Glass Castle Prince Read online

  Chapter 3

  My grandmother’s room. That’s all I could compare to the bedroom I awoke in, the morning sun casting light on the dark room I’d stumbled into around two last night. I’d been too exhausted to pay attention to anything besides finding the bed and collapsing on it.

  Beating a future ruler over the head had a way of depleting a girl’s energy.

  My face twisted as I scanned the thick, brocade curtains, white wicker furniture, and mauve carpet. I wasn’t sure who the royal family ever hosted in this room, but my guess was that they were over the age of ninety or vision impaired.

  Or, as in my case, the hired help.

  When the events of last night replayed in my head, I buried my head into my pillow and groaned. Hopefully the prince and his friends were gone and had no immediate plans of returning. Hopefully they’d forget about the whole thing . . . which was exceedingly unlikely.

  After checking my phone to see if I’d missed any messages—a.k.a. a “You’re fired” one from Mrs. Hutchinson—I rolled out of bed and decided to assess the day’s situation. Until I heard the official word, I would behave like this job was mine until June 1st, as planned. Eight months. I needed the time to figure out what I was going to do with my life.

  After making it down the third-floor west wing, I paused at the top of the stairs to see if I could hear any sounds echoing from the first floor. I knew Prince Edward’s bedroom was on the main floor, but I had no idea if he was an early riser or slept in. Or maybe, if I was really lucky, he and his friends had left in the middle of the night. To actually go on that safari he’d told his family he was on . . . or anywhere for that matter, just as long as he wasn’t here.

  Pausing on the second-floor landing, I glanced out one of the windows that faced the north, where the staff parking area was located just outside of the staff kitchen. I frowned when I saw a gunmetal-gray car there, looking more like a futuristic race car than a four-door sedan.

  Checking my reflection in one of the mirrors I passed, I discovered I should have splashed some water on my face and brushed my hair before getting on with the day and potentially running into who had been voted the most eligible bachelor five years running by every magazine in the country’s circulation. But my goal wasn’t to impress Prince Edward. It was to repel him enough he decided to leave, but not so much he ordered me thrown in some clandestine dungeon lurking beneath the palace’s foundations.

  It was dead quiet when my favorite striped socks touched the ivory marble of the first floor. It was a little before eight in the morning and I was in desperate need of some caffeine and comfort food, but I decided a brief inspection of the dining room, where I’d left the four surprise guests, would be prudent.

  Maybe I could patch things up a bit by offering to make fried eggs and bacon for everyone.

  Because that was how one apologized to a dignitary after assaulting him, right?

  My feet froze as soon as I stepped inside the dining room. “What . . . the . . .”

  I blinked in hopes my vision would clear. A figure draped over the tall chair at the end of the table stirred, a groan rumbling from his chest as he held his head as though something inside were about to detonate.

  “What the hell happened in here?” I cried, my arms flailing at the room that had been clean and put to bed for the season last night. This morning, it appeared to be ground zero for fleet week at a frat house.

  “Dial down the volume, Skillet Ninja.”

  I couldn’t tell who’d said it, as the voice was uneven from the apparent agony the speaker was experiencing.

  “I will not dial down anything until someone tells me what happened here.” My stomach flopped when I noticed a bottle of some alcohol on its side at the edge of the dining table, still dripping amber droplets onto the ornate Persian rug. It was one of the many bottles scattered across the table and floor.

  “Frederick, pour me one more.” James clinked his glass against the table, close to the Duke of Westington, who appeared to have fallen asleep with a bottle of bourbon still clutched in his hand.

  “No more!” I hadn’t intended to shout, but when I noticed the agonized grimaces on two of their faces, I wished I’d been louder. I scanned the room once more to find Edward wasn’t there. He was probably raiding the liquor cabinet for a few more bottles. “Where is Prince Edward?”

  “He’s right over there.” The Duke of Sommerhall, who I was comfortable referring to by his first name of Andrew now that I’d seen him in nothing but his boxer shorts, pointed toward the same chair the prince had been in when I went to bed. His face squished together when he noticed the chair empty. “Or he was right there.”

  Across from him, James lifted his finger to his lips and made a wet shushing sound as he grabbed his head with his other hand.

  “Are you saying you lost the Prince of Norland?” I asked, panicking over which crisis to tend to first: the upturned room or the missing future king.

  “I thought he was with you,” James whispered, though even that seemed to cause him great pain.

  “With me?” I shrieked. “Why in the world would he be with me? I was upstairs in my bed.”

  “Exactly,” James muttered, quieter still.

  My fist curled into the sheet I tore from one of the buffets in an attempt to mop up the liquor spilling onto the carpet. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Claims every good girl until they come face to face with Edward,” Andrew replied as he scooted the ashtray overflowing with cigar butts away from him.

  “Not this girl.” My anger over their accusation only made me scrub the carpet harder, discovering the bottle must have been full when it spilled.

  The comatose Frederick stirred at last, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head, looking almost fresh, as though he hadn’t been a willing participant in a night of debauchery. “He’s probably out on a walk.”

  James snapped his fingers.

  “A walk?” I said, doubt coating my tone.

  “It’s his thing.” Frederick, seeming to notice the bottle in his hand, lifted it to his lips and took a long drink.

  The sight of that made James and Andrew recoil in their chairs.

  “What happened here last night? I thought you said it would be like you weren’t even here.” I gave up trying to sop up any more liquid from the carpet. Nothing short of a professional clean would be up to the task of getting the stain and smell out of the heirloom rug.

  James glanced around the room, a crease drawing between his brows as though he were as surprised by the state of things as I was. “It started out with playing cards, then Andrew suggested we break out the stogies and gin . . . and the rest is kind of a blur.”

  Andrew circled his hand as though he were remembering something. “Then you said we should take a break and run some new rugby plays.”

  My jaw set, but I stayed quiet. That would explain the rugby ball I’d nearly tripped over and the chairs toppled over on their sides.

  “After that, it’s kind of a blur.” James rubbed the back of his head, his wavy blond hair sticking up in unruly tufts.

  “From the looks of it, you demolished every last frozen pizza and bag of chips from the kitchen.” My shoulders rolled forward when I noticed half a pizza smashed into what had been a freshly waxed marble floor.

  “That would explain the indigestion,” James grumbled, reaching for his stomach.

  I crouched on the floor for a minute, waiting for the three of them to snap out of their hangover stupor—and put on some clothes, as far as Andrew was concerned. Instead, snoring was the only action that resulted.

  “Time to get up and pick up your messes, boys.” I clapped, rising to head to the storage room where I’d hopefully find enough household cleaners to fix this mess.

  “Time to sleep it off, then wake up sometime around four and do it all over again.” Frederick yawned then tipped the bottle back one more time.

  “I don’t think so. And wherever you’re plan
ning to have that repeat encounter, it won’t be here.” I paused to make sure my message settled in. “Now get up already and clean up after yourselves.”

  “We have people for that. Lots of people.” Andrew waved off my demand, adjusting himself with the kind of gusto that suggested he didn’t care a woman he’d only just met was in the room.

  “And until ‘your people’ show up, you’re just going to have to pitch in on clean-up duty.”

  “I thought’s that what you were here for.” Andrew rubbed his eyes, his voice so natural it was obvious he didn’t realize how insulting his remark was.

  “I am the house manager.” I exhaled, reminding myself he didn’t know any better. He’d probably only graduated to feeding himself six months ago. The reality of a royal was drastically different from that of the rest of us.

  One of Andrew’s shoulders moved. “Exactly.”

  Leaning into the doorway, I stuffed my hands in my pockets, doing my best to remain calm. “I’m not a housekeeper, a maid, or a nanny. I don’t clean up four grown men’s messes.”

  “Ah, okay. I get it.” Andrew patted his backside as though he were searching for a pocket. When he noticed his pants hanging over the back of the chair beside him, he reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a wallet. He slipped out a handful of bills and tossed them down the table in my direction. “Good now?”

  All it took was one look at my face for him to get the message. Lifting his hands, he dug back into his wallet.

  “It wouldn’t matter how much you had in there, or how much you had in your trust fund. No amount of money would change my mind.”

  “Have you seen my trust fund?” Andrew gave me a look. “Because I’d change my mind on just about anything for that sum of cheddar.”

  I turned to leave since the only thing I was accomplishing was wasting time. I still had dozens of rooms to tend to, and I was not cleaning this one again.

  “Great. I’m surrounded by entitled man-children,” I mumbled once I was in the hall.

  But I wasn’t alone.

  Edward’s face was ruddy and his hair disheveled from what I assumed must have been a cool morning walk. The set of his brows hinted that he hadn’t missed my comment. He didn’t look to be in anything close to the same state his friends were in—no bottles of booze glued to his hand, fully clothed, fresh eyes—though he appeared to be in the same clothes he’d arrived in last night.

  Behind him, two guards lingered, watching me as if they were ready to pounce if I so much as raised my hand.

  My head automatically bowed. “Your Highness.”

  His sigh was instant.

  “Edward.” My throat moved, the address feeling entirely wrong.

  His eyes flashed. “Or Entitled Man-Child?”

  My cheeks warmed. “How’s your head feeling?”

  “Like it got into a collision with a blunt object moving at a high velocity.”

  Watching me shift seemed to amuse him, as though he took pleasure in my discomfort. The sympathy I had felt for whacking him receded some.

  “How long are you going to be here?” I asked.

  “Why? In a hurry to see me leave?” He slid out of his wool coat and perched it behind his shoulder with the crook of his finger.

  “Just curious.”

  “Do me a favor.” When I went to reply, he continued. “You owe me one.” He aimed a grin at me as he rubbed the back of his head.

  “Fine,” I gritted through my teeth.

  “Don’t bullshit me,” he said, making my eyes widen. The royals were known for many things, not swearing being one of them. It was probably considered too pedestrian and common for their heightened position.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He motioned at me. “Bullshit.”

  My hand went to my hip. “Excuse me?”

  Edward didn’t appear the slightest bit affected by my mounting anger. “Everything I say or do seems to piss you off.”

  I let my expression answer that assertion.

  “I could probably hold a press conference announcing I’d found a cure for leukemia and you’d find some way to make it seem like a self-serving stunt.”

  “Because it probably would be.”

  Instead of his face going red or jaw grinding, a few notes of laughter rumbled in his chest. “You’re one of a kind, I’ll give you that, Miss . . .” He seemed to suddenly realize he didn’t know my name. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting.

  After a minute, I walked down the hall, a smirk of my own gliding into place. “You’re going to rule this country one day, right? I’m sure you can think of a way to figure out my name.”

  His eyes followed me until I passed him. “Is that a challenge?”

  I smiled. “More of a dare.”

  Chapter 4

  Halfway through the day, I’d managed to make it through a lot more of the checklist and had winterized and closed up half of the rooms on the first floor. I decided I should probably check on the dining room situation again—to make sure no one had managed to rip the chandelier from the ceiling or steered their blood alcohol levels any higher—and found it in a different condition than how I’d left it this morning.

  Edward was shaking the last sheet back over the dining table when he noticed me.

  “Do you have some on-demand maid service at the press of a fingertip?” I asked, blinking a few times to make sure what I was seeing was real.

  “Doesn’t everyone?” he replied as he smoothed out the wrinkles once the sheet was spread out.

  My nose crumpled. “Must be a royal thing.”

  “Also a royal thing? Knowing how to cover your tracks.” Edward leaned into the edge of the table as he unrolled his sleeves he’d had pushed up to his elbows. “Miss Charlotte Everly.”

  My stomach gave an annoying fluttering feeling when I heard him say my name. “Don’t look so proud of yourself. You figured out a name, not the answer to world peace.”

  “I’m proud of myself for getting up in the morning. That’s how we entitled types are, you know.” He smiled crookedly at me. “Lots of fanfare and recognition for the most basic of feats.”

  “I forgot my pom-poms. Sorry,” I said with a shrug. “Come on though. You think I’m actually going to believe you cleaned up after yourself? You probably had your security detail pull housekeeping detail. ” I held out the extra cup of coffee I was holding, and he took it without checking to see what it was.

  “Believe it or not, I’ve learned a few practical life skills. I can even tie my shoes.” His gaze dropped to his sable-brown dress shoes.

  “Yeah? And how much does a dozen eggs cost?”

  The smug tilt of his brow erased. My smile grew the longer he remained quiet.

  His contemplative expression cleared. “It depends on supply and demand, seasonal changes, diet fads, et cetera, et cetera.”

  My head shook as I took a sip of my coffee. “Typical non-committal royal response.”

  He set his cup on the table. “You’re one of those people who think Norland should do away with the whole royal family tradition.”

  My shoulders lifted. “I think the people like tradition.”

  “Then you hate us because?” Edward fastened the buttons of his sleeves, waiting.

  “I don’t hate the royal family.” When he huffed, I took a purposeful step away from him. “Though I might hate you a little.”

  One half of his mouth lifted into a grin. “That makes two of us.”

  For a moment, I almost saw that smug mask slide off, hinting at a vulnerability I’d not expected to find in the heir to the throne.

  It didn’t last long.

  “Where are the other three miscreants?” I asked, no sign of the inebriated, half-naked frat boys to be found.

  “Now I’m a miscreant?” Edward attempted to sound annoyed, but it didn’t carry much weight.

  “Until proven otherwise.”

  His eye
s narrowed at me, as he seemed to be attempting to figure out what to do about me. I clearly wasn’t the typical reverent citizen, or even one of the frantic groupies who probably had some kind of sacrificial altar they made virgin offerings upon every full moon.

  Of course, if this was six hundred years ago, my head would no longer be attached to my body if I talked to a royal as I was now, but times had changed. While respect was an unsaid rule of royal interactions, it wasn’t enforceable by law.

  I gave respect to those who earned it, and a royal really needed to earn it.

  “They’re sleeping it off in several of the guest rooms on the second floor.” He seemed to read the objection rising from me. “They’ll leave them exactly as they found them, I promise.”

  I grumbled into my coffee cup before taking another drink. “How long are you going to be here? For real?”

  “I figure pretty much as long as I want.”

  My eyes cut to him. “How do you figure that?”

  He seemed to suddenly notice the condition of my hair and found its unruliness amusing. He rubbed his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “You owe me.”

  “I owe you?” My mouth stayed open.

  “You did accost me.”

  “And so what, you’re blackmailing me now?” I said, astounded.

  “I wouldn’t call it blackmail. I’d call it coming to an agreement.” He was fighting another one of those damn smiles. So infuriating. “I won’t tell anyone you maimed the Prince of Norland in exchange for you not telling anyone I’m here.”

  I blinked at him. “Blackmail.”

  His hand lifted. “Mutually beneficial blackmail.”

  “Do I have a choice?” I muttered.

  His eyes were reflecting amusement when he took in my reaction. “Do you like your job?”

  “I did, though I’m sensing a change in job satisfaction.” When he picked his coffee back up, I met his grin with a frown and clinked my cup of coffee to his. “Deal.”

  “Was that so hard?”