Page 87 of Heavy Crown

Desmond is waiting for me in my office when I arrive. I slide into my chair, and I survey the printed emails he’s laid out for me to read. I don’t touch them. I’ve read them on my computer and on my phone. Dealing with them is another matter.

“Your parents have requested a meeting with you Monday at eight.” Desmond flips to a page in his little black book. “There are no conflicts.”

I chuckle. “No? Just pencil Rory’s name in there, and I’m sure a conflict will arise.”

Desmond releases a long-suffering sigh. “Your Highness, if you do not wish to meet with them, I will relay the message.”

“At what point do you think they’ll show up uninvited and unscheduled?” I muse.

“The king will respect your wishes. The queen is growing weary of your...” He gazes up at the ceiling. “Temper tantrum, I believe that was her phrase.”

“Temper tantrum.” I scoff.

“To be fair, you know as well as I do, we haven’t discovered a single clause in a single royal document that would allow you to marry someone who isn’t Bellerivian or royal.”

“That’s not exactly true,” I mutter. There were several clauses various kings slipped in to cover mistresses or other women on the side. Very, very few interferences in the direct line of succession, but they exist. Those exceptions just don’t fit my scenario. If Father hadn’t been declared incompetent for the purposes of ruling, he could create an amendment to the rules. Unfortunately, one of the clauses we did discover doesn’t allow me to write and enforce anything until I’ve taken the throne. Probably an overzealous heir at some point, but it fucks me over now.

I don’t even know if Rory would want to be with me, but I wish more than anything it was a conversation I could have with her. She said she’d take the weight of the country, the weight of the world for me, but pretty words aren’t actions. The weight is heavy, sometimes crushing, and no matter what I feel for her, I would never wish this life on her if she didn’t truly want it. Before this whole thing started, she said she’d never work for a boyfriend’s family business again.

What about a husband’s?

Desmond clears his throat. “In front of you, you’ll find a series of emails where you were cc’d and did not respond.”

I finger them without picking them up.

“I saw you read them,” Desmond prods.

I sigh and skim my knuckles against my cheek. “The logistics of Simone’s introduction to Bellerive.” I work my jaw in annoyance. “I’m at a crossroads, Desmond. A thing I desperately do not want to do is at a junction with a thing I desperately want to do.”

Desmond closes his little black book and sits back in his armchair. He stares at me, and the silence grows heavy around us.

“You’re not going to say anything?” I prod.

“This is not my life; it’s yours.” Desmond crosses his legs.

“So I can just do what I want.”

“Well, you have been, haven’t you? Consequences be damned.” He nods at the papers on my desk. “She’s aware of Rory. An open secret. Probably just as you planned.”

If only I’d planned any of this. For the first time in my life, since the minute I told Kane to turn down West Shore Road, I’ve been at the mercy of something much larger than me, than what I want. I couldn’t have turned my back on Rory if I possessed superhuman willpower. Fate. Destiny. All those notions I believed to be bullshit came knocking, and I answered. I opened the door, and I can’t close it again. I don’t know how. I don’t want to.

“Is it worth speaking to my mother?” I ask.

Desmond shakes his head. “No. I would not, if I were you. She’s not on your side in this. The king might be swayed.”

“The roles are reversed,” I muse.

“The king’s perspective on quite a few things has changed—subtly or otherwise—since he was diagnosed.”

Desmond has never had to tell me how my parents are feeling before. I’m in the eye of any storm—the son they lean on—but I’ve removed my support. “Normally, that would be a good thing, to have him on my side. But he’s powerless now.”

“What are you hoping to gain from your obstinance? Your options are to marry someone other than Rory and assume the throne or to step away from the line of succession to have Rory.” He balances his hands in the air. “Flaunting your affair only to marry Princess Simone is beneath you.”

I huff out a breath and cross my arms. He’s rarely so blunt with me, but it’s probably about time someone was. We’re down to the wire, and I can’t get my head in order. My desire for Rory is superseding everything else.

“Is that why Mother is so angry?”

“For perhaps the first time in her life, she doesn’t understand you. She may not have agreed with decisions and conclusions you’ve made in the past, but she understood them. This”—he waves his hand—“whatever this is, isn’t logical or rational. It’s emotional. Everyone is used to that from Nick and, to an extent, Brice. But you? Never you. Your tagline—emotions don’t rule me, I rule them—is notorious.”