Chapter 14 A Lesson in Legacy
A Lesson in Legacy
Over the next few weeks, they fell into a comfortable pattern, one that was almost…
pleasant. Alexander remained insufferable, of course, but he was also quick-witted, intelligent, and as she had already confessed to Harper, actually helpful.
For his part, he seemed to enjoy the change in his routine.
Emilia wasn’t like the usual staff he dealt with.
She challenged him. She argued with him and when he wasn’t being completely unbearable, even laughed with him. Like now.
“I don’t understand how you’re this good at finding things in these ridiculous records,” Emilia muttered one afternoon, flipping through a particularly dense book while Alexander effortlessly located yet another reference she had missed.
He smirked. “A lifetime of tedious royal duties will teach you how to navigate bureaucracy.”
She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “I thought princes spent their time riding horses and brooding on balconies.”
Alexander pretended to consider it. “That is the public image, yes. But unfortunately, I was also expected to read an obscene amount of dull records in preparation for ruling a country.”
Emilia snorted. “I think you just enjoy showing off.”
He grinned. “And I think you secretly enjoy working with me.”
She threw a crumpled note at him. “Absolutely not.”
But as she turned back to her book, a small smile tugged at her lips. And Alexander saw it.
For the first time in a very long time, he realized, he was actually enjoying himself.
* * *
The archives were quiet except for the occasional rustle of paper and the soft scratch of a pen against a notepad.
Alexander sat across from Emilia, sorting through yet another set of historical documents.
It had been hours, but she worked with the same intensity she had when they first started.
He found it oddly impressive, though he’d never admit it out loud.
He glanced up from the papers in front of him. “So, do you always work like this? Completely absorbed, oblivious to the passage of time, slowly merging with the research?”
Emilia didn’t look up. “Yes. It’s called focus, Your Highness. You should try it sometime.”
“Believe it or not, I do. But it’s been hours, and I figured I’d take a break before you start seeing historical figures in the margins.”
She finally glanced up, arching a brow. “I promise you, if I start hallucinating, it’ll be because of the monarchy itself, not my research.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You really do love this, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she said easily. “History is all about power. Who has it, who wants it, who rewrites it.”
His expression shifted slightly, something thoughtful flickering behind his gaze. “Speaking of rewriting history, you’re a lecturer aren’t you? What exactly do you teach your students about my family?”
Emilia tilted her head, considering him. “It depends. Last semester, I actually covered your father.”
Alexander stilled, his fingers pausing over the document in his hands. “Did you?”
She nodded, matter-of-fact. “I teach a course on modern European history. Your father was a central figure in the discussion about monarchies.”
He hesitated, caught between curiosity and a strange sense of apprehension. “And what did you say?”
Emilia leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table. “I talked about the reforms he implemented, how he modernized Caledonia’s monarchy, how he redefined what a constitutional ruler could be.”
Alexander hesitated, his expression wary. “And what about my mother?”
Emilia didn’t hesitate. “We talked about her too.” She tapped her pen against her notebook. “Your father’s legacy is still debated, but most historians agree he was more forward-thinking. Your mother, on the other hand, has spent the past fifteen years methodically undoing those changes.”
Alexander’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. He wasn’t surprised, but hearing it framed so bluntly sent a slow, simmering frustration through him.
Emilia studied him carefully. “You do know everyone is waiting to see what you’ll do, right?”
He glanced up at her. “What do you mean?”
She sighed, leaning back. “You’re the heir, Alexander. You’re the one who decides what comes next. Will you follow your father’s path? Or continue the one your mother has set?”
Alexander was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it.
“My father told me something once, just before he died.” His fingers traced an invisible pattern on the ancient wood of the table. “He told me that ‘the world has had its James. It waits for its Alexander.’”
He looked up at her, and for once, the royal mask had slipped completely. “Everyone wants me to fit into a certain mold. They think I’ll either be a clone of my father or my mother. But I’m neither of them.”
Emilia studied him for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “Who is Alexander?”
Something shifted between them, a moment of genuine vulnerability from the prince she’d assumed had none.
“Is that what this project is about?” she continued. “Finding out?”
Alexander shrugged. “Partly, I suppose.”
Emilia hesitated, then asked the question that had been lingering in her mind for weeks. “So, if you disagree with your mother’s approach, why haven’t you taken the throne yourself? You’re clearly of age.”
Alexander’s eyebrows arched elegantly. “My, Miss Carter. That’s quite the impertinent question.”
“You say that like you’re surprised,” she replied with a slight grin. “I’ve been nothing but impertinent since I got here.”
“True,” he acknowledged with a hint of amusement. “And yet somehow you’ve avoided the royal dungeons thus far.”
“Do you still have those?” she asked, eyes widening in mock horror.
“Sadly, no,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting.
Alexander’s fingers traced the edge of an ancient document, his eyes following the movement. “The marriage law,” he said finally, his voice quieter than before. “As I’m sure your research has told you, I must be married before I can be crowned.”
“And Lady Genevieve awaits,” Emilia nodded. “Your childhood betrothed.”
“Indeed.” The single word carried a weight that seemed to settle between them.
“But that still doesn’t explain the delay,” she pressed gently. “The arrangement has been in place since you were children.”
Alexander turned to the window, where afternoon light spilled across the archives. For a moment, he seemed to be weighing how much to reveal. “The truth, Miss Carter, is that I don’t want to marry Genevieve.”
Emilia stilled, surprised by his candor. “But the law—”
“Yes, the law.” Frustration colored his words. “I’ve attempted to change it. Discreetly, of course. But I don’t have the votes in Parliament.”
“I would think there’d be support for modernizing such an outdated requirement.”
“In private conversations? Certainly.” His laugh was soft and bitter. “But publicly supporting me is another matter entirely.”
“Why?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
Alexander met her gaze directly, and for once, all royal pretense had vanished.
“Because no one is certain my mother won’t continue to wield considerable power once I’m king.
Making an enemy of the Queen is politically unwise if they believe she’ll still influence policy after my coronation.
” He paused. “And my mother has made her expectations regarding Genevieve abundantly clear.”
“So you’re caught,” Emilia said, the realization settling over her.
“Precisely.” He picked up another document, though his attention was clearly elsewhere. “The wedding is set for next summer. Lady Genevieve’s family has already agreed to the timeline. After that…” He trailed off.
“There won’t be time for projects like this,” she finished for him, gesturing to the archives around them.
A wry smile touched his lips. “When you put it that way, it sounds rather trivial, doesn’t it?”
“Not trivial,” Emilia countered. “History matters. How we present it matters.”
Alexander’s expression softened slightly. “That’s what I told myself. That I wanted to have a hand in shaping this before duty consumes everything else.”
“And your mother allows this delay?”
“Reluctantly,” he admitted. “She reminds me weekly of my obligations. But the date is set now.” He looked around the room, at the books and papers surrounding them. “My… freedom has an expiration date.”
In the quiet that followed, Emilia studied him with new understanding. He wasn’t just another royal trapped by duty. He was the question mark. The unknown variable in Caledonia’s future.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if that terrified her, or if she liked it.