Chapter 5
The Loathing is Mutual
Prince Alexander was many things: a future king, a dutiful son, a man trained to handle political crises. But a man who made awkward apologies? Absolutely not.
He had already privately acknowledged that he had misjudged Emilia Carter.
She wasn’t some opportunistic academic eager to catch his eye or engineer casual “accidental” meetings.
Yet simply because she wasn’t angling for his personal attention or plotting ways to become the next royal romance, did that mean he was going to apologize?
No. She had snuck up on them. That was hardly his fault. Besides, they had work to do.
So, as Emilia strode into the archives, her chin high, her shoulders tense with barely concealed irritation, Alexander simply gestured to a long wooden table covered in documents and said, “Shall we begin?”
As if their uncomfortable introduction hadn’t happened at all.
Emilia took a slow, deep breath. Oh, so that’s how he wanted to play it.
He was just going to pretend nothing had happened.
How utterly predictable. It wasn’t as if she had expected a heartfelt apology, but she had expected some acknowledgment of his arrogance—perhaps even mild embarrassment.
Instead? Nothing. Just Prince Perfect, standing there, cool and composed, ready to dictate historical accuracy from his golden throne.
She met his stare evenly. She realized, momentarily, that unfortunately he was even better-looking up close—which only intensified her annoyance.
She dropped her bag on the chair beside her and folded her arms. “Yes, let’s.”
Alexander gestured to the documents before them. “As you know, the royal family has commissioned this exhibition to highlight our country’s long and noble history. We want to showcase the traditions, achievements, and values that have—”
“Survived selective storytelling?” Emilia interjected sweetly.
Alexander’s jaw clenched. “We want to highlight the monarchy’s role in shaping the nation,” he corrected, pointedly ignoring her remark.
Emilia angled her head. “Would that be before or after the monarchy crushed a number of democratic uprisings?”
Alexander took a slow calming breath. Davenport had warned him about her. Outspoken. Difficult. It seems that may have been an understatement.
He reached for a document and slid it toward her. “We’re focusing on key moments of royal influence.”
Emilia glanced at the paper. “By ‘key moments,’ I assume you mean the ones that make you look good?”
Alexander’s expression hardened. “The ones that are most relevant to the public.”
Emilia skimmed the proposed outline. “Ah, yes,” she murmured. “Glossing over the questionable parts of history and focusing only on the pretty bits. A time-honored tradition.”
Alexander just looked at her coolly, his expression betraying none of his annoyance. God help him, she was infuriating.
For the next hour, they argued over nearly every aspect of the exhibition.
By the time they reached the final section, Alexander dropped his pen onto the table and exhaled sharply. “Is there anything in this proposal you actually agree with, Miss Carter?”
Emilia smiled brightly. “Oh, absolutely,” she replied. “The font choice is lovely.”
Alexander stood. “So glad to have your approval.”
They stared each other down across the table, both unwilling to break first. Davenport, who had been watching the entire disaster unfold, glanced at his watch and cleared his throat.
“Well,” he noted, voice strained, “I think we’ve made… some progress.”
Alexander and Emilia both scoffed. They had made exactly zero progress. And now, they were both certain of exactly one thing: they absolutely could not stand each other.