“The problem is, I do too.”
“I’m not afraid of the consequences,” I tell her.
“You should be.”
When she’s gone, I sit in the empty conservatory and watch the light fade from gold to amber to purple. Her words echo in my head.
“Focus on the board.”
“You have more power than you realize.”
She’s wrong about that.
My father is dying, and the council has lost faith in me. I have no power here. I never did. The illusion of choice was just that, and now the walls are closing in fast.
I’ve spent my entire life playing defense, protecting my king, calculating risks instead of taking them. I’ve never made a move without knowing exactly how it would play out, but where has that gotten me? Maybe I should stop overthinking and make a move.
But it’s illogical, dangerous, and risky.
There is no solution where this works. I need to be the crown prince I was raised to be and stop pretending I can have something that was never meant for me.
I think about the notes we’ve been passing back and forth and how she looked at me last night when she said she was choosing adventure anyway.
She’s my queen. The most powerful piece on the board, the one that can move in any direction, the one that changes everything. And I don’t want to lose her.
I stand and walk to the window, pressing my palm against the cool glass as the last sliver of sun disappears below the horizon. Tomorrow evening, I will perform the role of interested suitor while I pursue Addison behind the scenes.
I should end this before it really begins, but I’m selfishly not ready to surrender her. Not fucking yet.
11
ADDISON
The next time I pass the chessboard, it has a new note waiting for me.
I spot the folded paper tucked beneath the board. My pace quickens because during yesterday’s painting session, he was weird and distant. I’m hoping he’ll explain. I unfold the paper and trace my finger across his handwriting.
You’re on my mind.
It’s four words that shouldn’t make my stomach flip, but here we are. I pull a pen from my bag, already thinking about my response. It should be something flirty, but not too much. I need to match his energy without revealing he’s tattooed on mine.
“A handful of princesses are arriving before dinner,” a high-pitched voice echoes down the corridor.
I freeze with the pen hovering over the paper.
Two women in staff uniforms pass the intersecting hallway, their arms full of fresh linens. They don’t notice me standing in the nook. I let out a breath because I don’t want anyone to see me here. I’m aware how gossip spreads around in places like this.
“The north wing is absolute chaos,” the second one says. “Fresh flowers in every room, and he was forced to write each one apersonalized note. Tonight, the queen has instructed us to use the finest china for dinner.”
“Wow. I guess the prince is serious about settling down. At thirty-six, he should.”
“We’ll know in two weeks. Can you imagine all those women fighting for his attention? Survival of the brattiest.”
Their voices fade as they turn the corner, but I’m stuck to the floor.
Princesses, probably all drop-dead gorgeous, will arrive today to fight for his hand in marriage.
I feel physically ill, blindsided by this. He only has two weeks to make his decision.
