Hope balloons in my chest.This is it. This is the caveat I’ve been looking for. I could pursue Aurelia if she were a part of the nobility. She could be mine. I wouldn’t have to spend my life trapped in a marriage to someone who doesn’t excite me. Instead of having a vapid socialite with only her own advancement in mind, I could have Aurelia as my partner in this royal life. And what a princess she would make.
“The line of inheritance could take many months to sort out, perhaps over a year.”
Lord Heston’s words are the safety pin to my hope.
“Fritz.” Father’s voice is soft and maybe a little sad. “I am sorry. This is never what I wanted for you. For any of my children. But this is the life we lead. I told you when you were young, there will come a day when you must choose between the heart and the crown.”
I bow my head. I do remember the conversation. Iwas just a child when he first began having this talk with me regularly, and it didn’t mean anything to me then. Heart and crown and future were all so abstract.
“We are only allowed to rule as long as we have the heart of the people. Every day we must earn our title.”
“Pushing for a change like this, to push for rapidity, it does not look good in the court of public opinion,” Father continued. “We do a disservice to our title if we appear fickle. If we go changing laws so we can chase our own desires, how might that be perceived by the commonwealth? We serve the people of this country. Our laws serve the people. We do not get to change those laws to serve ourselves.”
My stomach is in my feet. Of course, I know he’s right. These are all things Father has instilled in me as long as I can remember. I spent many nights with Father in his study while he lectured on our place in society, where monarchy fits in the modern day, our duty to our people. I was shuffled along to the opening day of parliament and shepherded through formal visits with foreign leaders. By his side, I honed my skill in reading emotions, learned to listen between the lines, began to understand the underhanded words and dealings in European politics.
From a young age, I was taught my place in this world, my role in this government, my lot in this life. And I’m a fucking moron for thinking anything—even great love—could stand in the way of that.
“Pick one, Father.” I look up into his eyes, so much like my own, I could almost imagine I was looking inthe mirror. Except for the tired lines like roots from the corners of his eyes. And I remember thinking my father looked old twenty years ago. And I remember the cancer. And I remember it could indeed be very soon before I have to lay aside all else. Before I’m sitting in that seat at the head of the table. Before I have to make every decision in my life for the crown, not for Friedrich. “Pick one of the remaining five for me, Father. It makes no difference anymore.”
I stand, bow to my father, place a kiss on his cheek, as all his children do in greeting or farewell, and take my leave.
