I put my pants on and slid my feet into my shoes before grabbing my shirt and phone off the counter. The crisp air hit me when I stepped out the door and goosebumps prickled across my skin as Jackson opened the door to the backseat for me.
Everything in my body was revolting at the thought of leaving Adelaide, but I held on to the hope that she would understand why I had to leave and would take me up on my offer to spend more time together.
She never called.
CHRISTMAS DAY
I sighed, leaning back in my chair and surveying the office before me. I took in the antique desk, thefinish on the edges worn smooth from decades of hands trailing across them. The bookcase to my left, the shelves filled with a mixture of books and trinkets I had picked up on my travels. The plush armchair in the corner by the window that had served as my favorite thinking spot. It was hard to believe that soon, this space would no longer be mine.
In just one week, in the hours following my coronation, palace staff would move my belongings into my father’s office. As much as I knew that the coronation ceremony was the official moment I would become king, I wondered if it would feel real before I saw all of my things in the room that I had always connected with my dad.
I wondered how long it would take for me to stop thinking of it as “Dad’s office” and to start thinkingof it as my own.
I stretched my arms overhead, rotating my shoulders back and down as I stood, walking to the window that overlooked the grounds. I could see Knox and Birdie’s cottage in the distance, the warm light pouring out of their living-room window onto the snow. Though Knox would most certainly be putting in overtime hours this upcoming week to get the grounds ready for the coronation—his final project before he took on his new position as my Chief Counselor—I knew tonight he and Birdie were most certainly reveling in the newness of their engagement.
Celebrating their engagement that morning over Christmas breakfast had absolutely been a joyous occasion, though it hadn’t fully distracted me from the anxiety of my own impending proposal.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I considered the public proposal planned for the next day. As Crown Prince, I was required to be engaged by my coronation on New Year’s Day. If I wasn’t, the crown would pass to Rosie, who would be expected to marry once she came of age, all thanks to my brother abdicating in September.
The competition for my hand hadn’t truly been a competition in the strictest sense of the word, more of an expedited courting process for me to find a wife—something I never thought I would need to do in such a short time.
The whole thing had felt a bit ridiculous, but in the end, I supposed that it wasn’t completely pointless. After all, it had led to Knox meeting Birdie—an American woman our friend Vince had sponsored for the competition, who ultimately was a far better fit for Knox than she was for me.
And now, with the conclusion of said dog and pony show, it was time for me to choose and propose to the future Queen of Wexstone.
No pressure.
I swore quietly, cursing my great-grandfather for implementing the law that required the ruler of Wexstone to be married. He himself had inherited the crown from his unmarried uncle, who had nearly driven the country into ruin after sixty years on the throne. Soon after his coronation, my great-grandfather established laws preventing any King or Queen of Wexstone from ruling for more than thirty years or from ruling without a partner by their side.
Which was how I found myself here, on Christmas evening, contemplating my own coronation and upcoming engagement, despite having been second in line for the throne and single just months ago.
A cold chill skittered up my spine. Perhaps there was one thing I wouldn’t miss about this office. The heating in this room had always been a bit temperamental, despite Knox’s best attempts to keep the centuries-old palace up to date. Dad’s office, on the other hand, always stayed at a steady, comfortable temperature even on the coldest winter days.
I tried yet again to picture myself as king. I’d been trying to imagine it since the day Xavier had abdicated, but even months later the concept still felt foreign to me. I supposed that thirty years of being the second in line would be hard to override.
As I leaned my head against the trim of the window, watching shadows dance across the snow, I let myself think back to that late September day when my world had changed in a matter of moments.
I shuddered again, this time not at the cold but at the memory of the look on Dad’s face when Xavier, Knox, and I had entered his office the morning after the school’s gala fundraiser.
Our father was a kind man and a good king, but he had a hardness to him that had nearly always been directed towardXavier. It was hard to know if it was because Xavier was the born heir or because of Xavier’s antics over the years—or if Xavier’s antics over the years were a result of Dad being harder on him than the rest of us. Either way, the look he gave Xavier as we walked into the room had chilled my blood.
“Xavier, last night was the last time you will behave in such a manner. You embarrassed the crown, you embarrassed this family, and you embarrassed Ms. Levy by disrupting the gala. As the heir to this throne?—”
“I no longer wish to be heir to the throne. I am renouncing my title as Crown Prince. Give the crown to Oliver.”
I closed my eyes, remembering the way the air had left my lungs as Xavier turned on his heel and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. He may as well have punched me in the gut as he passed me.
And that was it. Of course, our parents tried to talk him out of it, but he hopped on a plane and refused to answer his phone, instead replying with a few short text messages to say that he was sure of his decision and would return in a few weeks.
It was the decision that set into motion the competition to find my future wife, set to culminate tomorrow afternoon with a public proposal followed by an exclusive televised interview with Warren James, Wexstone’s most famous TV journalist.
A knock at the door pulled me back to the present. I turned, and—as if I had conjured him with my thoughts—Xavier entered the office.
“Hey,” I said, furrowing my brow. Xavier’s presence and communication with the family had been scarce over the past few months; I hadn’t expected to see much of him until the coronation ceremony.
“Hey. Can I come in?”
I nodded and Xavier closed the door behind him, taking a seat in the armchair. I moved aside a stack of papers and perched on the edge of the desk. His copper hair was in disarray and dark circles shadowed his eyes; he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week.
