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CHAPTER 1

AMELIA

The urge to puke is strong. Especially as I feel the hairdresser tug at a lock of hair while she curls it into what she calls a “beachy wave.” Given the fact that it’s February and Haldonia is a small country located between Sweden and Norway, beachy is subjective. Especially considering freezing rain started an hour ago. If this wasn’t a birthday party for the soon-to-be king, I have doubts that anyone would have shown up for it. Since we’re in the castle, I’m positive there’s enough room for anyone who wants to stay over. The thought almost makes me laugh.

“Do you want it down your back? Or do you want it off your neck?” she asks as she curls the next to last piece.

“Flowing down my back,” I answer, aware that this may be the very last decision I make for myself, depending on what type of man His Royal Highness Tristan turns out to be. While there has been talk, you never know someone until you’re intimate with them, actually have conversations with them. We haven’t had that luxury.

My makeup was finished a half hour ago, and once my hair is done, the only thing left is for me to get dressed. The hairstylist sprays it heavily as she tousles it with her hands.

“You’ve got that just-been-bedded look, my dear, he won’t know what hit him.” The promise is there in her voice. I’m not sure whether to be excited or not. I think I’m too nervous to be excited, too scared that I won’t be who he wants, or what he thinks I am.

As she leaves, Shannon, my new personal stylist who I’ve been working with for the past two weeks comes in. “You ready?”

My eyes follow her as she walks over to the closet to get the dress that was picked out for me last week. When I tried on the maroon sleeveless dress cinched at the waist, I knew it was mine. With my almost black hair, brown eyes, and complexion that perpetually looks like I’ve been out in the sun a few minutes each day, it’s stunning. My makeup is darker today, and my hair has been curled and brushed so much it shines. When I look at myself in the mirror, I almost don’t recognize the person looking back at me.

I nod, knowing that this is it. When I put this dress on, step into the heels, and allow her to put the jewelry on me, I will no longer be Amelia Irving, I’ll be Amelia, future Queen of Haldonia.

My hands shake as Shannon hooks the diamond bracelet around my wrist, helps me put in the earrings, and places a tiara I’ve opted to wear on my head.

“How do I look?” I take a deep breath, scared to death that I’m going to fall, or pass out. Maybe both.

“Like a dignified lady.” She claps her hands, smiling boldly at me. “Let’s fix your lipstick quickly and then you can be off.”

“What if I don’t want to be off?” I whisper as I grab hold of her fingers.

She’s one of the only people I can now trust. Very few people have been preparing their whole lives to fulfill a role, but at the age of twelve, I was told it would be possible that one day I would be queen. An old handshake agreement between my father, one of the richest businessmen in not only our country, but the world and the king had sealed mine and Tristan’s fate.

As was custom, I was kept away each time Tristan came to our home, and he came to our home a lot as a teenager with his father. He and my brother are friends. From afar I watched him, knowing that if he didn’t pick his own bride, I would be his. Over the years I’ve watched him grow up, have read the articles on the internet, and seen his name grace many of the most eligible bachelor lists. It was strange to know he could be looking for his soulmate, but I wasn’t able to find mine. It was up to me, to be available for a moment just like this. For a long time I grappled with the reality he could do whatever he wanted and I was spoken for.

Jealousy would eat at me sometimes when I would see people claim him as their own. When I’ve thought about him as mine since I was told about our destiny. Might seem silly since I was so young, but I feel a certain pride in serving my country, and that means doing my part for the crown.

For eleven years that’s been my secret, and I’ve guarded it with a fierceness I wasn’t sure I had within me. Gathering my courage, I bow my head, close my eyes, and try to find my Zen. Try to imagine that all of this is going to go fine, and I’m where I’m supposed to be .

“Look at yourself, Amelia, take a good look,” Shannon encourages. “You’re going to knock him off his feet and have the rest of the nation bowing at yours.”

Even though I looked at myself earlier, I do as she tells me to. Raising my head and opening my eyes, I gasp. I again don’t recognize the person in the mirror, staring back at me. There’s something changed, a comfort I didn’t have before. This girl staring back at me? She’s a woman. She looks sophisticated, beautiful, and like she can hold her own in any situation. That’s not me, has never been me. I do, however, like to rise to any occasion, and perhaps this is me rising above everything I’ve always believed I am.

“Do they know I’m here?” I question Shannon as we walk slowly toward the ballroom.

We can hear the noise coming from the room, even though we’re quite a distance away. I won’t be going in there, not yet. There’s no way Tristan and I will meet one another in front of so many. The first meeting will be private.

“No,” she answers. “They probably assume, but no one has mentioned you’re going to be in attendance. Press those shoulders back, Amelia. Hold your head up high.”

I do as she instructs, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Praying with each step that I don’t trip and fall. Badly I want to pull my lips between my teeth and bite—a bad habit I’ve had since I was a child—one I’ve supposedly been broken of. My smile falters slightly as we get closer, staff watch each step I take. Guests who are taking a break from the gala stare at me as I walk along with Shannon.

“But they know who I am? ”

“They do; don’t let them look down at you.” She grabs my elbow, turning me before we enter the ballroom. We walk down a long hallway, where surprisingly some of the noise dissipates.

“He’s in there.” She points to a large wooden door. “He’s ready to meet you. Are you ready to meet your soon-to-be husband?”

Inside, my heart pounds against my breast, I feel faint, and a slight sheen of sweat break out over my upper lip. It takes dedicated breathing to make everything calm down again, but I manage.

“I am.” I nod, squaring my shoulders, clasping my hands in front of me, hoping to hide the shaking.

The door opens, making a noise, heavy in the near-silence of the hallway. She pushes me toward the entrance, giving me the extra courage I need. “Godspeed, Amelia. I’ll be here when you come out.”

While those words should probably make me feel better, they don’t, but I give her my best smile as I walk over the threshold. It’s a metaphor for my life at this moment. I’m leaving behind one part of myself and embracing a whole new part. One I’m not familiar with yet, but I have no doubt that this starts one of the best adventures of my life.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust since there’s not a lamp on. The only light is coming from a fire, giving the drafty room extra heat. For minutes I don’t see him. But as I become accustomed to the darkness, his outline becomes visible. He’s facing the fire, his back to me, holding a glass of what looks like scotch at his side. His hand is flipped down, his fingers gripping the edges of the glass.

He doesn’t turn, even when it’s obvious I’m waiting for him to do so. Protocol says that he directs this meeting, although I don’t know how he’s going to direct it if he never speaks to me. Just when I’m about to break the silence, he turns, getting his first look at me.

Immediately there’s a thread of awareness between the two of us. It’s a string of electricity, and I have no doubt it would spark if we allowed it. I do my best not to fidget and at the same time allow myself to look at him without censorship. His dark hair looks as if he’s run his fingers through it all night, blue eyes look almost black in the muted light of the room, and a trimmed black beard hides what I know to be a strong jawline.

For a long time, I wait—wait to see what he’s going to say. Wait for him to give some indication I pass inspection. I’m about to give up when he lifts the glass to his lips and tips it back, downing the rest before setting it softly on the table.

Then, for the first time, I hear him speak toward me, and the words? I’ll never forget them. They’ll always be branded into my memory.

“Christ, you’re beautiful, and damn if you don’t look like an innocent.” He walks over, lifting his hand to my cheek, brushing back a piece of hair. “Forgive me for saying it aloud, but I can’t wait to show you how to be wicked.”

With those words, I know my life will never be the same again.