Chapter Eight #3
“Your marriage is not a love story,” his father said then, swiftly. Matter-of-factly.
And it should have shocked him, Kyriakos thought. But it did not, likely because his father did not sound emotional in the least. He sounded quietly straightforward, and somehow, that hit a lot harder.
“I beg your pardon?” was all he could think to say in reply.
“I know that you are aware of this, because I taught you this myself.” His father smiled, not quite apologetically. “But love stories are for other people, I’m afraid. Other families. When it comes to this family and any unions we might make, the only purpose is to create more heirs.”
“Yes,” Kyriakos said after a moment. “I am aware.”
“Emotion is treacherous in your position,” his father continued in the same tone.
“Because remember, Kyriakos. Your own child will replace you. That is the order of things. If you do not have a child, and you die, the Princess would yet again remarry as she is quite young.” His gaze grew something like pitying.
“And if her heart dies with you, what kind of life will she have in a marriage with your uncle?”
Kyriakos realized, somewhat distantly, that he had never wished so intensely to take one of the knives next to his plate and slam it into the surface of the table. Or perhaps throw it across the table at his father for saying something like that.
But he couldn’t do either one of those things, and not only because he was meant to be civilized.
He was forced to acknowledge that his father’s words were the unfortunate truth. Kyriakos did not have the excuse of having been born into the role. He already knew that it could end early and badly.
Did he really want Aikaterini to go through something like that again?
But, “I think that the Princess and I will be just fine,” he said, because this was not something he could talk about.
His father nodded. “I am certain that your cousin felt the same.” Kyriakos only stared back at him, not sure if he had actually gone pale or only felt that way.
“None of us belong to ourselves,” his father continued.
“I know it is a lesson you think you have already learned. You are the Prince, after all. But I would be remiss in my duties if I did not point out to you that assuming the principality did not change everything. You may no longer be living a life that is subject to the whims of another man. But you are even less free than before, I am afraid.”
Kyriakos was not certain he was breathing.
His father held his gaze. “It is the principality that rules you now,” he said in that same straightforward, devastating way. “And I think you’ll find she is a far stricter taskmaster. If I were you, I would make certain that the only thing she can take is what you are willing to give.”
And then, having said his piece, he spoke no more on that topic. He called in the dessert. He poured another round of drinks. He sat with Kyriakos late into the evening, speaking on casual matters and even making them both laugh.
As if that had not been any sort of attack.
As if, instead, he had simply been telling his son a series of unfortunate truths.
Kyriakos thought of little else as he drove himself back to the palace much later that night. He thought of little else when he walked into the bedroom to find Aikaterini curled up in his bed, exactly where he liked her to be at the end of an evening.
She stirred, smiled at him sleepily, and even though his father’s warnings pressed in on him like knives, he went to her.
And only when he’d made her cry out his name, too many times to count, did she settle back into sleep again. She was tucked up tight beside him, like she’d been made to fit there.
He stared up at the ceiling and understood too well the warning his father had given him.
Even if he hated it, he knew it was timely.
Because none of this was his. None of it ever had been.
The fact that Aikaterini and he could light themselves on fire like this was pleasant, yes. Life-altering, he might even be tempted to say—but it didn’t matter.
Soon enough, he expected that she would be pregnant.
And he was determined that they would have more than one child, unlike entirely too many generations before them.
The more they had, the less the burden of the principality needed to fall on any one of them.
The more easily they could make certain that something like this did not happen again.
They would call the children they made a family, and it would be one. Of course it would. But to head that family—and the nation—properly, Kyriakos needed to get his head on straight.
Because his father was right. The only legacy Kyriakos would have in this world was giving the principality its next heir, and maintaining the country as best he could until it was time to pass it on. That was his work.
The things he might feel for the Princess had no place in any of it.
Nor ever could, no matter what.
No matter if it cost him.
No matter what she might feel. Or the price she might pay.