29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SEBASTIAN
She’s pregnant.
Veronica, my Veronica, is pregnant.
I don’t wait to hear the next steps. I can’t.
The world is spinning and I’m suffocating, drowning in feelings that scare the ever-loving shit out of me.
No one needs me there for what comes next.
My father will dictate and not give me any choice in the matter anyway.
As long as he is alive, I have no say over anything in my life.
My knees slam against the floor as soon as I reach the bathroom in my room. Everything I forced myself to eat this morning is out of my system in seconds, the contents emptied in the porcelain toilet. I gag, dry heaving until there is nothing left but snot leaking from my nostrils.
There’s a throbbing in my skull, but I welcome the pain as I wipe my mouth on my sleeve before slumping back against the wall.
My cheeks are damp, tears breaking past the dam of my lids.
I didn’t want this life for her, no matter how much I longed for Veronica to come back to me after she was taken.
It was selfish to wish she would return to me, but fuck, I prayed for it to happen.
Now that it has, I want nothing more than to go back and throw her out when I still knew her as Victoria. When I had the fucking chance to save her.
“I’m sorry,” I croak out into the air, my chest squeezing tightly.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Ronnie.” My knees pull into my chest and I’m suddenly eight years old again, arms tightly wrapped to hug myself in comfort.
This is the smallest I’ve felt in a long time.
It’s a feeling I hate. My father programmed me to be strong, not this weakened version of myself.
I can’t be this way. I just fucking can’t.
“Sweet boy.”
Georgina’s arms are around me and I cling to her, my face buried deep into her chest. I pour everything out, letting myself fall against her without a single fuck.
She’s rubbing my back, her own soft sobs mixing with my own as we accept the reality of what is to come.
I’m going to be a father. I’m going to be a father with the right girl, but the baby won’t ever be hers.
She’ll never see that little baby smile, laugh, grow.
The thought of it has me gripping Georgina tightly.
Even though, subconsciously, I know I’m hurting her, she doesn’t stop me.
She grips back, one hand rubbing my back while the other strokes my hair in an attempt to calm me down.
I’m much larger than her, yet she’s trying to fit me in her lap like she did when I was a child.
I let her, soaking the dark skin of her neck with every shudder.
We stay like this for hours.
Georgina doesn’t let go, rocking us back and forth.
All my weight is on her and I know I have to get up, but even if I tried, she would pull me straight back down.
She’d reprimand me, tell me it’s okay to show this part of me.
She’d kiss my forehead and tell me she’s proud of the man I’ve become; even if none of it is true.
Every day, I become more like my father.
Every day, I hate myself.
“I called her the help.” My voice is raw.
Georgina hums, her chin resting on my chestnut hair, flattening it to my head. “You did,” she confirms, “but I know why you did it. Veronica will understand soon enough, too.”
I lift my head, pulling away to sit back on my haunches. How did she know why I said that when I didn’t even know? Georgina must know exactly what I'm thinking because her expression melts with understanding. She raises a hand and rests it against my cheek, her touch warm and reassuring.
“Do you remember the first time you and Veronica got into a fight? You were nine, she had been around for just about a year at that point.” I frown, but Georgina continues. “If I remember correctly, you had told her that she was a stinky girl who needed to go back to where she came from.”
“I said that?” There’s no way I would ever say that to Veronica.
Right?
Georgina smiles, her eyes lifting to the ceiling as if reliving the memory. I watch her carefully, wanting so badly to see what she is right now.
“She punched you.” My eyes widen and Georgina laughs.
“She punched me?”
“Right in the nose. You started to cry and she yelled at you for trying to push her away.”
I brush my fingers along the tip of my nose, staring at Georgina as I try to understand what happened so many years ago. There is no doubt in my mind Veronica punched me, considering she was a complete and total wildcard. Before her, I didn’t know what a wild child meant. She was the definition.
“She told you to stop being mean, that no matter how mean you were to her, she wasn’t going anywhere.” Georgina shakes her head, her dark gaze sliding to mine. “For seven years old, she was so much wiser than you.”
“Hey!” I say teasingly, the corner of my mouth lifting.
Georgina flushes the toilet, removing all trace of my shattered self.
I remove my shirt and Georgina runs the water from the sink over a washcloth, wringing it out with her hands.
She brings it to my cheek, wiping each one in a tender manner before stepping back.
“Emotions are high,” Georgina says. “Let everything calm down, then you will go to her and make amends.”
Me? What the fuck did Georgina expect me to do? Grovel at Veronica’s feet? The last thing I need is a grown version of her punching me in the fucking face. That would go over swimmingly.
“How do you expe–”
“Sebastian.” Georgina gives me a look and I immediately sigh, running a hand through my hair. Right. I’d just… figure it out.
I haven’t figured it out.
Shocking, I know.
It’s been roughly two weeks since that day in my fathers office.
After my much-needed breakdown with Georgina, I was forced to assist my father at the neighboring kingdom, Dumar.
To say I was furious having to leave after all the chaos would be watering it down.
I have never gone with my father before, but apparently this was important, something to do with my future obligations.
Georgina has kept contact with me and I’ve never been more thankful.
Veronica was moved into the west wing, which is where the royal guests are placed when in the kingdom.
She’s considered precious cargo in the eyes of Hawthorn.
I have no doubt she will be given the royal treatment for her entire pregnancy.
According to Dr. Moore, Veronica measures at roughly five weeks.
Naturally, I have not a single fucking clue what that means.
Georgina had to explain it to me. The first trimester is supposedly the most crucial in the overall health of the baby.
Thirteen weeks of overall development. I know for a fact no announcement of the future heir will be made until that trimester is safely completed.
As long as Veronica is growing a life, she is safe.
I have eight months to figure out how to save her. To save us.
First, I need to make things right.
“Sebastian.” My father’s gruff voice pulls me from the endless spiral of how to apologize to Veronica.
We’ve been in the same Dumar palace meeting room for hours.
This is the first time since we touched the soil in Dumar he has directly spoken to me.
I lift my gaze from the assortment of paperwork in front of me, acknowledging the man to my right. “How would you proceed?”
Fuck.
I make a point to sit up a little higher while I try my best to put on the face that pleases my father. I glance down at the papers, noting the circled areas of concern. There’s a rift between my wife’s kingdom, Tria, and the smaller neighboring kingdom, Murid.
Why would we bother getting in the middle of another kingdom’s business? Neither Hawthorn or Dumar have hands in that pot, so why? I honestly couldn’t care less about Tria or Murid. As long as no harm comes to Hawthorn, I’d like to stay the fuck out of it.
The other men gathered around the large table stare, waiting for me to speak. My father is furious I haven’t already. This is the greatest example of why men who jump to violence should never rule anything, not even a cattle ranch.
“We don’t,” I say calmly, and the already silent room turns deafeningly quiet.
“Prince Sebastian, can you… elaborate for us? We don’t do what exactly?” The King of Dumar, Lyle, questions.
“I believe what my son is trying to say is we don’t wait to send men to Tria to fight,” Deacon says, his words of wisdom making the other royals in the room relax.
Again, cattle ranch.
I doubt these men could run a fruit stand without trying to have the melons and apples fight.
“Actually, father,” I begin, rising from my seat, palm smoothing my fitted royal-blue prince Charlie jacket before I flick my thumb over the lapel on my left wrist, “I am saying we don’t, as in we don’t do anything.”
The room falls silent, and I can feel the heat radiating off of my father.
I step around my chair, gripping the back to push it into place.
“What happens between Tria and Murid needs to stay there. No threats have been made to Dumar or Hawthorn, and quite frankly, I’m not willing to send my men to their deaths over a trading issue that could be settled with words instead of swords. ”
I barely manage to finish my words before my father abruptly stands, his own chair scraping into the floor fitfully.
“May I remind you, Sebastian, that your wife and the future queen is from one of those kingdoms going to war.” Father’s gaze is piercing, his jaw clenched in a way that could break molars if he isn’t careful.
“My wife is now a citizen of Hawthorn.” I step forward.
“So you will allow her mother and father to die due to your selfishness?” Absolutely. I didn’t want their daughter to begin with.
“Respectfully, father, Tria has more than enough men to ensure a win on whatever Murid throws at them. Not only that, but I am more than confident in saying that my wife would be perfectly fine with staying out of it.” Deacon’s lips pull into a thin line and I turn to look at Lyle.
“Are you willing to sacrifice some of your greatest fighters for a cause that doesn’t concern you? ”
Hushed murmurs echo throughout the meeting room, but I don’t pay mind to them. This is the first time I’ve ever been welcomed into one of these discussions, and I’m sure it will be my last, until I am the one ruling Hawthorn.
“What the fuck has gotten into you?”
My father didn’t wait to grab me by the back of the collar, as if I were still a little boy, and physically drag me from the meeting room.
The other men were stunned, and truly, I was too.
While I know Deacon has a temper, he has always kept it under wraps.
If he shows flaws in public, he knows it would be positioned against him.
It’s exactly why he and my mother are the perfect picture of royalty. They’ve always done everything by the book. They even speak like some of the deceased rulers who were greatly idolized. That is, until my parents close the doors to prying eyes. It’s then their true colors come out.
Until today. I’m sure no one will care, considering I suggested not going to war, which was absolutely mental, I know. How dare I want to keep out of something that has nothing to do with me and my kingdom? I, Sebastian Baros, am truly the selfish one right now.
“You’ve made me look like a fool in there!” Deacon shouts in the privacy of our carriage as we make our way back to Hawthorn. “Do you have any idea what that insinuates in the eyes of the others?”
“That I will not show weakness to the others, that I will not put the safety of my own people at risk for a brawl that we are not involved in,” I say firmly.
The soft thunk of large rotating wooden wheels against crushed stone and the heavy clip-clopping from the horses hooves hitting the gravel ground fill the silence inside the carriage.
Deacon hasn’t looked away from me once, the wheels in his head turning methodically.
His gaze is piercing, a vein bulging under the high collar of his jacket. It’s barely visible, but it’s there.
He doesn’t know what to do with this side of me.
I don’t need to look too hard at him to figure that out.
Never in my twenty-two years have I spoken back or acted against him.
Especially not in public. Disobedience has never been tolerated no matter the age.
Until today, I never sought conflict with him.
Most of the time, I simply don’t care what he does. His actions have never affected me.
Something changed.
It’s a burning feeling, one of protection. I’m willing to fight my own father to protect the kingdom I call home. Within those hollow walls is a girl, and within that girl is a child, one we created together. I’d kill my own father before I let anything happen to either of them.
“When we arrive back, you are to go to the basement for correction,” Deacon speaks deeply, but his eyes do not meet mine. I haven’t had a correction in years. My body tenses immediately. “Do not test me, Sebastian.”