Page 114 of Heavy Crown

“As a king to his successor, yes. As a father to his son, no.”

Is that why they didn’t send communication through Desmond? It’s an easy excuse when faced with my unhappiness. What would they have done? Warned me again? Offered to find me a different arranged marriage? Rory is not a native Bellerivian or a royal, and neither of those will miraculously happen. Another marriage wouldn’t have mattered because the only one I want, I cannot have.

“What’s done is done,” I say. Even if he told me I fucked up somewhere along the way in my efforts to be with Rory, we can’t go back. Some decisions, once made, cannot be undone. Playing the what-if or if-only game leads to madness.

“Your mother and I are capable of acting in your interests as your parents.”

“Yes,” I agree. “But you’re always the king and queen of Bellerive first.” A truth I’ve rarely thrown in their faces, but I’m not keen to play nice.

“Someday,” my father says, “you’ll comprehend what it’s like to walk this tightrope.”

“I will always put my children first.” Whenever children cross my mind, Simone isn’t in the picture, and I’m not sure how to slot her in. She’d have to push someone else out, and I’m not ready. What will it take for me to truly move on?

My father chuckles, but the sound is sad. “I wish I could be around long enough to remind you of this conversation. As admirable as that is, that’ll be an impossible vow to keep.”

We arrive at the front entrance, and Nick, Jules, Brice, Mother, and a slew of workers greet us.

I search the crowd. A blonde near the back. The crowd shifts, and disappointment squeezes my chest in a vise. Not her.

A foolish hope.

Dinner is a strange affair. We celebrate choice, but in essence we’re rejoicing at our father’s right to take his life. Fucking depressing.

Nick is sullen through most of the meal. Does he expect the law to come into effect tomorrow? He understands so little of government politics because he’s never had to. A small comfort, in a slew of disappointments, that Nick won’t ever sit on the Advisory Council to demonstrate his ignorance and lack of preparation.

Ditto Brice. He’s jubilant that we’ve succeeded. He believes our father has options. Many, many people will, but I’m not sure my father will make the cut. The referendum isn’t a law, and until we have one of those, we’re not much further ahead.

During dessert, my phone beeps beside me. When I turn it over to find Simone’s congratulatory text, I can’t bring myself to respond, and I turn it off. I’m in no mood to speak to anyone. Tomorrow I fly to Denmark.

My disposition has soured since the referendum win was announced. While I’ve campaigned for this outcome, it doesn’t seem like something to be celebrated. My father is dying, and today may have brought us one step closer. To say I’m not ready is an understatement. For the power and responsibility? Yes. To lose my father? Never.

If I’d left the country with Rory, would I have been able to visit my father again? Could I have been at his death bed? I’d have missed what’s left of his good health. If I could have returned, what would I have returned to? How would I have come to terms with the lost time?

The decision to leave came to me so swiftly, and the timeline for a decision was so tight, I didn’t factor my father’s health into my decision. Incredibly selfish. I sought happiness at any cost.

Misery has found me instead.

At least I’ll get whatever time I have left with my father, and if I’m honest with myself, I would have mourned the loss had I run away with Rory. Perhaps I should be thankful she didn’t love me enough to take the leap.

Conversations zip around me, and my foul mood is threatening to infect the table with my non-answers and refusal to participate in their various conversations. I push back my chair and grab my phone.

“It’s been a long day. Good luck in Tanzania, Nick and Jules. I’ll see the rest of you in the morning before I leave for Denmark.”

I don’t stick around for the usual preamble whenever anyone leaves a family dinner. Instead, I make my way to my suite of rooms. Where I used to seek out Rory on nights like this—who am I kidding? I sought her out every night—her comfort is no longer an option.

At least in my sleep, my subconscious might give me a glimpse of what I once had. Dreaming of her is the poison and the elixir.

When I reach the entrance to my wing of the palace, Kane is there.

“I tried to get you on your phone, Your Highness,” he says. “Called the internal line as well, but you’d left the dining room.”

“What’s wrong?” Whatever it is, I’m in a poor state of mind to deal with yet another crisis. My temper is barely in check. Press the wrong button, and I’m likely to detonate. “If it can wait for tomorrow, that’s best.”

Kane rubs his face. “Aurora Wilson is in your bedroom, Your Highness. She’s still on the list of approved visitors, and when I couldn’t get in touch with you, I made the decision to let her in.”

“Rory’s here?” My mind has turned sluggish at her unexpected appearance. The last time she was willingly in the same room with me was three weeks ago.

“Yes, but I’m happy to tell her you’ve been called away elsewhere if you’d prefer not to see her.” He hesitates. “Or I can keep her visit to myself if you’d prefer.”