Fallen crown, p.1
Fallen Crown, page 1
Fallen Crown
W Million
Stomill Books
Copyright © 2022 by W Million
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and establishments are the product of the author’s imagination or are used to provide authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Model: Dane Peterson
Photographer: J. Ashley Converse Photography
Editing: Red Adept Editing Services
Contents
Bellerive Royals
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
24. Chapter Twenty-Four
25. Chapter Twenty-Five
26. Chapter Twenty-Six
27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
30. Chapter Thirty
31. Chapter Thirty-One
32. Chapter Thirty-Two
33. Chapter Thirty-Three
34. Chapter Thirty-Four
35. Chapter Thirty-Five
36. Chapter Thirty-Six
37. Chapter Thirty-Seven
38. Chapter Thirty-Eight
39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
40. Chapter Forty
41. Chapter Forty-One
42. Chapter Forty-Two
43. Chapter Forty-Three
44. Chapter Forty-Four
45. Chapter Forty-Five
46. Chapter Forty-Six
About W Million
Also By W. Million
Acknowledgments
Bellerive Royals
Series Order
All the books in the series are interconnected standalones.
Fake Crown
Scarred Crown
Heavy Crown
Fallen Crown
Chapter One
Brice
Women love me. It’s some sort of chemical reaction caused by my smile, my toned, tattooed physique, or my princely status. I’ve never questioned a woman’s innate attraction; I’ve accepted it as my lot in life. They love me, and I love all of them.
But judging by Maren Tucker’s glare across the conference table, I still won’t be counting her among my fans anytime soon.
“With all due respect, Your Highness, we’re not putting together this charity adventure race team for a lark. We want to raise money, and we want to have the efforts of the team taken seriously.” My title oozes false sincerity. If we were alone, she wouldn’t bother to pretend. Her tongue is acidic, and I’ve been on the receiving end of her poison more than once. One of a thousand reasons I’d never want her tongue caressing mine. She’d ram it down my throat and laugh as I choked.
“With all due respect, Ms. Tucker, if you want publicity for this team, and if you want the producers of the streaming service to spotlight Bellerive, there is no one better to be on it than me.” As I finish speaking, I scan the conference room to make eye contact with the other board members from the Alzheimer’s Society who are witnessing this exchange.
“That’s a valid point,” Tim Eggleston says. “Being able to lobby the island’s wealthy for donations, suggesting they get behind Prince Brice, especially given the family connection to the disease, would be very beneficial. We can’t discount that. His high profile balances the lack of experience.”
The reminder of my father’s diagnosis causes me to flinch slightly. While my father’s situation is well-known, I’m hopeful the coronation for my older brother, Alex, as king of Bellerive and his appointment to the island’s Advisory Council will move along laws to assist my father and give him greater choices about the quality of his life. I’ve seen what this disease does to people, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, let alone my father. A slow decline until he bares almost no resemblance to the father who raised me.
“We need a team member who will take this seriously,” Maren says.
“We’ll consider the offer, Prince Brice. It’s generous of you to donate your time to training and fundraising for our organization and the race.” Tim surveys the room and takes a deep breath. “We’re in danger of going over our allocation for tonight’s board meeting, so we’ll revisit this at the next one. We have about a month before training needs to commence.”
Maren opens her mouth to protest, but the other members seem to be done with the conversation. She must really hate me to argue my involvement in front of her colleagues. Especially since I’m going to win. Only a fool would turn down the publicity and built-in fundraising. Not to mention the elevated profile our team would have on the documentary-style program funded by InterFlix, the biggest streaming service on the planet. As the director of the Bellerive’s Alzheimer’s Society, Tim is not an idiot. Everyone likes money, and including me on the race team is a license to print it.
The board members rise from their seats, and eight of them file out. Maren is the last one to leave her spot at the table. Outside the door, my security detail awaits. If she’s got something to say to me that she’d prefer no one else hears, her window is short.
“The other team members have done an adventure race before. They understand the training required to do well. They’re committed.” She tucks her long dark hair behind her ears, and her blue eyes, the color of ice chips, meet mine.
“I’m a fast learner.” I give her a suggestive glance meant to annoy. “I can master this. Learned all kinds of skills for all sorts of situations over the years.”
“The skills you’ve learned have nothing to do with a ten-day adventure race.” She scowls. “I guarantee it.” With a huff, she gathers her papers into the folder in front of her. “You only became serious about being a real benefactor to the society when your father was diagnosed. Before that, you were an on-paper, just-for-show, throw-money-at-it guy.”
Acidic. Burns right through me. She’s got me wrong, but it feels right to her and maybe a bit to me too. Throughout my life, I’ve been the third in line to inherit the throne. Pending a large disaster, there was never any chance of me ruling, and I’ve been given a long, often indulgent, leash on royal matters. No one has ever had to take me seriously, and I’ve never cared either way. My brothers have had much different experiences. Alex has the full weight of the monarchy on his shoulders, and Nick has been suffocated by it. Me? I’ve enjoyed the privileges without the same heavy lifting. Being an afterthought, the punch line to a joke, just made me work harder to be liked.
There are few people who’d dare to dislike me so publicly. If anyone can get away with obvious scorn without social or political repercussions, it’s a Tucker. Funnily enough, her billions are inherited, just like mine.
Her complete distaste for me isn’t a surprise, but the longevity is. We went to high school together, although she’s a few years younger than me, and she couldn’t stand me then either. Joke’s on her because I also don’t enjoy her company. Stuck up. Entitled. From one of the oldest families in Bellerive, she’s a trust fund baby who parades around Bellerive. Pretty but ineffective.
“Remind me again how many boards you sit on? How many of those are you throwing money at without putting in adequate work?”
Her nostrils flare, and I wish there was a tally on the wall. Direct hit. One point for me.
“I’m on five, and I work hard for every one.”
“Work hard?” I raise my eyebrows. “You flounce around the island attending cocktail parties and suggesting other people open their wallets.” I’m tempted to ask her what else she opens to get their money, but I’m too well trained by the Bellerive Royals PR team to let that one fly. From what I’ve heard, her husband is also a waste of space, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she sought fulfillment elsewhere. I might hate her, but I’m not stupid enough to comment. Too many people walking around recording private conversations for me to give anyone but family my real opinions.
“I’m training the team.” She breezes past me and out the door. “And I won’t allow the board to put you on it.”
Convincing her isn’t my problem. Tim can overrule her later, but I follow close on her heels anyway. “This cause means a lot to me. I’m passionate about raising money to find interventions, ways to support people with the disease.”
She keeps walking, and I clench my fists while I stay beside her. My two security guards are behind us. Depending on what I’m doing, there are always one or two burly men in attendance.
“You might not understand what it means to be passionate about anything,” I say, “but it means someone will go to any length to get what they want. I want on this team.”
“Passion is overrated.” She whirls on me with her meeting fold
“To succeed, passion and results go hand in hand. If you don’t have them both, well, you’re doing something wrong. I’m sorry that hasn’t been your experience, but I promise you, it’s always been mine.”
“Has it?” Her shoulders relax. “In my experience, women are incredibly adept at pretending passion to stroke the ego of their partner—in any situation. Easy to make a man believe the two go together when a panting production”—she gives me a coy smile—“is all that’s required. Something to think about, Your Highness.” She turns on her heel and sails out the front door.
Goes to show how little she knows me. Any woman faking shit is only hindering her own satisfaction. I get off either way.
Jag, my main security detail, lets out a low whistle. “You want to work with that?”
Working with her is the price I have to pay for what I want. A spot on the team. By the time we leave for the race, it won’t be me wishing I’d stayed out of the event, it’ll be her.
If someone is nice to me, I’m nice in response. Be a dick to me, and the attitude I whip out will be bigger. Much bigger. Get a measuring tape. I dare you.
She wants to block me from participating, and I won’t let her win. She’s about to get a reminder of how influential the royal family can be.
Chapter Two
Maren
After a disastrous board meeting, the last thing I’m after is more bad news. Unfortunately, I booked the appointment with my divorce lawyer, who is also my cousin, for today, since I was already in the area. After some quick retail therapy for another pair of running shoes, I make my way to Caitlin’s office in the center of Tucker’s Town.
I glide through reception and take the stairs to her office. It’s three flights, but I need to let off some steam before I broach another subject that’ll make me extra salty. Fucking Enzo leaving Bellerive and heading to America at the first sign of trouble. Trust me to fall in love with and marry a man who’s a worse husband than my father.
Caitlin’s secretary, Pam, rises from behind her desk when I open the stairwell door. Her broad smile spreads across her weathered face. “You’re one of the few people who doesn’t take the elevator. I hear you’ll be off on another adventure race soon. When was the last one? Six months ago?”
A dark cloud descends over my mood. I shouldn’t be surprised when people bring it up as though I’ll be participating. For years, I’ve trained and raced with my teammates, and I thought I’d race until I died. The exhilaration is addictive. Or it was. Six months ago, I believed a lot of things that turned out to be untrue.
“Taking this race off,” I say. May never race again.
“Still not recovered from your injury?” Pam asks.
The tightness in my gut is almost unbearable, and a hand strays to my stomach. “Just decided to lead in a different way. Is Caitlin available?”
“She’s on the phone, but you can go in. Her mother called.”
Perfect. Caitlin and I can be in foul moods together. I rap my knuckles on the door before entering her spacious office. She rotates her chair away from the ocean view. Her blond hair is in a messy bun, and her glasses are perched on her nose. Whatever her mother is saying causes Caitlin to grimace and roll her eyes at me.
Her mother is my father’s sister, and while my generation is privileged, we’re aware of the silver spoon lodged in our mouths. Most of my siblings and cousins are doing their best to avoid the spoiled or entitled titles. Caitlin does a lot of pro bono work across the island, and I spend my time supporting charities and promoting fundraisers designed to make people’s lives better. Every race I’ve done since I was a young teenager has been in support of a charity, and we’ve always met or exceeded our fundraising goal.
My father’s generation of Tuckers didn’t even realize the table was set for them, let alone acknowledge the spoon feeding them. I’m sure you can imagine how that’s worked out. We’ve been battling their self-centered attitudes for years.
Caitlin holds up a finger. “Mom.” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Mom. I have to go. I have a client.” Her lips purse. “That’s none of your business, but yes, they are a paying client.” She winks at me.
Once she hangs up the phone, her shoulders slump. “Why can’t they just be normal?”
“I blame our grandparents,” I say.
“At least our grandparents thought they were fighting to maintain the Tucker name through the assets they acquired and the things they did. Our parents sold off everything, kept the money, and seem obsessed with amassing more wealth.”
“Mine are still silently seething that King George wouldn’t give them an honorary title.” I sink into the chair across from her. “They really thought they had a chance of throwing my sister at Prince Alexander when he was on the hunt for a wife.”
“Thirsty doesn’t look good on anyone. Doesn’t matter how much money you’ve got.”
Secretly, I was happy my older sister wasn’t interested in luring Prince Alexander, and that was before the debacle with Denmark and his hasty marriage to a foreigner. Between Prince Nicholas and Prince Brice man-whoring around the world since they were teenagers, and Prince Alexander’s notoriously icy attitude, the royal siblings could battle the elder Tuckers for the dysfunctional title.
“Have you given any further thought to filing for divorce?” Caitlin plants her elbows on the table.
“I’m not filing.” I drag my purse onto my lap as a shield. “He can be the quitter. That’s not me.”
“At least let me formally file the separation documents. It’ll give you more options and an easier path to divorce eventually. If you two reconcile, then those documents mean nothing, anyway.” She gives me a searching look. “You seem better since you went on the meds. Maybe you should reach out to him.”
“I’m also not doing that. He blamed me for the...” Even thinking the word causes my stomach to roll. The meds might have evened out my emotions, but they haven’t erased my memories. “Then when I couldn’t get over it fast enough for his taste, he left the country to give us both some space.” I throw my hands out. “That wasn’t what I needed. Maybe if he stayed, I wouldn’t have needed the medication.”
Caitlin doesn’t say anything, but her eyes soften in sympathy. She’s poured herself into her work, and if she wants the life I tried to build for myself with Enzo, she’s never given me any indication. When her parents suggested she put herself forward for Prince Alexander’s wife search, she’d laughed in their faces. Her relationship with her parents is a tad more confrontational than mine. Must be the lawyer in her.
“If you don’t want to divorce him, then one of you needs to reach out.”
When Enzo and I got married right out of college, I never thought we’d be here at twenty-five. Maybe I should have. There was no one in the world more fun to be around than Enzo when times were good. He dominated any room he walked into. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. When he approached me at the campus bar, I became a puddle at his feet. My husband was built for fair weather—sunny skies and warm air.
Rain isn’t his thing. Any time life got rough, he was never quite there. Missed a train, got sidetracked by something else, or showed up but was just a touch closed off. Nothing was ever so dire that I wondered if I could really depend on him. Turns out I should have taken all those tiny rain clouds as a sign he wouldn’t be able to hack the big storms either.
I loved him so much I overlooked his shortcomings, but the moment the door clicked shut on our house and silence surrounded me, they all came rushing to the forefront. What kind of man leaves their wife when she’s at the bottom of a pit of despair?
“I’ll contact Enzo when I can be sure he’s no longer a selfish bastard,” I say. “Might take a while. I think the selfish and bastard parts are quite ingrained.”
“God, Maren. Just divorce him.” She throws up her hands. “No one but you will see it as a failure. As quitting.”
