Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
As if the position belongs to her in the first place.
As if the engagement is hers.
As if Crown Prince Finley was always destined to be her husband, as if she was always meant to one day be Queen.
I smirk, tucking my chin into my chest.
If Jasmine hates me now, she’s going to really wish I were dead soon.
She will not be the fiancée announced at that birthday banquet.
She will not be the future Crown Princess.
It’s the only thing left in my life I can stop them stealing, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure her dreams shatter at her feet. I’ll go to Hell and back if it means making my presence known to the Askurg Royal Family.
Crown Prince Finley—and his crown—belong to me.
He’s mine.
No matter what.
“Mum, you have to make sure she doesn’t. She looks just like her mother. If Queen Beatrix sees her, she’s going to ask questions,” Jasmine replies, her slightly whiny tone belying her true fear. “If she orders a paternity test—”
“The queen has better things to do than chase after the ghost of her dead friend’s missing child, much less order a DNA test for a random woman,” Rosalyn interrupts her. “With the birthday banquet and the announcement of the Crown Prince’s engagement, combined with the wedding planned for six months’ after, it won’t matter.”
“Can’t we send her away until I’ve married Prince Finley?”
I barely manage to choke back my laugh as I walk into the kitchen. “That’s a little extreme, Jasmine, don’t you think?”
They both turn to glare at me, but I ignore them as I head for the fridge to collect the iced matcha latte the housekeeper leaves for me every morning.
“Harriet, I swear to God—”
“You don’t need to go that far, Rosalyn dearest,” I say dryly. “I don’t want to be Crown Princess, so you can stop all your make-believe dramas, Jas.” I look at her, closing the fridge behind me. “You don’t need to send me away just because you seem to think I’m hellbent on ruining your life. I couldn’t care less what you do or who you marry.”
My sister stared at me through cold blue eyes. “You’d better not. Don’t go anywhere near the palace.”
“As if I have any business anywhere near the Royal Palace. They’d take one look at me and send me away, especially when I introduce myself as Hannah Porter. I’m a nobody.”
Rosalyn nodded. “You see, darling? Harriet isn’t interested in what you have. She knows she couldn’t deal with such a high-profile role.”
That’s not it, but sure. Whatever helps the treacherous bat sleep at night.
“I just—” Jas starts.
“Think you’re far more important to me than you actually are,” I finish for her, plucking a chocolate croissant from the basket on the kitchen table. “If I wanted to be the Crown Princess, don’t you think I’d have claimed it myself already? It was my engagement to begin with and still would be if I hadn’t gone missing twenty years ago.”
A chill runs through the room, and Jas’ shoulders tense at my reminder. There’s nothing she hates more than when I bring up the fact that I’m the eldest, the legitimate daughter, the one who should be engaged to Prince Finley right now.
That she’d be nothing but a mistress’ secret daughter if not for her mother’s machinations.
As far as I’m concerned, that’s all she is.
All she’ll ever be.
And unfortunately for her, there’s nothing I love more than reminding her of all that.
“Harriet, you’re going too far,” Rosalyn warns me.
“Am I?” I raise my eyebrows, looking down at her. “For all the shit you’ve thrown my way since Dad brought me back, I think you should be more careful in case I change my mind, especially this close to your precious daughter’s big announcement.”
“You—” Rosalyn clenches her jaw, and her hand forms a fist in front of her on the table. “Don’t push it. The only reason you’re still here is because of our deal.”
“Yes, yes.” I wave her off, stepping away from the table. “If I sit tight and don’t tell Dad about all the times you’ve forced me to do things, including taking the blame for the time Jas crashed her car, you’ll make sure I have a suitable marriage after she marries into the Royal Family.”
She nods. “Don’t forget it, either. We’ll claim you, but only once our family’s future is secured.”
‘We’ll claim you,’ she says, as if she has any right to claim or deny my parentage.
As if she’s my mother.
As if the seat she sits in now isn’t bathed with my mother’s blood.
God, she makes me want to poke my eyes out with this glass straw.
“Can’t wait,” I say snarkily, raising my matcha latte in her direction. “Make sure you throw a party that day so we can all get drunk and pretend we’re happy about it.”