Page 13 of Awestruck (Starstruck Love Stories #4)

Chapter Eight

Freya

All in all, my first speech of the campaign went better than I expected.

No one shouted insults, no one booed me off the temporary stage, and no one threw rotten fruit at me.

But the applause when I finished was lackluster at best, and I am convinced most of the people of the town of Breckenholt only came out to the town square because they were curious.

Yes, a few dozen of them have formed a line to greet me and welcome me to their town, but thus far everyone lingering in groups around the square have seemed more skeptical of my intentions than interested in meeting me.

Praise the heavens for Hex, who took to wandering the crowd while I spoke and has managed to befriend a group of young adults who have crowded around him like he is the most compelling person they have ever met.

Maybe he is. Or maybe he simply does not have the weight of the crown looming over his head, so he is allowed to be fun and free.

“Your Highness.” The middle-aged woman at the front of the line bows, her expression tight. “Welcome to Breckenholt. I’m Britta Nilson. I own the inn where you’ll be staying tonight, so please let me know if there is anything you need. Anything at all.”

Goodness, she looks terrified. I smile wide, doing my best to make it look warm and relaxed.

My friend Bonnie has, thankfully, taught me how to make a fake smile look natural, something she has mastered during her years as an actress.

“I am certain everything will be lovely. I thank you for your hospitality.”

A throat clears behind me.

Gritting my teeth, I take a breath and force my shoulders to relax. “You’re very kind, and I’m looking forward to my stay.” I refuse to look behind me to see if that satisfies Elliot.

Britta offers another short bow and steps aside to make space for the next person.

Though I have a chair I might use, I remain on my feet, hoping it will make me look less superior.

I only wish I had accepted Runa’s suggestion that I wear more comfortable shoes, as these heels are not being kind to my feet.

“Princess Freya.” The man who steps forward is already in a formal bow, his right hand pressed to his heart and his left arm tucked behind him, and he remains in that position while he speaks. “I was hoping we would run into each other sooner rather than later.”

A spike of fear pierces me in the chest, though I am not sure why. “Is that so?” I glance behind me, breathing a little easier when I realize Elliot is only a few inches from me, his eyes fixed on the man.

Elliot growls out a name. “Grimstad.”

The man rises, an amused smile on his face as he meets Elliot’s hard gaze. “You’ve done your research, bodyguard.”

This is Markham Grimstad? The man who is running against me? He looks nothing like his picture on the Candoran government website. That man is polished and stoic. This man looks at home among the other villagers, his jaw covered in a trim brown beard, his hair a bit too long, his clothes plain.

He chuckles when he looks at me. “It’s strange we’ve never met, isn’t it, Your Highness? I’m at the palace every week, so you would think we’d have run into each other before now.”

My words stick in my throat. I was not prepared to come face-to-face with my opponent, especially not like this, when the whole reason I am here is because of him.

What am I supposed to say? My entire life of training and preparing for diplomatic conversations has completely faded, leaving me with nothing but my own wits. Wits that have also abandoned me.

Grimstad does not seem to mind my silence, still smiling as he glances at the line behind him. “I don’t want to interrupt your meet-and-greet, but I wondered if you and I could talk when you’re done here. Candidate to candidate.”

I look at Elliot again, as if he has the answers.

He shrugs. “Up to you, Princess. I can arrange a meeting with Grimstad’s people if you accept.”

“Oh, I don’t have people.” Grimstad chuckles again and folds his arms. “It’s only me. I don’t need all this pomp and circumstance to get my point across. I suspect that’ll still be the case when I’m elected.”

He will not be elected if I have any say in the matter, and yet he seems convinced that my position will be his.

Of all the arrogant, conceited, ridiculous notions…

“I believe I should be done for the day, Mr. Reid,” I say and wave to those still in line.

“Aleksander?” When my brother steps up to my side from the line of palace guards, I tell him, “If you could offer my apologies to those who have been waiting so patiently, I would be most grateful. Mr. Reid?”

With one final look at Grimstad, Elliot directs me past the guards standing at attention and to Britta’s inn, where she and some of her staff are ready to receive me.

I go straight to my room, though I have to wait until one of the guards sweeps the room and ensures everything is as it should be.

That only adds to my irritation over Grimstad’s arrogance, and though I wish to lie down and scream into a pillow, I move instead to the window and look out over the still-gathered crowd.

Grimstad has joined the group surrounding Hex and seems to be charming them as easily as my brother did.

Does he think his victory is guaranteed?

“Princess?” Elliot stands in the doorway, hands behind his back as he watches me.

I sigh. “I wish you would not call me that.” At least it is better than calling me ‘Your Highness,’ which is a surefire way to remind me of my station. Of my inability to connect with my own people. “I have a name, and you might as well use it.”

“I could call you Fringe.”

I wince and turn back to the window to watch the easy way Grimstad interacts with the townspeople. “I would rather you did not.”

“Why do your brothers call you that, anyway?”

Memories of a terrible haircut from two decades ago flash through my head. I do not wish to revisit the way my fringe was cut far too high on my forehead and at a severe angle, but I know my brothers too well. If I do not tell Elliot the reason, one of them will.

Sighing, I pick up my phone from the desk and search for a picture. “In my defense,” I say once I have found one, “I was only twelve, and I did not choose the cut.” I wait until he comes closer, then hand him my phone.

To Elliot’s credit, he does not laugh despite the humor dancing in his eyes and a smile threatening to break free. “Yeah, I don’t think I can call you Fringe when it’ll make me think of that.”

“You could call me Freya.”

“I could,” he agrees, which does not sound promising. He is likely to concoct his own nickname for me, and I am not certain I trust anything he might come up with.

Besides, he shared some of his inner self with me during the drive this morning. I owe him part of me.

“My friends call me Peach.”

“Why?”

I look out the window once more, smiling as I remember the first day I met Liam Connolly.

He was the newest addition to Derek’s carefully curated group of friends, joining us only a few years ago.

Despite being quite famous himself at the time—Liam is a veritable music genius—he was nervous to meet me and called me Princess Peach instead of Freya.

“My friend Liam says I resemble the princess in a popular video game,” I explain with a small laugh.

“I can see it.”

I turn to him in surprise. He does not seem the type to have played video games as a child. “Can you?”

“Appearance-wise, sure, but you don’t strike me as a damsel in distress.

” Elliot’s eyes trail over my hair, making me all too aware that it has been years since I left it down like this in public.

Leaving even half of it loose this way makes me feel like I no longer have part of my armor, and I am vulnerable.

After a moment, his gaze shifts over my shoulder, to the town square outside, and I can breathe again.

“They’re eating out of the palm of his hand, aren’t they? ”

Grimstad laughs at something, his gaggle of admirers joining in.

I do not see Hex anymore, and it looks like most of the palace guards have taken up their posts around the inn, leaving Grimstad full control of the square.

The people of Breckenholt look far more welcoming of my opponent than they were of me, which does not make for a promising start to my campaign.

“He is younger than I expected,” I say, frowning as Grimstad does a playful and complicated handshake with a young man.

“He’s only thirty-five. Just a couple of years older than you, which is part of his platform.”

I turn my head in surprise. “How do you know that?”

Still gazing out the window, Elliot shrugs. “I got the same dossier you did.”

“Yes, but knowing these things about Grimstad is not part of your job.”

“Isn’t it? Grimstad is in direct opposition to you and poses a threat.”

“Politically, maybe, but not physically.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Elliot’s eyes drop to me, and we seem to realize at the same time that we are standing rather close to each other.

Close enough that I catch a hint of his clean scent and notice a ring of honey at the edge of his brown eyes.

He takes a step back, tucking his arms behind him as he murmurs, “A threat is a threat.” His lips twist up.

“I take my job very seriously.” His echo from the courtyard the other day brings back the memory of how he overpowered my unbeatable brother.

That is something I would not mind witnessing again. Have I lost my mind if I almost hope for some sort of danger to befall me while I am away from Invem? Perhaps, but I would like to see what Elliot is capable of.

“I am well aware of your dedication, Elliot,” I say, my voice breathier than I mean it to be.

His smile grows.

“You’re going to have to change your strategy,” Hex says as he steps through the open door. “They love him.”

I groan. “Do not tell me that, Hex.”