12
Ashton
TheKingofLaandiaoffered me a job.
I know it’s Fenella’s doing. I know she’s looking out for me, using whatever influence she might have to give me a reason. A purpose. A future.
And if it keeps me in Laandia with her, so much the better.
Fenella has a good relationship with the royal family, even better than when she was dating Gunnar. Then she was the socialite, the party girl influencer with a trail of broken hearts following her.
Now she’s mature and committed and doing what she can to help Battle Harbour become the best tourist destination it can be. Magnus owes her a lot.
Which is probably why I still get an open invitation to stay here, even after the accident.
Magnus obviously doesn’t have an issue with me.
Being an advisor on a royal committee on roads isn’t something that’s ever been on my radar. I know how to drive on a road, but building one isn’t something entirely different.
But still…
The king offered me a job.
My own father doesn’t think I’m worth enough to do that.
“Thank you,” I say, sincere and serious. “I will give that some thought.”
“Talk to Gunnar if you want to know what it’s like. Or your sister. And then come talk to me.”
“I will,” I promise, wondering what exactly I’m promising.
The king stays for a few minutes to talk to Sophie, making her laugh. I join in, but my mind is racing faster than I’ve driven.
A job. An option.
Someone thinks enough of me to offer me that.
Fenella stays for a while after Magnus leaves, and I like watching Sophie interact with my sister. Fenella and I share the same group of friends, but for a long time, they were the only ones Fenella would trust. Being in the public eye means putting yourself out there, and dealing with what comes after that. The comments, the cruelty, the demands on your time and energy.
I have an easier time than Fen does, but I know it weighs on my sister. It was one of my concerns when she up and moved to Laandia—that she would be without her people.
But it looks like she’s found people here. Silas. The royal family.
And Sophie.
I walk my sister to the door when she leaves.
“He was serious about the job,” she whispers to me.
“What did you have to promise? Your first born?”
“He thinks a lot of you.”
“He thinks a lot ofyou,” I correct. “We don’t come as a matched pair.”
I don’t know why I’m arguing with her. It means a lot that the king offered, regardless of how it came to be.
Butit still feels wrong somehow. That I’m not worthy of it.
