Page 71 of The Royal Curse

They hustled me into our mother’s private study, tugging at my wet coat, telling me everything: Amara’s twisted ankle, an ambassador who’d tried to negotiate for a tariff on the weather, the head palace chef’s disastrous attempt at a rabbit pie with cranberries, how worried they’d been when they had my letter.

“Thank the gods I put Andreas in command,” my mother said, as she shoved me into a chair by the fire. “The thought of what would’ve happened to you if I’d allowed you to be in charge makes my blood run cold. Honestly, Niko, you ought to have a governess still!”

She glared down at me, her fists on her hips, reduced by motherly worry to looking almost like a regular woman in a temper, and not a queen. At least she was directing it at me and not Andreas. If he’d bothered to come with me, damn him, he’d have been relieved to know he wouldn’t end up in a dungeon after all.

Hadn’t I had such good intentions about standing up for myself at last? And that had gotten me through one hug from my mother and thirty seconds of scolding. Fuck.

I straightened my shoulders. “Mama, it was hardly something I could predict—”

“I told you this journey was a terrible idea, far too risky at this time of year and for a member of the royal family. You’ll be home for a while, Niko.” Gods, I couldn’t listen to this. Impatience boiled up, a pressure in my chest and my throat, raging for release. “Under Andreas’s supervision, I think, because he’s certainly proved his—”

“Andreas is my lover, not my keeper,” I said loudly. “I’ve stopped taking the potion. And I won’t be under anyone’s supervision. I’m nearly thirty, and I’ve had enough!”

In the ensuing silence, the faint pop and hiss of a damp log in the fireplace echoed like a thunderclap. My mother’s eyes went wide as she stared at me, a deep crimson stain spreading over her cheekbones.

“Phil,” Amara said, and I looked over to find her holding out her hand in the universal gesture forgive it to me. “Now, or you’ll find some excuse.”

Philippa shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to our mother. “You know I don’t carry any silver with me when I’m in the pal—”

“Then admit in front of witnesses that you owe me, because I don’t trust you to—”

Franco burst out laughing, at the exact moment that I realized what my horrid harpies of sisters had done.

“You placed a bet on—how dare you?” I demanded, and popped out of my chair, because the top of my head felt like it might pop off if I didn’t. “A bet? On whether I’d—Andreas and I would—how dare you?”

The room exploded in protestations and argument, Phil denying it, Amara shrilly reminding her it’d been Phil’s idea, Franco howling with mirth, and my mother scolding all three of them. And me, too, although I didn’t really understand why. Well, I understood. But it still seemed unfair.

A brisk knock at the door cut through the din. Everyone fell silent, royal training overcoming even the heightened emotions of a family quarrel. You never knew when it might be a member of the council or a gossipy courtier on the other side of the door.

“Oh, what now,” Mama muttered. “Yes, come in!”

The door opened to reveal Andreas, wearing his most controlled and stoic expression—not surprising given that he’d surely overheard the entire royal family of Surbino shouting at each other like tavern brawlers.

But when his gaze shifted to me, which it did almost instantly, a slight smile teased the corners of his mouth, and his eyes lit up.

And even though I knew my whole family was watching me, I couldn’t help my own smile of relief that he’d followed me—and of pure, helpless love.

“Oh, gods,” Amara muttered, glancing from Andreas to me and back again. “Phil, you owe me double.”

“Amara!” Philippa and my mother said in shocked unison.

Franco started laughing again. “Captain, do you have any brothers?” he said. “One younger, and one much, much older, because Philippa’s about a hundr—”

“I strongly advise you not to finish that sentence,” Andreas cut in. “Princess Philippa could order me to string you up by your toes, brother or not. And besides, you may not be in a position to judge aesthetics, going by your mustache, but the crown princess is known as far as the other side of the mountains for being beautiful and brilliant, too.”

Franco stared at him, turning an awkward shade of red.

“Well, he has my approval,” Phil said briskly, going rather pink herself.

“It would help if he troubled to present himself properly to his queen,” my mother said, extremely dryly. “My approval may or may not be forthcoming.”

Oh, for the love of the gods. Andreas stood there all straight-backed and honorable and perfect, the crown’s most devoted servant, and my adoring lover, and the only thing stopping us from going to my rooms and ordering a hot bath and some lunch and then falling into bed was this nonsense.

Andreas squared his shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back. A soldier being dressed down by the queen, not a man who loved the queen’s son.

And that wouldn’t bloody well do at all.

“Mama, I don’t need your approval,” I said, tearing my eyes away from Andreas with an effort and turning to face her. She opened her mouth, eyes flashing, and I continued quickly with, “No, I don’t. Not for how I conduct my personal affairs. Andreas isn’t a criminal, he’s no threat to me or to Surbino, and you have no reason to interfere. Besides which, I won’t tolerate it. I love you, Mama. And I owe you all my respect and fealty. But not in this.”

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