And there is my dilemma.
Alaya may have grown up here for half her life. We’d shared lessons for many of those initial years and had an amicable friendship. But at some point, a subtle shift passed between us. I became more aware of my responsibilities to the Thorn Court. More aware of what the betrothal meant for my future. The anger I felt towards what she represented grew like a poison. Seeing her around the castle became a constant reminder of that future, of the cage closing around me. I despised her for it.
I was never going to be the Prince she wanted. Never that hero riding in on his white steed to rescue her from her misery. I was the bastard that caused it.
And that suited me fine.
Or so I told myself.
Yet with the marriage now so close, the reality of what that means has me anxious. I have carefully presented a cold, arrogant façade to push her away. I worked so hard to make her hate me that I’m now not sure how to fix it. Not sure what I want at all, except that the thought of her looking at me with that mixture of fear and resignation she bore last night makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest.
But I sure as hell wasn’t telling my father as such.
I could see the look of mirth on the General’s face as he takes in this exchange, probably happy that the heir was being reprimanded.
“I have it in hand,” I carefully lie, giving the King a telling smirk I knew would please him.
“Make sure you do. Now, let’s have some lunch.” He says, dismissing the tension that had risen in the room. He rings a bell, and, almost in an instant, wait staff bring in trays of steaming vegetable soup, fresh-smelling warm bread, fruit, and thick cream. Samil’s face lights up at the feast, and all is forgotten as we dig in, the chatter turning to more general topics.
Shaking off the unease I felt after the meeting, I make my way upstairs to the West Wing and Alaya’s suite. The guilt rises in my chest again as I approach her door.
How do I explain what happened?
I take a sharp breath and knock. When it doesn’t open, I knock again, listening for any signs of movement with my ear against the door, which is how she finds me as the door is wrenched open.
I quickly stand up, and an acute pain shoots through me, a tightening in my chest at the look of fear so clear on her face: wide-eyed, teeth clenched, trembling panic.
“Princess—” I begin, noticing the dark circles around her eyes and the pale, clamminess to her skin. “Please, let me come in and explain.” I try to soothe as I put my hand to the door to stop her shutting it in my face.
“There is no explanation you could give that would make this better,” she seethes.
“Just let me try, Alaya. I promise, just five minutes and I’ll leave you alone.”
She hesitates, and I can see the doubt and worry cross her face, yet she stands aside and opens the door wider. As I follow her in and shut the door behind me, she crosses to the sofa and sits, arms around her body, head slightly bowed.
“Look, I’m sorry for what happened. We were all drunk—I’ll admit that. Things escalated.” I pause, letting the words settle, before adding, “Xavier crossed a line. I’ve dealt with him. He won’t touch you again.”
“A bit out of hand!” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You beat Heller up, unprovoked, and then allowed your animal of a friend to do what he wanted to me.”
“It wasn’t unprovoked. That boy had his hands all over you,” I reply, heat rising in my voice.
“He’s my friend, a concept I know you don’t understand. He was walking me home after a friendly evening out.”
“So bloody naïve. That little shit had only one thing on his mind, and it wasn’t friendship.” I scoff. “Do you realise how that made me look? We’re to be married in three weeks, and there’s my future wife skulking about in the dark with a stable hand.”
“How could I forget?” she spits.
“You made me look like a fool in front of everyone who matters.” Heat floods through my veins, my temper flaring like kindling catching fire.
“What, your ‘friends’? One of whom you then allowed to do far worse to me than holding my hand.”
“I apologised for that, didn’t I?” I say, then soften my tone deliberately, trying to keep my temper in check. “Look, Alaya, we need to be careful. My father has eyes everywhere, and he’s already questioning your commitment to this marriage. You’ve seen what he’s capable of.” I pause, watching her carefully. “I know I’m not your choice, and you were certainly not mine. But my job is to protect you—whether you believe that or not. Can we not just pretend, to the Court, that we find some civility towards each other?”
“And I suppose you were protecting me by leaving me out there, alone at night, blacked out?” she cries, a well of tears forming in her eyes.
“Fuck, you’re being dramatic. This Court is not for the weak and the helpless—the sooner you realise that, the better. Save that defiance for behind closed doors. I can take your hate, I can withstand whatever rage you want to throw at me. Just for Gods’ sake, keep your head down until we’re married. For all that you despise me now, it can get a lot worse.”
Her eyes flash with pure contempt and drops her head down into her hands.
