Simon hadn't been at all like I'd expected.

Instead of arrogant, he was kind. Instead of cold and callously distant, he was filled with a warmth that no photograph or painting could truly capture or convey. Instead of dim-witted, he was intelligent, and he was even funny.

I was conflicted. Completely confused. But not confused enough to know that it was Alistair that I loved beyond reasonable thought.

"You're going to see him again, aren't you?"

Alistair appeared in my doorway, like a ghost that I'd conjured up simply by wanting him too much. His face was made up of harsh lines in the mirror, but even in anger, he was a beautiful man.

I hadn't seen him since the day I'd refused to elope with him, since the day I'd broken his heart.

I slowly rose from my perch on the stool in front of the vanity mirror, as if moving too fast would make him skittish. "You shouldn't be in here, Alistair," I said softly, but my heart was beating like the wings of a bird against my chest. It hurt. Badly.

"I shouldn't? Where should I be, Helena, if not with the woman I love?"

It was early−the house hadn't really woken up yet−but still, I was scared that someone would catch him in my bedroom with me. I rushed to the door and gently closed it, locking him in here with me.

"I have no choice, Alistair."

"There's always a choice."

"Not this time."

My words were final, but the pained look in Alistair's blue eyes was enough to make me want to take them back. It was enough to make me want to forget my family, forget everything, and choose him, if only to remove the pain from his eyes.

"I never thought you'd be the kind of woman to chase after money the way you're doing right now," Alistair said bitterly, after a long moment of silence had passed between us.

"You know exactly why I'm doing this," I whispered.

"No," he said simply, letting me go. "I honestly don't."

His words echoed within me all throughout my date with Simon. I wasn't listening to half of what he was saying, and I was positive that I was coming across as a rude, disinterested idiot, but my heart was too sore to care.

Simon took me walking around the royal grounds. He was going on about something to do with the history of the place, when suddenly, he stopped us short, grabbed me, and pressed his lips against mine.

The kiss lasted for all of five seconds before Simon was pulling back, casting a quizzical look at me.

"You love someone else," he said softly, and I felt my entire body freeze up, much like it had when he'd kissed me.

"No. It's−"

He gave me a soft, knowing smile. "Don't worry, Helena. Your secret is safe with me."

It was an odd response, and I could only surmise that my mother had been right. He didn't care about anything beyond if I had working ovaries. Even then, I felt heat blooming in my cheeks for being so transparent, shame engulfing me like a ball of flames. My mother would be furious if she found out that King Simon was dropping me because I'd been lukewarm to his advances and let on that I was already in love with someone else.

The love I felt for Alistair Lacey was irrevocably etched into my skin. I would have to work on getting it removed.

Simon continued our conversation as if nothing were amiss, for which I was grateful, and when it was time for me to leave, he took my hands in his and squeezed, like you'd do for a friend.

He didn't hug me, he didn't kiss me, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I settled into the car that chauffeured me away.

The only thing I had to look forward to for the night was a good night's sleep, but of course, my mother had been waiting up, listening for my return home. She followed me upstairs and into my bedroom, a ghost who wore expensive perfume.

"Tell me everything, Helena." Her voice was filled with excitement, a feeling I couldn't share. She sat on the edge of my bed, watching me wipe my ridiculous makeup off.

"There's nothing to tell, Mother."

"Nonsense," she told me, waving a perfectly manicured hand at me. "The king has spent the most time with you than any other woman he's courting. If there's nothing to tell, you're not doing it right."

I felt a sob threatening to tear its way up my throat and had to fight to stop it. "We talk. He is very intelligent. The books he reads are−"

"Oh, boring, Helena. Honestly, I couldn't care any less about what books he takes out from the royal library." My mother let out a short laugh. "How does he look at you? He looks far too stodgy to try and cop a feel, but if you'd worn that bra I'd told you to, I'm sure he would have. A woman must use her best assets to her advantage."

"You want me to whore myself out? Is that it, Mother?" I burst out, instantly regretting the words when I caught the look on my mother's face. It was too late to take them back. Move forward. Be brave. "There's nothing right about this. Nothing at all! I'm a human being, with thoughts and feelings and desires. I don't ask for much. I don't want much, Mother.

I don't know if I can do this. Simon deserves someone who can love him completely, and I will never love him when my heart belongs to Alistair."

She had gotten up during my speech, but the slap came out of nowhere.

I didn't scream, but I wanted to. Not because of the pain, but because it was the first real thing I'd felt today, and it hurt to feel something real.

"You sound like a naïve little girl whose mother dropped her on her head as a baby after reading her too many fairytales," Mother hissed at me. "Do you think the king cares about love? Do you think he cares beyond anything but getting married and producing an heir or two? Any floozy would do if it weren't for decorum, Helena, and you'd do well to remember that."

She grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around to face the mirror. "You are intelligent, so you won't struggle to string a sentence together at important dinners. You are beautiful, so King Simon won't have to struggle to make love to you," she proclaimed with pride. "And finally−most importantly−you're a young, fertile woman who won't struggle to produce an heir to the throne. There's nothing more important, I can assure you. Men like to get started on the breeding when there's a lot at stake."

I tasted bile in my throat and pretended it wasn't there. The way she was talking about me...

Like I was the fattest cow at auction.

"I understand," I said. I was too tired to argue, and quite frankly, when Mother was like this, it was best to just tell her what she wanted to hear.

"Good." She heaved out a sigh. "I know you think I'm too hard on you, Helena, but I only want what's best for you. Becoming the Queen of England will grant you a lifetime of stability."

And give you a lifetime of luxury to boot, I thought disparagingly.

She left me after that, and instead of going to bed, I threw a jacket on and went out. My car−the car I'd fought to keep−was parked in the garage, and I got behind the wheel and sped off.

My mother would be annoyed, but I was an adult woman who could drive into town whenever I very well pleased.

If I said it enough times, maybe I'd start to even believe it.

I wound up at my father's grave.

Perhaps if he was still alive, my mother wouldn't be so desperate to sell me off to the highest bidder in the entire world.

If I said that enough times, maybe I'd start to believe it.

"You took the coward's way out," I said to my father's headstone. "You were never to blame, yet you took the coward's way out."

Maybe he was listening. I hoped he was.

After, I drove into town and wandered around on foot, imagining that I was waiting for Alistair to meet me for dinner. It was a stupid thing to do, especially so late at night, but for one night, I wanted to forget my responsibilities.

I wanted to be like the couple I could see just ahead of me, who were swinging their arms together and laughing at something they found funny. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, while the woman was diminutive and easily fit under his arm.

I squinted more closely at the couple.

He was across the street from me, dressed in a more casual attire of jeans and a flannel shirt, but I was sure that it was him. When the light of the streetlamp illuminated his face as he lowered his lips to the dark-haired woman, both their identities were confirmed.

King Simon was kissing Dominique Stewart the way Alistair kissed me.

With so much love that anyone within a one-metre radius would be scorched.