The Fallen Princess

Thirty Five

“Congratulations, my boy. Today is the big day,” the King announced in that booming, self-satisfied voice of his. He clapped Callen on the shoulder with all the unearned pride of a man who had personally accomplished something.

Callen removed the hand before it contaminated the fabric of his suit. “I told you I wanted it done as soon as possible, and somehow it still took five months,” he muttered.

“Your bride needed time to plan,” the King said, entirely unfazed. “For something of this magnitude, five months is remarkably quick. This wedding will be all anyone speaks of for years.” “Oh, goody,” Callen deadpanned.

Christian, perched nearby with a wine glass he’d been sipping at since dawn, lifted it in a mocking toast. “Don’t be like that, brother. You only get married once.” Callen shot him a murderous look to which Christian only grinned; all too pleased with himself.

“Father,” Christian continued casually, “why don’t you give Callen and I a moment? We don’t want our handsome groom running off before he’s even exchanged vows.” He whispered the last part loudly enough for Callen to hear it perfectly. The King nodded, satisfied.

“Very well. I’ll see you both in the throne room,” he said, giving Callen one final pat before sweeping out. The moment the door shut, Christian let out a theatrical sigh and dug inside his jacket.

“You’re making this harder by drowning in guilt,” he said, producing an envelope. “Here.” He shoved it against Callen’s chest. Callen frowned, turning it over. No royal seal. Only a simple fold of parchment.

“What is this?” “A gift.” Christian dropped onto the settee, pouring himself yet another drink. Callen unfolded the letter and froze. Zaria’s handwriting. His breath caught instantly. He read:

To my dearest husband, and love of my life,

I hope you are well on this most momentous occasion.

I could not fly across the sea to comfort you, as you once did for me,

but I wanted to express my… best wishes.

I wish for your day to be perfect, so perfect that it becomes painfully, mind-numbingly monotonous.

I hope your suit is tailored so flawlessly that you cannot move without discomfort.

Although I can’t be there to witness it, I know the flowers adorning every table will be lovely,

and I pray their delightful scent attracts swarms of insects that irritate and sting your guests.

Also, I hope it rains.

All my love,

Your one true wife.

P.S. Our child wishes you the worst day possible.

Callen’s chest tightened and then loosened. He let out a soft, genuine laugh, the first one he’d had all morning. He folded the letter carefully, as though it were made of gold leaf. “What did it say?” Christian asked, watching him with a knowing tilt of his head.

“She wishes me well,” Callen lied gently. Christian snorted. “Highly unlikely. Here... she sent these too.”

He produced a small box. Inside were cufflinks of gold with a single sapphire simple, elegant, unmistakably chosen with love. Christian knelt and fastened them onto Callen’s sleeves without comment.

The gesture was wordless solidarity; Callen accepted it gratefully. “Did you see her?” Callen asked too quickly, too quietly. “I didn’t,” Christian admitted. “I met with Zakai. He said your child is now quite pronounced. She must be what...? six or seven months along now?”

Callen exhaled slowly, as though that knowledge knocked something loose inside his ribs. Christian finished the cufflinks and straightened. “It begins now. Stay focused. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can have your real life back.” Callen nodded. And then the nightmare began.

The ceremony was exactly as Zaria had hoped: painfully, mind-numbingly monotonous. Juliana sealed their vows with a kiss that reminded Callen of a fish gasping for air. Her lips smacked wetly against his and she made an exaggerated sigh that sent every hair on his neck standing on end. Christian had to turn away to hide his laughter.

The Reception somehow it was worse. Juliana latched onto Callen’s arm like a decorative brooch with a pulse. She dragged him around the ballroom, showing him off like a prize stallion she’d purchased at auction.

“My love! Smile,” Juliana hissed through her teeth. Callen did not. He stood beside her like a carved statue made of pure resentment. Guests bowed nervously and fled immediately. “May I steal my brother for a moment?” Christian asked sweetly.

Juliana screeched a laugh. “I’m not sure he wants to leave my side. He’s such a doting husband.” Christian’s lips twitched. “I can see that. But I must insist.” The moment she released him, Callen fled.

“She never shuts up,” he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot. He snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, downed them both, and shoved the empties at a random noblewoman who nearly toppled over.

“That’s not something a doting husband would say,” Christian observed cheerfully, grabbing an entire bottle off another tray, nearly making the servant drop it. “All the better for us if she’s that stupid,” Christian added.

They reached an empty balcony. Callen gripped the railing and leaned forward as if the cool air might salvage his sanity. Christian thrust the bottle at him. “You seem to need this more than I do.” Callen took a long drink.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” Christian went on, “I invited her father to a dinner party. All that’s left is for you to consummate the marriage, and then we can… well.” He mimed a hanging with one elegant flick of his wrist.

Callen grimaced. “I can’t do it.” “Oh, come now,” Christian sighed. “She may be insufferable, but she’s not ugly.” Callen shot him a vicious look. “I’m not joking,” he said. “I hate her more than I thought possible.”

Christian paused... then reached into his jacket again. He held up a small vial. “Then use this.” “I’m not using that,” Callen snapped instantly. “Why not? It worked for Zaria.” “You drugged my pregnant wife.” Christian rolled his eyes. “Perfectly safe. I made certain of it.”

“That’s not the point,” Callen snarled. “It helped her get through the first time,” Christian said softly. “She didn’t suffer.” Callen shut his eyes, jaw clenching hard enough to c***k. “I can’t risk finishing,” he muttered. “I won’t take the chance.”

Realization dawned over Christian’s face. “You didn’t take the... precautions I had sent to you?” He sighed. Long. Loud. Dramatic. “I did but there’s not a guarantee.” Callen shot back. “You know something...? I hate you more than I originally thought.”

Callen opened his eyes. “You’ll really do it?” “If by ‘it’ you mean f**k Juliana in your place- then yes,” Christian said flatly. “But you owe me.” “Deal,” Callen said immediately. Christian scoffed, tilting his head back to look at the sky...

“Oh look at that,” he said lightly, extending his gloved hand into the breeze as droplets speckled his palm. “It’s raining.” Callen closed his eyes. Zaria had gotten her wish. And a real smile... tired, aching, but genuine, broke across his lips.