Royally Rearranged (Sweet Royal RomCom, #1)

by Emma St. Clair

Turning back to the king and queen, I continue. “I mostly kept to my studies. I’ve never been one for the typical social life, so I can’t speak to that. But I quite enjoyed the independence and loved my coursework. I also met some great friends.” Only one in actuality, but Kat’s personality is big enough to count for a handful of friends.

The truth is most people thought of me as stuck up and wrote me off without ever giving me a chance. Even the few times I allowed Kat to drag me out to events, people either didn’t talk to me because I’m a princess, or only talked to me because I was a princess. I don’t think Henri and Juliet would have the same problem.

“Remind me what you studied,” the king says. “Geology and socioeconomics. With a concentration in French literature.” “That’s quite a course load,” the queen says. “You’re quite impressive, Princess,” Rafe says, and Callum glares. “She is.” Callum puts an arm over the ...

“So, Cal,” Rafe says, lounging back in his chair like a proper scoundrel. “I was under the impression you would be Serafina’s date to the ball. But I hear you’ve got yourself a new American bird.” Callum bristles. He hates being called Cal. Apparently, he doesn’t mind Callie, which in my estimation is far worse. “You sure seem to be apprised of the royal gossip,” Callum says, his tone sharper than I've heard it before.

Rafe wipes his mouth, hiding his smile behind the napkin. “I think you mean Legolas,” he suggests. “Played by Orlando Bloom.” The queen mother beams at Rafe. “That’s the one. He makes an ugly pirate though.” “Can’t argue with you there,” Rafe says.

All through dinner, I’m all too aware of Callum’s presence beside me, his warmth and familiar steadiness. Every so often, he leans close to whisper comments or bring up a memory or private jokes. It’s almost like old times, except I can’t stop thinking about the pressure I’m under. And I can’t escape Rafe’s gaze, which counteracts Callum’s steadiness by making me feel unsettled. Thankfully the tension between him and Callum eases as we move through the meal.

I’d like nothing more than to escape to my room for an early bedtime. But not before dessert. Never run before dessert. When—if—I’m queen, perhaps I’ll make this my motto. I take a bite of tiramisu, barely holding back a groan. Creamy, delicious, rich—it’s the kind of food that would have me tempted to lick my plate if I weren’t surrounded by people. I do my best to pace myself, but it’s a challenge.

“You’re welcome to have mine as well, Princess.” Rafe’s eyes twinkle as he holds out his plate. I look down and realize that mine is empty, save for a smear of chocolate. How disappointing. “Oh, I couldn’t. You should enjoy it yourself,” I tell Rafe. “I insist,” Rafe says. “I can see how much you’re enjoying it.” Leaning across the table, Rafe switches my empty plate with his untouched d...

Callum bristles and practically growls beside me, and I find myself irritated with all his bluster. Why should he be irritated if Rafe shares a dessert with me? “Thank you,” I tell Rafe. “My pleasure.” “So, Rafe, how have things been since y...

I don’t know much about the situation, but two years ago, right after entering the Elsinorian royal guard at the same time Callum did, Rafe was discharged. The papers reported medical reasons, but there were also ugly rumors about his uncle covering up for desertion. Rafe’s lips press into a thin line, and a frown ghosts across his face. He recovers a moment later and finds his smirk again. “I’ve been fine. And I’m sure the royal gu...

“Not much free time when I have a duchy to keep and maintain.” Rafe has a fairly substantial duchy, inherited when his parents died, and kept under his uncle’s control until he was eighteen. I believe it includes a few small towns and a valley which grows barley, wheat, and rapeseed. He’s young to control so much, and my heart aches at the reminder that Rafe lost his family when he was so young. He doesn’t have anything close to what’s represented at this table—loving parents and siblings. Just his uncle, a man who seems hard, cold, and conniving. I’ve only seen the baron with Rafe a handful of times over the years, but there was never any warmth between them, no kindness.

Callum stands and extends his hand to me, a smile tugging at his lips. “May I claim a dance?” Despite my clumsiness, dancing is a chance to be in Callum’s arms, perfect for my plan—though the plan is the last thing I want to be thinking about. I stand. “Of course.” Rafe calls, “Save me a dance as well, Seraf. If you’ll have me.” Before I can answer, Callum practically drags me to the floor like some kind of caveman. I almost trip over the fringe at the bottom of the curtains. “Slow down,” I protest. “Sorry,” Callum grumbles, pulling me into his arms.

After a few minutes, Callum breaks the silence. “You should be careful of Rafe. He’s up to something. He and that uncle of his.” “You’ve been warning me off Rafe for years. Honestly, I’m beginning to take offense.” “Right, well. He’s very charming, and I’d hate to see him get his hooks into someone like you.” I raise a brow. “Someone like me?” “Someone sweet and kind and good.” I know those are all compliments, but somehow, they don’t seem that way. They are the same kinds of words one might use to describe one’s sisters. Or the elderly woman living in the flat next door. “I can handle myself, Callum.” “Can you?” His brow furrows a little. “I don’t mean anything by it, only, I know you haven’t dated much.”

Callum seems just as relieved to move on to other topics. “You look lovely tonight,” he says, but before I can respond to the compliment, he continues. “Though you seem a bit sad around the eyes.” Yes, well, I have you to thank for it. “I think I’m still recovering from exams.” “You?” His eyes twinkle. “If you haven’t changed, you were probably prepared for them three months ago. Congrats, by the way. I understand you graduated with honors.” “Thank you.”

For a moment, we dance in silence. Then Callum speaks in a low voice, one that has my stomach tightening. “Ever wish things were different?” he asks. “That we didn’t have all of these duties and restrictions? That we were just Callum and Fi, a typical guy and girl without all these things hanging over us?” I study his face, so handsome, so familiar. I swallow, trying to clear whatever emotion is trapped there. “All the time.”

Except, I realize even as I’m answering, I don’t wish that. As much as I resent some of the requirements—especially the ones that feel particularly arbitrary—and my current predicament, I look forward to serving my country. I was born to do it, and I’m thrilled to do so. It’s an honor, and I wouldn’t wish it away. Not even ...

A little over a day ago, my thoughts were consumed with Callum, wanting to be this close to him. Closer, even. Why am I suddenly feeling like my own skin is too tight? Why doesn’t it feel the way I thought it would to have him hold me close? Callum’s fingertips begin to slide along my hip, the slightest movement, but it has the subtlety of a blowtorch. I’m hot all over, and not in the good way. It’s panic, or maybe I’m on the verge of heatstroke in this completely unbreathable fabric. I try to think Ice Princess thoughts and regulate my body temperature. I should want this. I should want him—or is it that I need him?

Surely, this is something. I’m not imagining the connection between us, borne of childhood friendship and blooming into something more. Kat is right—we have history. He also has a girlfriend.

Callum’s thumb grazes my cheek, and our eyes lock. My heart thuds in my chest, but it’s as much with dread as it is anticipation. This just feels … wrong. I shiver as his thumb continues to coast along my skin, over the apple of my cheek and landing near the edge of my jaw. It is a classic I’m about to kiss you move.

“Fi.” My name on Callum’s lips is like a gravelly, desperate plea. I’ve wanted to hear him say my name like that for so long. But not anymore. Not when he has a girlfriend. I can’t. It’s not who I am. And if this is who Callum is, maybe I don’t want him either.

“Of course not. It would take more than a vengeful swan to diminish your beauty,” he assures her. Callum’s arm goes from her elbow to her shoulders, drawing her in closer. He presses a kiss to the top of her coiffed hair.

I try to slip away, but Brit stops me, reaching out her good arm to take my hand. Her eyes glow with pleasure as she looks at my dress. I’m not sure what she sees that I don’t, but I still look like I’m wearing a maternity dress made of curtains. “I cannot thank you enough for wearing my dress, Princess Serafina,” she gushes, giving me a small curtsy. Callum grins. “No need to be so formal. It’s just Fi.”

“Serafina will do.” My tone is a little prim, so I locate my formal smile and fight to find something positive. “And it’s an honor to wear an original design of yours.” There—that was ni...

How quickly can I make it to an exit? Before I can do so, a hand curls around my waist, pulling me snugly against a solid body. Rafe grins down at me. “Mind if I steal the princess for a dance?” I’m not sure who he’s asking, since Callum has already let me go. When I look like I’m going to argue, Rafe adds, “Don’t make me beg.” He leans closer, until his warm breath is a spring breeze moving over me. “Though I’m not above begging when it’s something—or someone—I really want.”

Under normal circumstances, I would shove him off and tell him to go find someone else to charm. But I am tilting like a three-legged chair and desperately need steadying. Rafe’s body is a solid presence against mine, his hand on my waist somehow reassuring. I find myself relaxing against him, batting my eyes up at him in my best attempt at flirty eyes. “We can’t have the Duke of Weldon stoop to begging, now can we?” Rafe looks delighted by my response and wastes no time twirling me away. One glimpse at Callum’s face shows a look which, if I didn’t know better, resembles jealousy.

“I’m not sure how you manage to be so light on your feet in that dress, but I applaud you, Princess.” Rafe’s tone is teasing and light, and it’s exactly what I need at the moment. “It must be your lead, because I’m rubbish at dancing, especially in this dress. ...

Rafe tosses his head back and laughs fully, not missing a step. I find my eyes drawn to his neck and the light shadow of stubble below his chin where his throat bobs. When his eyes meet mine again, they practically glow, like the sun shining through some kind of amber cryst...

You really are a vision, despite the monstrosity of a dress. I heard Brit mention the design was hers. Let me guess: you agreed to wear it because you felt guilty about the swans?” “How did you know?” “I know you better than you think, Princess. Tell me, did you train them to attack?” His smile turns teasing. I narrow my eyes. “No. I most certainly did ...

I glance over at Brit and Callum dancing. He may have her in his arms, but his eyes are fixed on me. Or … is he simply glaring at Rafe? “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I confess. “For the record, Callum is a fool. He has no idea what he’s missing out on.”

Letting go of my hand, Rafe cups my cheek and oh my stars! How does any woman’s resolve not crumple under the weight of his attention! It’s heady and intense, to the point where I swear I can almost see it drifting off him like magic dust. His warm eyes are somewhere between chocolate and caramel. Both are delicious.

Maybe later I’ll regret it, but for now, just for a moment, I let myself fall just a little bit under Rafe’s spell. His words and his touch are a balm, soothing the sting of rejection and h...

Rafe’s fingertip moves dangerously close to the corner of my mouth, and my breath hitches even before his words hit me. “Seraf, I would never take you for granted. It would be simply impossible.” I laugh nervously. “Did you hit the wine too hard at dinner, Rafe?” His eyes...

Rafe trails his finger over my face, as though he needs to touch every place Callum just did, to stake his own claim. I realize we’re still standing in the middle of the room, not dancing, not even swaying. His intensity keeps me pinned in place. I can’t look away from his eyes, which means I also can’t stop thinking abo...

“You don’t look like you believe me, Seraf,” he says. “I just … maybe I just see myself a little more realistically than you seem to.” “What does that mean?” His jaw tightens. Callum’s words from earlier echo in my mind. Someone like you. “I just know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I come with a lot of strings and requirements. And it’s not like I’ve been fighting off suitors.” “You want a dose of reality?” Rafe pulls me close so ...

“You are gorgeous. Brilliant. A truly good woman. And if given the opportunity, I could make you completely forget Callum in a matter of minutes. But I want mor...

No one has ever spoken to me this way. I didn’t know words could have such a visceral impact. The bold suggestiveness of Rafe’s comments flood me with raw, flaming heat and an electric buz...

lifetime,” he whispers. “Maybe a lifetime would be enough.” This is Rafe, I remind myself. The Royal Rogue. I’m probably not the first or last to hear this little ...

The spell breaks. I stiffen and pull back. “Do those kinds of lines work on other women?” Rafe drags a hand through his inky hair, one side of his smile tipping up, though his smile is more sardonic than happy. “On everyone but you.” I poke a finger into his chest. “And that’s why you’re after me, isn’t it? Because I’...

“Well, I don’t like the chase at all,” I say, my voice hardly more than a whisper. Rafe may be chasing me, but I’m chasi...

My emotions are so close to the surface. If I’m not careful, tears will be spilling down my cheeks in moments. This is the last place I need to let go, and the last person I can let go in front of. I grip him, turning my head into his shoulder, beginning to swa...

“I don’t want a chase. No games,” I tell Rafe’s shoulder, blinking back my tears. “I want to be adored. Cherished. I want someone I can trust. I want a chance at love, even if it has to grow from friendship or from duty first. I’ve always wanted Callum. But it’s time to admit that he doesn’t want me back.” “If you were mine”—Rafe’s arms tighten ar...

The words make my heart tremor, and yet they also cause the first tear to escape. I feel the path it traces over my chee...

There’s no way that the playboy Duke of Weldon truly sees me as some kind of treasure. More like a conquest, or a prize to be won. This is all part of some game he’s playing, a way of getting at Callum. “Treasure?” I scoff, taking a big step back from Rafe and the spell he’s casting with his words, his eyes, and the seeming sincerity in his voice. “I guess you’d know, wouldn’t you? Having pillaged your way through so many treasures. A different one every week over the years.”

“That may have been true of me in the past. But tell me, Princess, who stole more headlines this past year—me or Callum?” His words are a blow, and I feel it deeply. So many times this year, I tried to talk myself out of feeling jealous over photos of Callum with another woman. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t what it appeared. That he was still mine.

“When’s the last time you saw a headline about me?” Rafe demands. “Maybe you’re just upset that your prince and I aren’t so different after all,” Rafe says. “Perhaps neither of us are the men you think we are.”

Apparently not. Because I’m realizing that as charming as Rafe can be with his words, he’s just as skilled at cutting to the quick. Before I can lose control of my emotions any more, the way I always seem to do around Rafe, I yank myself from his grasp. And when I acci...

I’m not only heartbroken, I’m angry. Furious. Not at any one particular person but at everyone, really—myself included. I’m angry with monarchies. With royals and with commoners alike. With binding contracts and laws and expectations, with the need to be proper and keep everything contained.

I’m angry with Callum’s parents and my own for setting all this in motion with their arrangement. Angry with myself for not being honest with Callum about my feelings or anything else. Angry that I thought things would magically work out between us. I’m disgusted that I considered letting Callum kiss me when he has Brit, disgusted that he almost tried. I’m furious with Rafe for sweeping in to rescue me, then wounding me with his words, which weren’t even so far from the truth.

I’m angry that he makes me feel things, when all I want is to be numb. I’m angry with my stupid heart for being so soft, so easily wrecked. I’m angry with Brit for her very existence, and especially angry with her for asking me to wear this horrific, heat-trapping dress.

The harder I sob, the hotter I become. The heat is trapped beneath the heavy drapery fabric and makes me feel like I’m on the verge of detonating. With shaking hands, I untie the cord around the high waist and fan the skirt out, trying to ge...