Page 95 of Heavy Crown

“Um,” I say. “I heard that Alex’s association with me might have caused a rift between you and him. I just wanted to tell you that he’s never led me on or promised me anything that he can’t deliver.” Oh God. That’s going to make what I say next sound even worse, like I’ve been trying to convince him to leave the monarchy. My cheeks heat.

“Alexander has always been strong-willed with a mind of his own.” He gestures to his desk. “Queen Helen and I have been sorting through all of this in hopes of finding something to assist Alexander.”

“Oh,” I say. “With the coronation?”

“Hmm.” The king eyes me. “What can I do for you, Rory?”

I clench my hands in my lap. If I came here for guidance, I need to spit it out. “Last night, Alex, while he was very intoxicated, brought up the idea of...” Oh God. I can’t say it. Am I betraying Alex? I need to protect myself and protect his happiness. If I don’t understand the decision we’d be making, how can I do that? An hour ago, speaking to the king seemed like the best way to do that. Now that I’m here, I’m fumbling.

The king searches my face. “You know, in thirty-three years, I’ve never seen my son look at anyone the way he looks at you. There is nothing you could tell me that would be a surprise about what drunk Alexander might have said or implied.”

“He said he might quit.” The words come out of me in a rush. The king’s declaration that Alex has never looked at anyone the way he looks at me is a swell of warmth across my chest. Does that mean I should let him quit? Why would he tell me that?

The king gives a slow nod. “We have come to this, have we?”

“I—I don’t know.” I give a helpless shrug. “He was very clear, has been very clear all along that we couldn’t be together. Last night was a surprise. But he wants to talk about it tonight, and I don’t know what to say.” I run both my hands down my hair and then tuck the strands behind my ears.

The king rocks back in his chair, and the move reminds me of Alex. He doesn’t speak for a long stretch, and I wonder if I made a massive mistake in coming.

“What do you want to know?” The king’s voice is hoarse.

“As much as you’re willing to tell me about what it would be like if Alex stepped away from the family.”

“Do you love my son?” His shrewd gaze sweeps over me.

Instead of shrinking under it, I sit straighter in my chair. An easy question. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. It’s impossible for me to put the depth of my feelings into words. But this isn’t a situation where I can lead with only my heart. I have to keep my head involved too. There’s too much at stake.” I’ve been repeating those words to myself all day, every time I’ve been tempted to go to Alex and tell him to do it.

“You may be young,” the king says, “but you are not naïve.” He sets his elbows on the desk. “Ask your questions.”

I’m a misstep. That’s the thought that keeps running through my head while I sit in my apartment, tears streaming down my face. When Alex implied it that first night we slept together, he meant it.

He’s engaged to someone else.

Talking to the king was a car accident in slow motion. He answered every question I asked without any hesitation. Each truth was a blow, from understanding Alex’s birthright to his grooming to be king to the arranged marriage he signed to fulfill coronation rules. How I managed to get out of his office without having a monumental breakdown I’ll never know.

I didn’t make it back to my apartment in one piece. Instead, I stumbled and sobbed along the gravel path, littering the route Alex and I have walked so many times together with fragments of my heart.

At every step, every hurdle, Alex has chosen the monarchy and his country over everything and everyone else. Becoming king is Alex’s destiny, but it also appears to be the thing he’s wanted most in the world.

Until last night, he never led me to believe otherwise.

Last night isn’t a true reflection of Alex’s desires. Maybe he wanted to convince himself I meant something to him, or maybe he got cold feet about marrying Princess Simone of Denmark, but I don’t for a second believe his speech about quitting was genuine.

For weeks I’ve turned a blind eye to the truth staring me in the face. We’ve been so happy in our little bubble together that the idea of bursting it with any piece of reality didn’t interest me.

Even if I believed Alex might have been considering quitting, the consequences are widespread and life changing. He’s not rejecting the crown; he’s rejecting his entire life. Every aspect of it. Making that sort of choice on a whim is wrong.

If Alex steps out of the line of succession, he has to leave the country immediately. As in escorted off the island on a private jet to a location of Alex’s choosing. But, as the current rules state, he’ll have no access to any of the royal properties. A small monthly allowance would sustain Alex, but the king was clear it would never support a family. He did say that, if Nicholas chose to change the rules when he became king, he could. Until then, we’d be adrift on our own.

Alex must know all this. He must. So, if he shows up here tonight without a concrete plan of where we’ll live and how we’ll sustain ourselves financially, I can’t let him leave the monarchy. If he truly wanted to be with me, if I wasn’t a misstep, he wouldn’t have been planning this alternate future where I had no place.

There’s no room for me. I’ll never be his mistress, and he can’t be my husband.

The TV, which I turned on in an effort to clear my muddy thoughts, flashes to a full-screen view of Alex giving a speech on the steps of the Advisory Council building.

The sight of him sends a torrent of emotions ripping through me. Hurt. Betrayal. Sadness. Love.

Love.