Chapter 38 #2
“Then why didn’t you—” Louis stops and shakes his head. “Why did you let Mother do this? The competition, the pressure, the threats. If you knew, why didn’t you stop it?”
“Because I wanted to see what you would do.” The king leans forward. “I was testing to see if you had the courage to fight for what you wanted or if you’d surrender, like—” He stops himself.
“Continue,” Louis says. “Please.”
The king speaks, breaking me from my thoughts. “Like people in this family have always done. Many have chosen duty over love. Many have sacrificed their happiness for the Crown. Convincing themselves that wanting something didn’t mean they deserved it.”
His eyes move back to Louis. “I wanted to know if you’d choose differently if you could.”
He looks at me, and I don’t look away.
“And the courage that must’ve taken.”
He turns back to Davis. “I’ve spent my entire reign surrounded by people who tell me what I want to hear. They make the choice that protects their position and their power. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find someone who will risk everything to do what’s right?”
Davis blinks, clearly not expecting this turn.
“The treason charges are dismissed,” the king says. “Effective immediately.”
Davis’s mouth falls open. “Your Majesty—”
“You showed more loyalty to my son in one night than most of my advisors have shown me in thirty years.” The king rises and steps toward Davis, who scrambles to his feet. “That kind of loyalty deserves recognition, not punishment.”
“I don’t know what to say, other than thank you.”
“Just continue being the man who makes the right choice instead of the easy one.” The king places a hand on Davis’s shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, there are family matters I need to discuss with my son and Miss Cross.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Davis looks at Louis, who gives him a small nod. Then he moves to the door, pausing at the threshold to glance back at us before stepping into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind him.
The click of the latch seems louder in his absence.
The king returns to his chair. With Davis gone, some of the formality has drained from the room. What’s left is more personal.
“All of this stress and anxiety so you could watch what choice I’d make?” Louis asks, like he’s still working through it.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just stop it? It went too far and—”
“I was going to intervene, but then you jumped on a plane and disappeared. I still haven’t figured out how you had a jet sent for you. But I’m happy to know that if you ever needed to escape, you have ways of doing so.” The king lifts the teacup to his lips.
“People in this family have always chosen duty over love. They sacrificed their happiness for the Crown and convinced themselves it was noble and necessary. I needed to know if you would surrender your heart when things got hard or if you would fight.” He gestures at my painting on the easel.
“And then I saw this. It’s a declaration of love so bold, so reckless that it answered every question I had.
What you have is real and not for clout or titles. ”
My vision blurs, and I blink hard.
“I’ve watched you transform this summer,” the king continues, focusing on Louis. “I’ve seen you laugh in ways I haven’t heard since you were a boy. I’ve seen you take risks that you never would’ve taken before. You’ve become the man I always hoped you’d be.” He looks at me. “Because of you.”
I stay silent because I don’t trust my voice.
“Do you know what I thought when I first saw that painting?” the king asks.
We both shake our heads.
“Finally—finally—someone who is brave enough not to hide.”
The tears spill over, and I swipe at them with the back of my hand, but more follow.
Louis stands abruptly and goes to his father. The king rises to meet him, and they embrace. I look away to give them privacy, studying the bookshelves while I try to pull myself together.
When they separate, both of them are wiping their eyes.
“There’s something else you need to know,” the king says.
Louis tenses. “What?”
“I started treatments. This week.”
Louis makes a sound. “You said you didn’t—”
“I changed my mind.” The king’s eyes move between us.
“You both reminded me that life is worth living, and I’m not done fighting.
My team of doctors are convinced they’ll be able to get rid of the cancer,” he continues.
“It will be intense, but I should recover. Everyone is optimistic for the first time in months.” He grips Louis’s shoulder.
“I’m not ready to die. I’ve found myself already missing what comes next for you two.
Son, I want you to enjoy the best years of your life before you’re given the crown. I can help with that.”
Louis pulls his father into another embrace, and this one lasts much longer.
“The marriage arrangement is finished,” the king says when they finally step back. “All of it. Done. You’re free to be with whoever you want.”
“The council—”
“I’m the king of Montclaire. I ultimately make the rules.” A ghost of humor crosses his face. “The council will accept my decision or tender their resignations. I don’t particularly care which.”
The door opens behind us, and we both turn.
The queen stands in the doorway. She’s immaculate in a cream silk blouse and navy trousers. Her dark hair is swept back from her face, and her posture is perfect. But when her gaze lands on Louis, her composure falters. Her mouth opens, then closes.
“Margaux.” The king’s voice softens. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
“I received your message.” She steps into the room and closes the door behind her, her movements careful and controlled. “I came as quickly as I could.”
She crosses the floor, her heels clicking against the hardwood, and stops a few feet from Louis. They face each other, and neither speaks. The queen’s hands are clasped in front of her, grip tight. She’s holding herself together with visible effort.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out stiff, like she’s not used to saying them. “I was trying to protect you. I thought I was doing what was best.”
“I could list every wrong you did, but I don’t need to. You know. It’d better never happen again.” Louis’s voice is quiet, but the anger beneath it runs deep.
The queen flinches. “It won’t. I understand how wrong I was. The council would not approve Addison, even if I tried. I felt like my hands were as tied as yours. With everything that was going on, it was dire that we move forward with the plan. But plans change.”
Louis doesn’t respond. The queen stands there, waiting, and I can tell she’s being sincere.
“I cannot undo what I did,” she continues. “I cannot take back what happened. But things will be different starting now. I see what Miss Cross means to you. I saw who you became when you were with her.” She swallows. “I see my son, happy in a way I thought this life had stolen from him.”
Louis’s shoulders drop by a fraction.
The queen turns to face me, and I keep my expression neutral. This is the woman who had me thrown out of the country. Who tried to erase me from her son’s life. Who treated me like I was an obstacle that needed to be removed.
“Addison …” She says my name carefully. “I owe you an apology as well.”
I wait, giving her space to speak. I didn’t expect this.
“I underestimated you. I thought you were another clout chaser, but at the ball, I saw the bond you two shared. Everyone did.” She takes a breath. “I used my power to hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
The apology hangs in the air between us. She means it. I can see it in her eyes, and I know how difficult it is to admit defeat. Part of me wants to see her grovel for what she’s done.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate you saying that. I know it wasn’t easy.”
The queen blinks, clearly expecting more resistance. A fight maybe. A list of grievances she’d have to absorb before I accepted.
“That’s it?” she asks.
“What else would there be?” I keep my voice even. “You apologized. I accepted. We both want the best for Louis. That’s enough common ground for me. I don’t hold grudges, Your Highness.”
She studies me for a long moment, knowing exactly what kind of woman her son has chosen.
“I like you, Addison,” she says finally.
“I know,” I say with a grin. “I will forgive, but I won’t forget.”
“You shouldn’t.” She smiles too, removing her armor. “You will be an incredible queen, Addison. I mean that.”
The words catch me off guard. Not because I need her approval, but because of what it means for Louis. For our future.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
The queen nods once, then glides to the empty chair beside her husband and sits. Her posture is still perfect, but her shoulders aren’t quite as rigid as before. The king takes her hand, and she lets him.
I let out a long breath, and my eyes scan around the room.
Right above the fireplace, I see a landscape painting that makes my breath hitch.
I stare at it, memorizing the details. It’s a garden scene with lush summer grasses overlooking the cliffs.
A pregnant woman is seated on a stone bench, her face turned toward the sun, one hand resting on the curve of her belly.
The brushwork is unmistakable. The way light filters through the leaves and the texture in the flower petals.
There’s a gradation of shadows across the grass.
It’s a Henri Beaumont painting. The missing one. I’d bet my career on it.
In the background, partially obscured by a rose trellis, a figure stands, watching. A man, his features indistinct but his posture attentive. Protective.
But the way the figure is rendered, the particular care given to his stance, the angle of his shoulders … it’s Henri.
The composition tugs at my memory, connecting this painting to the trail of hidden Isabellas in Henri’s landscapes.
This is the missing painting from the queen’s sitting room.
“You should rest,” the king says. “Both of you. We can discuss everything else later.”
After months of stolen moments and borrowed minutes, we have time.
Louis helps me to my feet and wraps his arm around my waist. My legs are unsteady, and my head is pounding from the whirlwind of emotions. Also, I’m not sure I can walk in these heels for another minute.
We’re almost to the door when the king speaks again.
“Louis. A moment, please.”
Louis tenses beside me, his arm tightening around my waist. “Father?”
“There are a few things I’d like to discuss privately.” The king’s voice is mild, but there’s weight beneath it. “It won’t take long.”
His mother excuses herself as well and walks past me, giving me a smile and a nod.
“I’ll wait outside,” I say, squeezing his hand.
“I’ll be right there,” he says, searching my face, then nods.
I stand on my tiptoes and whisper in his ear, “The painting above the fireplace.”
He studies me with questions in his eyes before pressing a kiss to my temple and releasing me.
I slip through the door, leaving Louis alone with his father.
Davis is leaning against the wall in the hallway. He straightens when he sees me.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Actually, yeah,” I say with a laugh, almost shocked.
This wasn’t what I’d expected.
I take off my high heels and lean against the wall beside Davis, letting my head fall back against the cool stone. My feet are screaming, and my eyes are heavy. I think I could fall asleep standing up.
“Life is so weird.” I smile so wide that my face hurts.
“Yes, it fucking is,” he says with a chuckle.