Chapter 27 In His Majesty’s Defense, She Did Say ‘Make Me’
In His Majesty’s Defense, She Did Say ‘Make Me’
Alexander barely remembered coming to the archives.
One moment, he had been in his mother’s study, her voice like ice as she dictated his future—his marriage to Genevieve, his duty to the Crown—each word another shackle around his wrists.
The next, he was here, his feet carrying him to the one place he shouldn’t go.
And he wasn’t even sure why.
Or maybe, deep down, he knew exactly why. The truth burned in his chest, undeniable: he needed something real. Something that made his pulse race. He needed her.
Emilia was hunched over a stack of papers when he entered, her chestnut hair falling in waves around her face as she scribbled notes in the margins.
She didn’t look up immediately—maybe she hadn’t heard him come in, or perhaps she was simply too absorbed in her work.
This gave him a moment to watch her, to observe the furrow of concentration between her brows, the way she absently tucked her hair behind her ear.
Three nights had passed since he’d seen her properly at Sebastian’s party.
In that time, she’d become remarkably skilled at avoiding him—ducking into side corridors or suddenly discovering urgent business in the opposite direction whenever he appeared.
Enter a room, and she’d find reasons to leave it.
It was driving him mad.
When she finally glanced up, he caught the flash of recognition in her eyes before she quickly schooled her features into professional neutrality.
“Your Highness,” she said, her voice carefully modulated. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Clearly,” he replied, gesturing to the spread of documents. “Working on something interesting?”
“Just organizing some correspondence for the exhibit.” She straightened the papers with unnecessary precision. “Nothing that would interest you.”
“I’m interested in a great many things, Miss Carter.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down without invitation. “As you well know.”
A faint blush crept up her neck, and she pointedly looked back down at her work. “Was there something specific you needed?”
The question hung between them, loaded with unspoken meaning.
Alexander leaned back, studying her. Her careful avoidance of his eyes and the slight tension in her shoulders were so different from how they’d been just a few days earlier, before the party, when their verbal sparring had gradually evolved into something that felt almost like friendship.
Before he’d found her falling asleep on Sebastian’s library sofa, her guard completely down for once, vulnerable in a way he’d never seen her.
He’d then gotten Sebastian to help him find a room where she’d be safe, and he’d wound up watching over her until she’d stirred and opened her eyes to find him there.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said finally.
Her pen paused mid-stroke. “I’ve been busy.”
“Emilia.”
She sighed, setting down her pen. “Fine. Yes, I’ve been avoiding you. Happy now?”
“Not particularly,” he said. “I’d rather know why.”
She finally looked up at him, exasperation clear in her eyes. “You know exactly why.”
“Do I?”
“Don’t play dumb, Alexander. It doesn’t suit you.” She crossed her arms defensively. “It’s embarrassing enough that I drank so much at Sebastian’s party, but to wake up and find you just… sitting there, watching me like some—”
“Guardian angel?” he suggested.
“Judgmental babysitter,” she corrected, but there was a hint of amusement beneath her irritation. “How long did you watch me, anyway?”
“Long enough to learn that you snore. Very slightly.” He replied.
“I do not!” Her eyes widened in genuine horror.
“No,” he conceded, “you don’t. But your face right now was worth the lie.” He said with a hint of laughter in his voice.
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I wasn’t judging you, you know. If anything, I was envious.”
“Envious? Of what?”
“Of how peaceful you looked.” His voice softened slightly. “I can’t remember the last time I slept that soundly.”
Something in his tone made her pause, made her really look at him. The shadows under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, his normally immaculate appearance just slightly less perfect. For all his teasing, there was a weariness to him that hadn’t been there before.
“Is everything alright?” she asked, genuine concern replacing her embarrassment.
Alexander’s features suddenly sharpened with irritation.
“Everything’s perfect,” he said, with a bitterness that surprised them both.
“My mother has finalized arrangements for my marriage to Lady Genevieve. Her father arrives next week to discuss the details. Everything is proceeding exactly according to plan.”
“Oh.” Emilia’s voice was small. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d be delighted to see the monarchy functioning exactly as you’ve always criticized—cold, calculated, putting politics before people.”
“That’s not fair,” she said quietly.
“Isn’t it?” His frustration was building now, fueled by sleepless nights and his mother’s ultimatums. “Do you think it’s easy? Having every part of your life decided for you?”
Emilia’s sympathy hardened into something else. “No, I don’t. But forgive me if I don’t weep for the man with a golden crown and all its privileges.”
Alexander exhaled sharply, his patience fraying. “You think I don’t understand struggle? That I don’t know what it’s like to have no real choices?”
Emilia let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “No, I think you don’t understand what it’s like to have no safety net. You get to call your duty a sacrifice. For people like me, it’s survival.”
His jaw tightened. “And you think that makes you better than me? That because I was born into privilege, I don’t get to be miserable about it?”
“Miserable?” She scoffed. “Alexander, you have palaces, security, people catering to your every whim. Forgive me if I don’t shed tears for the poor little prince who’s sad that he doesn’t get to have everything go his way.”
“Oh, right. Because my life is so easy,” he shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Because having every move scrutinized, every mistake amplified, every moment of my life dictated by others is just so convenient.”
“At least you don’t have to wonder if you’ll still have a job tomorrow,” she countered. “Or if one mistake will ruin you. At least you’re not disposable.”
Alexander’s expression darkened. “You really think that, don’t you?” His voice dropped lower, something sharper cutting through the heat of their argument. “That I’m untouchable? That I don’t know what it’s like to feel like you could lose everything?”
She folded her arms. “Tell me, Alexander, when was the last time you worried about rent? About how you were going to afford next month? About the wrong person taking issue with you and deciding your career is over?”
“I don’t have to worry about rent, no,” he admitted, eyes flashing.
“But I do have to worry about what happens if I fail. If I make the wrong call, if I let the wrong person in, if I say one thing I shouldn’t.
My failures don’t just cost me. They cost my family.
My country. There is no off-ramp for me, Emilia. No way out.”
Her expression flickered—just for a second—but then she squared her shoulders. “And yet you still want my sympathy?”
“I don’t want your sympathy,” he snapped. “I want you to stop pretending that my life is so perfect just because it looks like it from the outside.”
“And I want you to stop acting like you’re the only one who’s trapped,” she shot back.
Silence crackled between them, thick and heavy.
Alexander let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “You make it sound so simple. Like I can just—what? Walk away? Do whatever I want, damn the consequences?”
Emilia’s chin lifted defiantly. “Maybe not. But you could stop standing here pretending your life is some unbearable tragedy when the rest of us are actually struggling to survive.”
“And you could stop acting like you’re the only one who knows what struggle is.” His voice was low now, rough around the edges. “Like you have the right to judge me from the outside, as if you’d last a day in my world.”
Her breath caught. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t want your world.”
“Then stop pretending you understand it,” he shot back, stepping closer. “Stop acting like you have me all figured out, you have no idea.”
She held her ground, jaw tight. “And if I don’t?”
His eyes burned into hers. “Just stop.”
Her pulse pounded, heat rising to her cheeks. She knew she was being childish but she couldn’t help herself. “Make me.”
It happened in an instant.
One second, they were standing there, glaring at each other, breath short, hearts pounding—and then his hands were on her face, warm against her skin, and his mouth crashed into hers.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t planned. It was desperate, reckless, years of restraint shattering like glass. Like drowning for too long and finally finding air. Like pretending not to want this and finally stopping the lie.
And the worst part?
For just a second—just one breathless, perfect moment—she kissed him back.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, the heat of him beneath her palms, and for that heartbeat, they were something impossible. Something inevitable. Something that felt terrifyingly right.
Without thinking, her hands slid upward—skimming over his chest, tracing the line of his jaw—until her fingers tangled in his hair.
It was softer than she expected, thick and unruly under her touch, and when she tugged just slightly, he made a sound low in his throat that sent a shiver down her spine.
Then Emilia’s brain suddenly caught up with her body. Reality crashed back like a wave.
Emilia yanked herself away, stumbling back. Her breath was ragged, pulse hammering. “What the hell, Alexander?!”