Page 43 of Royally Ruined

This isn’t helping me figure out a plan.I warned myself of this even as I followed her onto the half-empty ride, handing a ten-dollar bill to the bored teen running the machinery.

The coaster rattled like ancient bones. We sat at the front, clicking upward and unable to see what waited for us. “Oh gosh,” she laughed, her voice all high and tight like the sound of a balloon losing air.

“Are you scared?” I asked, reaching over to take her hand. When I did, she clutched it tight.

There were luminous stars in her eyes as she strained to see over the nose of the coaster. “Kind of,” she admitted. She faced me, and I could count every freckle on her cheeks. “But I like being a little scared.”

I was caught up in her honest smile. I didn’t see us crest the rise, I only felt my stomach drift upward with the momentum of our fall. I was too busy studying Scotch—how her caramel-rich eyes lit up around her pinprick pupils when she got excited, how her lips formed a perfect O.

Even with the wind whipping my skin, blurring my vision, I never looked away from her.

“Holy shit!” she squealed, clutching my fingers, throwing our hands up into the sky together. Behind us, the few other people on the ride roared. Their voices mixed with the rushing white noise until, for just a little bit of time, I could pretend Scotch and I were the only two people alive in this world.

Her skin was pink as a grapefruit. She started laughing on the second turn around the course. Over the banging wood I realized I was laughing, too.

Was this what it was like to have a simple life? One where I didn’t have to worry about my father, my bloodline, or the darkness tainting my heart that came from ruling a city with fear and money?

Unbidden, I imagined Scotch beneath a rose archway. People cheered as her lips locked on mine, our hearts exposed for everyone to witness.

A tiny voice whispered in my ear. It was the same voice I’d heard over the years as I gazed longingly at kids skipping off to public school, watched commercials about birthday parties at Chuck E.Cheese’s, and imagined having friends who would invite me to slumber parties:You don’t get to have a normal life.

I’d always listened to that voice.

This time, with our laughter drowning it out, I didn’t.

“Have you ever done one of these?” she asked, pointing at the booth with all its targets and pellet guns. The night had come, and the fair was swarming with the electric pulse of life. Families ran around under the stars, children giggling with peppermint cotton candy in their teeth.

Looking over the booth, I shook my head. “I’ve only seen these in movies.”

Her eyebrows wriggled together. “What? But you said you’d ridden a coaster before.”

“Yes.” A prickle of hot shame moved through me. “My parents had one built for my twelfth birthday party.” They’d invited a select few kids—all belonging to local, powerful families, the whole event meant to expand their power and reach. It was better than having just my siblings there, I guess.

Her face shifted into a familiar expression: one of disbelief.Next comes disgust.People hated hearing how rich my family was. That, or they wanted to use it against me.

Scotch’s eyes softened. “You really did grow up in a different world.” I waited for her to follow that up with something hurtful. But she didn’t. “Here,” she said, offering me one of the guns. “If this is your first time, it’s only right that you go first.”

Hefting the toy, I frowned. “It’s not my first time with a gun.”

“I know.” She pointed at a big fluffy purple rabbit. “That’s exactly why I expect you to win that for me. Get going.”

People had demanded things from me my whole life. My father wanted perfection; a firstborn son who would rule like a literal king, the way he’d learned to. Strangers wanted money or favors. All Scotch wanted was some ridiculous-looking doll.

I longed with every atom in my body to get it for her.

Closing one eye, I hardly had to aim. If I was good at anything, it was shooting bullets. The trigger was fragile; I expected it to break off when I squeezed. Metal beads bounced against the bottles—click click clack. Not a single shot missed.

Lowering the gun allowed me to see how both Scotch and the booth runner were gawking at me. “Wow,” the man said as he adjusted his hat. Without any fanfare, he handed me the bunny.

“You’re amazing!” Scotch laughed, the words popping free as if she’d been holding her breath.

I offered her the bunny. “All that time not having fun paid off.”

Scotch took the doll, her unease coming off her in waves. “You really weren’t allowed to have fun?”

I’d wanted it to be a lighthearted comeback. My shoulders hurt from how every muscle went taut. “It was my responsibility to learn everything it would take to lead my family. My father kept me busy.”

“That’s ... really sad.”

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