Page 83 of Save a Wish

“Watch the suit, guys.” He attempted to shrug free of the guards’ hold. “It might not be encrusted with royal jewels, but it’s worth some coin.”

“Who are you?” my father demanded.

“It doesn’t matter who he is,” Cian said. “He’s interrupting a royal wedding. He must be arrested, detained, questioned, punished.”

“And I’ll submit to all of that fun,” Beckett said, “if Princess Aislinn here can answer one simple question.”

He knew my real name? Who I really was? And he came here knowing I’d lied to him? My heart pounded in my chest at the sight of Beckett, at knowing he’d come all the way to Verdalach, at hoping I still meant something to him.

“This isn’t some fairytale where a strange intruder can make demands,” Cian said. “Princess Aislinn will not answer any of your questions.” He looked at the guards. “Take him away.”

The guards yanked Beckett back, away from the altar. Seeing him manhandled like that made something inside me snap.

“Wait!”

“Aislinn . . .” My father’s voice was full of warning, but I’d had enough of him, my mother, Cian. Of their old-world philosophies. Of this cathedral.

And certainly of this godforsaken dress.

“I am Princess Aislinn of Verdalach,” I said. “I have royal authority here by birth.” I glared at Cian. “I do not need to siphon it from someone through marriage.” I turned toward the guards. “Let that man go.”

The guards hesitated and looked to my father and Cian.

“I said let him go! Failure to comply will be considered treason against the monarchy.” My voice had never held such authority.

The guards slowly released their grip on Beckett’s arms and he smoothed his hands down his suit jacket.

“I’m pretty miffed at you, Princess,” he said, “but I have to admit . . .” His lips tipped up on one side. “Hearing you go all royal on these guards is so hot.”

A few gasps sounded from the onlookers, but the louder reaction was laughter.

“Who is this man?” Cian demanded.

When I looked at him, his face was scrunched up in disgust, making him appear sinister.

“Why was my sister willing to marry you?” I asked.

Cian’s shoulders lowered and his entire body deflated. That disgust on his face shifted to . . . to . . . my word, was that anguish?

“Maeve was . . .” He pressed his hand to his heart and rubbed as if he’d felt an actual ache there. “Maeve was everything.”

My mother released a sob and my father immediately collected her in his arms, his eyes full of tears as well.

“Oh, my. You . . . you loved her,” I said. “Cian, you actually loved Maeve.”

Cian closed his eyes, a grimace of pain tightening his face. “More than anything.”

“You haven’t wanted me the entire time I haven’t wanted you.” A feather could have knocked me to the ground over this realization.

And apparently my parents had known about Cian and Maeve because my father, still clutching my crying mother to his chest, was shaking his head and saying I’m sorry to both of us over and over again.

“My father insisted we continue to pursue the alliance between our countries,” Cian said, “and it’s my duty to make wise political moves, but . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut again. “But I only really wanted Maeve. When she died, so did I.” Opening his eyes, he gestured to himself. “The bitter, arrogant, overbearing monster you see before you now is trying to survive the biggest heartbreak in the history of heartbreaks. I’m sorry, but I can’t ever want you, Aislinn.”

“I can,” Beckett said, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “I can want you if I get some questions answered.”

My father released my mother, swiped at his own eyes, and squared his shoulders, seeming to remember we were in a crowded cathedral with everyone watching us. “This wedding—”

“Is not happening,” I interrupted. “No political alliance is worth two people being miserable for their entire lives.” I reached a hand out and hooked it on Cian’s arm. “You should have told me about Maeve.” I thought about the times we’d been physical. It had felt like conquering because Cian had been trying to defeat his grief over losing Maeve. A sense of duty—ingrained in us at such early ages—had us submitting ourselves to things no rational person ever would.