Page 87 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

Ben looks in a euphoric haze when Roland pulls back. Roland is ecstatic, and his enthusiasm is contagious.

“I always knew Roland fancied him,” a maid declares.

“You did not!”

“Did too!”

“Someone owes me twenty quid!”

I let them squabble it out, and slip out of the room. It’s only a matter of time before they turn their attention on me and start asking questions I don’t have an answer for.

It’s bittersweet, this fluttering in my chest. My job here is done. The palace is all a flutter of bodyguards and help rushing back and forth, and I move through them like a ghost. No one pays attention to the Normal with tattered jeans and a lumpy backpack. I move down the hall and slip into the library. My fingertips fly over the book spines until they hit the world atlas. It’s stiff under my fingers, the pages blocky, and I tilt the book back. I can hear the clunky lock come undone, and the bookshelf groans open.

I’ve mapped out most of the secret doors in this place by now. This one should spiral down to the underground tunnel, which will let me out under the bridge by the Thames and then—

“Here, kitty, kitty.”

The familiar voice stops me in my spot. I turn and see Roland and Ben standing at the entrance of the library, eyes on me.

“Oh, hey.” I smile lamely. “I was just…”

Roland fills in the blanks. “Leaving the party before saying goodbye?”

“I thought you were done running,” Ben says stiffly.

My shoulders droop at his tone. “I am,” I tell him. “I’m not running.” I lift my hand, motion to them, and drop it. “You’ve… found your home. Now I have to go back to mine.”

“About that,” Roland says. “I thought you might want to stay a little longer.”

Roland steps back and motions someone forward as if on cue. I hear the sticky-tape sound of rubber wheels on hardwood floor.

When I see him, my heart nearly leaps out my throat.

“Bonjovi, Rory.” Oscar smiles at me, the nurse behind him holding onto the handles of his wheelchair.

My jaw falls. My mouth works uselessly before I get out the words “Otter? How…?”

Roland has one of his canary-eating grins, and he shrugs. “I’m the prince regent. I can pull strings.”

My bag falls to the ground with a loud thud. I launch myself forward and throw my arms around my brother. “I can’t believe you’re here.” I hug him and bury my face into his wool sweater. His red hair tickles my nose. He smells like mothballs and minty disinfectant, and honestly I can’t get enough of it.

“Careful with the delicates,” Oscar wheezes. All of him is delicate. He’s frail under his sweater, like a pile of baby bird bones in my arms.

I pull back and wipe my nose on my sleeve. I’m a blubbering mess.

“Why don’t we give you two some space?” Roland suggests.

The courtyard is beautiful this time of day. Twin rosebushes line either side of the brick walkway as Oscar and I make our way through it. At the end of the walkway, there’s a stone fountain with cherubic angels dancing around the base, water spouting over their heads. I push his wheelchair over the brick road. We stop by the fountain and listen to the water gurgle and hiss.

It’s a cool day; the air is crisp, but the sun is hot. I hop up and sit on the edge of the stone fountain, letting the sun bake my skin. Oscar tilts his head into the sun as well and closes his eyes. He’s so pale, spotted with freckles, and I worry he’ll burn.

“What are you thinking?” Oscar asks as though he can hear my thoughts.

I shrug. “I’m thinking… what a weird fountain this is.”

Oscar snorts a laugh without opening his eyes. “It is weird. Why would angels be spitting at each other? Doesn’t seem very angelic of them.” He opens an eye and peeks at me. “You’re worrying.”

“Of course I am.”

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