Page 28 of King's Heir of Hate

Two people who looked suitably solemn as they started their life of duty and obligation together, he’d thought.

Now Tadeo thought he looked distant and faintly disapproving. And while Esme looked beautiful, as always, if he was fully honest with himself, she also looked terribly sad.

What he didn’t like was that his parents looked much the same to him now.

Tadeo didn’t think of his mother assad. Careless, certainly. Reckless and scandalous, but notsad.

Somehow, the fact that he was having a son—within a few months—brought this home to him. He found himself thinking about his parents more than he had in a long while, and in ways that felt different to him. He particularly found himself thinking about that expression on his mother’s face.

Had she truly beensad? And if so, why had his father not done something about it?

That felt disloyal. He hated that he could entertain any notion that did not paint his father in the bright light King Hugo deserved.

“And to what end?” he asked himself during one of his ferocious workouts on a night that Esme had decided to poke at him, thereby ensuring he would sleep alone.

He lifted weights until he thought his muscles would betray him and then he walked back toward his rooms, not pleased when his mind took him back again to his father.

But not about his mother this time.

What was on Tadeo’s mind tonight was his child. His soon-to-be-born baby. He preferred the nights when Esme followed the rules—that he relaxed once she was there, he acknowledged, because they talked in bed now. He preferred sleeping with her, yes, for all the expected reasons and more. But he also liked that he had access to his baby.

He could not conceive of treating his child as anything but the miracle he was. He already liked to feel him kick and roll. The child wasn’t here yet and his antics already made Esme laugh and even Tadeo smile in the cocoon of his bed.

He could not imagine how he would take these feelings within him and turn them off. The truth of the matter was that when it came to his son, Tadeo did not feel neutral or icy at all.

What he could not figure out was why—or, crucially,how—his father ever had.

Chapter Eight

THE WEDDING OFKing Gervais and his young and starry-eyed heiress took place in the former’s kingdom in its iconic cathedral that was mostly famous for having not been bombed in any of the twentieth century’s wars.

Esme and Tadeo entered the cathedral with all the rest of Europe’s royals and nobles, all of them walking across the grand forecourt in their finery while looking pleasantly sophisticated for the cameras and the crowd.

In many ways, Esme thought as they walked in the sedate procession, this was something of an extended family reunion. The grand crowns of Europe had been intermingling for so many centuries that it was likely more difficult to find two royal families thatweren’trelated to some degree. Somewhere in their gilded family trees.

They were directed to their seats, where there was a great deal of nodding and smiling, even between heads of state who would normally consider themselves enemies. Weddings called for better manners. Or at least a competition to see who could pretend better.

Esme knew her ability to seem delighted in her surroundings, no matter what, was top-tier. And despite his penchant for chilliness, Tadeo could do the same.

Still, it was a relief when the ceremony started in all its high pageantry, and the graciousness no longer had to be directed at each other. Everyone could relax and watch an old king marry a young woman as if it was still medieval times.

A sentiment Esme rather thought she could see on almost every face in the cathedral. Especially the faces of Gervais’s heirs.

Esme had been to a friend’s wedding some while ago on a beach somewhere along the rugged Maine coast. The officiant had gotten certified online. The bride and groom had made up their own vows and the whole thing had been interrupted by some chattering seagulls.

It was amusing to sit in the middle of a spectacle like this one and think about ceremonies like that. So unpretentious. So easily accessible. The entire wedding party and all the guests had fit into one small dining area in a nearby pub. It had been lovely.

This was not that kind of wedding.

After the ceremony, there was another procession out of the cathedral. It was another opportunity for Europe’s aristocracy to wave at the cameras and the gathered crowds as they slipped into a sea of waiting Rolls-Royces and were borne back to the palace.

“These weddings are all the same,” Esme said when they were settled in their car, her mouth fixed in a cheerful smile as she waved to the crowds outside the window. “It could have been our wedding. The only thing that changes are the coats of arms and the languages.”

“It is yet one more way that monarchies remain eternal.” From beside her, Tadeo was offering a wave of his own out the opposite window. “How else would anyone know to support us?”

Esme looked over at him. “That sounded suspiciously like republican sentiment dressed up in sardonic inflection.”

“Perish the thought.” But he glanced over at her. “Though I will say that it is…differentto know that I am bringing a child into this world. Into this pressure. I would not change my life in any regard.” Esme thought he put a little too much emphasis onthe wordany. Then was surprised when he kept going. “But I can’t deny it had its challenges.”