The King’s Horrible Bride Read online

  The King’s Horrible Bride

  Kati Wilde

  Contents

  The King’s Horrible Bride

  “Mad Maximilian”

  Victoria

  Maximilian

  Victoria

  Maximilian

  Victoria

  Maximilian

  Victoria

  Maximilian

  Victoria

  Maximilian

  Epilogue

  The Royal Wedding Series

  Also by Kati Wilde

  The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride

  Stepback Cover

  The Mail-Order Bride Series

  Newsletter

  The King’s Horrible Bride

  After inheriting Kapria’s throne, Maximilian’s only objective was to erase his father’s corrupt legacy—a task that might have been impossible if a dying billionaire hadn’t given Maximilian his fortune...and his daughter, Victoria. Twelve years later, Maximilian has finally secured his kingdom’s future, and he’s ready to claim his bride—even if his advisors insist that she’s a horrible choice.

  They aren’t the only ones who need persuading. Because after waiting for so long, finally marrying Maximilian should have been a dream come true for Victoria. Instead she’s caught in a nightmare of duty and obligation, betrothed to a king who pretends to love her in front of the cameras. She always wanted to be the perfect bride...but when she’s not fantasizing about Maximilian’s big hands, she’s dreaming about running away.

  But Maximilian will never let Victoria escape him. Because the king isn’t pretending, and he’s waited long enough to claim his queen...

  The Royal Wedding Series

  The King’s Spinster Bride by Ruby Dixon

  The King’s Horrible Bride by Kati Wilde

  The King’s Innocent Bride by Alexa Riley

  The King’s Reluctant Bride by Ella Goode

  

  “Mad Maximilian”

  —From the feature article “Mad Maximilian” in VANITY FAIR, May 2018

  Nestled between the borders of Switzerland and Austria lies the small Alpine kingdom of Kapria. You probably haven’t heard of it; few people born outside the region know it even exists. Although the Kingdom of Kapria was established in 1465 and its monarchy has long declared that Kapria is a sovereign state, it has not been formally recognized by many other European nations. And although its physical territory is slightly larger in area than the better-known microstate to the north, Liechtenstein, many atlases don’t even draw in the kingdom’s political boundaries. Consult any GPS system while in the kingdom, and it will claim you are still in Switzerland—and a traveler watching through the windows of a train or automobile might not even recognize that they’ve left that country while passing through Kapria’s small capital city or its collection of quaint villages.

  Now one man is—quite literally—putting his kingdom on the map.

  King Maximilian was only twenty years old when he ascended to Kapria’s troubled throne. Following an unmemorable coronation ceremony (the depleted treasury couldn’t support a lavish affair—not that the kingdom’s debt had ever stopped his father’s extravagant spending), the young king blistered his father’s memory in a rousing speech, seething with rage at how his country had faltered under King Leopold’s corrupt rule, and promising that he would not rest until every Kaprian had a better future in sight.

  For a moment, Kapria gained the world’s attention—and Maximilian earned the world’s ridicule, his speech dismissed as the ravings of an immature, naive ruler. After all, an impoverished nation cannot pull itself up by its bootstraps when it is treading on bare feet.

  And maybe it never would have, if the billionaire Wilhelm Dietrich hadn’t given Kapria’s new king a pair of golden boots.

  Before Wilhelm, the Dietrichs were a noble family of little consequence and only notable for a history of mild eccentricity. The family had been centered in the Kaprian village of Gentian until King Leopold came into power. To escape that king’s tyrannical regime, a young Wilhelm fled with his parents to Switzerland, and over the following decades established himself as a giant of industry and finance.

  Then, twelve years ago—whether inspired by Maximilian’s coronation speech or simply just as eccentric as his ancestors—the multi-billionaire transferred nearly the entirety of his assets to the young king, instantly making him the richest man in Europe. With the influx of wealth into his country’s coffers, Maximilian began restoring his kingdom’s infrastructure and implementing new social programs.

  He spent Dietrich’s money well. Today Kapria boasts the lowest unemployment rate in the world, even among the refugee population. It has the lowest poverty rate in the world, the lowest incarceration rate, and one of the lowest tax rates.

  It also has the highest graduation rate—and a government willing to pay for vocational school or four-year university after graduation—and a robust apprenticeship culture. Citizens enjoy free electricity and internet access, along with free public transportation and healthcare.

  But all of these improvements weren’t merely the result of a monetary donation. Because among his other assets, Wilhelm Dietrich gave to Kapria’s king something far more valuable than gold: one of his own inventions, the Vic-10 reactor. The clean, stable, super-efficient reactor uses a saltwater solution as fuel, and is powerful enough that a midsize family car can run for twenty thousand miles on a single gallon of water.

  That’s not a typo. Twenty thousand miles. A single gallon of water.

  The reactor is already in use in Kapria’s newly built power plant, which supplies the entire kingdom’s electricity at a minuscule cost. A negative cost, in truth, because they sell the excess power to Switzerland, one of the few nations that already recognizes Kapria’s sovereignty.

  But the number of nations is set to increase dramatically.

  Today, the first time I see King Maximilian in person, I’m crowded together with dozens of journalists. We’re escorted into his throne room, where he’ll sign the trade agreement that will license the reactor technology to countries that have suddenly become very interested in officially recognizing this small kingdom. Publicity photos often show Maximilian in a suit and tie, or with his shirtsleeves rolled up and intently at work. Now he wears a formal uniform reminiscent of military design. His dark hair is cropped close to his scalp, as austere as it was during his service in Kapria’s small militia. He cuts an imposing figure in both height and breadth, but the seething anger of the young king has cooled and sharpened. If he had been more inclined to follow in his father’s hedonistic footsteps, his starkly handsome features would have been the darling of every tabloid and gossip rag, but those publications are more likely to capture the king’s forbidding scowl than catch him in a scandal. Despite the severity of his appearance, he’s not known for harshness or cruelty. Over the course of the past decade he’s built a reputation as a fair and just ruler, and one who is utterly dedicated to the advancement of his kingdom.

  In that goal, he has wildly succeeded. Today, few people know Maximilian’s name or Kapria’s location. Tomorrow, he will be known as the monarch who dragged a failing European kingdom into the 21st century…and who might have solved the world’s energy crisis while he did.

  The reverent silence that fills his office chambers when Maximilian picks up his gold fountain pen vanishes the moment he begins scrawling his signature across the bottom of the trade agreement. A burst of camera flashes and clicking shutters surround him like a flock of vultures during a lightning storm.

  That storm abates as he signs the duplicate documents, then renews as he rises from his desk to shake the hands of foreign politicians and diplomats, all of them beamin
g with their congratulations and their satisfaction in the agreement.

  As Maximilian poses with each foreign dignitary for the cameras, his rare smile appears more often than it usually does—perhaps because their money will soon flood into his kingdom and wash away the remaining stench of his father’s unprincipled reign. For twelve years, from the moment King Leopold dropped dead of an embolism, Maximilian has labored to repair the damage his father had wrought to the country. Twelve years of small, determined steps. But today’s trade agreement signifies a giant leap forward for Kapria, and fulfills a promise he made to his people on the day he ascended to the throne.

  So perhaps for the first time in a very long time, King Maximilian has something to smile about.

  Victoria

  “Holy shit.” My sister flattens her hand over her heart and staggers back, her gaze fixed on the television screen, where Kapria’s public broadcasting network is documenting the signing ceremony in the palace’s throne room. “He’s smiling. King Maximilian is smiling! Do you think he’s possessed by demons?”

  More likely, he exorcised a few of his demons when he signed the trade agreement. But I know better than to encourage Liz’s dramatics. If I play along, within a few minutes she’ll be dressing up in horns and a tail, then find a pitchfork that she’ll use to exorcise my demons.

  Besides, I can’t stop looking at Maximilian’s smile. I’ve seen thousands of photos and watched hundreds of hours of video footage featuring Kapria’s king, and this is the first time that particular smile has ever appeared: broad, genuine. Beautiful.

  He’s beautiful when he’s not smiling, too—but in an intense, razor-edged way. I’ve never seen him so…at ease.

  Already bored by the public broadcast, Liz sidles closer to the sofa where I’m sitting—and closer to the lunch of cheese and fruit that I’ve placed on the table beside me. Without taking my gaze from the screen, I reach for the two fat strawberries that I’m saving for my dessert, lick them both, and put them back down.

  “Damn it,” she pouts. “You can’t share?”

  “You can’t get your own?” I retort. “There’s more in the kitchen.”

  “They taste better when they’re stolen. But not when they’re contaminated with your germs.” She feigns a horrified shudder. “A good sister would share.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I agree. “But I’m not.”

  Though I am. And we both know it. So she narrows her green eyes at me in mock anger and threatens, “You’re going to regret this,” before flouncing from the conservatory with her long auburn ponytail swinging behind her.

  I probably will regret it. No doubt I’ll wake up with toothpaste in my hair or raw eggs in my running shoes. My little sister has more energy than a sack full of cats, but ever since she graduated from university last summer, she hasn’t applied that energy toward anything. Before her graduation, our brother James—her twin—was at home during the same holidays that she was, so he was the focus of her attention. But with James serving two years as a volunteer in the Kaprian militia, she’s dedicated her many free hours to—in her words—livening up my staid, boring life.

  Maybe my life is a trifle staid, but that’s the way I like it. And it’s not boring. Not to me, at least. I can see why Liz thinks so, though. She’s the kind of person who always needs to be entertained, so she bounces around until she finds something interesting to do or until someone provides that entertainment. But I don’t need constant external stimulation. If nothing’s happening around me, I’ll still find ways to occupy myself.

  But it’s not often that nothing’s happening around me. I’m always busy. Today is one of the rare days I have to myself, so I’m determined to do the things I love best. That’s why I’m in the conservatory, relaxing in the sunshine streaming through the giant windows and watching the most beautiful man in the world smile as he secures Kapria’s future.

  “Vic!” Liz’s shout echoes down the manor house’s ancient halls. “Can I borrow your turquoise sweater?”

  I’m not yelling my answer back. Instead I text her. Yes.

  I can share. Just not my strawberries.

  Another shout rings out. “You’re the best!”

  I know. But when my gaze returns to the handsome, smiling face onscreen, I wonder if my best is good enough for a king.

  My chest tightens. Twelve years have passed since my father and the newly crowned Maximilian struck the deal that would change his life—and mine—forever. At sixteen years of age, I was quietly betrothed to a king. Two months ago, I celebrated my twenty-eighth birthday. And so much time has passed without a single word from Maximilian…maybe the king has changed his mind. Maybe everything I’ve been working toward and hoping for will never become a reality. Maybe he’ll want someone else. Someone he’s met more than once. Maybe he’ll fall in love with them.

  Maybe he’s completely forgotten about me.

  But I refuse to wallow in self-doubt—or self-pity. Determinedly I push up out of the sofa, grab my lunch plate, and head out to the garden. The early afternoon sunlight is too harsh for my purposes, so I spend the next hour leisurely searching for the perfect blooms before returning to the house for my camera and tripod. By the time the light has softened, I’m in position to capture a cluster of alpine wildflowers. At my request, our gardener has been carefully cultivating some of the endangered species that grow in the higher elevations of the Kaprian mountains. He once grumbled to me that a single garden won’t save the flowers, but saving them has never been my intention. Not directly, anyway. Instead I’m hoping to help raise awareness and capture the attention of nature enthusiasts.

  “Are you out here, Vic?” Liz yells.

  This time I won’t text the answer. Bent over the tripod, I call back, “By the north arbor!”

  She shows up on the path a moment later, but she’s not alone. A man I don’t recognize strolls along behind her, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his suit trousers.

  Oh shit. I straighten, wishing she’d told me we have a guest. Then I could have sent her back into the house and changed my clothes before meeting him, instead of standing barefoot in the grass, wearing a pair of faded cutoffs and an ancient hooded sweatshirt. I have good reason to protect my image. I’m not always perfectly successful. I’ve had a few missteps, but those missteps were accidental. This could have been avoided if he’d been properly announced.

  But Liz doesn’t know about the betrothal. Not really. Before our father died, I often said the king had promised to marry me and that I would be Kapria’s queen. But I haven’t spoken of that agreement for years, so Liz and James—who are six years younger than I am—only remember my claims as a teenage crush and wishful thinking. They don’t know why I protect my public face so fiercely. It’s one of the things Liz teases me about—that I never leave the house with a hair out of place. Which isn’t true. Not really. Sometimes the wind blows and I can’t do anything to stop that, so I don’t try. If I can control something, however, I will.

  The only thing I can control now is my reaction to our unexpected visitor. In his mid-thirties, with dark blond hair and a medium height and build, he looks vaguely familiar in a nondescript way, but I can’t place him. “Good afternoon, Mr…?”

  “Karl Sauer.” His gaze scans me from toes to head with a focus that’s both disinterestedly nonthreatening and strangely invasive. As if he’s measuring me with that one look but trying to appear as if he isn’t. He glances at Liz before returning his attention to me. His accent is distinctly American when he says, “I am here to deliver a personal message from my employer. Can we speak privately?”

  Liz’s eyes flare wide. She purses her lips and shoots me a look brimming with irrepressible humor. As if she’s waiting for the day’s entertainment to begin.

  Oh lord. I know that look all too well. Chances are, she’s either setting me up for a date or this is part of a prank. I’m not sure which is worse.

  But I’ll play along for now. Lifting my chin, I say as re
gally as possible, “Liz, will you give Mr. Sauer and me a few moments of privacy?” You little snot.

  “Sure,” she replies, then mouths something that looks like “ride that pony” before skipping away.

  As soon as she’s out of sight, I ask Sauer, “And your employer is…?”

  “Maximilian,” he says bluntly. “Your king.”

  My heart thumps, hard. For a moment the edges of my vision turn black as if the blood has drained from my head. Then my brain cells start working again.

  If this man is an emissary of the king, then I’m a dancing ostrich. For one, he’s American—and Maximilian makes a point of hiring Kaprian citizens. His staff includes some naturalized immigrants, but anyone who works for the king or in the palace has been tutored in etiquette and refers to him in a specific manner. They don’t just say “Maximilian.” Instead they refer to him as “His Majesty,” or at least append his title to his name. And if this man were a Kaprian citizen, Maximilian wouldn’t be “your king.” He’d be “ours.”

  Maybe he’s new to Kapria. And maybe he does work at the palace. But if he’s a recent hire, would he be sent on this particular mission? No. Far more likely, this is Liz’s work. And he does look somewhat familiar. Maybe he’s an actor she hired. Or maybe I’ve seen him around the village or in the city, and Liz picked him up at a local café. With her, who knows.

  But I’m particularly good at thinking one thing while emoting another. So I merely arch my eyebrows, indicating bland interest.

  “Oh?” I question politely. “What message does he have for me?”