CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #3
Before he wanted her to, Daphne pulled away.
Maximus stared into her eyes, but instead of staring back, she was turning around—turning to look at something in the crowd.
Maximus followed her gaze, finally registering the noise around them.
The crowd was not screaming in favor of Daphne. They were screaming at her.
One simple word, one devastating syllable: “SLUT.”
The chant originated from a group of guys.
They slapped their hands on the edge of the stage in rhythm with their taunt, prompting the rest of the villagers to join in.
Tears filled Daphne’s eyes. Maximus shielded her with his body, prepared to administer punishment.
Before he could do so, there was a hand on his arm.
“Come with me.”
It was his father. Maximus did not move.
“Daphne,” he said, looking only at her. “I—”
“I said come with me.”
The grip on his arm became painful. His father was literally tearing them apart.
Maximus threw his arm around Daphne’s waist, pulling her against him.
Not to kiss her—the moment for that had clearly passed—but to press his lips to her ear and say, “I must go. Promise me you’ll get home safe. Please.”
The last thing Maximus wanted to do was abandon her.
But he knew his father well enough to know that if he did not obey, the consequences would fall on Daphne.
The villagers’ reaction to her only corroborated what he’d said from the beginning: Constance was the better choice.
If Maximus wasn’t careful, Augustus might even use this as an excuse to eliminate Daphne from the competition.
At this point, nothing was off the table.
Daphne nodded. Then his father yanked him away.
It wasn’t until they were back in the carriage that Augustus spoke. “Now do you understand, Son? Your own people disapprove.”
“They’re not the ones marrying her.”
Augustus shot him a glare. “And neither are you.”
Maximus did not dignify that with a response. He was still picturing the tears in Daphne’s eyes, the shame she so clearly wished to hide.
“If you do not end things with her, the villagers might rebel.”
“They have no reason to do that.”
“Of course they do. They will not accept her as their queen.”
“They’re not the ones marrying her.”
“That is irrelevant,” his father snapped. “We are in charge. It is our job to lead them, and if we do not do so properly, they will resent us for it.”
Maximus stared out the window. There hadn’t been a rebellious act in the village in years. His father was just using this as an excuse to disparage Daphne.
“I don’t believe they will do such a thing,” he said.
His father shrugged. “Who knows what those people will do.”
“Those people?”
Augustus rolled his shoulders. Maximus hated when he did that. It always meant that some insufferable shit was about to come out of his mouth.
“They are below us, Maximus. It is our job to control them.”
Maximus shook his head. “You sound like a dictator.”
“Perhaps I am one.”
“What?”
“And perhaps you will be one too.”
Maximus did not respond. He was not a dictator nor would he ever be one. He did not believe in ruling by force. He decided to change the subject. “You certainly wasted no time pulling me away from her.”
“Your safety was at risk. I did what I had to do to remove you from a dangerous situation.”
“There was no danger to me, and you know it.”
Augustus scowled.
So did Maximus. “You do not fool me, Father,” he whispered.
It was no surprise that his father was intervening in the competition.
What was a surprise was that he was willing to do so publicly.
Appearances were everything to Augustus.
Maximus had lived his entire life in a home where the only thing that mattered was how his family looked to others.
It was the reason his father was now foisting Constance on him, and it was the entire reason he was accelerating the competition—forcing Maximus to eliminate the girls quickly, three after the Frisky Sixty alone—so that he could marry an eligible girl as soon as possible.
He was lucky his father hadn’t resorted to violence in order to get him off the stage.
Violence was the language Maximus had been raised to learn.
Everything was steeped in it. His father had always favored a hand over a word when doling out punishment.
It was something Maximus was used to, and it was not something he envisioned for his own children.
The thought of striking Lilly made him physically sick.
What kind of father would he be if he did that?
What kind of father was Augustus, who had done that?
The cycle was endless. But it would end with him.
He would not bend to his father. He would continue his arrangement with Daphne, and if he had any luck at all, he would marry her at the end of it.
Maximus stared out the window the rest of the carriage ride.
When he was back in his bedroom he immediately poured himself a glass of wine.
Then with a sigh, he crossed to his dresser.
The last drawer housed a secret that even his father did not know about.
Letters that he and Lilibet had exchanged—the ones they’d left for each other on the old gravestone.
He rarely looked at them; they were too painful for him to read.
But now he pulled them out, thumbing through their well-worn corners.
Lilibet,
You cannot understand how you make me feel. I am so lucky to have met you.
—Maximus
Maximus,
I feel the same. Meet me behind the church tomorrow night.
—Lilibet
Lilibet,
When I’m with you, I’m at peace. These nightly visits aren’t enough.
—Maximus
Maximus,
I liked that thing you did with your tongue last night. When I see you tonight, will you do it again?
—Lilibet
Lilibet,
I will do that thing with my tongue if you do that thing with your hands.
—Maximus
Lilibet,
I do not care if my father does not approve. I love you. I want to be with you. You will be my wife and we will rule this kingdom together. No matter the cost.
—Maximus
Maximus,
There is something I must tell you. Can we meet tomorrow night? It’s important.
—Lilibet
There were no more letters after that. When they’d met the next night, she’d told him she was pregnant.
Maximus had moved her into the castle immediately, despite his father forbidding it.
She’d died in this very room, in the bed he still slept in.
He couldn’t imagine another woman sleeping in it instead.
Except for one. Maximus’s grief had been lighter lately.
Easier to bear. He knew it was because of Daphne.
But did she feel the same? There was only one way to find out. Maximus rang for a butler.
When his door opened, he said, “Bring me Daphne Verus.”