My Dark Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Dark Prince Road)

Age fourteen.

He is not here. Stop looking for him.

I turned my head from the party and forced myself to focus on the waves as they wrestled beneath the ominous moon. A blanket of stars draped across the sky, accompanying me as I perched on a cobbled terrace at the Château de Chillon.

All around me, people buzzed – dancing, flirting, laughing, living. Yet, I’d never felt more alone.

Every summer, the von Bismarcks hosted a grand ball to mark their arrival in Switzerland. Hundreds of Europe’s pedigreed aristocrats and tycoons flocked to the lush medieval castle kissing Lake Geneva for a chance to flaunt their connections to one of the world’s oldest royal lineages – two of them my stuck-up parents.

Oliver should have been here by now, roaming the halls or planning an elaborate prank. He’d make his grand entrance when he was ready and not a moment sooner.

Don’t search for him. Have some self-control.noveldrama

Too late. My traitorous body acted of its own accord, whipping my head back to the party to hunt for those pale golden curls and mischievous eyes.

Dancers filled the outdoor ballroom to the brim, sabotaging any chance I had at spotting him. Pastel ballgowns swished across the flagstone pavers like clouds of cotton candy, swirling with practiced ease. From the tiered stage, a baroque orchestra blessed us with the rich strings of Aram Khachaturian’s Masquerade Suite I. One of my favorite waltzes.

I smoothed the skirt of my taffy-pink gown, knowing my parents wouldn’t chide me for sullying my dress on the exposed terrace bricks. For them to remark about the blatant disrespect to the satin frock, they’d first have to notice I was alive. An inconvenient fact they tried their hardest to forget.

I glanced beneath the veranda. If I were to fall, I’d hit the roof before rolling straight into gravel. It was ten, maybe twelve, floors high. Enough to kill me. I turned to my parents, who stood next to their friends a few feet from me.

They did not notice I was sitting on the edge.

They did not notice me at all.

“Sooo …” A woman in an olive dress stared down her champagne flute at my parents, her ritzy accent adding syllables where there were none. “Where are you off to next, now that the Zurich branch is up and running?”

Dad worked for Luxor Trust, a boutique bank that specialized in “massaging rich assholes’ balls.” His words, not mine. He handled management, and his job description included kissing unholy amounts of ass, opening new offices to meet Luxor’s international demand, and dragging our family with him to every billionaire-occupied corner of the Earth.

Since diapers, I’d only ever known the inside of a suitcase. Home was an abstract idea. Something other kids had. At fourteen, I’d already lived in London, Tokyo, Paris, Montreal, Zurich, Riyadh, and Budapest. Despite my American passport, I’d spent maybe a handful of months in the states my entire life. When people asked me where I was from, I said New York. But the truth was, I had no origin. No beginning to my story.

Not if Oliver von Bismarck can help it. Or rather – if you can persuade him to.

“Oh, don’t even get me started on our next adventure.” Mom raked her manicured fingers through her black bob, clawing at Dad’s Prada suit with her free hand. “Jason’s company wants him to open a new branch in Buenos Aires. You know how much I love the city. I’m half Argentinian myself.”

“How is Briar Rose taking all this moving around?” Olive Dress’s husband swirled his wine inside his glass. “Fabienne and I once moved to Alaska for three years. For work, of course. The kids were livid. It must be hard for a teenager.”

“Academically, she’s always thrived.” Mom’s back went ramrod straight. It always did when her least favorite subject came up – me. “She’s homeschooled by a fleet of Europe’s best tutors and finishes her low-residency multivariable calc course at Oxford next week. Le Rosey reached out twice last year to recruit her, but you know how it is with the frequent moves.” A forced sigh squeezed past her clenched teeth. “So difficult to commit to anything.”

What she’d left out was that I’d only taken the class because I’d heard Oliver might be in Birmingham for a week. Just an hour train ride from Oxford.

You’re not even trying to play it cool, Briar Rose.

That ship sailed when I’d started scouring gossip rags for news of the von Bismarck family in between the royal family’s dubious avocado consumption and high-profile Hollywood divorces.

Olive Dress patted Mom’s shoulder. “Well, Briar Rose has always been a bright child. There’s never been a doubt.”

Unlike this stranger, I didn’t delude myself into mistaking Mom’s academic assessment as a glowing five-star review of yours truly. Not when defensiveness seeped out of her like water gushing through a cracked dam. One gust of wind, and Mom would topple over with how stiff she’d turned.

Olive Dress tsked, feigning sympathy. “How’s she coping socially?”

“Socially …” Mom’s lips pressed tight enough to crush diamonds. Every ounce of warmth drained from her cheeks. “Well, she’s a bit shy and quiet by nature. I don’t think she cares very much.”

I do, Mom. I care so much that, sometimes, it suffocates me.

“And we can’t stop our lives for a child, for god’s sake.” Dad pried Mom’s champagne flute from her fingers and discarded it on a passing tray. “This new-age approach to raising kids is not for us. People are raising brats these days.”

My eyeballs prickled. I forced myself to focus on the couples dancing to drown out the pain. Under the layers of fabric, my feet moved to the waltz, kicking the veranda’s railing with each swing. Right foot – back. Left foot – side. Both feet – together. Left foot – forward. Right foot – side. And repeat.

My muscles tingled. Every bone in my body wanted to dance. I watched, transfixed, as people swirled, dipped, and swayed, their laughter zipping down my spine like a shot of espresso.

Buenos Aires.

It was the first time I’d heard about their plans. Jason and Philomena Auer would never allow a child to ask questions out of turn – and certainly not ones about a future they possessed complete control of.

“Such selfish questions upset your father,” Mom would chide whenever I broached the subject of our constant moves. “Are you not ashamed of how ungrateful and spoiled you are? Do you think all kids live in such luxury?”

No. I did not think that at all. Problem was, I didn’t want the designer clothes, skyscraper penthouses, and glitzy restaurants. I wanted fiercely loyal friends, homecooked meals, and rounds of rummy with my parents on lazy holiday evenings. Things Oliver von Bismarck would weave tales about – tales so beautiful and foreign, I didn’t believe they could possibly be true. And yet, I desperately wanted them to be.

One day, I’ll have that. Happiness. Freedom. Friends so close, they’re family.

Mom sighed. “At any rate, we’ve found a solution.”

News to me. A solution? For my loneliness? Maybe they’d finally let me have a dog.

“Oh?” I whipped my head toward them in time to catch Olive Dress leaning forward. “What’s the solution?”

Dad twisted his cufflink until our family crest rested upright. “Briar Rose will be attending Surval Montreux starting September.”

My blood froze in my veins. Surval Montreux was an all-girls boarding school. In Switzerland. They were abandoning me here. They hadn’t even discussed it with me.

“Surval Montreux?” Olive Dress’ gown rippled as she shrunk back like the mere thought of it recoiled her. “Why not Le Rosey?”

Mom toyed with the Mikimoto pearls resting on her collarbone, eyes drifting away as if the conversation bored her. “Well, we can’t have her gallivanting around Europe unsupervised with boys, can we?”

Translation: why invite an avoidable scandal when my daughter can simply be miserable?

Dad rested a palm on Mom’s lower back, staring at her as if she were the only person in his life that mattered. And she was. After all, I didn’t exist to him.

“It will be better for everyone.” He massaged the small of her back over her Oscar de la Renta. “Our last station was Zurich, and Briar Rose’s French is outstanding. The school offers the AP system, so there won’t be any issues with transferring coursework. She’ll have plenty of opportunities to meet new friends.”

They were sending me to boarding school.

They were discarding me in Europe and moving to South America without a second thought.

And the worst part? Even though my body shook with rage and fear, I couldn’t find it in me to stand up to them. To interfere. To tell them I would not, under any circumstances, willingly stop living with them. Not because they were great parents, but because they were my only sense of normalcy, no matter how measly and pathetic it was.

“Cuddlebug?” The familiar tenor snapped me out of my sticky, tar-like thoughts.

My head whipped to the direction of the voice. Its owner strolled to me at a leisurely pace, clad in a tailored four-piece suit. Around us, people paused to track his movements, but his eyes remained focused on me. Our gazes tangled, and his signature devious smile lifted a corner of his mouth.

Ferocious joy surged through me. Its touch was fleeting, like a feathery kiss, but I didn’t bother clutching on to it. I knew it would return. Because he had finally arrived.

Oliver von Bismarck.

Count of Carinthia.

The eldest son of Felix von Bismarck, Duke of Carinthia.

And my own personal downfall.