Four Months Three Words (Months Words Decisions Duty Book 1) Read online

  “Looks like you’ve been here a while,” the guy standing remarks, nodding to the three empty glasses sitting on the varnished table-top.

  “I didn’t have anything better to do tonight,” I respond, looking up to meet his gaze.

  “Are you looking for a better offer?” the guy asks.

  “What are you offering?”

  “Come along with us and find out,” he challenges in response.

  I let out a little laugh. “How original. Unfortunately, I’ll have to pass. I’m expecting some friends soon. They are pretty protective and highly unlikely to allow me to go off drinking with a group of strangers.” I smirk. “No offense.”

  “They can come along,” the seated boy offers.

  I grin broadly at the suggestion, trying to imagine convincing my burly security team to let me drag them along on a bar crawl.

  “Not really their scene.”

  I expect that to be the end of the conversation, but both boys linger.

  “Feel free to stop bothering me at any time,” I finally add, annoyed their persistence means I likely won’t have any more time to myself before my security team arrives.

  The boy standing next to my table grins.

  “You’ve really lost your touch, Toby.”

  A new voice joins the conversation. I look to my right to see the remaining three boys are walking over towards my now crowded booth, each carrying a couple of beers.

  “Oh good, there’s more of you,” I state sarcastically, resting my head against the hard wood comprising the back of the booth and resigning myself to the fact that my precious solitude is over. The movement shifts my raised hood.

  I realize my mistake immediately.

  The boy who just spoke stares at me intently. “You look really familiar, have we met before?”

  “I doubt it,” I reply. “But if we have you weren’t very memorable.”

  His friends guffaw at that, but their collective amusement quickly shifts to surprise when the boy sitting across from me exclaims “Holy shit, aren’t you the princess?”

  I let out a deep sigh of exasperation. “No need to bow, you can just leave me alone.”

  “Can we take a photo with you?” one of the latest arrivals asks excitedly.

  “You can try,” I reply, sighing again. They glance at each other in confusion at my cryptic response.

  I pull the black hood back fully, revealing my long hair. The group of boys take it as an invitation to crowd closer around the booth, and the one named Toby crouches down in front and holds his long arm out to snap a few photos of the six of us.

  Just as he’s standing back up, the front door to the pub is slammed open, revealing the eight men who comprise my entire security team. They’re each dressed in full uniform and visibly armed. Looking at them, one would think they were here to rescue me from kidnappers in an underground bunker rather than to pick me up from an empty, decrepit pub because I’ve had too many drinks to drive myself. Michael leads the squad, his expression thunderous.

  “Aren’t you glad I didn’t invite them to your bar crawl?” I ask Toby. He’s too stunned to answer.

  “Let’s go, Princess,” Michael barks, coming to a stop in front of the booth that had once been blissfully empty.

  All five boys are staring at the new arrivals in obvious shock. Michael and the other members of my security detail are far from subtle; their mere presence is intentionally meant to be intimidating. Each agent sports a stern expression, a head to toe black uniform, and is toting an array of deadly weapons.

  “Wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, guys,” I say acerbically, before pulling my hood back up and sliding out of the booth.

  I’m surrounded as soon as I stand, and the boys trip over each other in their haste to move away from the booth as they’re forced to rapidly back up from the protective wall my team forms around me.

  “Did they take photos?” Michael asks as they begin to escort me out of the pub.

  “Yup,” I reply cheerfully.

  Michael makes a sound of distaste, and turns to Kevin, the newest addition to my security team. Just like in any hierarchy, this means he is inevitably given any undesirable task. “Wipe the phones,” Michael orders him.

  Kevin complies, immediately turning around. The remaining seven agents continue marching along around me, and seconds later we’re back outside in the cool night air. The downpour has retreated to a light drizzle.

  We start across the street toward the two black SUVs parked haphazardly on the opposite side of the road.

  “I took that one.” I point to the identical black car parked further down the street that I drove here earlier in the evening.

  Michael chuckles, his usual good humor restored now that I’m safely surrounded by security.

  “Well, that explains it,” he remarks.

  “Explains what?”

  “All of our cars are outfitted with tracking devices. We just received a few new replacements, and they haven’t been added to the system yet. But they will be added first thing tomorrow, so don’t get any more crazy ideas, okay?” He looks meaningfully at me.

  I nod in agreement. It was a miracle I managed to sneak away earlier, and the teenagers in the pub reminded me of just how necessary my security can be. If the boys I encountered had more nefarious intentions than just a group selfie I could have put not only myself, but the future of the entire monarchy at risk. The sobering thought is enough to chase away the final remnants of the warm buzz I’ve been enjoying.

  I pile inside one of the SUVs along with Michael and two other agents. Kevin emerges from the pub seconds later, and climbs into the car I took along with another agent. My remaining three agents bring up the rear of our entourage in the final car as we wind through the dark, quiet streets. I watch the car’s headlights as they reflect and refract off the slick asphalt while we speed along silently.

  Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to the front gates. The massive stone facade of the palace is just visible in the distance. Michael climbs out of the driver’s seat and has a brief conversation with the security guard manning the gate. He climbs back in the car, and the iron gates creak open, allowing the small parade of cars through.

  Once back on the palace grounds, the cars all pull off to the right and into the cavernous garage. Automatically, the lights flicker on, illuminating the long array of gleaming cars considered property of the Crown. We all pile out, and Michael walks me over to the door that connects to the residence. He types a few numbers on the keypad and the thick steel door opens with a loud click.

  “Last nightcap off the grounds?” he asks.

  I nod tiredly. “I just needed...” I let my voice trail off. I don’t know what exactly I’d needed. A way to make this all manageable. Or at least bearable. The joyride and whiskey helped in the moment, but back inside the familiar walls of the palace the glimpse of freedom feels very distant again.

  “I can imagine,” Michael says gently. I shift awkwardly. I know the Royal Guard has already been briefed about my father’s condition, but having Michael acknowledge it makes it seem all the more real. “But take someone with you next time you want to leave the grounds, okay? It won’t help anything if something were to happen to you.”

  “I won’t sneak off again,” I promise, turning and beginning to walk down the tunnel. A thought occurs to me after a few steps, so I stop and turn back around. Michael is still standing there.

  “Any chance this outing could stay between us? Everyone else has enough to worry about right now.”

  Michael nods once. “I’ll have to report this to Richard,” he tells me. Richard is the head of my father’s security detail as well as the entire Royal Guard. “But I don’t see why it should need to go any further than that.”

  I smile gratefully and turn back to head inside.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next few weeks pass in a predictable pattern. First, my days at Bridgemont Academy come to an end for the final time. The complet
ion of classes and following week of exams has become a familiar ritual over the past eight years. The only difference this year is the afternoon of pomp and circumstance the entire Royal Guard spent weeks preparing for in order to map out every possible scenario and contingency.

  The week following graduation the annual tradition of tutoring begins. Each summer since I started at Bridgemont Academy, I’ve been required to be tutored in one academic topic and one outdoor activity over the course of the summer break to supplement my already rigorous schooling.

  This summer is art history and tennis. Last summer was filled with French poetry and archery. I usually articulate a convincing argument to my parents outlining why the summer tutoring is wholly unnecessary. My protests were particularly vigorous last summer, partly from a bout of teenage rebellion, and mostly because I found the topic of French poetry to be incredibly boring.

  This summer I welcome the tradition of tutoring for the first time. It provides a welcome distraction from the constant worries I am plagued with. It’s late at night, following dinner and a game of chess with my father, when I lay awake listening to the owls and staring at the ornate chandelier in my bedroom, that I dread now.

  Daily life continues within the palace with little indication anything at all has changed. I rarely see my father during the day, which was typical before but surprises me now.

  Through a mixture of snooping and eavesdropping, I discover his days are now spent mapping out the long- terms goals he’s envisioned for the country to determine steps that can be taken now and projects I will have to take over. No sudden implementations can take place for fear of drawing unwanted scrutiny from the public.

  I also come across a document in my father’s desk that suggests he is still working to find a way around the marriage law. I try not to get my hopes up, now knowing he has unsuccessfully been trying to do so ever since he first learned my early arrival precluded me from its revision almost two decades ago.

  My new reality sinks in more and more each day, and as it does a sense of urgency grows that I’m somehow squandering my days as princess before I become queen.

  The feeling only increases when I wake up one Monday and realize the start of my studies at Edgewood College is now only six weeks away.

  My mother brings the impending event up mid-way through dinner that night, which is uncharacteristic of her. She usually leaves logistical details for the staff to worry about. It’s quickly revealed the source of the topic is the garden association meeting she held earlier, which was entirely spent gossiping, if the volume of information my mother managed to compile regarding my future and former classmates is any indication.

  My father sends me a good-natured wink about ten minutes in to the one-sided conversation. I grin back at him. We’ve always had a particularly close relationship, partially stemming from a mutual weariness regarding the sacrifices royal life often requires. He is an only child as well, and was forced to take the throne at just nineteen, long before he expected to, after the tragic death of both his parents.

  My mother has always seemed to have an easier time with royal life, likely due to the fact this is a lifestyle she chose for herself, as well as the lighter responsibilities she enjoys by virtue of knowing she’ll never have to carry the burden of being the ruling monarch.

  The kitchen staff is serving the final course when she finally runs out of moderately scandalous stories to share. I’ve completely tuned her out by this point.

  “You’ll have to let me know if you see them together on campus, Vivienne.” My mother ends her protracted soliloquy with the news of a rumored engagement between an earl’s son and a duchess’s daughter.

  “What if I went somewhere else besides Edgewood College this fall?” I ask, opting not to respond to my mother’s request and instead finally voicing the thought that’s been percolating in my mind for the past few weeks.

  “Go somewhere besides Edgewood?” my mother echoes in surprise. “Like Varmish?” she questions, referencing the university generally considered to be the second best in the country after Edgewood College.

  “No, I—” I start, and then stop. I glance over at my father, who nods for me to continue. The encouraging gesture gives me the strength to finish my response. “I want to go someplace outside of Marcedenia.”

  “Leave the country for university?” my mother sounds shocked. She looks to my father, but his face remains blank.

  “Not for all of university,” I quickly add, trying to temper the extravagant request. Once my mother decides she’s opposed to an idea that’s typically the end of it, and I doubt it’ll take long for her to reach that conclusion in this instance. “It could just be for a year. One year in another country where I could meet new people, and experience new things, and—”

  “It would be extremely difficult to guarantee your safety anywhere else,” my mother interrupts. “And I don’t understand why you’d want to leave Marcedenia for university anyway. Edgewood College is considered one of the best schools in the world.”

  “It’s not about the school itself, Mother,” I reply. “Going to university is usually a chance to meet new people, to experience new things, to gain some independence. It won’t be any of those things for me if I go to Edgewood College. It’ll be another four years of being stared at and whispered about.”

  “That’s just the reality of who you are, Vivienne,” my mother lectures. “I know it is difficult at times, but being royal is not an accessory you can take on or off whenever it suits you. Either you are or you are not.”

  “I know that,” I argue, growing increasingly desperate. I hadn’t realized how badly I want this until I finally said it out loud. “But I could go someplace where no one knows I’m the Crown Princess of Marcedenia. We could tell everyone I’m going on some sort of humanitarian trip before university and withhold the location for security reasons. And you could send agents nearby so they’re close by just in case anything were to happen. Please. I know it’s a lot to ask, but this is what I want, more than anything. You had the chance to experience a normal life, Mother. I never have.”

  She sighs, but doesn’t immediately dismiss the idea, glancing over at my father instead. “Robert?”

  My father looks over at me, his face serious. “I don’t know if I can make this happen, Vivienne. But if this is what you really want, I’ll call a few people and see if it’s a possibility.”

  “It is, Papa,” I assure him, trying to tamp down the hope that is rapidly blossoming. “Thank you.”

  My father nods, and the three of us resume eating dinner.

  I don’t dare to bring up the topic of attending university outside the country again. I’m both afraid of pushing my parents too far on the idea and reluctant to lose the small speck of hope I left our last conversation with.

  My father is the one who raises the subject a couple days later during our nightly chess match in his personal study. Following the reveal of his diagnosis, I quizzed the doctors on every possible way to help preserve his brain. Chess was suggested as a way to exercise his memory and mental acuity, and our matches have become my favorite part of the day.

  “I made those calls,” he states, and then moves a knight across the board.

  I lean forward slightly in anticipation of what his next words might be.

  “I think we can make it happen—”

  That’s as far as he gets before I leap out of my seat, almost upsetting the entire board, and dash around the table to throw my arms around him.

  He laughs, and pats my back gently. “I know you are having a tough time with things right now, Vivvi,” he acknowledges. “You more than deserve a chance to enjoy yourself without having to worry about all this for a while. Just promise me no more evening outings without security, deal?”

  “Deal,” I reply sheepishly. Apparently Richard has a big mouth.

  “And it can only be for one semester, not a full year,” he continues. “There are some events in the spring the Royal Coun
cil needs you to be home for.”