Chapter 12 An Exhibit in Stubbornness
An Exhibit in Stubbornness
The exhibit was designed to be ambitious.
It was supposed to be a chronicle of Caledonia’s monarchy across the centuries, highlighting key rulers and how their reigns had shaped the nation.
Each monarch would be examined through their policies, victories, failures, and influence.
In other words, a carefully curated selection of defining moments.
Alexander saw it as an opportunity to solidify the monarchy’s relevance in a modern era.
Emilia saw it as a chance to strip away the polished narrative and highlight the real, complicated history behind the crown.
They both wanted this project to be accurate.
They just vehemently disagreed on what “accurate” meant.
The first few days had been predictably strained. Their conversations were brief, their disagreements frequent, each retreating to opposite ends of the archives whenever possible.
They had been working together less than a week when one morning Alexander slid a centuries-old royal decree across the table, the parchment yellowed with age but the royal seal still intact.
“This supports the archival records from 1783,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Emilia took it, glancing over the elegant script before pausing. She looked up sharply, a crease forming between her brows. “How did you know this existed?”
Alexander, flipping through another document, didn’t look up. “I read,” he said simply, turning a page with careful fingers.
Emilia narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but most people don’t bother with obscure royal decrees from minor reforms under King James III.”
Alexander finally met her gaze, arching a brow. “Then most people should educate themselves better.”
Emilia blinked. Okay. That was… not the answer she had expected.
She had assumed he’d learned just enough history to repeat whatever PR-approved version of royal events the monarchy wanted to highlight.
But this? This suggested actual interest and scholarly engagement.
Her assessment of him shifted, just barely, but enough to notice.
For his part, Alexander caught that subtle change in her expression, the momentary surprise and if she was reassessing him, it meant he had successfully challenged her assumptions. Which was deeply satisfying.
After that, they settled into an unspoken routine, a rhythm of debate, research, and grudging cooperation. The friction didn’t disappear entirely, but it transformed into something more productive. A mutual challenge rather than an insurmountable barrier.
Most mornings followed a pattern. Emilia would arrive, armed with notes, documents, and a strong sense of determination.
Alexander, who had apparently decided assisting with research was now part of his daily schedule, would already be there usually sipping his tea by the tall windows, looking far too amused by her early-morning scowls.
It was during one such morning that Emilia arrived earlier than usual, hoping to get a head start on a particularly challenging set of documents.
As she approached the massive oak doors, she was surprised to find them already unlocked.
Even more surprising was the sight that greeted her: a lean, impeccably dressed man in his early forties methodically arranging documents on the central table.
He moved with practiced efficiency, placing reference materials precisely where Alexander typically sat, organizing research folders with color-coded tabs, and setting out freshly sharpened pencils at perfect right angles to the notebooks.
When he noticed her, he straightened immediately, his expression shifting from concentration to polite neutrality.
“Miss Carter, I presume,” he said, his voice crisp and formal. “His Highness mentioned you might arrive early today.”
Emilia hesitated in the doorway, caught off guard. “Yes, that’s right. And you are…?”
“Thomas Blackwood, personal equerry to His Royal Highness.” He gave a slight, precise bow, not servile, but perfectly correct. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing the materials His Highness requested for this morning’s session.”
Emilia stepped forward, noting how the documents were arranged with military precision. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. Though I was planning to pull some additional materials.”
Thomas’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture subtly tightened. “I’ve already retrieved everything His Highness specified as necessary.”
There was a loaded silence as Emilia realized the implication: Alexander had been discussing their research with his equerry, perhaps even directing the work through him.
“I see,” she said, setting down her bag. “Well, as the historical expert on this project, I actually realized that we’ll need some additional references.”
Thomas hesitated, just long enough for Emilia to notice. “Of course, Miss Carter. Though I must mention that His Highness maintains a rather precise schedule. Any… extensions to the planned research scope may require adjustments to his commitments.”
The words were perfectly respectful, but the message was clear: he viewed her as a disruption to Alexander’s carefully ordered life.
As Thomas turned to retrieve the requested volumes, the door opened again and Alexander entered, looking somewhat surprised to find both of them there.
“Thomas,” he acknowledged with a nod. “I see you’ve met Miss Carter.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Thomas responded smoothly. “I was just assisting with the preparation for this morning’s session.”
Alexander’s eyes moved from Thomas to Emilia, noting the subtle tension. “Excellent. Though I’ve noticed that Miss Carter has her own organizational preferences.”
“Indeed,” Emilia said, with just a hint of irony.
A flicker of something, almost amusement, crossed Alexander’s face.
Thomas watched this exchange with careful attention, his expression betraying nothing but his eyes missing nothing.
“Will there be anything else, Your Highness?” he asked.
Alexander shook his head. “Not for now, thank you.”
With another precise bow, Thomas turned to leave. At the door, he paused. “Your meeting with the Prime Minister has been moved to eleven, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of informing Lord Davenport of the change.”
“Thank you, Thomas.”
After the door closed, Emilia turned to Alexander. “Your shadow seems very efficient.”
Alexander removed his jacket and hung it precisely on the back of his chair. “Thomas has been with me since I was seventeen. He runs my life with terrifying competence.”
“And does he always arrange your research materials?” Emilia asked, nodding toward the meticulously organized table.
Alexander looked slightly uncomfortable. “He… takes his duties seriously.”
“I see,” Emilia said, though her tone suggested she saw perhaps more than Alexander intended. “Well, he certainly seems to have strong opinions about how this project should proceed.”
“Thomas is protective,” Alexander admitted. “Of my time, my position, my…” he hesitated.
“Your reputation?” Emilia suggested.
“Something like that.” Alexander met her gaze directly. “He’s loyal to a fault and sees potential complications before they arise.”
“And am I a complication, Your Highness?” Emilia asked, her voice light but the question weighted.
Alexander held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. “Undoubtedly.”
The word hung between them, neither an insult nor a compliment, but something more complex. An acknowledgment that whatever was developing between them didn’t fit neatly into Thomas’s carefully scheduled world.
“Well,” Emilia said finally, turning to the documents. “I suppose we should make good use of your precisely allocated time, then.”
As they began working, Emilia couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Thomas had observed and what he might have reported back to the palace.
Later that morning, Emilia spread out a series of documents across the large wooden table, the scent of old parchment filling the air between them.
“So,” Alexander said, leaning forward with unexpected interest, “what are we hunting for today?”
Emilia, now accustomed to his presence, didn’t even look up as she arranged her materials. “A letter from Queen Marguerite to the Duke of Rosendale. Supposedly, it references a missing set of regalia from the late 1600s, which we think may have been sold and lost to private collectors.”
Alexander nodded, setting his teacup on a coaster well away from the precious documents. “Ah. That explains the mess you’ve created.”
She rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “It’s an organized mess.”
He gave her a look filled with amusement. “That’s what all chaotic people say.”
“Excuse me?” she shot back, straightening to her full height. “I am extremely organized.”
He raised a brow, gesturing to the stacks of books, loose papers, and notes covering nearly every inch of the large wooden table.
She scowled. “It makes sense to me.”
Alexander chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up one of the leather-bound ledgers. “Well, before your sense of organization swallows the entire room, let’s see if I can save us some time.”
She watched as he flipped open a different volume entirely, skimming it with the kind of ease that suggested he had actually read half these records before.
The morning light caught his profile as he concentrated, illuminating features that, despite her best efforts, she was beginning to find less irritating.
“Marguerite was meticulous,” Alexander mused, running a finger down a column of faded numbers.
“If she referenced the regalia, it wouldn’t be in a personal letter—it would be in a financial statement.
” He glanced up, meeting her eyes. “Cross-check your timeframe with her expenditures between 1683 and 1686.”
Emilia frowned but pulled the relevant book toward her. She flipped to the dates, running a finger along the listing.
And there it was.
A notation referencing an item marked as “transferred to Rosendale: private arrangement.”
She gaped at the page, then at Alexander.
He looked at her with a hint of genuine pleasure in his eyes. “I’m waiting for my thank you.”
Emilia huffed, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, shut up.”
But privately, she had to admit, his insight was impressive.
Of course, working efficiently together didn’t mean agreeing. Their fundamental approaches remained at odds, creating a daily battleground of historical interpretation.
Alexander advocated for a polished, structured royal narrative. He wanted a timeline of order, prosperity, and enduring leadership.
“King James III ushered in a golden age of national stability,” he would assert, gesturing to the economic records from the period.
Emilia would push a stack of letters across the table. “Your ‘golden age’ exiled half the intellectual class and shut down opposition newspapers,” she’d counter, tapping on documented accounts of silenced critics.
The massive windows would catch the afternoon light as he straightened, ever-royal. “The monarchy has played a vital role in shaping the nation’s identity.”
“By forcibly absorbing independent regions into its rule? Yes, I suppose that is ‘shaping’ in its own way,” she’d reply, eyebrow raised in challenge.
By the end of the week, they had debated every single monarch, revised the timeline twice, and rewritten key segments to include both perspectives.
It was exhausting. It was also annoyingly satisfying.
Their exhibit was becoming something neither of them could have created alone.
It was more complete, more honest and ultimately more compelling this way.
Alexander hadn’t expected to be impressed.
He’d expected to endure this project, to manage it, to ensure it reflected the dignity of the institution he represented.
But as days passed, he found himself observing her with growing curiosity.
The way her eyes lit up as she uncovered forgotten details, her voice carrying that undeniable energy when she connected disparate historical threads.
She wasn’t just knowledgeable. She was passionate.
She made even the driest of facts sound interesting.
Like history wasn’t just dates and people and places, but a story worth telling.
Her insistence on including the full truth, inconvenient as it sometimes was, brought the history to life in ways he’d never imagined.
And for the first time since meeting her, he thought, maybe this wasn’t going to be completely unbearable. Maybe, in fact, it might be something else entirely.