Page 119 of Throne Off Course

And then there were the whispers—anonymous palace sources claiming they’d witnessed “intense moments” and “heated debates that somehow never quite seemed purely academic.” One staffer added, “The staff’s split—half think it’s a fairytale, half think he’s throwing away everything Queen Eleanor built. It’s chaos behind closed doors.” Another gossip column interviewed neighbors in her building who claimed to not have seen her in weeks, speculating she’d been secretly living at the palace preparing for the engagement announcement.

Social media was a storm of its own, millions of posts analyzing, celebrating, and tearing into every aspect of their relationship:

“Imagine changing centuries of tradition because you refuse to give up the woman you love, then proposing with a ring that symbolizes true love over duty. THAT’S romance. #RoyalEngagement”

“Not sure why everyone’s obsessing over a hot bureaucrat’s love life. Monarchy’s still just rich people playing dress-up with our tax money. #RoyalEngagement #AbolishIt”

“Sure, it’s romantic, but what’s next—a palace reality show? Tradition matters. #RoyalEngagement #BringBackTheAct”

“A historian literally made history by inspiring the abolition of an archaic law and becoming our future queen. Emilia Carter is my new hero. #RoyalEngagement”

“Oh great, another royal fairy tale to distract us while they sit on piles of gold. Can we skip the wedding and just tax the crown jewels already? #RoyalEngagement #EndTheMonarchy”

“That proposal. That ring. That kiss. I’m not crying, you’re crying. #RoyalEngagement”

“Alexander’s out here acting like love fixes everything. Mate, it’s a throne, not a rom-com. Rent’s still due. #RoyalEngagement #WakeUp”

Emilia set the tablet down, overwhelmed by the flood of notifications. She’d known there would be attention, of course. She wasn’t naive. But this—this felt like being caught in a tidal wave. Every private moment dissected, every glance interpreted, her entire life now public property. She glanced down at Caroline’s sapphire, still strange and wonderful on her finger.

And yet… there was something undeniably powerful about the narrative taking shape. The prince who defied tradition for love. The historian who wouldn’t compromise her identity. Together, they had somehow become a symbol of the monarchy’s potential evolution—though not without a chorus of skeptics ready to tear it all down.

The door opened quietly, and Alexander appeared, looking impossibly composed despite everything—not a crease in his suit, not a hair out of place.

“So,” he said, eyeing the tablet with a wry smile. “I see you’ve been reading.”

Emilia drew her legs up and hugged them. She briefly rested her head on her knees and then looked up at him. “Did you know it would be like this?”

He moved to sit beside her on the bed, his expression softening. “Not exactly like this, no. But I knew it wouldn’t be quiet.”

“They’re analyzing our body language,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “The Standard’s calling it reckless, half of Twitter wants to tax your jewels, and the other half thinks you’re a romantic hero. And apparently I’ve been living in the palace for weeks, according to my very observant neighbors who I’ve never actually spoken to.”

“Welcome to royal life,” he added, his tone lighter now. “Where truth is optional and speculation is the national sport.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. “Does it ever get easier? Being public property like this?”

He considered the question, his hand finding hers, thumb brushing over the sapphire ring. “No,” he admitted. “But you get better at remembering what’s real and what’s just… noise.”

Emilia squeezed his hand. “And what’s real?”

His eyes met hers, clear and certain. “This. Us.” He paused, his thumb tracing patterns against her palm. “Everything else is just the price of admission.”

She laughed softly, resting her head against his shoulder. “Did you see my mother’s message? There are reporters outside my parents’ house, and apparently my father is threatening them with a bullhorn.”

Alexander winced. “I should have warned them. I’ll have security sent over.”

“I need to call her,” Emilia replied guiltily. “Apparently the news is out about our ‘strictly professional relationship.’”

Alexander’s lips twitched. “That’s an understatement.” His expression grew more serious. “This is just the beginning, you know. The scrutiny, the opinions, the constant attention—it won’t stop after today.”

“I know,” Emilia said, meeting his gaze as she twisted Caroline’s sapphire on her finger, “but we’ve completely upended the order of things. Are you sure we’ll be okay?”

He gathered her hands in his, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. “I won’t pretend it will be easy. There will be those who never accept us, who will watch and wait for us to fail.”

“That’s reassuring,” she said with a weak laugh.

His eyes softened as he looked at her. “You know,” he said, his voice low and certain, “they can write whatever headlines theywant, analyze every step we take together, and speculate until the end of time. But they’ll never really know what happened between us, or how you challenged everything I thought I knew.” His eyes held hers, unflinching. “They don’t get to define us, Emilia. Only we do.”

She felt something inside her settle—a quiet certainty taking root amid the storm.