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  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

  WANT MORE RVD?

  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 engage
ments, 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 woman’s… a woman’s… a woman’s…”

  “Chest?” I offered, going for the tamer version of what had actually taken place. What the hell did she want me to do? We were in politics, he was having a rough day, I needed his support. So I got him blindingly drunk.

  It should have worked.

  The bar was completely closed off to the public.

  Save one… person.

  Phillipa.

  Oh, I hadn’t seen her there. I just had a hunch like I did whenever anything went wrong in my life. All signs pointed toward the spoiled princess with her too-tight dresses and god-awful crown.

  Our soon-to-be queen.

  It was the only thing that kept me up at night.

  And the only thing that sent me to church still drunk last Sunday—I fervently prayed her mother would stay alive long enough to set someone else on the throne.

  Anyone else.

  Literally. Anyone. Else.

  Mother let out another disappointed sigh. “You’re nearly thirty, and now your face is all over the news as our country’s newest bad boy duke.”

  I grinned and then hid it behind my hand with a cough when Mother shot me a glare that would make a lesser man weep—and often had on multiple occasions.

  Intimidation was her hobby.

  “Admit it, it’s kind of funny.”

  “This is me laughing.” Damn, crickets were making an appearance again in my head, weren’t they? “It’s the holidays. Play nice with the queen, try not to get one of her maids pregnant, and for the love of God, don’t get the PM drunk again or it’s going to be impossible to marry you off.”

  “I already have a title. Why does it matter?”

  Wrong thing to say.

  She paled.

  Her eyes bugged out of her face, and she raised that dangerously heavy purse above her head like a weapon.

  Well. Shit.

  Slowly she lowered the bag and inhaled, exhaled, probably prayed for patience, and then stared me down. “You’re the only son, and while it seems archaic, you need an heir, and you need to marry royal blood. At this point, I don’t care what country she comes from as long as she’ll take you on and allow you to do the job that every generation before you has managed to do—blind, might I add!”

  “Father wasn’t blind; he had glasses. Big difference,” I felt the need to point out, just in case she had forgotten.

  “Let me speak!” She pinched the bridge of her nose as the car finally pulled to a stop. “Just… don’t be the worst part of yourself that she manages to bring out. Be charming, smile, apologize for the bad press, and let’s try to make it through the holidays without choking on any candy canes, hmm?”

  “One time,” I growled as embarrassment and anger boiled beneath my skin. She was insane. “And she sucker punched me, hardly ladylike.”

  “You made fun of her braids.”

  “I made an oinking noise and pulled. That’s what boys do when they like girls. They make complete asses out of themselves and everyone around them because they lack the social skills to do anything more. The brain power alone it took to even touch her hair… well, let’s just say I couldn’t do math for at least a week.”

  “Ha ha.” Mother rolled her eyes as the door opened and a white-gloved hand was held out.

  She took it, head held high, and moved to the side as I followed.

  “The Crown Princess of Answorth—” I drowned out the rest of it, my eyes greedily searching for her, my body preparing for battle, my mind ready to win the war of the wiles against her.

  My archnemesis.

  Rival.

  The woman of my nightmares.

  The hair on my arms stood up as if my body was preparing for the worst.

  And then she appeared, much like a ghost during Christmas. You know, the ones with chains that tell you you’re going to die? Like that. Only worse. Because she just had to be beautiful, didn’t she?

  Wavy, long black hair hung past generous breasts that were sadly contained by a tight, elegant, white leather dress and faux fur coat.

  Red gloves.

  Because she was clearly channeling Cruella De Vil and tortured puppies in her spare time.

  And naturally, no boots, but red sleek high heels that looked ridiculous next to all the thick snow.

  “And the Royal Crown Duke Fitzgerald Geraldo Belleville!” The announcement was made with fanfare as I stood before the woman who would soon be my queen and more.

  And because my hobby was pissing her off, I bowed lower than necessary, pulled a candy cane out of my pocket with a flourish, and handed it to her without grabbing her hand first. And then I brushed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck, inhaling deeply. She smelled like peaches and sin. Clever little witch just had to smell good, didn’t she? “Nice to see you, Princess. Have you gained weight? Should I take the candy cane back?”

  She was all smiles as she stilled and then pulled me in for a hug that had people whispering and coughing, and she murmured low in her throat, “Only if you’re afraid it’s going to get stabbed in your favorite appendage, which it very well might. Then again, I’ve always had horrible aim with small targets.”

  My glare should have set her on fire. “Touché.”

  “Nice to see you again. We roasted chestnuts.”

  “I’m allergic.”

  “I’m aware.” Her grin spread wide.

  “Well, at least this time you may actually follow through with it.” I took her arm the way I was supposed to as we walked back up the stairs, my mother planning world domination behind us.

  “What’s that, Fitz?” Phillipa leaned in. I refused to smell the peppermint on her breath or feel the warmth of her skin—she was, after all, the devil, not like she’d be cold.

  “My murder.”

  “It’s been a lifetime of planning.” Her grin was pure evil. I had half a mind to kiss it off her face just to even the playing field, shock the hell out of her, and get to taste the peppermint all in one fell swoop. Pity her lips were probably poison.

  “How sweet.” I winked. “To know you’ve been giving me so much thought.”

  Her smile fell.

  We reached the top of the stairs, and I begrudgingly leaned over and kissed the back of her hand. I pressed my tongue against her skin mainly to throw her off balance, though it ended up making me nearly groan in pleasure.

  Damn it!

  Her skin was always so soft.

  Her cheeks pinked when I pulled back and nodded. “Until l
ater.”

  “Hmmm…” was all she said.

  And I found that I liked the fact that she had nothing to say. And even more? The pink that still stained her cheeks as I left her alone in the entryway.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Phillipa

  I LOATHED HIM.

  And it was absolutely more loathing than what seemed natural to have toward another living breathing human being.

  I hated the way he stared at me too long.

  The way his perfect emerald eyes lingered like he was mentally mocking me and doing a bang up job of it.

  But most of all, I hated that he was beautiful.

  Hateful men shouldn’t be beautiful. They should have warts on their faces, perpetual halitosis, and two lazy eyes.

  He had none of those things.

  In fact, the older he got, the more he aged backwards.

  It wasn’t even human!

  He lacked even one gray hair—I tried finding one at the Christmas banquet last year after having a bit too much champagne and, through a mishap, plucked one that looked gray only to be ragingly disappointed when it was just a trick of the light.

  He wasn’t amused by my scientific research.

  Then again, I wasn’t amused with him. Ever.

  I wasn’t even sure why he was at the castle. It was my favorite time of year, and he was ruining everything with his swagger and arrogant smile.

  I scowled after him and crossed my arms just as my mother rounded the corner and gave me a bright smile. “So, he’s here?”

  “He… can drop dead.” I grinned and did a perfect curtsy then kissed each of her cheeks. The sweet smell of her Oscar de la Renta perfume floated into the air, reminding me to stay calm, to breathe, focus, and remember who wore the crown at the end of the day. My father, and next in line: me. “Now, why did you want to see me, and why is Satan visiting during the day? You know how he worships darkness.”

  Mother’s eyebrows shot up. Her lips pressed into a thin line and then transformed into a perfect queenly smile as the Duchess of Belleville made her way into the entrance hall.

  “Your Majesty.” The duchess and my mother had been friends since they were children. I often wondered if it plagued them that Fitz and I didn’t have the same easy friendship.