of his station—of course, his father meant to never date a commonerever, but ignoring that inconvenient detail, Venice had taken the excuse and run with it. Unsurprisingly, Deedee didnottake it well… and why was he harping on that when his mind was swimming with his father’s news? “You don’t have to worry about that. We broke up!”
“And you’ll find another brazen social climber to take her place! I raised you to be a—a—a king. Not this—this…” His father couldn’t form his words, he was so angry. “You’ve thrown out everything I’ve taught you with both hands. You make a mockery of our name!”
Venice stiffened and shot back, “That was your brother…”
Did those words just pass through his lips? As a child, Venice could only listen on in horror as his father told him stories of how his youngest brother had tried to wrest control from the family by forming the Myrdon militia and stoking the fire of rebellion that ended up killing his father’s oldest brother. The queen also died in that, along with Venice’s stepmother and many others.
I should apologize. I need to…
“Selfish, stupid, ungrateful…” his father’s voice turned louder with every insult. Venice must’ve hurt him badly; he never lost his cool like this. “I’m glad your mother wasn’t around to hear this.”
That stung.
