Page 26

“I remember when she had her accident. My mother was a mess. She made Lock and I both sleep in bed with her that night so every time she woke up, she knew we were there.”

Despite the conversation, a small giggle at the image slips out. They were almost teenagers then; Beau would’ve been eleven and Lock twelve. But I can understand why the Queen would’ve wanted them close. Beatrice was only ten when she died, and I was eight.

“My mother slept on the floor of my room for the first week after her death,” I admit. “Then once she could stomach going into Beatrice’s room, she slept in there for almost a year. It… it shredded my parents. I’m surprised they both made it through.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. Even though it’s been many years since she passed, those early days of grief’s memories are raw.

“I remember you two being close,” Beau says with a gentleness that makes the lump grow.

I take a deep sip of wine, willing it to go away. “We were. While I always knew there was a lot of expectations on her shoulders at such a young age, she never took that out on me.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

Desperate to focus on anything other than the memories of Beatrice helping me with my hair, swinging together outside, playing dress-up in her clothes, I cling to the lifeline he offered me. And by the look on Beau’s face, he knows what he’s doing. “Oh?”

“Lock never let me forget our rank growing up. He always made sure to remind me that he would be king one day, and I’d have to listen to everything he said.”

“I bet that went over well.” I smirk.

Beau drums his fingers against the table. “Yeah, just about as well as you’d think. He’s cooled off with it as adults, but we don’t see much of each other now. Both too busy, so he doesn’t have the chance to neg me all the time with it.”

“Beatrice never once held that over me,” I say. “I mean, her future wasn’t set in centuries of bloodline like yours and Lock’s, but we knew.” Beau confirms it with a single nod. “And then once my parents dug themselves out of the hole that she left… I knew.” Knew what was in store for my sister, was now passed onto me.

“Did it scare you?”

I let my head fall back and stare up to the ceiling. “I mean, I don’t think I fully understood what it meant then. I was too young to fully wrap my brain around it. Hell, maybe I still can’t quite fully picture it. I’m still getting used to the cameras everywhere at every event. And like right now, us having to sit in a private room and enter through the back alley just to avoid being spotted and sold out, that’s what my life is going to be.”

“It’s a whole different world. It looks fun from the outside, but you’re just starting to see the tip of the iceberg. I hope you can handle it.”

He says it so seriously, without any trace of humor, that a rock settles in my stomach. Needing to lighten the mood, I say, “Well, I just hope for your sake then that your status as the spare remains intact.”

Beau barks out a sharp laugh. His eyes gleam in the low lighting as he looks at me. “Me too, Princess.”

As dinner progresses and we move from entrees to dessert to our final glasses of wine, I find myself seeing Beau in a new light. That pretty-boy prince facade has faded, diminished, with each question asked and answered and truth unveiled. Sure, there’s still that playful spirit to him in the way he swirls his wine and smiles freely. But there’s a mature grace to the way he holds his shoulders and engages in conversation.

I find myself not caring that I missed my show tonight, or thinking about all the negative connotations people attach to the prince sitting across from me.

Tywin comes back and tries to refuse payment, so Beau slips a wad of money on the table when he leaves. He rises steadily and comes to stand by my side of the booth.

“Can I show you something?” He holds his hand out to me, and I’ll probably blame it on the two glasses of wine tomorrow, but for the first time tonight I don’t hesitate in doing something that he asks.

I simply take his hand and say, “Lead the way.”

Ten

We don’t go far. In fact, he leads me out the back door, into the alley, and makes me climb up a rickety ladder attached to the restaurant that does not seem up to code at all. But he insists it’s fine and follows behind me, assuring that if I fall then he’ll cushion the landing.

I really would like to avoid crushing the Prince into the dirty alley floor.

When I reach the top, I shakily step a foot onto the roof. “I should’ve taken my heels off,” I mutter. But too late now.

A warm hand presses against my lower back. The contact zips through me, almost throwing me more off balance than I was without the support. I push off my other leg and find stable ground on the concrete. Beau joins me a moment later.

“Over here,” he says and beckons me to follow. His steps are unfaltering, even with being two stories high. I gingerly walk behind him.

“What are we doing up here?”

In answer, he stops at the middle point of the roof, and without hesitation, sits down. Dress pants that probably cost more than my rent, straight onto the concrete. He laughs at the look on my face.

“Just sit. You own a washing machine, don’t you?”