A Crown For Christmas
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The first time I met Fitz or to most of the world Duke Fitzegerald Heraldo Belleville, I punched him in the throat.
I was actually aiming for his chin, but he was a few years older, clearly not wiser, but at least taller.
He started wheezing on his candy cane.
And well, the rest is history.
Hate replaced what could have been friendship, and for the rest of my teen years, I watched him flirt with every single breathing female.
I hated him.
Plotted his death with a smile on my face.
And knew that my first decree as Queen would be to chop off his head.
Except now that I'm finally old enough to inherit the title, there's one tiny little slip-up.
I need a man by my side.
The problem?
I may have accidentally scared them all away.
I have no options.
Until the devil rings my doorbell with a wicked grin on his face and revenge dancing like sugarplums in his gaze.
I hate that I need him.
It's a serious problem.
We have twelve days before we say I do.
I just pray we survive without killing each other first.
Rachel Van Dyken
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandykenauthor.com
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A Crown For Christmas - Rachel Van Dyken
A Crown for Christmas
by Rachel Van Dyken
Copyright © 2018 RACHEL VAN DYKEN
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
A CROWN FOR CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2018 RACHEL VAN DYKEN
ISBN-13: 978-1-7321428-8-6
Cover Art by Jena Brignola
Formatting by Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FRONT MATTER
DEDICATION
AUTHOR NOTE
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN
To Grandma Nadine,
I’m sad that you didn’t get to read this before you passed, but know that you will always live on in every character I write. I'd like to think a part of you exists in every un-censored matriarch I come up with.
With all my heart, Rachel.
AUTHOR NOTE
SURPRISE!
It’s no secret that I love Hallmark and am obsessed with every Christmas movie on the planet, I wrote this for fun but also because I was going through a hard time with my grandma passing and it seemed to be the only thing that put a smile back on my face when I needed it most. I think words have such a powerful way of helping us grieve, whether it be reading them or in my case, writing them. I hope you enjoy this fun little magical journey!
Thank you for being such wonderful readers to me, your support is everything. I'm genuinely so thankful for each and every one of you.
Happy escape and Merry Christmas!
PROLOGUE
Phillipa
THE FIRST TIME I met Fitz, or to most of the world, Duke Fitzgerald Geraldo Belleville, I punched him in the throat.
I was actually aiming for his chin. He was a few years older, clearly not wiser, but at least taller. So I missed my mark.
He started wheezing on his candy cane.
And well, the rest is history.
He died.
Long live the king?
Kidding, of course. He didn’t die, but I did get grounded from the library for an entire month during the holidays, and the grand library is where they held the biggest ball of the year.
My parents, the king and queen, were huge into the holidays. We had people from all over the world visiting our castle for the ice sculptures alone, but the Holiday Ball? Well, it was the stuff of fairy tales.
And being a princess, it was one of the only times my mother ever let me wear my crown, a real diamond-encrusted tiara passed down to me through my great grandmother.
At twelve, I was finally going to be able to wear my hair in an updo with pieces of the crown poking out for all to see… and envy.
But instead of my grand entrance to the Holiday Ball, because of Candy Cane Choker, I was brought dinner in my room and sent to bed. Like a child.
My parents wanted to teach me manners, they said.
How to control the notorious Answorth temper.
Discipline and respect went hand in hand, they added as they kissed me goodnight and made me promise to stay in my room.
I didn’t, of course, because along with the Answorth temper, I also inherited stubbornness. I supposed that would help me later on, if I ever had to look at that stupid Fitz ever again!
I fisted my hands and quietly made my way down the marble stairway. The Christmas music and laughter got louder the closer I got. The smell of pine trees and coffee, hot chocolate, pumpkin pie! My mouth was salivating by the time I made it to the bottom of the stairs and peeked around the corner.
Shouldn’t you be in bed?
Fitz grinned his stupid boy grin and shoved a forkful of pie into his mouth. Even the way he held the delicate gold plate made me want to launch myself onto his person.
He was rude.
Arrogant.
And he smiled at me like he was making fun of me.
And I hated being part of a joke I didn’t understand.
He was fifteen.
I was twelve.
And still, he smiled at me like he knew a secret, and I glared back like I knew how to shove that fork right where the sun didn’t shine.
I can do what I want.
I crossed my arms. Shouldn’t you be pulling candy cane shards from your throat?
I executed a fake coughing motion and wrapped my hands around my throat, making a face that hopefully looked like a frog that was dying a painfully slow death.
His demeanor darkened. You could have killed me.
I shrugged.
You’re such a spoiled little princess.
He sneered. God, I hope I do not have to be your friend when you get old enough to know how to—
How to what?
I glanced over at him in curiosity.
Be normal.
He rolled his eyes. I’m going to the party. You should go back to bed in the nursery. After all, that’s what spoiled little princesses do. They sleep while the adults play.
I felt my lower lip tremble when the doors opened to the library and he was let in. I saw a flash of color, heard the music, and wanted so desperately to walk in there with my crown.
Phillipa,
Fitz called over his shoulder. Don’t kid yourself. You’ll never be anything more than a girl trying to grow up too fast in a world where you won’t ever belong.
Why would you say that?
I whispered.
Because. You’re a stupid girl.
He sneered as the doors banged shut behind him.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,
I chanted with each step I took back up the stairs to my bedroom.
I chanted it again as I lay down on my bed, arms crossed. I would never be his friend.
For all I cared, Fitz could just roll over and die!
CHAPTER ONE
Fitz
15 Years Later
SHE ALMOST KILLED me!
I pointed out, much to my mother’s irritation. Already her left eye was twitching, and she was gripping the handle of her Hermès bag hard enough to leave nail prints on the soft cream leather. Several times!
She glared.
On purpose,
I grumbled. Because she’s a sociopath.
It was like every argument I had fell on deaf ears as the Bentley rounded the corner to the royal castle.
Answorth Castle to be exact.
One of the oldest, albeit smallest, royal families still in control of the country despite having a prime minister. With a country of only three hundred thousand people, it was nearly impossible to do anything without everyone knowing—including the world.
And Phillipa… well, Phillipa held the proverbial keys to the kingdom.
God save us all.
Not only was she infamous for broken engagements, but her temper was the stuff of legends, exactly what I tried to point out to my mother—the woman who birthed me, brought me into this tedious royal world!
And still, she clutched her purse, looked straight ahead, and didn’t even blink.
Hell, I’d be shocked if she was even breathing at this point. It didn’t help that I had something in my pocket that was burning a hole through my trousers into my skin, making me feel like jumping into oncoming traffic—if there were any.
It wasn’t that bad,
my mother finally said. And you owe us this. You owe your country this.
Ah, there it is.
I leaned back in the seat, adjusting my tie for the fourth time as it noosed itself tighter around my neck. I already told you it wasn’t my fault.
Fitzgerald.
Shit, she just had to use my full first name, didn’t she? Your father and I—God rest his soul…
She made a motion across her chest. …did everything we could to bring you up right. Being born of privilege seemed to only make it harder for you to understand why we had so many rules, why we still live by so many rules. You had one job.
I did my job,
I muttered, suddenly feeling ten again as she continued to threaten me over the single mistake I’d ever made in the public eye. Then again, it wasn’t a small misstep. Nor was it something we could just dust under the rug, because when a man like me messes up, we go for the gold. Why settle for anything less, am I right?
"You got the prime minister publicly intoxicated doing Jell-O shots off a