Chapter 4

4

ADRIAN

My parents complain that I'm dramatic and impulsive, and while that is entirely correct, I did not emerge like Athena, fully formed from the forehead of Zeus. I learned it somewhere.

My presence has been requested for breakfast in the dining hall.

"A request?" I'm still half-asleep and hoping I can put off the inquisition a bit longer.

Reginald nods. "I believe it is more of a royal command, Your Highness."

I breeze in with a quick bow to my parents and take my seat at the overly large, overly formal table. "Here I am, as requested." My announcement is met with silence. My parents are at the head of the table. My brother Phillipe, across from me, keeps his head down. So this is how it's going to be?

I'm irritable from being on an airplane half the night. Mostly because of the guilt and the knowledge that today will be difficult, and my family will do everything in their power to not make it easier.

The room is quiet as breakfast is served. I'm through my first cup of tea and barely making any progress on my porridge when I can't take it any longer. I'm surrounded by my family—mother, father, brother—and every single one of them is ignoring me.

I lay my spoon down. "Can we?—"

Just the barest lift of my mother's finger stops my words, reminding me of Isaac somehow. Yes, everything has reminded me of Isaac or Simon since my return early this morning. This specifically reminds me of Isaac interrupting me. He hadn't known who I was. And didn't believe it when told. It had been…refreshing. Being looked at as a man. Not a prince. Not someone with money or power. Not someone who'd messed up so many times, it was…expected.

Of course, he'd also thought me capable of kidnapping a child. Not a great first impression, but it lasted only a short time. After that, he liked me. Against his will. Which is altogether different from pretending to like me.

Phillipe clears his throat, catching my attention. My parents are still intensely focused on breakfast, as if the continuation of the kingdom depends on it. My brother raises a brow in question. His hair is messy, which is nothing new. It consistently defies the royal barber and Phillipe's valet and does what it wants. Which also describes my brother. We both rebel, just in different ways. I'm impulsive, but I also hate letting everyone down. Phillipe is in his own strange little world and happy to be there.

He glances, pointedly I might add, at my porridge. I love to sketch, and now there's a rough doodle of Isaac in my breakfast. I'd spent the entire airplane ride across the Atlantic Ocean getting his features just right. I will, in all likelihood, never see him or Simon again. That thought has me pushing my porridge away. It is immediately scooped up and replaced with pasticciotto. A treat our chef Alonzo knows is my favorite. I pick at the pastry absently as Phillipe returns to his eggs, a hint of a smile on his face.

Father raises an eyebrow, his usually amused look muted as if sanded down by worry. Mother takes her last bite and washes it down with a sip of tea, signaling the end of breakfast.

Let the repercussions begin.

"Adrian," she says, dabbing her mouth with her napkin, "we are, of course, disappointed."

"I understand, Mother."

"Do you? Truly? Then let's hear it."

I open my mouth and scramble for something to say. I honestly thought this would be a one-sided conversation. What I want doesn't matter, does it? "My actions have embarrassed the monarchy."

She stares, tapping her fingers on the table. Phillipe coughs, but it sounds more like a laugh. Is this amusing to him? Undoubtedly. The tapping gets louder. Right. Can't keep Mother waiting.

"Humiliating to Jasella."

Her royal eyebrow rises.

I soldier on. "It was a childish thing to do," I say, resisting the urge to squirm in my seat. "My actions were beneath a prince." I pause, peeking up at her. "Am I close?"

Her hand clenches around the napkin. "Your actions were foolish and unacceptable?—"

Father touches her arm. "Let's put that aside. For now," he adds at her scowl. "We're interested in your explanation of how…why this occurred."

This is worse than being yelled at. I poke at my pastry, needing to do something with my hands. "I panicked." Restlessly strolling through the gardens on the eve of my wedding, thinking about geese and how they mate for life and seeing the rest of my existence laid out dismally before me. There was a crushing pressure in my chest at the thought of being married to Jasella. My responsibilities to the kingdom—my destiny—I couldn't breathe. I couldn't say all that. "It was too much. I had to get away."

"To America?" my father asks, not unkindly.

"Yes, well…it seemed the only option at the time." The servants have removed the decimated pasticciotto without me noticing and refreshed my cup of tea. I take a sip to avoid my parents' frustrated expressions. I don't mention my actual destination had been Sumner, Missouri, or that we'd had to land almost a hundred kilometers away in the Kansas City area. They wouldn't understand my need to visit Sumner. And if they did? It would be worse.

"Adrian," my mother says with a shake of her head, "I don't know what to say except…that is complete and utter rubbish."

Well then.

My father nods. "I agree."

"But it's the truth. The wedding was overwhelming."

Mother slaps her hands on the table, and I jump. I've never seen her this upset. "This wedding was your idea. We indulged you—is that the right word, dear?" she asks, turning to my father.

"Yes, it fits perfectly. You have these whims, Adrian. And then you change your mind."

"Exactly. We want you to be happy, but you have responsibilities."

"Right," I say, letting my frustration seep into my words. This is exactly what I was running from. "Get married. Have children. Produce an heir. Got it."

"You're so dramatic. Let's start with not darting off when things get difficult. Act like an adult, not like a toddler who isn't getting his way. We've been here before?—"

Thankfully, Anton catches my mother's eye before she can bring out all my past mistakes. She gestures for him to come forward, and he says something to her I can't hear. She nods once, and after he leaves, she communicates with my father with just a look.

I avoid rolling my eyes.

"Have you spoken to Jasella?" My father asks. This feels very much like a team sporting event. Is this an assist or a pile-on?

"I arrived home very early this morning." At his frown, I add, "And I'm not sure what to say."

"Do you want to marry her?"

I wrap my hands around my tea cup, tracing the gold rim with my thumb. It's adorned with delicate hand-painted butterflies. The China set is no doubt priceless, just like everything else in the palace. There's nothing whimsical or unnecessary…not counting the butterflies or my brother's laboratory. Everything else has a place. A reason. "No," I say finally. "I don't want to marry Jasella."

Mother's expression doesn't noticeably change, yet I feel her disappointment. "Perhaps, start there."

The urge to tell them about Isaac—this amazing thing that happened—is strong, but would they see it that way? I swallow my hope and my shame. And it's more difficult to wash down than the porridge.

"We need to make an official announcement." Father peers at me over his glasses. "Or rather, you will need to inform the citizens of Lutiana that there will not be a royal wedding."

Anxiety shoots through me. "I have to do it?" Everyone stares at me, including Phillipe. "Fine."

"Jasella will be here at ten."

I glance at the antique clock passed down through generations of Cordolinis. It's a quarter before the hour. The small amount of porridge in my stomach revolts. "I need to prepare."

"You have fifteen minutes," my father says.

"And you had the entire flight back from the States." Mother stands, and we all rise in response. "I suggest using this time wisely, Adrian. Perhaps you should draft an apology instead of doodling in your notebook."

Did Reginald tell them, or do they know me that well?

They excuse themselves, and I'm left with their disappointment.

And my brother.

"How was it? America?"

"Interesting."

He rakes his fingers through his unruly hair and tugs. "Adrian, come on. I'm curious."

"You could leave your dungeon occasionally. Stepping foot outside will not hurt you. The sun is your friend?—"

"I'm not curious about—I want to know what or who has caught your attention," he says in a low voice, his eyes bright, reminding me of when we were children. We'd stay up past our bedtime, whispering tales to each other late into the night.

I miss sharing things with my brother. The polished table is wide, and I lean closer to him, elbows rebelliously perched on the dark wood as I avoid toppling my cup of tea. "I am forever changed."

He lets out a startled laugh. "So dramatic."

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

He rolls his hand in a gesture that our mother has perfected. "Go on."

I can't start with Isaac. Or the geese. "The amount of food we have," I say, tapping on the table, "could feed a small army."

My brother hums, not giving the food a glance. "So, our army, then?"

I grin, maybe for the first time since returning home. My brother and I aren't as close as we used to be. He spends too much time in his laboratory. But I know he cares. "Why do we need this much food?"

"I've been saying this for years. Get to the point."

"I've missed a meal here and there, but actually going days without food?—"

"Good Lord, Adrian. You weren't gone for days. And you weren't starving."

"Maybe not, but going without…not knowing when or if I would eat again, made me rethink my priorities. I was…experiencing life."

He narrows his eyes, studying me like one of his science experiments. "What aren't you telling me?"

Can I do this? But my thoughts have been clawing to get out.

"I met this guy." And then I tell him everything. Well, almost everything. I don't mention geese. Or kissing Isaac's hand. I tuck that memory away like a precious gem I need to keep safe.

"A random stranger gave you food?"

"Yes."

"And there was a small child involved in this encounter."

"Yes?" Where is he going with this?

"So you were living out a Charles Dickens novel? Was this a fever dream?"

I sit back and cross my arms. "You don't understand."

"No, I do. We've all wondered what it would be like to be normal. Not royalty. Pursuing?—"

Whatever else he has to say dies on his lips as Anton appears out of nowhere beside us, making us both jump. "Ms. Bastian is here to see you, sir."

Phillipe chuckles. "Have that apology ready?"

I shut my eyes. What am I going to say to Jasella?

"Send her in," Phillipe says and stands. "I'll leave you to it, then, so you can experience life ."

"Traitor," I mumble, rising from my chair as Jasella strides through the door, back rigid and head held high, looking every bit a princess in a billowy black dress. Her smile is fixed. Not her usual.

I clasp my hands behind my back, trying to look more confident than I feel. And to stop them from shaking.

"Good morning, Phillipe," she says to my retreating brother. "Nice to see you about and not in the dungeon."

"It's not—never mind. Likewise, Jasella. If anyone needs me, I'll be…in my laboratory."

Then we are alone. I'm not eager for this conversation, but I can't run away. Jasella deserves the truth.

"Adrian." Her expression is neutral, but her dark eyes flash with emotion. This isn't going to be easy.

"Jasella." I force a smile and kiss her cheek. "Would you like to join me for tea?"

She nods and sits, her shoulders tense, as she accepts her tea and carefully stirs. "How are your parents?"

"They are well. And…yours?" I fiddle with my cup, avoiding her gaze. Her parents are undoubtedly livid.

"They are also well. Confused, of course. But otherwise fine."

Confused. I swallow and nod. Her father is very tall and intimidating. Not that he would actually hurt me. The guards would stop him. "And Sabbie?"

Her hesitation has me glancing up. She's staring at something out the window. Her lips tight—oh God. Her sister was to marry after her. But now…

The apology gets stuck in my throat. Saying I'm sorry isn't enough. Especially when I'm…not sorry I left. Not really.

She clears her throat. "Sabbie is also well," she says, her voice a little too cheerful. "At least the weather has been holding up. It's no longer ghastly hot."

Oh God. We've moved on to the weather. This is torture.

Although it does remind me of every other time she's been at the palace for brunch or tea over the last year, just with less tension. We were closer in our youth when etiquette and responsibility weren't as important. Now, we're chatting about our families. Behaving civilly. As if nothing has changed.

"Enough small talk," Jasella says, setting her teacup on the table with a click. "What happened, Adrian?"

The porridge from earlier now feels as if it's lodged in my throat. "I am sorry. I can't imagine how you must feel."

"Can't you?" Her brows rise to the top of her head. Her long hair is pulled back in a perfect French braid. "Let me assist you in imagining it then. I'm at the cathedral surrounded by lace and satin, in all my wedding glory, and everyone is there. The King. The Queen. My parents. Heads of state. The person not there? My groom. Hundreds of people at the wedding, watching and waiting. That's not including the entire nation—the world—watching and wondering if my groom will show or if I'll be abandoned at the altar. Tossed away like a discarded napkin." Her voice rises on every word, as does the bile in my throat. I might actually throw up.

I'm a horrible, selfish person. "Jasella. I am so sorry. I never intended for that to happen."

She settles like a sail that's lost its wind and waves her hand airily. "For Christ's sake, Adrian. None of that happened. I'm putting you on."

I blink in confusion. "What?"

"You left the evening before our wedding. Do you really think I went to the church?"

"Um—no?" I hadn't watched the coverage. I was too much of a coward.

"The country believes you were ill. They postponed the wedding. I was not abandoned and left at the altar. Yet. But I need to know, Adrian, was this disappearance from panic? Or a statement of intent?"

How to answer that? "Both?"

She raises a brow.

"Not at first, Jasella. When we became engaged, I thought I wanted this, but as the day grew closer—I couldn't breathe. Couldn't go through with it. So I left. That was pure cowardice on my part, but I knew my parents—" I close my mouth, unwilling to say more.

"Would have given you no choice."

I nod. "I have a tendency—let's just say they would have insisted."

She presses her hand against her chest. "I would have understood. You could have told me before now. It would've been better than this." Her hand jerks around like a lost bird trying to find its way.

"As I said, the panic was last minute. I needed…answers."

"In a mall. In America. Did you find what you were looking for?"

I didn't. Not exactly. But close. So close.

Portraits of my ancestors line the walls of the dining hall. All staring at me. Judging me. "Can we go for a walk?"

The royal gardens are magnificent. One of my favorite places to escape to. And I'm just now realizing this is a pattern. We walk under a canopy of yellow and white flowers, the sunlight scattered like pearls among the petals in the walkway. "I do love you, Jasella."

She sighs and lets me take her hand. "I know."

"I thought it could be enough. That this," I say, holding up our clasped hands, "was as good as it could get."

She barks a startled laugh.

"I'm sorry. That sounded better in my head."

"Adrian, you know how to make a girl feel special." Before I can respond, she turns to me and squeezes my hand. "We've never had that passion that people go on about, but I've always known you cared for me."

"I still care for you, I do."

Jasella nods, and we continue our walk. She's quiet until we reach the entrance to the maze. "Tell me about her."

"Who?" I'm genuinely confused.

"This girl you've met. The one who has this thing we lack?—"

I glance away, shaking my head. "There is no girl."

"The truth, Adrian."

"I am—" I take a deep breath. " His name is Isaac."

She stops again, her mouth agape. "A man? Truly?" Her eyes study me as if looking for something. "Are you gay? Bisexual?"

"I'm not sure. To be honest, this is the first time I've felt like this."

She nods quickly and turns away. "Tell me about him ." The pain in her voice is evident. We've been friends for so long. She doesn't deserve this.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Ha. Your actions say otherwise." Her smile takes out the sting in her words. "Please?"

Talking to my brother wasn't exactly helpful. And I need to talk to someone. "He's cute?—"

"Oh my God."

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

She bites her lips to keep quiet, so I go on. "Messy blond hair. Blue eyes." I stop myself from comparing the color to the lapis lazuli in the royal staff. Blue with hints of gold. Beautiful. Pure. "I think he's the one."

She makes a choking sound. "Well, I didn't see that coming. But maybe I should have."

I keep going because I need to get this out. "He interrupted me. Refused to call me by my name. But he shared his food with me, against his will, I believe."

Jasella sighs. "That's it then. I thought maybe—doesn't matter—you're completely smitten with this man."

I hesitate, glancing over at her. "I think so."

"What are you going to do about it?"

That is the question. One I still don't have an answer for. "I'm not entirely sure. I didn't make a very good first impression."

She laughs. "Oh, Adrian. You're impossible."

This is something she's told me many times over the years. I kiss her cheek. "I'm beyond grateful we are friends. I hope I haven't ruined our friendship."

"You haven't, but…give me time."

"Of course, thank you, Jasella. For listening and everything."

"What are ex-fiancée's for?"

We're both quiet, each caught up in our thoughts as she leads me through the maze. She knows the path and all the turns, not only from our walks but also from our time playing here as children. As always, I follow along.

"You should talk to him," she says after a while. "See if this thing is real or just the excitement of escaping your wedding and protection detail."

"You think I should I call him?"

"God, no, Adrian. Get on another plane and go see the man."

"I don't even know the name of the town I was in. Finding a place to land was difficult. And the pilot had improvised. Then, as you know, I ran…and got lost." I'm still not willing to share everything with her.

"You're giving up already? Typical."

"What? No." I shake my head, but she's right. There are people who know where we were. Reginald, for one. Would he be willing to help me?

"But, Adrian? Please wait until after the press conference, where you tell the world our wedding is off."

"Should I tell them the truth?"

Her eyes widen comically. "Good heavens, no. We need something that works for both of us."

That makes sense. "Why are you being so nice about this?"

She shrugs. "I took my murderous rage out on the weeds in my rose garden. It was cathartic."

I choke on a laugh.

We reach the exit to the gardens, and she turns and pats my face. Her eyes are somewhat fond. "It will take a while for me to process everything that's happened, but I do understand."

I nod and bite my tongue to keep from apologizing. Again.

She grasps my hands. "If you really like this guy, take a chance. But for the love of God, Adrian, follow through."

I laugh and glance away. "He doesn't even believe I'm a prince."

"This wedding and its demise is all anyone wants to talk about." Jasella squeezes my hands, her eyes sparkling with humor. "I'm sure by now he's figured it out."