Page 44 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)

Twenty-Eight

Zelda

I ’ve just finished an hour-long virtual yoga class when a heavy knock on the door signals Ben’s arrival.

When I called—after persuading the mortified security personnel that I should be the one to tell him—I’d expected a brief, practical discussion on the merits of my using Fernmoor House until filming ends.

What I got instead was the most emotion I’ve seen thus far from the notoriously grumpy king. Ben’s flip-out was more alarming to me than the situation that prompted it, and I’m still not quite able to believe it, hours later.

Pausing to glance at my reflection in the hallway mirror, I can’t help but smirk. My mood has been low for weeks, but the leggings I’m wearing are the single most flattering piece of workout attire I own, and the confidence boost is sorely needed today.

Another knock sounds, this one louder than the first, but I still take the time to adjust my ponytail and smooth down the frizz at my temples, trying to convince myself I would do the same for anyone.

When I finally open the door, however, I falter as I find myself looking at not just Ben, but also two other men flanking him.

All three are dressed casually, and all three have the same medium brown hair, broad shoulders, and dark eyes.

I recognize the one to his right, who is slightly shorter than the other two and wearing a set of wire-rimmed glasses, as his younger brother Leopold.

The second man is totally unfamiliar. “Um,” I falter, looking to Ben for clarification.

My heart flips at the expression I see on his face, one which seems to be simultaneously relieved and exasperated. “Zelda.”

I really need to get over the way he says my name… With difficulty, I swallow, stepping back to allow Ben and his lookalikes through. “Come in, please.”

They do, filing into my kitchen, and the three men are so large that they seem to fill the whole space.

“You’re alright?” Ben clarifies, his expression tight as he looks me over, searching for signs I’ve been harmed, his gaze faltering for a second too long on the leggings.

His throat works to swallow, and he seems to shake himself before dragging his eyes to meet mine again.

At his side, the unfamiliar man poorly conceals a laugh with a cough.

I should email the designer. Grumpy King Approved would be excellent for their sales.

Shifting my weight to my hip, I cross my arms over my sports bra. “I told you I was.”

“Yes, well,” Ben grumbles, “you also made a point of validating the feelings of an insane person who broke into your hotel room, so it seemed prudent to independently verify that.”

The man at his side, the one who isn’t Prince Leopold, clears his throat significantly .

“Hello,” I tell him, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Zelda.”

His handsome face splits in a wide smile. It’s a little bizarre, considering how deeply he resembles Ben, who emotes very little. As he opens his mouth to introduce himself, however, Ben cuts in impatiently. “Zelda, allow me to introduce my brothers. Leopold and Damien.”

Brothers? As in plural? I’ve done a fairly embarrassing amount of research into the Ashwell royal family by now, eager for any insight I can get without questioning Ben on what I can sense is a sore subject.

As such, I know very well that the late king and queen had three sons: Arthur, Benedict, and Leopold.

Nowhere, in any mention of the royal family, can I recall reading about anyone named Damien.

I must look confused, because the previously unknown Damien grins. “You won’t have heard about me. My parentage isn’t as legitimate as my brothers’.”

Ah . I really shouldn’t be surprised, having firsthand experience in how deeply media perception differs from reality. Still, it’s pretty wild how much the gleaming royal facade manages to cover up.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I tell Damien and look to Leopold, only to find him staring at his shoes. “And you, Your Royal Highness.”

His mouth quirks in a wry smile, though he still doesn’t meet my eyes. “Leopold is quite alright. Any f-f- friend of Ben’s is a friend of mine.”

I’m not sure friend is quite the right label for my relationship with his brother, but the sentiment is appreciated regardless. Turning my gaze back to the man in question, I find him looking just as ruffled as he did when he arrived. “Get your things together. We’re leaving immediately.”

Okay, then.

I head to the bedroom, which was thankfully tidied up while I was at work today, and pull my suitcases out from the closet. When I turn to lay them on the bed, I find Ben in the doorway. “You really didn’t have to come,” I tell him cooly as I unzip the first of the cases.

Without bothering to respond, Ben steps forward stiffly, moving to the dresser along the side wall.

Is he actually going to help me pack? My silent question is swiftly answered as he pulls open a drawer of tops and takes out the neatly folded stack, crossing to my side to lay them in the open suitcase.

“I told you. Your safety is my responsibility.”

His words, while brusk and impatient, make my heart lift.

Letting out a determinately steady breath, I grip the sides of the second suitcase, watching as Ben carefully places the stack in the corner of the first. His arm brushes mine, and even through the material of his shirt, I’m so much more aware of the warmth of his skin than I ought to be.

It was like that the first night, too, and pretty much all the others. Every touch seemed like so much more than it should be, and when we were both naked, skin to skin— No. Stop it.

“Well, thank you.” I clear my throat. “I appreciate it.”

Ben leaves my side to go take another stack of shirts from the drawer, and I move to the closet.

We work in silence for several long moments, until one of the dozens of questions I have bubbling just below the surface finally bursts free.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me using Fernmoor House?

I can find another arrangement if need be. ”

“Of course not,” he replies flatly, not looking at me as he takes the makeup scattered on top of the dresser and places it in a tote bag. “It’s a good idea. Damien agrees.”

“Damien?”

“Yes. He’s the head of the royal guard, strictly the regiment charged with protecting the family.”

That explains a lot, actually. It’s surprised me from the beginning that Ben has been able to slip away when need be, and in this context, it seems clear his brother has been facilitating it. “Are you close? To your brothers, I mean.”

The question makes him pause, and though he doesn’t look at me, I can see his profile as his lips press into a stern, flat line. “Does it matter?”

His coming here like this, and getting so worked up about my unexpected visitor, was so far from the reaction I was expecting, that I let my guard slip.

Then, in all of three cool, dismissive words, he reminded me why I shouldn’t have tried at all.

Apparently, protective Ben and asshole Ben are both on duty today, and my heart is in my stomach as I turn back to the closet, intending to start on the shoes.

I’ve barely stepped through the doorway, however, when a large, male form appears behind me, blocking the entrance to the small space. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t dare to look at him. “Don’t be. It’s none of my business.”

“You were trying to get to know me.”

He’s right, of course. I allowed myself to want a little more, and he made sure I would regret it. This is hardly the first time, but the frustration gets a little more acute each time King Benedict pushes me away, because—dear god—will I ever learn?

Shaking my head and not knowing what else he could possibly want from me right now, I keep my eyes on my clothes. “It’s been a really long day, Ben. Could you please just let me pack?”

I don’t actually confirm that he’s gone, taking my time removing each of my summer dresses from their respective hangers and folding them into a neat stack. It’s only when I’ve officially run out of space and need to start putting things in my suitcases that I turn.

Ben is sitting on the edge of the bed. His forearms are braced on his knees, and I’ve never seen him look more grim than he does now.

“There’s an art to being a public figure, as I’m sure you know,” he tells me quietly, frustration crossing his handsome features.

“It never came naturally to me. Never. Even as a boy, I was too tense, too nervous. I would say things I shouldn’t, or not say anything at all.

Eventually, I grew old enough to be taught, and I was taught to keep my mouth shut .

” His mouth twists bitterly. “When people asked too many questions, I lashed out in my panic.” There’s such self-loathing in his voice, and though he is still looking at me, I can sense Ben is somewhere else.

“I’m sorry that you’ve paid the price for my failure to break that pattern. ”

It feels as though my chest is expanding as his words sink in, filling some of the cracks so recently left.

He’s trying.

“I understand now,” I tell him quietly, watching his chest rise and fall in exaggerated motions as Ben tries to steady himself.

It’s obvious this is difficult for him, either opening up to me or acknowledging his emotions at all, but he’s forcing himself to do something that makes him uncomfortable because it’s what I need.

“To answer your question, yes,” he says at last, getting back to his feet.

“Yes, my brothers and I are close. Leo tends to steer clear of Wyngate as much as possible, but Damien and I see a lot of each other.” His lips quirk in a bitter, self-deprecating smile.

“I’m quite certain he is better to me than I deserve.

You know better than anyone, I’m hardly tolerable at the best of times. ”

“I tolerate you just fine, thank you.” An understatement, actually. I like him so much, even when I don’t want to.