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‘You need to marry us. Now.’

The old man took a beat. ‘I’m sorry—?’

‘Don’t be, we’re quite delighted. So marry us. Immediately.’

Luca’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened. ‘But there are so many things to—’

‘Thanks to my father, we’re the Las Vegas of Europe with easy marriage requirements to boost tourism numbers. He likes to marry quickly, if you recall. I’m merely following in his footsteps.’ Alex dragged in a breath. ‘Like father, like son.’

Tilly turned. Beneath his tan, Alex had paled. Perhaps he wasn’t as laissez-faire about this crazy decision as he pretended, but from the steeliness in his eyes he wasn’t about to course correct.

‘Prince Alex, you’re—’

‘The Crown Prince,’ Alex flexed.

Luca swallowed. ‘Does the King know—’

‘No and nor will he until after the fact.’ Alex stepped close, his voice dropping. ‘I know you’re good at keeping your mouth shut.’

Tilly’s heart stopped dead. That tone she’d never heard before. Not in all his snarky, sarcastic digs to her over the years, not in the short, sharp arguments she’d heard him have with his father, never had he sounded as quietly bitter as that.

Luca blanched, visibly aging, but equally visibly he gathered his wits and turned to her. ‘I understand you’ve had a difficult day.’

Oh. She couldn’t maintain eye contact. The thought of Luca knowing about that video was mortifying.

He stepped forward. ‘Perhaps I can help you in another way—’

‘Stop,’ Alex hissed. ‘You do not have any power, remember?’

The emotion emanating from him stunned her.

The chaplain bent his head. ‘Perhaps I’ve learned—’

‘I am here for Matilde.’

Alex’s flat, uncompromising declaration landed deep inside her. Hard. Maybe he was only saying it to convince the guy to marry them, but his vehemence shook her. Softened her.

‘If you finally want to help, then do what I ask now,’ Alex added harshly. ‘Don’t delay. Don’t interfere. Just do it.’

Regret bloomed in the old man’s eyes. Alex had clearly got to him but she had no idea how or why or what this swirling undercurrent of extreme tension was.

‘Princess?’ the chaplain persisted.

Tilly inwardly cringed. She had no right to be called Princess. Her mother had demanded the title as a wedding gift and the King used it to imbue obligation, to ensure obedience. Long ago Tilly had asked the palace staff to just call her Tilly. But Luca never did.

‘Is this what you want?’ he asked.

Tilly felt Alex tense even more. Maybe she could have asked the chaplain for help, but oddly there was no one she trusted more than her loathed stepbrother in this moment. They shared the same goal—for her to be free from here.

You should have said no. Loudly.

Her enemy was now her ally.

Now you’ve seen his true colours.

Alex’s grip slackened but Tilly tightened her own fingers to keep the contact strong. Inhaling courage, she lifted her chin.

‘Yes.’ She said it loudly.