Chapter 15 Love is Irrelevant in a Monarchy
Love is Irrelevant in a Monarchy
The polished mahogany doors of the Queen’s office loomed before Alexander, as imposing as the woman herself. He took a quick breath to steady himself before stepping inside.
Queen Eleanor sat behind her desk, the embodiment of controlled authority. Her posture was impeccable, her hands folded neatly, her gaze cool and assessing. There was no warmth in the way she looked at him—only expectation.
Alexander had spent much of his life in this room. He had sat across from her at this very desk as a child, receiving lessons on diplomacy, power, and control. But this wasn’t a lesson. This was a decree.
“You wished to see me, Mother?” His voice remained measured, though his mind still buzzed from his conversation with Emilia.
She gestured to the chair across from her, a flick of her wrist that carried the weight of command. “Sit.”
He obeyed, but made no effort to hide the tension in his posture. The Queen observed him for a long moment before speaking, her tone as smooth as glass.
“In the fall, you will propose to Genevieve.”
Alexander froze, the only sound was the ticking of the grand clock on the far wall.
She said it so simply, so effortlessly, as if she were announcing a policy decision rather than dictating the course of his entire life.
“Everything is arranged,” she continued, as if his reaction was irrelevant. “The council supports the match, as do Genevieve’s family and ours. It is a logical decision, and you know as well as I do that the law is clear. You will be king, but you cannot rule alone.”
Alexander’s fingers curled against the armrests of his chair. “I don’t love her.”
The Queen’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “Love is irrelevant to the monarchy.”
“Is it?” Alexander leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Why should I marry someone I don’t love? For what purpose? This law is archaic, Mother. It serves no real function in modern governance.”
“The law exists for stability,” she replied coolly. “For continuity. For the good of Caledonia.”
Alexander shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “So I’m to sacrifice my happiness for a symbolic gesture? There are monarchs across Europe who rule perfectly well without spouses.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Those monarchs operate under different constitutional frameworks. Our laws are clear. You have been of age since your twenty-fifth birthday. You are twenty-seven now, Alexander. I’ve allowed you to delay long enough.”
“Laws can be changed,” he countered.
“Not this one.” Her tone was final. “Not while I have influence in parliament.”
The unspoken threat hung between them. Alexander felt heat rising in his chest.
“So this is about control,” he said flatly. “Your control.”
The Queen’s posture remained rigid, unyielding. “This is about duty. Something you seem determined to avoid.”
“I’m not avoiding duty,” Alexander said, his voice rising slightly. “I’m questioning whether all our traditions deserve to be maintained simply because they exist. Father would have understood that.”
At the mention of his father, something cold flashed across the Queen’s face. “Your father is not here. And if he were, he would tell you the same thing I am. The crown comes with responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities, yes. A loveless marriage? No.” Alexander stood, unable to remain seated any longer. “Genevieve and I barely speak. We have nothing in common. We’re practically strangers who’ve been forced together since childhood.”
“You will learn to care for each other,” she replied dismissively. “As generations before you have done.”
Alexander’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Yes, because you and Father were the perfect example of a caring, affectionate marriage. Everyone could see how well that worked out.”
The Queen’s expression hardened, a flash of something—hurt? anger?—crossing her features before disappearing behind her mask of composure.
“And if I refuse?” Alexander continued, pressing his advantage.
The Queen’s smile was thin, dangerous. “Then you will never be king. Is that what you want? To throw away your birthright, your duty to your people, because you’re too selfish to honor tradition?”
Alexander made a concerted effort to stay calm. “It’s not selfish to want basic autonomy over my own life.”
“It is selfish when you are royal.” She stood now too, meeting his gaze with steel in her eyes. “You were born into privilege, Alexander. The price of that privilege is duty.”
He sighed, looking at her with disbelief. “There must be another way.”
“There isn’t.” Her voice softened slightly, though the iron beneath remained. “The wedding will proceed next summer, as planned. You will propose in the fall. The council supports the match, as do Genevieve’s family and ours.”
Alexander’s fingers clenched at his sides. “You mean it has been approved—not arranged. I haven’t proposed yet.”
Her eyes flickered, just for a second. “Semantics. It is happening.”
He turned away, pacing toward the window. “And if I approached parliament myself? If I lobbied for change?”
“You would fail.” The certainty in her voice stung. “You know this already. You’ve been testing the waters for months, haven’t you? Quietly meeting with MPs, gauging support.”
Alexander stiffened. Of course she knew.
“They won’t cross me,” she continued, her tone almost sympathetic now. “Not on this. Not yet.”
He turned back to face her, resignation warring with determination.
“So, we will need to announce the engagement in the fall,” she continued, clasping her hands in front of her.
“A proper courtship period has been accounted for, and once you are wed to a woman of noble birth, as the law requires, the transition to full kingship will proceed without any further delays.”
The ease with which she spoke about his future—his marriage, his reign, his entire existence—made something sharp coil in his chest.
“Parliament expects this,” she added, voice cool. “The people expect this.”
Alexander let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do they?” he asked, meeting her gaze. “Or do you?”
The Queen’s expression didn’t flicker. “Do not be foolish, Alexander. You are not a boy playing at rebellion. You are the heir to this throne, and your duty is greater than your own desires.”
She leaned back slightly, assessing him as though he were a soldier who had begun questioning his orders. “You have had your fun but now, it is time to stop playing at independence and focus on what is required of you.”
Alexander clenched his fists. Playing at independence. That was all this ever was to her.
“As for this… exhibition,” she added, her tone crisp, “I trust it will be completed soon. You have wasted enough time in the archives. I expect it to be wrapped up long before your engagement is announced.”
His shoulders stiffened, almost imperceptibly.
She wanted the exhibit done and out of the way, tied up neatly like everything else in his life.
A distraction to be eliminated. But to Alexander, the exhibition represented something far more significant—his first genuine connection to something in years.
The first opportunity to examine his family’s legacy with clear eyes.
The first project where he worked alongside someone who didn’t see him as a title, but as a man.
And she wanted it finished.
She watched him carefully, her expression unreadable. And then, as if she had read his mind, she spoke again—soft, precise, deliberate.
“This… historian,” she said, eyes sharp, calculating. “Miss Carter.”
Alexander stilled.
“I trust she understands her place in all of this.”
His fingers clenched into the armrest. “Miss Carter is a professional,” he said coolly.
The Queen’s lips curved slightly, though there was no humor in it. “I’m sure she is. But you are the future king. And the world will watch everything you do.”
He heard the unspoken warning beneath her words.
A girl like Emilia Carter—a woman with no title, no claim, no role in their carefully arranged future—was expendable. An academic who had been given a rare privilege, one that could be revoked at a moment’s notice.
Alexander forced himself to hold her gaze, to let the weight of the moment settle around them. Then, finally, he stood.
“If that’s all, Mother,” he said, his voice even, unreadable, “I have work to do.”
She studied him for a moment longer, then inclined her head.
“Good.” The single word carried the weight of dismissal as she returned her attention to the papers before her, already moving on.
Alexander turned, walking out of the room with measured, deliberate steps. He didn’t let his pace falter until the doors closed behind him. Only then did he release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.