Page 86 of Scarred Crown

My stomach rolls at the truth of his statement, and I exit his office.

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I’m almost to my wing of the palace when I catch sight of Brice headed toward me down the wide hallway. A grin stretches across his face, and I can’t help my own in response.

“Tequila and cards have led many places, but to a chapel?” Brice crows from a distance.

I chuckle and stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans. My tattoo stings, but I don’t need Brice giving me a hard time about that as well until I know what Jules is thinking.

“Does this mean I can blame you for my shotgun wedding?”

“Blame?” Brice stops just before me. “You mean, thank, right? It’s Jules. She’s every wet dream you’ve ever had.”

I glance around to make sure no one else just heard him publicly declare my love for… my wife? Wow. That’s still weird. I’ll spend all day getting used to the title only to find out she doesn’t want it.

“She sent Alex a text saying our marriage was a drunken mistake.” Though I’ve been trying hard to tamp down the spike of anxiety those words caused me, Brice has heard it all. Many, many times.

“Can’t dispute the drunk part. I wouldn’t put too much weight behind a text she sent to Alex.” He laughs. “The glassy-eyed photos you leaked to Dimitri at the Bellerive National paper weren’t your classiest move.”

“Do you think Jules has put that together yet?”

Brice raises his eyebrows.

Suddenly, I’m not so keen to talk about Jules and our potentially epic fail of a marriage. “Where were you when you got called home?”

“Macao. Gambling. Shame we didn’t get to meet in Vegas like we planned.”

“Definitely wouldn’t have married you,” I mutter.

Brice laughs. “Only because that would be illegal.” Then he shakes his head. “Alex as king. Somehow, I never really thought it would happen. Dad’s always felt like he’d live forever.”

“Has he told you why he’s stepping down?” I peer at my younger brother.

“Wants to enjoy his retirement or some bullshit like that. Is that what he fed you?”

“With a silver spoon.” I frown. “Something doesn’t add up. Many things, actually. Why send Jules to Tanzania? Why enact the seventy-two hours if I already knew about the coronation? Why bring us both home months before anything is actually happening?”

“Mid-life crisis?” Brice jokes, and then his smile fades to a serious expression. “If there’s more to it, he’ll tell us when he’s ready. You and Julia clear the air before you did the deed?”

“Some things are better left buried.”

Brice stares at me for a beat. “You know, I’ve never said anything, but you’ve avoided competing against Alex out of some sort of misguided belief you wouldn’t measure up. Most of the time, you’re better than Alex. It’s just that Alex will do anything to win. Life lesson number one, right? Alex always wins.”

The thought of him winning Julia again sours my stomach. If his outburst in the hallway wasn’t misplaced jealousy, I don’t know what that was about. Maybe they were together long after I realize.

“You’re better than him, you’ve just never wanted something,” he tries to catch my gaze, “or someone badly enough to fight him for it.”

Was that the problem when I was sixteen? I didn’t want Jules enough? No. No. Julia wanted Alex. She ran away from me and straight into his arms. What good would fighting have done? It wasn’t a fight I could win.

“What’s your point, Brice? Alex and Julia aren’t together.” I flash my tattoo, and Brice lights up. “She married me.” We marked each other, and the realization does bring me a strange comfort.

“A tattoo? You got a fucken tattoo with her name on it?” He bends at the waist with laughter. “I legit wish I’d been there. How did I miss this?” When he catches his breath, he grabs my hand and stares at Julia’s name—well, Jules, really. “You dumb fuck. This is amazing!” He drops my hand and squeezes my shoulder. “Seriously. Talk to her about whatever happened with Alex. You might not think it matters now, but she wasn’t the one who listened to your drunken whining ass in Vegas for years. Those scars run deep, man. Let ’em heal.”

I flex my hands at my sides. He’s not wrong about how deep that particular scar runs.

“She got a tattoo too?” he asks, and his lips twitch with amusement.

“Nick in bold.” Though talk of an annulment, the text she sent Alex, and her vomiting at the realization we’re married don’t bode well for her keeping it. My euphoria from earlier has vanished. The cold, hard reality is that she might not have wanted to marry me. She might have been too drunk, or perhaps I tricked her into it. We might never know the sequence of events that led us down the aisle.