Chapter 13 #2
The women exchange glances, trying to read the dynamics they witnessed.
My mother’s smile tightens. The pleasantries continue for another excruciating hour, and all I can think about is what my father will say.
I’m sure it will be another lecture about duty and legacy and the importance of finding a queen. I hold back the urge to roll my eyes.
When the meal finally ends, the women rise, curtsy, and leave the room in a cloud of perfume and rustling silk. My mother follows them to oversee the activities that have been planned for the morning. She’s also judging them, searching for her replacement.
Because of their loyalty to the Crown, my parents will choose the perfect queen for the country. The perfect queen for me isn’t up for discussion.
My father and I are eventually the only two people in the breakfast hall. He doesn’t speak immediately. He sets his newspaper aside and looks at me with eyes that have always seen too much.
“Tatiana seems promising,” he offers.
“She’s intelligent. Well-practiced.”
“And from an excellent family.” He pauses. “Your mother enjoys talking to her.”
“And?”
“So far, she’s the front-runner. Get to know her better.”
He studies me for a long moment, like he’s waiting for me to disagree.
I want to, but instead, I keep my expression neutral.
Right now, I’m playing the long game as I come up with a strategy.
Also, my father should be resting and not under immense amounts of stress, so I try not to be a burden this morning.
“You seem distracted today,” he says finally. “Distant.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
I’ve learned that giving him anything extra is a mistake. He’ll use it against me—not out of cruelty, but because he knows what’s best.
“See that you rest tonight.” He rises from his chair and buttons his jacket.
“Have you changed your mind about treatments?” I ask, not allowing him to back away from this conversation.
“I’ve already explained this to you.”
“You can change your mind. We have access to the best doctors in the world. You’re being stubborn.” Begging my father is not beneath me. I don’t want to lose him.
“Watch your tone.” He slightly raises his voice. “Go rest and start taking this seriously.” He’s beyond frustrated with me.
“I’m taking this as seriously as you’re taking your health.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long, and I wonder what he sees.
“A proposal is expected before September,” he reminds me, as if I’ve forgotten after this charade this morning.
“That’s all the council wants?” I ask.
“You know the expectation,” he says softly.
“To find a suitable woman who is fit to be queen and can continue the bloodline. Correct?” I’m losing my patience.
“That’s the requirement,” he reminds me before walking out.
I’m left alone with my thoughts in the empty breakfast hall.
As I let out a long breath, the thought repeats in my mind. To find a suitable woman who is fit to be queen and can continue the bloodline.
I have less than two weeks to figure out how to keep Addison and not destroy everything my family has built. My grandmother lived in a different time, with different rules, and a father who would have had her lover killed without a second thought. But this isn’t 1952.
The council wants a suitable woman, which means political alliance; my parents want grandchildren and stability; and the country needs a relatable queen they can admire.
Addison is American and has no title, political value, or strategic alliance.
But she’s also a Cross. Her family is worth billions.
Her brother is one of the most famous athletes in the world.
She’s respected in international art circles, and she has been trained in etiquette since childhood, handled media her entire life, and turned down twelve proposals from men who probably could’ve given her a life without the circus.
She’s not a nobody; it’s that she’s not European royalty.
The question isn’t whether I can marry her. The question is whether I can make my parents see her as a viable choice before the thirteen days are up.
I need a strategy. I need allies. And, fuck, I need more time.
The sunlight streams through the tall windows and catches the dust motes floating in the air, and for a moment, the room feels like a gilded cage with bars made of crystal and silk. And I need to get the fuck out of here before I lose my mind.
I don’t run into another soul on the way to the east wing. My footsteps tap against the marble floors as I walk past portraits of my ancestors. Their painted eyes follow me down the corridor, and I wonder if any of them were truly happy or if happiness was never part of the arrangement.
When I turn the corner, I spot the chessboard and see it hasn’t been touched. Every piece is in its starting position and perfectly aligned, like they’re waiting to begin again. The note that she left yesterday is still in place.
This ends now.
Addison was trying to protect herself, which I understand.
The smart move is to retreat before this destroys us.
But last night, in the clock tower, everything changed.
It’s clear that we’re not walking away from one another without a fight.
The two of us together are dangerous. We’re both too cunning, obsessed, and willing to take risks that won’t make sense to anyone.
The first time I found a move waiting for me on this board after years of not playing was exhilarating. I didn’t know it was her then. I knew someone was willing to challenge me and treat me like an opponent.
I start by replacing my pawns, then the knights, bishops, and the rooks.
Move by move, I rebuild the game we never finished because I remember every position.
It takes me ten minutes to restore the board exactly where we left it.
When I’m done, I step back and look over it.
The pieces are at war in the center. Both sides are committed, but neither is willing to retreat.
It’s a mess, and it’s complicated, and there’s no clear path to victory for either of us.
I don’t know which of us will win, but it’s perfect.
I pull out my pen and write beneath her last note, hoping she stumbles across this soon. The thought has me grinning.
The game continues …
I tuck the paper under her queen and let my fingers rest on the piece for a moment.
She told me to step into my power, and maybe this is what that looks like.
It’s not grand gestures or dramatic declarations to each other publicly, but small, stubborn choices, taken one move at a time.
Being with Addison is the only choice. Even though my life is a mess and seven women are waiting for me to choose one of them, all I can think about is the game that I refuse to let end.
Addison can reset the board all she wants, but I’ll put the pieces back.
We have to finish what we started. We have to see it through together. Maybe we both lose, or maybe we both win. Time will tell.