Page 10 of Awestruck (Starstruck Love Stories #4)

Chapter Six

Freya

At some point, the woman who brings the tea service every morning will admit to using the squeakiest cart when she comes into my room. She has denied it many times, but I am convinced there is a reason she has not bothered to get the cart repaired, and that reason is to annoy me.

“It is too early for tea,” I grumble from my bed without opening my eyes.

“My apologies, Your Highness.” But it sounds like she carries on with her work anyway, cups clinking and trays rattling.

If she would bring me something stronger than tea, I would be less annoyed, but my love for coffee has yet to make an impression on the kitchen staff. I have even purchased the necessary equipment, but they are adamant that a proper Candoran princess should only drink weak tea.

When the staff member finally leaves me alone in my room once more, I lie in my tangle of bedcovers in the hope of falling back asleep, but I already know it is pointless. I did not sleep during the night, so why would I sleep now when the sun peeks through the curtains?

Groaning, I slowly sit up and look around the room with bleary eyes.

In the limited moments I managed to sleep last night, I dreamed I was walking the streets of Invem after my coronation.

Someone shouted at me from the cheering crowd, telling me that I was not wanted, and Markham Grimstad was waiting for me a few steps ahead, his hand outstretched to steal the crown from my head.

Needless to say, it was not a pleasant dream, and I am exhausted.

Sighing, I untangle myself from my covers and cross the room to where the tea tray waits for me along with a tablet with the day’s newspaper.

As I pour a cup of tea, I scan the front page without taking in the meaning of any of the words.

The headline says something about pretense and manipulation and—

I nearly drop the kettle when I see my name. Suddenly alert, I read the headline again.

Are Pretense and Manipulation the New Normal for Freya Alverra?

Before I can read more than the first couple of paragraphs, which highlight my apparent deception in a pub in Invem, my phone lights up with a call where it waits next to the tea tray. I expect to see Derek’s name, but it is Cole calling me.

“It is late,” I say when I connect the call.

Cole chuckles. “For you it’s early.” With nine hours of difference between Candora and Los Angeles, our schedules do not easily allow for phone calls. “Have you looked at any of your texts?”

“As you said, it is early.” Though, I would guess my friends have heard of my misadventure. With their lives so often in the public eye, they have learned to pay attention to the gossip. “I imagine you are not calling for a happy reason.”

“Hot Scoop is in Candora.”

I let out a curse and press my phone to my chest, my eyes shut tight.

Hollywood Hot Scoop, an absolutely atrocious tabloid in the States, has done their very best to ruin the lives of my friends over the last few years.

They have been particularly vicious in the past year, since the day they heavily targeted Liam after he had an altercation with someone at one of his concerts.

I have been a topic of interest because of my relationships with so many high profile celebrities, but I had hoped I would be free from the gossip while here at home.

“What did they say?” I ask, almost too afraid to learn the answer.

Cole hums in clear debate with himself. “Ignorance can be bliss, Peach.” His warning, combined with the nickname Liam gave me when we met a few years ago, reminds me how it was only a few months ago when Cole and his girlfriend, Carissa, were the website’s primary targets.

Before that it was Bonnie and her fiancé, Hank.

The tabloid can be as cruel as they are fictitious in their claims.

“I will read it regardless,” I tell Cole. “Give me a summary to prepare me.”

“They found out your new bodyguard is American.”

“Vitte.” I had hoped to avoid that knowledge getting out.

“They claim you were attacked by a gang of thugs.” He says this bit with a tone that suggests he is rolling his eyes.

I do the same. “It was only one man.”

“What? You were really attacked? Freya!”

His concern brings some much-needed warmth to my chest, but I do not need him to worry about me from afar when his focus should be on his girlfriend. “It is my job to worry about you,” I say. “Not the other way around.”

“That’s not how family works, Peach.”

“I am fine. Elliot was there. He kept me safe.”

I owe my bodyguard an apology. In the light of day and away from the moment, I can see why my plan was foolish. It is clear the people are more than simply frustrated. They were outraged when they realized I was in their space without their knowledge.

“Is Elliot going to last longer than the others?” Cole asks. There is hesitation in his question, and I wish this was a video call so I could see his face. Does he think me ridiculous for sending so many bodyguards away?

Perhaps the problem was not the bodyguards. Maybe Hollywood Hot Scoop was right, and I am the reason my protection agents did not stay long in their positions.

“I do not know,” I say honestly. “I have a difficult time trusting, and he is frustrating.”

“But he’s a friend of Derek’s, right? That has to count for something.”

I wonder why Derek does not tell the others that Elliot is his cousin, but now is not the time to contemplate my friend’s private life. Right now, I need to find Elliot and apologize for my conduct last night.

“Cole, you know I am always happy to talk to you.”

He chuckles. “But you’re busy. I know. Carissa says hi.”

“Give her my greetings in return.”

“She says hi back,” Cole says, the words muffled as he speaks away from the phone.

“That is not what I said,” I complain. “You make me sound as if I am one of you.”

“Aren’t you?”

No. I cannot be. Not if I wish to be a queen my people trust and respect. The thought of distancing myself from my friends further than I already have brings an ache to my chest, but it may be unavoidable. “Good night, Cole.”

“Good morning, Freya.”

After drinking a cup of abysmal tea, I dress slowly, trying to formulate the best way to apologize to Elliot.

I accept that I was unfair to him, but I do not come by humility easily, and admitting my faults will be painful.

Painful but necessary. If not for my sake, for my brothers’.

I put them in a difficult situation and asked them to betray their friend.

I still have not settled on what to say when I step outside my room once my attendant, Runa, has seen to my hair.

The single guard posted beyond the door stands at attention.

I expected more from Elliot, and the lack of extra supervision almost feels like an apology.

Clearing my throat, I wait for the guard to meet my gaze. He does not.

“Where is Mr. Reid?” I ask, unable to hide my annoyance in my tone. I did not think I would miss the way Elliot is not afraid to look at me, but I do.

The guard stiffens, as if uncomfortable with my question. “I believe he is at the training grounds, Your Highness,” he tells my shoes.

Intrigued, I thank the guard and begin my trek down the corridor with him a few steps behind. In the strangest way, he feels too far away, and I smile as I make my way through the palace. Only one day away from Elliot’s diligence, and I miss his methods.

Or perhaps I simply miss knowing I am safe, even when I leave him behind. To think what may have happened if he had not come to my rescue… A shudder runs through me as I descend the stairs to the exterior doors. It is probably best not to think about what might have been.

The morning is warm, the skies unusually clear as I step into the sunny courtyard. Many of the palace guards are out training today, but it does not take me long to find Elliot amongst his peers as he spars hand-to-hand opposite Hex.

He is holding his own against my unbeatable brother.

“So it is true,” I mutter as I come closer, standing near a few other guards who have taken to watching the fight.

Like me, they have likely not seen anyone come this close to matching my brother’s talents, and based on some of the muttered comments, a few of the guards have wagered money on the winner of this skirmish.

Normally, I would bet on Hex, but the longer I watch Elliot, the more I understand why Derek recommended him for the position as my protection agent.

Particularly because Elliot has removed his shirt and is showing off the intimidating amount of muscle on his body, all of it straining and stretching as he jabs and dodges. He is…impressive.

He is also showing off several tattoos that span the length of his left arm.

His right displays one as well, but most of the images are relegated to the one arm.

I have only ever seen Elliot fully dressed, with long sleeves to hide the ink, and I wish he would stand still so I could make out some of the banded designs needled into his skin.

Liam is the only one of my friends with a tattoo, but his is small, the lines thin.

Elliot’s tattoos are bold, broad, and seem to tell a story.

One of the spectating guards looks over at me and startles, dropping into a quick bow. “Your Highness,” he says loudly, prompting the others to mirror him.

Elliot looks over, and Hex wallops him in the face, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Oi!” Hex shouts, grabbing Elliot’s arm before he loses his balance. “I thought you would dodge!”

Which means that hit was my fault. Wincing, I consider hurrying back inside because an apology after that distraction will not come across as genuine. But Elliot has turned his focus to me. With a tight jaw and a storm in his brown eyes, he shakes hands with Hex, then steps closer to me.

“Princess,” he greets with a dip of his head.

“Elliot.”