Chapter 32 Private Moment Between Brothers
Private Moment Between Brothers
Alexander’s private study felt worlds away from the formal press room they’d left behind just minutes earlier.
The space was quintessentially him—comfortable leather chairs that had seen decades of use, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with everything from constitutional law to modern fiction, and tall windows that overlooked the palace gardens.
Unlike the public rooms with their gilt and ceremony, this study spoke of a man who actually lived and worked here.
Sebastian entered without his usual swagger, immediately commandeering one of the wingback chairs but without his characteristic sprawl. His shoulders curved with fatigue, and there were shadows under his eyes that spoke of a sleepless night spent watching his parentage become tabloid fodder.
“Well,” Alexander said, handing Sebastian a glass, “I do think I’ve just salvaged the monarchy before lunch. Not bad for a Tuesday.”
“Oh good. You’re making jokes, I was worried I’d have to pretend to be serious now,” Sebastian replied.
“Of course not.” Alexander settled into his chair. “You only know how to express feelings through sarcasm and light insults.”
“Exactly.” Sebastian took a sip of whisky. He looked directly at his brother. “Alex, you didn’t have to do this for me. The implications for the monarchy—”
“Are significantly less dramatic than the press will make them sound,” Alexander interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “The monarchy survived Uncle Freddie’s ridiculous scandals. It’ll survive you.”
Despite everything, Sebastian snorted. “The trapeze artist was never confirmed.”
“The palace paying for her silence was confirmation enough,” Alexander said dryly. “So, how are you feeling?”
Sebastian let out a long, shuddering breath he seemed to have been holding since he stepped up to that podium. “I feel…” he started, then stopped, searching for the word. “Lighter.”
“You just publicly disowned one of the most powerful men in the country and renounced a 400-year-old title,” Alexander observed. “I should think you’d feel lighter.”
“Or I’ve just declared war on Charles with no title and zero political capital,” Sebastian countered, though without his usual cynicism.
“You’ve got mine,” Alexander said simply.
“And I appreciate that, Alex. But he won’t stop, you know. This will only make him more vicious.”
“Let him try,” Alexander said, his voice laced with a cold fury. “He just made himself a public pariah to attack his son—a son who has now been publicly embraced by the Crown. He is isolated. We, on the other hand, are united.”
They drank in comfortable silence for a moment before Alexander spoke again. “You know, you’ve spent years cleaning up Charles’s messes. It’s oddly satisfying to see you light one on fire for once.”
Sebastian looked down into his whisky. “It was the only thing that felt right. He used me. No more.”
“No more,” Alexander agreed. He raised his glass again. “To Sebastian Rousseau.”
Sebastian met his gaze, his eyes clear with a gratitude and determination that hadn’t been there that morning. “To brothers who do the right thing, even when it’s complicated.”
They drank, and in the comfortable silence that followed, Sebastian asked, “So what’s the constitutional precedent for all of this?”
“I have no idea,” Alexander admitted. “We’re rather making it up as we go along.”
“Excellent. I do my best work without precedent.”
“That’s what worries me,” Alexander said dryly.
Sebastian grinned—the first genuine smile he’d managed since that morning. “Where’s your sense of adventure? We’re rewriting royal protocol in real time.”
“My sense of adventure died somewhere around the third constitutional law briefing,” Alexander replied. “But I figured if we’re going to break tradition, we might as well do it spectacularly.”
“Now you’re talking like a proper monarch,” Sebastian said, standing and straightening his jacket.
He paused at the door, his expression growing more serious. “Alexander… thank you. For what you did out there.”
“You’re my brother,” Alexander said simply. “It’s what brothers do.”
Sebastian nodded, understanding passing between them without need for further words. Whatever came next, they’d face it together—with all the complications, protocol breaches, and precedent-setting it demanded.
“Try not to break the monarchy while I’m gone,” Sebastian said, reaching for the door handle.
“I make no promises,” Alexander replied. “It’s been rather exciting, actually.”
Sebastian left, grinning despite everything. In the hallway outside, he paused to collect himself, the smile fading as the weight of what lay ahead settled on his shoulders. The real fight was just beginning—but for the first time in years, he wasn’t facing it alone.
Charles Hawthorne had wanted to make this about family scandal instead of financial corruption. He was about to learn that some families were stronger than his ability to divide them.
Later that evening, as Alexander was reviewing state papers, Thomas entered the study.
“A letter for you, Your Majesty. Delivered by hand.”
Alexander took the envelope. The stationery was heavy, the handwriting crisp and unfamiliar. No signature flourish, just precision.
He broke the seal and read.
Your Majesty,
I am not a man given to flattery—especially when it comes to royals. I’ve seen too many wear the crown and forget what it means to serve.
But I watched your press conference. I saw you stand beside your brother—not out of pity or politics, but with conviction. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t hide. And more importantly, you didn’t let him be hidden.
I won’t pretend to admire the monarchy. I won’t pretend I’m not still furious for what it took from my sister.
But I will tell you this: You’re a better man than your father. And for what it’s worth, you have earned my respect.
—Jér?me Rousseau