ADDISON
The door swings open, and the first thing I see is the painting of Louis and me displayed on an easel in the center of the room. It’s what most have now namedThe Treason Portrait, and it’s the main reason I was banned from Montclaire. My signature in the bottom corner sits like a confession.
I swallow hard, and Louis’s hand tightens around mine. Davis makes a small choking sound behind us.
“Come in.” The king gestures from a leather armchair near the fireplace. His voice is soft, like he’s inviting us for a casual visit. “Close the door behind you.”
The door clicks shut, and the sound makes me jump.
My heels click against the hardwood as we step inside. Then I curtsy before my heels sink into the thick Persian rug that covers most of the floor. This isn’t a room I’ve had the pleasure of visiting yet, even though it has the same vibe as his library. Tall walls are covered with intricate gold designs, and the lighting is warm, making it feel like a summer dream. A chess set sits, ready to play, on a table near the window. The pieces are mid-game, and I wonder who plays with him.
Does Louis come and visit his father? Do they sit across from each other the way Louis and I used to, moving pieces and trading words until the rest of the world falls away?
Family photographs cover the wall behind his formal area. My eyes quickly scan over the candid shots.
“Please, sit.” He offers us the chairs across from him. “You’ve had quite a journey.”
My legs are shaking beneath the red dress that felt sexy and powerful at Diamond, but now clings to my skin in wrinkled patches. The slit that hits perfectly at mid-thigh keeps riding up. I tug it down as I lower myself into one of the chairs. The velvet cushion is soft, and my body wants to melt into it and sleep for days because exhaustion has finally caught up with me. My feet scream inside the heels I’ve been wearing for over twelve hours, and my mascara is definitely smudged under my eyes. My hair is flat on the side where I leaned against Louis’s shoulder during the flight. I’m sitting in front of the king of Montclaire, looking like I just crawled out of a nightclub at sunrise.
Louis takes the chair beside me, close enough that our knees almost touch. Davis hovers near the door until the king raises an eyebrow at him. He crosses the room and sits on the edge of a third chair. His dark jeans and wrinkled button-down stand out against the formal backdrop of oil paintings and antique furniture.
“Tea?” The king reaches for a porcelain pot painted with delicate blue flowers. Steam curls from the spout.
“Father.” Louis’s voice comes out raw. “What is this?”
“Earl Grey, I believe. Though I could be mistaken.” He pours four cups with steady hands, the amber liquid catching the light. “Milk? Sugar? I even have honey.”
“I don’t want tea,” Louis says. “I want to know why I’m here, why you sent for us.”
“Drink it anyway.” The king sets a cup on the small table nearest Louis, followed by one for me, then one near Davis. “You look like death. All three of you.”
I wrap my hands around the warm porcelain to try to calm my nerves. The heat seeps into my palms, and I breathe in bergamot, letting it cut through the exhaustion clouding my brain. A plate of buttery golden shortbread cookies sits beside the teapot, and my stomach growls loud enough that everyone hears it but pretends not to.
The king settles back in his chair and studies us. His gaze moves from Louis to me to Davis to the painting on the easel. His eyes are alert, the same blue as Louis’s, and they miss nothing.
“Well,” he says finally, “this is quite a mess you’ve made.”
Louis crosses his legs at his ankles and sits back, like he’s waiting to get his ass chewed.
“Let’s list why. The secret romance conducted under your mother’s nose for weeks. The lies you both told. The guard you convinced to commit treason.” His attention lands on Davis, who freezes with his teacup halfway to his mouth. “The midnight escape from the palace. The flight to New York without authorization. The photographs splashed across every tabloid in Europe.” He pauses, letting each item land. “And of course, this.”
He gestures at the painting.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The scandal this has caused. The diplomatic relationships your mother spent years cultivating, destroyed in a single evening.” Steel runs beneath his tone as he scolds Louis. “You’ve embarrassed the Crown, infuriated your mother, and given the press enough material to feast on for at least a decade, if not longer.”
Louis absorbs each word without flinching. His posture stays rigid, and his face remains expressionless.
“You’ve spent the entire summer rebelling like a teenager instead of acting like the heir to a throne.” The king’s gaze pins Louis in place. “Sneaking around. Passing notes. Risking everything for stolen moments with a woman you’d known for weeks. Does that sound logical to you? What do you believe should happen to you?”
“I don’t know,” Louis admits.
“From where I sit, it seems as if you’ve forgotten who you are and what you owe this family, this country, and the crown you’ll inherit.”
I take a sip just to have something to do, but I barely taste it. Any second, I’m expecting him to call the guards and have us dragged away.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” the king asks. He’s not rude. His tone is like he’s talking about the weather.
Louis doesn’t speak for a long moment.
