Amelia Hartley was about to make the worst decision of her life.
She knew it.
Maggie knew it.
The universe probably knew it too, because as she stood outside Clarence House, about to sell her soul to the Rebel Prince, the sky was already clouding over like a cosmic warning.
Brilliant.
She adjusted her coat, took a deep breath, and knocked.
A butler—a very serious-looking man who probably hadn't smiled since the 80s—opened the door and barely blinked at her presence. "Miss Hartley. This way, please."
Well. At least she was expected.
The hallways of Clarence House were ridiculous.
Vaulted ceilings, gold-trimmed everything, portraits of royals looking thoroughly unimpressed with existence—it was the kind of place where you could trip and fall directly into history.
And Nicholas Windsor?
Nicholas Windsor was lounging on a grand sofa like he owned the entire planet.
The smuggest expression known to mankind spread across his face the second he saw her.
"Ah," he grinned, setting down his drink. "You've come to your senses."
Amelia crossed her arms. "I've come to make sure my brother gets into St. Albans. That's it."
Nicholas placed a hand over his heart, mock wounded. "You wound me, Hartley. Not even the tiniest bit happy to see me?"
"Not even remotely."
He chuckled, motioning for her to sit. "Alright, let's talk terms."
Amelia perched on the edge of the seat, still ready to bolt at any second. "Three months. That's all you get."
"Agreed."
"No real feelings."
Nicholas smirked. "Not even a little fondness?"
"None."
"Cold-hearted." He sighed dramatically. "Fine. No real feelings."
"And public displays of affection are strictly for the cameras."
Nicholas grinned wider. "So you'll kiss me when necessary?"
Amelia glared. "If I have to."
He leaned back, thoroughly entertained. "God, I'm going to enjoy this."
"You're insufferable."
"And you're about to be my fake girlfriend."
Amelia rubbed her temples. "What have I done?"
"Something spectacular," Nicholas assured her. "Right, we'll need to make this official—meaning, you're meeting Harry."
She frowned. "Who?"
As if on cue, the door swung open, and in strolled a man with curly dark hair, an easy smirk, and an expression that screamed 'I have been dealing with Nicholas's nonsense for years.'
"Right," he said cheerfully. "Which one of you am I congratulating, and which one am I praying for?"
Amelia blinked. "You must be Harry."
"Harry Sinclair," he grinned, dropping onto the sofa like he belonged there more than Nicholas did. "Longtime mate, occasional babysitter, and the person who's going to enjoy this train wreck the most."
"Charmed," Amelia said dryly.
Harry turned to Nicholas. "So this is the poor girl you're dragging into your mess?"
Nicholas grinned. "Isn't she delightful?"
Amelia sighed. "I hate both of you already."
Harry chuckled, leaning forward. "Look, I don't know what bribe he dangled in front of you, but congratulations on agreeing to fake date Britain's biggest public scandal."
"I already regret it."
"You should," Harry smirked. "Now, let's go over how exactly you're planning to sell this ridiculous charade to the Queen."
Buckingham Palace – Later That Evening
The Queen sat at the head of a long dining table, expression unreadable, while Nicholas and Amelia sat opposite each other, playing their roles.
The room was dead silent.
Duchess Rosalind was watching Amelia like she was an unwanted speck of dust on the royal silverware.
Lady Penelope sipped her wine, looking mildly intrigued but otherwise unaffected.
Finally, Queen Eleanor set down her fork, her sharp gaze landing on Nicholas.
"This," she said coolly, "is your solution?"
Nicholas smiled. "Yes, Gran."
"A palace maid?"
"Amelia," Nicholas corrected, leaning back far too casually. "And she's delightful."
Amelia kicked him under the table.
He didn't even flinch.
Queen Eleanor's eyes flicked to Amelia. "Tell me, Miss Hartley, how exactly did this relationship begin?"
Amelia had prepared for this.
She sat up straight, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "We met at the palace, Your Majesty. Over time, we got to know each other, and…" She forced a polite smile. "Things naturally developed."
The Queen watched her for a long, heavy moment.
Amelia fought the urge to squirm.
Then—
"You're a terrible liar," the Queen said, sipping her tea.
Amelia choked.
Nicholas grinned. "That's part of her charm."
The Queen ignored him.
She set down her cup, expression cool, calculating. "If this relationship is genuine, then you won't mind a public appearance together, will you?"
Nicholas beamed. "Not at all."
"Good," the Queen said smoothly. "Because there's a charity gala this weekend. You'll be attending as a couple."
Amelia froze.
Nicholas simply smirked.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," he said pleasantly.
Queen Eleanor stood, her chair scraping slightly against the floor. "We shall see," she murmured before sweeping out of the room.
Duchess Rosalind followed, looking murderous.
Lady Penelope, however, paused beside Amelia's chair.
She leaned in slightly, voice low and sharp.
"Enjoy your little game," she murmured, "while it lasts."
And then she sailed after the Queen, leaving Amelia very much aware that she had just made a very, very powerful enemy.
Nicholas, of course, was still grinning.
Amelia sighed, rubbing her temples.
"I should've asked for more than a scholarship."
Harry snorted. "Yes. Like a lifelong insurance plan."
Nicholas raised his glass. "To the most brilliant arrangement in history."
Amelia muttered under her breath.
But she clinked her glass with his anyway.
Because there was no turning back now.