Page 52 of The Cinderella Prince

Would he even want to see me?

It turned out I didn’t have to worry at all. As soon as my passport was scanned, I was detained, and two agents in black suits appeared some minutes later.

“Mr. Lawson, welcome to Verdumont. We have been told to expect you,” the older one said.

“Good,” I said, a hopeful smile touching my lips, although I knew everything about this was absolutely wrong. I forced out a laugh. “I hope I didn’t keep you guys waiting.”

They didn’t smile back.

CHAPTER 16

Heroes and Lovers

Tristan

The room wasthe biggest and most luxurious I had ever seen. It was the size of an entire floor of a regular residential building, or perhaps bigger. The walls were covered in wallpaper with elaborate design patterns. The southern side had a row of windows looking over the summer gardens that sprawled endlessly behind the Valois Montclair home. Two fireplaces stood on the opposite ends of the room. The northern side wall was cluttered with portraits of men with mustaches and beards, women in ridiculously padded dresses, and youngsters with stiff, regal postures. A large number of young men and women resembled Cedric. There was a clear theme running through the generations. They were all blond in various degrees; most were blue or grey-eyed, and those that smiled had prominent dimples on their cheeks. The high cheekbones that I knew so well and had explored with my fingers and lips ran through the generations of royals in this small country.

The furniture was positioned as if this room served ten different purposes. I was told to sit on a sofa that had elaborately carved mahogany legs and soft padding. It matched the armchairs that were positioned precisely on the other side of the elegant coffee table. If someone had erected walls around these items, this would have made a nice little living room. As it was, however, the space resembled a hotel lobby. Similar sets of sitting furniture were scattered around the hall, and there was a desk with a high-backed chair, both made of the same sort of dark wood. The chair had murky crimson upholstery that matched the carpet under the office furniture in that corner of the room.

I had not been welcomed warmly. Nobody brought warm cookies or a glass of lemonade. The two agents who had escorted me here from the airport wouldn’t answer any questions. When I mentioned that I had never before been kidnapped, one looked at me with an expressionless stare and informed me that I was to be introduced to His Royal Highness. Based on the level of politeness and mirth in the agents, I stifled the hope that the highness in question was Cedric. Maybe he had really chosen to toss me aside, but he wouldn’t have done this to me.

I allowed some optimism to shine through. “At least I’m at the palace,” I whispered to myself as I stood.

Light slanted lazily through the windows from the west. The last rays of sunshine had a dim and tired quality to them. There were no specks of dust I would have expected to see in an antiquity showroom such as this. So I explored the portrait of a young man above the western side fireplace. Locks of golden hair fell over his dark, defined eyebrow. He was the spitting image ofCedric Philippe Valois Montclair, except that it was dated two hundred years ago.

Just looking at the portrait made my heart clench and my muscles knot with tension over all the uncertainties. I didn’t know what the next five minutes would bring, let alone what the rest of my life would look like, yet it felt as though such decisions would be made here and today.

The door creaked open and shut.

Footsteps crossed the space with a firm click of the soles of the wearer’s dress shoes. Where were they taking me next?

“Those hinges could use oiling,” I said. I didn’t care if I offended a butler or a security detail. I was far beyond caring at this point. My requests to see Cedric had been met with absolute silence during the ride here.

The figure approached me and halted a few steps behind my back.

I kept my eyes spitefully on the young man wearing Cedric’s face in the painting.

“Louis Montclair,” the voice behind me said. I regretted my remark about oiling the hinges when I heard the regal control of the vocal cords. It would have been funny had the future of my love not been in Alexander’s hands. “Our seventh great-granduncle was a patron of the arts and poetry. Louis passed away at the age of twenty-seven, taken by a cough, leaving behind a collection of letters he received from his lover, Théodore de Montmorency. You have a keen eye, Mr. Lawson, and a type, if you don’t mind me saying.”

I turned around, smoothing out the ripples of emotions on my face. In the span of a second, I had cringed, anddoubted myself, and felt a leap of sorrow in my chest, and wanted to laugh hysterically. “Your Highness.”

Alexander was as tall as Cedric, although his body exhibited none of Cedric’s easygoing relaxedness. In fact, only now, I saw how relaxed Cedric had appeared at his stiffest, most royal postures. His gaze was on the portrait of Louis Montclair. His hair was much darker than Cedric’s, and his suit was pressed and smoothed to perfection. There wasn’t a wrinkle or loose thread on it. And there wasn’t a hair out of place on his handsome head. Were all royals blessed with devastating beauty? It didn’t seem fair that they should have everything.

Cedric’s eyes are brighter, warmer, more intense, I thought. They were like burning ice, like oracles made of sapphires, like clear skies on a summer day. Alexander’s were pale and cool. The ice in them was deep and frosty and sharp.

“I wonder if there is something beyond our understanding, picking through our past and bringing our old characters into new lives,” Alexander said, looking at his brother’s image on another man’s face. “And I wonder if we share the same fates with those that came before us.”

“I can answer that, Your Highness,” I said with enough cynicism that he didn’t need to hear the rest.

Alexander Louis Valois Montclair, as his Wikipedia page named him, lowered his gaze from the portrait to me. It chilled my spine to meet those cold, blue eyes. “I expected you to be much more romantic, considering you flew here on such short notice.”

“I’m not so easily swept away,” I replied.

“Very well,” Alexander said. His hands were behind hisback, his shoulders squared, and his chest puffed out. Only the top button of his shirt was undone. The dark blue suit jacket matched his pants, and the brown belt around his waist went well with the darker brown shoes. He was very much a modern-day prince; there was no mistaking him. Cedric had been a delicious mystery, but Alexander might as well have worn a crown. “Mr. Lawson, your presence here is my personal courtesy for the foolish attempt to keep my willful brother safe. Although I do not appreciate that your actions were designed to keep him away from his family, your dedication is commendable.”

“Call me Tristan,” I said. “We can drop the pretenses.”

Alexander blinked once and stared at me from under flat, unmoving eyebrows.

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