To Protect a Princess Read online

  To Protect a Princess

  (Regency Royals Book 1)

  Jess Michaels

  Copyright © 2021 by Jess Michaels

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To Harry and Meghan, for making me want to break a monarchy and write a better happily ever after.

  * * *

  And to Michael, a prince and a king amongst men.

  Author’s Note

  There are a lot of conversations about the concept of Content Warnings in books and for other media. Having suffered from panic attacks that were triggered by trauma, I would NEVER wish that on my worst enemy. I want you to enjoy what you’re reading, never be pulled away because you were surprised by triggering material. So, I will do my best to include Content Warnings in an author note in each book from now on. Also, look to my website for them, so that you don’t accidentally buy a book that might give you pause.

  * * *

  Content Warning: Physical Assault on heroine (on page).

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Enjoy this sneak peek of Earl’s Choice

  Also by Jess Michaels

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Spring 1817

  The Season of 1817 would become known for a great many things in the end, but at the beginning, all of Society was buzzing about one thing: the visit from the king and his family.

  But they weren’t referring to their own king, gouty and mad in his tower. Or their future king, who flitted from brothel to brothel with his demands for champagne with breakfast while his people suffered. No, the talk was about an entirely different monarch: the King of Athawick.

  Such a tiny island for such a big stir, and yet Princess Ilaria, youngest sibling and only sister of the king, knew there would be stir. There was always stir when it came to her family. Their island’s situation along the trade routes of the North Sea had made them important for centuries…and precarious if she could believe her eldest brother when he spoke, eyes hollow and distant, that newly placed crown so heavy on his head.

  She leaned against the railing of the ship and closed her eyes as the salt air caressed her face. Every moment took them closer to England. Closer to a few months of madness. Her brother, of course, would not remain for that entire time, but their mother was insistent that Ilaria and her second oldest brother, Remington, take a Season in London. And their mother was not one to be denied.

  “Your Highness?”

  Ilaria opened her eyes and squinted against the bright reflection of sunlight on the water before she turned. Her brother’s steward, Stephen Blairford, was standing there, his lips pressed in a tight, irritated line, just as they always were. She had never liked the man, not before when he served their father, not now when he served Grantham.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The king and the queen desire your presence,” he said. “Immediately.”

  The way he added the last made it sound like an order. And she supposed it was, though it chafed. Here she was presumed to take precedence, but courtiers carried power. And this one knew it.

  “Very well.” He motioned as if he would lead her, and she jerked away from him. “I know where the family quarters are, Blairford. Thank you.”

  She walked away and, to his credit, Blairford didn’t follow. At least he knew his place that far. She made her way through the doors that led off the ship deck and through a narrow hallway to a large, ornately carved door. It was open at present, and she could hear the voices of both her brothers and her mother drifting into the hallway.

  “…how she will react…” came her mother’s voice, and Ilaria stiffened. That didn’t sound positive.

  She thrust her shoulders back and entered the opulently decorated drawing room that was part of the royal family’s quarters on the ship taken from Athawick’s small but powerful armada. Occasionally this vessel served the family so it was finer than the rest.

  “How who will react?” she asked as she pulled the door shut behind them for privacy.

  Her brother, the new King of Athawick, stood ramrod straight in the middle of the room, every line of his clothing perfect, every hair in place. She could scarcely even recognize him as the brother who had run with her through fields in Athawick a decade before, two decades. He looked stern and cross and…tired. She could see he was tired.

  Her mother, Queen Giabella, sat on a settee in the middle of the room, a cup of tea perched in her fingertips. She was stunningly beautiful, no matter her years. Her thick, dark hair was only slightly touched by gray and her sharp brown eyes flitted over Ilaria from head to toe…judging, no doubt.

  Her mother’s secretary, Dashiell Talbot, sat at the escritoire on one side of the room, a quill poised over a thick sheet of vellum. Ilaria’s heart sank. Unlike Grantham’s man, she adored Dashiell. He’d been working for her mother for nearly a decade and was always wonderful. But when he was about to take notes, it meant something official was happening.

  Last, but certainly not least because he wouldn’t allow it, was Remington. Her second oldest brother leaned lazily against the mantel, a drink in his hand and a bored expression on his face. Remi did his best to play layabout prince, though Ilaria knew there was far more to him than just that. He arched a brow at her, held her stare.

  God’s teeth, something was going on and she dreaded it down to her toes.

  “You know, before you answer my question,” she said, crossing to the sideboard. “I think I need a drink.”

  Her mother pursed her lips. “I expect that sort of thing from Remi, but you really must be more proper, especially as we enter English Society, my dear.”

  Ilaria bit back a sharp retort, but she still poured her drink and then crossed to stand beside Remi at the fireplace. He gave her a side glance that said multitudes.

  “You called me here, Your Majesties,” she said. “And clearly it isn’t about family business in general, but about me. So what is it? How could I have possibly offended during the last day and a half on board a ship in the middle of the North Sea?”

  Grantham took a step toward her. “You’ve offended no one, Ilaria. Mother and I simply believe it is…time to discuss…the…the…”

  “The future,” their mother finished with a quick look toward Dashiell at the desk. He lifted his gaze as if sensing the queen’s stare. He gave a tiny nod before he went back to madly scribbling.

  “At present the future entails us disembarking on the shores of foggy, dirty London,” Ilaria said. “And spending what will surely be a few boring months of balls and official events. I’ve agreed to attend them all in order to help you, Grantham. What else could you possibly wish of me?”

  Her mother rose from the settee and moved toward her, dark eyes locking with Ilaria’s. Now her heart rate rose, fear fluttered.

  “It is time for you to be married, Ilaria,” t
he queen said softly, almost gently. “At twenty-five, some would say high past time, and perhaps we would have pushed this issue sooner if not for your father’s illness and death. But here we are, and we have been granted an opportunity by the fact that your brother has been officially coronated at last and the world has some interest in our family’s tour.”

  “England is not the world,” Ilaria snapped.

  Remi chuckled. “They believe they are. They’re certainly trying to conquer enough of it.”

  “That is the material problem,” Grantham said, his gaze growing sharp as it focused on Remi. “Yes, they are land mad and resource mad. And Athawick may not have much of one, but we have plenty of the other thanks to the trade route. Generations of our family have fought and occasionally died to remain out of the Empire’s reach, and I will not have that all fall apart during my watch. Ilaria, you are of an age to marry. And if you are linked to an important family of Britain, there is some thought that it will continue to protect Athawick.”

  She blinked. “You are going to barter me for freedom.”

  Grantham flinched, but then he hardened his expression. “Not my own, I assure you. But for our country…yes, I suppose you could call it that.”

  He turned away so he couldn’t see her reaction, Ilaria thought. The one she couldn’t keep from her face. It was as if someone had rolled one of the big waves on the sea right over her and she was now drowning in this new reality.

  “Was this…was this always the plan?” she asked. “During all this preparation for this journey, were you two always lying to me about its purpose?”

  The queen stepped toward her and caught her hand. Her mother’s fingers were warm against her cold ones, and she squeezed gently. “We were not…sure how you would react, Ilaria. You have always been so independent.”

  Ilaria cocked her head. “Not so much anymore, I suppose. You will assure that, as will he.” She jerked her hand from her mother’s and used it to point at her brother’s broad back. Then she turned on the other brother at her side. “Did you know about this, Remi?”

  He lifted his hands. “No one tells me anything, darling, you know that. I’m just the spare.”

  “Remi, that isn’t helpful,” the queen said with a sharp gaze for her younger son. “Ilaria—”

  Ilaria shook her head. “You waited until now to tell me while I was trapped on a ship and had no escape. You waited until we were half a day’s journey to the shores of what you desire to be my prison. How could you, Mama? How could you do that?”

  Grantham pivoted. “Your mother did not make this decision. Your king did. And you will respect both of us.” He said the words harshly, but Ilaria could see the doubt in his gaze. The regret. But it didn’t matter. As he had said, he didn’t make this decision as her brother, but as her sovereign. They were certainly not the same man.

  She swallowed hard and executed a small curtsey toward her mother. “Your Majesty.” She pivoted and did the same toward her brother. “Your Majesty. Is that all? May I be excused?”

  Grantham’s jaw tightened. “You will not fight this?”

  “How could I?” she said softly, even as her mind spun off in a dozen different directions trying to find a way to do just that. “May I be excused?” she repeated.

  She could see him grinding his teeth, but he inclined his head. “Yes.”

  She turned on her heel and exited the room, her hands shaking as she fled down the hallway to her own chamber. She rushed inside and slammed the door behind her, leaning on it with both hands as she tried to regain some semblance of control over her senses.

  “Your Highness?”

  She pivoted and found her companion, Sasha Killick, standing behind her, hands clasped and worry on her face. After the death of her parents when she was just a little girl, the royal family had taken her in and raised her alongside their own children. Not quite an equal. No, her father had required that. But Sasha was almost like Ilaria’s own sister, as well as her companion…and when situations required it…her body double. They looked alike enough from a distance to serve that purpose.

  Today, though, she only saw her friend and rushed forward to grasp Sasha’s hands. “They are going to marry me off to some titled twit.”

  “What?” Sasha gasped and drew her to the settee before the low fire.

  Ilaria told her what had happened, perhaps with a little more flourish than was required, but she was being bartered with like a horse, for heaven’s sake. If there had ever been a time to be dramatic, this was it.

  When it was all over, Sasha sat there, staring off into the fire, an inscrutable expression on her face. At last, she sighed. “I suppose we might have guessed this would happen. After all, royal marriages are very rarely for love or by choice of the particular parties. Look at your mother and father. They were a union to shore up alliances between Athawick and the kingdom of Everlay.”

  “And two more miserable people you never could have met,” Ilaria sighed. “And this is what they wish for me. In these modern times.”

  “I think you’re being a little silly, if you thought you would ever be truly in control of your future. You know that is not what your family is about.”

  Ilaria bent her head. Sasha wasn’t wrong, of course. There were duties and expectations on her shoulders. There always had been. And yet somehow she had been able to ignore this possibility because her marriage had not been a topic of discussion since her father was alive. Grantham was such a different man from that cold, cruel bastard, she had hoped…

  Well, it didn’t matter now.

  There was a light knock on her door and she huffed out a breath. “Probably my mother come to scold me.”

  Sasha squeezed her hand and then went to the door. But when she opened it, it was not the queen but Remi who leaned in her doorway.

  “Sasha,” he said with a wink toward Sasha as he entered the room.

  “Your Highness,” she returned as she closed the door behind him.

  “Ugh, please don’t do that,” he said. “We’re practically brother and sister, and I hate it.”

  “That’s why I do it,” Sasha teased. “And also because Blairford would blister my ears if he heard me being overly familiar.”

  “That piece of shit,” Remi muttered as he flopped down on the settee next to Ilaria and slouched down.

  “He looked so smug when he came to collect me,” Ilaria said with a roll of her eyes. “You know he was part of this grand plan.”

  “Probably. He held the strings for Father and he’s not going to let go of them easily for our brother.” Remi shook his head. “Proximity to power is addictive, as we see every day.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

  “Terribly,” she said. “How about you?”

  He laughed. “Me? I’m right as rain. They’re not marrying me off to a simpering British virgin with no wit.”

  “You think not?” Ilaria said. “You’re the second in line for the throne now, Remi. You’re still in the crosshairs until Grantham finds a bride and produces a few heirs of his own to usurp you.”

  He flinched. “Christ, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well, you should,” Ilaria grumbled. “If only so I don’t have to be in this hateful situation by myself.”

  He grabbed for her hand, and for a moment her rapscallion of a brother looked serious. “I am…sorry, Ilaria.”

  “I know,” she murmured, and rested her head on his shoulder. “I wish I could be like you and thwart them at every turn.”

  He chuckled. “If you started doing that, they’d have me shot for being a bad influence. Are you trying to get me shot?”

  “If it would distract from this plan of theirs, perhaps?” She twisted her lips and batted her eyelashes at him. “Just in the leg maybe? Or the arm?”

  He snorted out a laugh and pushed back to his feet. “Look, I’ll try to talk to Grantham for you, but he doesn’t listen to me anymore, not since he took the title. But I’ll make
the effort.”

  She smiled up at him. For all his foolishness, he was a good brother and she adored him for it. “Thank you.”

  He gave the most ridiculous bow of all time and then saluted Sasha. “Ladies,” he said as he swept from the chamber.

  But once he was gone, Ilaria couldn’t help but think of what he’d said. In jest, perhaps, but still something to consider.

  “What if I did that?” she asked out loud.

  “Shot him in the leg?” Sasha asked mildly. “He might deserve it.”

  “No, not shoot him. Thwart them.” She sat up straighter. “What if I thwarted their plans just like Remi always does?”

  Sasha’s brow wrinkled. “By drinking too much and seducing young women and generally having a good time?”

  “I’ve never seduced a young woman,” Ilaria mused. “I don’t know that I’d hate it. But I think playing a little fast and loose with a young man or two might be the better way to frustrate their plans. Our island might not be so prudish about that sort of thing, but I know theirs is.”

  “Ilaria, think this through.” Sasha’s concern was plain on her face. “There would be consequences for any actions you take against the Crown. Your mother and the king are not to be trifled with.”

  Ilaria pursed her lips. Her friend wasn’t wrong. She loved her family, but her mother and brother were forces of nature, and driven to protect the Crown. “But are there not consequences for falling in line, as well? Namely a loveless, empty marriage to some man who will marry me only for money and power?”