Princess Bride Swap
Author
Lorraine Hall
Reads
15.0K
Chapters
17
A royal, arranged marriage, wrong bride, she falls first but he falls harder romance by Lorraine Hall. Marrying the wrong twin…ignites unimaginable desire! Crown Prince Lyon needs heirs, not feelings — or he'll lose his claim to the throne. After his arranged fiancée bails, he agrees to take her twin as his back-up bride. Except he didn't bargain for their lightning-hot chemistry! Shy Princess Beaugonia only struck a marriage bargain with Lyon to protect her beloved sister. Overlooked by her controlling parents, she trusts nobody…until Lyon coaxes down her walls. And when he discovers the secret that's kept her confined to the shadows, will her convenient royal husband be the one to finally help her shine?
CHAPTER ONE
PRINCESS BEAUGONIA FREJA CAJA ISABELLA RENDALL sat sandwiched between her parents in the back of a sleek car that was winding through the curving roads of Divio, a small principality nestled in the southern Alps.
Her new home.
She supposed she was nervous, in a way, but she was also filled with purpose. She knew every step forward—no matter how far out of her depth, no matter how challenging—was in aid to her twin sister.
She owed Zia everything up to this point, and now she would return the favor.
She supposed a lifetime married to some crown prince she’d never once met was quite the sword to fall on, but Beaugonia had seen no other choice. Zia was pregnant, and in love with the father of her children—whether either of them wanted to admit it or not. Beaugonia may not be an expert on love herself, but she’d certainly read her fair share of books on the topic.
And certainly her sister couldn’t be expected to marry the crown prince of Divio in her state, even if Lyon Traverso would have married her already pregnant with another man’s twins.
Unlikely.
Which also meant Zia couldn’t be expected to continue on her life as heir to Lille.
Beau could have left it at that. Her father was a king and had the power to choose whatever heirs he liked—that was why Zia was heir in the first place, despite the fact Beau was three minutes older. But Beau had never been the ideal princess.
Maybe that, in part, was why she’d concocted this plan. Not only did it take the heat off Zia, but it ruined her father’s plans. He couldn’t choose an heir if she’d set herself up as one he couldn’t hide.
Beau had reached out to Lyon herself. Even before Zia had been reunited with the father of her babies. The moment she’d learned of Zia’s pregnancy, Beau had begun laying the groundwork, and Zia’s upcoming wedding to Cristhian Sterling only pushed her plans into high gear.
Underneath her father’s nose, Beau had gotten the agreements herself. So when she’d presented her father with her upcoming marriage to the crown prince, her need to be his heir in order to accomplish it, he had not had a choice.
He could embarrass them all and break off her agreement with Lyon, refuse to name her as heir. Or he could accept what she’d done. And she’d known, based on the way her father had treated her for the entirety of her life, he’d never choose embarrassment.
He’d berated her for what she’d accomplished once she’d informed him. If they’d been at home and he’d discovered what she’d done, instead of at Cristhian’s estate out of the scope of King Rendall’s power in Lille, he likely would have done a lot more than hurl insults at her.
But Beau didn’t see the point in worrying over things that hadn’t happened. She had plenty of worries in the present.
Like marrying a man she’d never met aside from emails and a spare few phone calls.
The car wound its way up to a staid, ancient-looking castle, majestic mountains soaring in the distance. The sun was just starting to set behind it, creating the kind of breathtaking scene that might ease the struggle of whatever she’d gotten herself into if she got to look out a window and see that every morning.
Neither parent had said anything on the flight from Cristhian’s to Divio, not on this drive from the airport to the castle, and that didn’t change as they were helped out of the car and led toward the castle entrance.
But as the doors opened, and they were ushered into a soaring room of archways and stained glass, full of stone and carpets and history you could practically see in the shadowy corners, her father finally spoke.
“We will go along with this farce, Beaugonia,” he said in that icy, furious tone he wielded so well. Not loud enough other people might hear, not hot fury that might show to anyone around them. Just pure, cutting ice only she, and her mother, would hear or feel. “But you will not come crying to me when it is a disaster of your own making. If you embarrass me, I will end you.”
Beau wanted to laugh. Cry to him? When had she ever? She’d cut out her own eyeballs first.
So she said nothing to him. She just waited as they’d been instructed.
The prince appeared at the curve in the staircase. She had never met Lyon Traverso, but she knew this was him from pictures. An older woman followed behind him. His mother, the countess, Beaugonia believed.
He was handsome. Even aside from pictures, Zia had always confirmed that. In the flesh, it seemed less a fact to accept and file away and more an actual...entity.
He seemed so tall gliding down the staircase in his dark, bespoke suit. His dark hair ruthlessly styled, and every moment as precise as a very sharp blade. The whole state of him seemed to back up the oxygen in her lungs. Such a strange response to one man.
Of course, so much about this man determined what her future would be like, so she supposed this feeling of being rooted to the spot was simply...anxiety. That’s why it felt like carbonation in her chest.
He approached them, greeting Father and Mother first before he turned to her. His dark eyes took her in, and though she was usually very good at reading people from just a look, she had no idea what the expression on his face meant. Or hid.
And still, this was her fate. A fate she’d concocted for herself. Maybe they wouldn’t love each other, but they had an understanding. A mutual agreement that Beau had negotiated herself. Perhaps it wasn’t better than love, but it was certainly better than whatever her parents had.
She smiled at Lyon, willing herself to play a part she’d never been any good at playing. Sweet, accommodating princess. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness.” She offered her best approximation of a curtsey.
He bowed in return. “And you. Allow me to introduce my mother. Countess Ludovica Traverso.” He gestured to the woman still standing behind him. She greeted them all with a regal politeness.
Her expression was easy enough to read. Distrust written into every sideways look.
“The wedding will be held in the chapel at nine,” Lyon offered. “My staff is at your service, of course, so you may ready yourself in whatever ways you need.”
“I’m still not understanding this private royal wedding situation we find ourselves in,” the king blustered, as he was likely to bluster until the end of time.
The prince did not so much as even blink. Beau wasn’t sure he moved, exactly, but he gave the impression of being very tall, as though he were looking down at her father from a great distance.
She very much wanted to learn that trick.
“With the change in brides, we find ourselves in a delicate situation. I thought that was clear?” Lyon posed this as a kind of question.
The kind of question no one dared answer.
Father cleared his throat. Mother looked away. The countess studied Beau’s dress as though she were cataloging any wrinkle.
“We will reconvene then. Marco?” He gestured a staff member over.
And that was it. Beau was led away from her one and only meeting with the man she would marry in just a few short hours.
She felt the tickle of panic at the back of her throat but breathed through it. They both knew what they were getting themselves into, and that was all that mattered.
“She’s pretty.”
Crown Prince Lyon Traverso’s mother said this as if it were some kind of shock. He glanced at the countess. “And?”
“You know as well as I do that the Rendalls keep her as far out of the public eye as they can. I expected...” Mother trailed off, likely because she knew whatever she’d been thinking was not appropriate to say, even just between the two of them.
And the truth was, Princess Beaugonia Rendall was pretty. Not quite in the way her sister was. Princess Zia had been taller and more...effortlessly regal, it seemed to Lyon. Though he’d thought less of her looks and more about how she’d suited his purposes.
But Beaugonia had made a case that she would suit his purposes instead now that Zia was...well, it wasn’t clear what had happened there, but Lyon had heard rumors.
And as much as he needed heirs, they needed to be legitimate and his own. So a wife who understood that, agreed to that, was far more important than her appearance. As long as she understood her place, everything else was immaterial.
Beaugonia seemed to know her place.
But, he could admit because his mother had brought it up, Beaugonia was pretty. Softer, smaller than her sister, and she held herself with a strange...reserve was the only word Lyon could come up with. A reserve that didn’t match the cutting quality to her eyes—an intriguing array of shades coming to some sort of hazel conclusion.
In the privacy of his own mind, he could admit that he was a bit surprised as his mother had been. Maybe, without fully thinking about it, he’d expected exactly what his mother was getting at. A reason that the princess had been hidden away and Zia had been trotted out as the true royal.
“I do hope you know what you’re doing,” Mother said, moving about the room, the anxiety all but radiating off of her.
When was it not? Their position was precarious. Because he was not the son of a crown prince, or even the grandson of one.
Which came down the maternal side of things, and the kingdom of Divio had concerns about what that would mean for their young leader, shoved into the princehood—the highest royal step here in the principality of Divio—after a series of unfortunate events.
But Lyon was ready. He knew how to be a leader, and he knew his family belonged on the throne, regardless of the whispers. His grandmother had raised him to believe that this would be his fate—because she had known her brothers and their progeny would not last long.
She had always said they’d been train wrecks from day one. Selfish, careless and ruled by wants over any sort of duty.
She had been right. After his cousin’s fiasco, there had been a vote to get rid of the monarchy altogether. It had not won, but it had been close. Any hint of scandal, and Lyon had no doubt Parliament would hold another one.
So all the training Grandmother had put him through had paid off thus far. He’d spent the past year, almost, trying to earn the trust of his country, with not a whiff of a demand for another vote.
Beau was the next step. A wife. Children—enough that there would be no question, no future concerns of who the next leader would be. Tradition. Respectability. Everything a citizen could want from their royal family.
Not one whiff of the scandal the other princes had loved to traffic in.
“She knows what’s expected of her,” Lyon said to his mother. To assure her. To assure himself. He’d had much longer to determine Zia’s appropriateness, but what was one sister compared to the other? Zia had known her role, and so Beaugonia did too. He had spent the past few months ensuring it.
Maybe he hadn’t met her in person as he might have liked, but he had made every other effort to ensure her offer was in good faith, and would not come back to haunt him. He had not found even a hint of scandal with Beaugonia, the little-known Rendall.
She was perfect. He’d make certain of it.
“We can still put this off, Lyon. Make certain she’s the right answer. It took us months to decide Princess Zia was the correct choice. You’ve switched over to her sister in a matter of days.”
Which wasn’t true. He’d been exchanging correspondence with Beaugonia for months. But he’d kept that from his mother, and he didn’t think it would assuage her fears any to let her know now.
Lyon turned to her and smiled. “I have it all under control. I will not disappoint, Mother.”
She studied him, her dark eyes impossible to read. But she smiled in return. “Your grandmother would be very proud of you, Lyon. You were her greatest hope.”
Yes. Grandmother had always told him that. He’d tried to carry that weight, but it tended to fit around his throat like a hand...squeezing. So much so that as a teen his mother had taken him to a therapist for his anxiety and he’d been put on medication.
His own failing, he knew, but his grandmother had never known, and he’d kept his anxieties under control thanks to those things ever since.
Lyon desperately wanted to loosen his tie right now, but he knew what his mother would say about that. She would worry even more than she already did that he was not in control of things. Particularly his own anxieties.
So he focused on keeping his breathing easy, his smile relaxed. He would make his mother proud, his grandmother proud—the way no man in her family ever had. It was his sworn duty.
His grandmother’s brothers had taken the role of crown prince with more and more disastrous results. Their children hadn’t fared much better. Divio had not seen a royal last more than two years in a generation.
Lyon would change that. And Beaugonia would be an essential part of it. She would be acceptable, she would know her place, and she would provide him with heirs, because this is what he’d decided.
And Crown Prince Lyon Traverso always accomplished what he decided.
