Chapter 27 In His Majesty’s Defense, She Did Say ‘Make Me’ #2
Alexander was breathing just as hard, his face unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes looked wild.
“You don’t get to do that,” she said, voice shaking slightly. “You don’t get to just kiss me like that—”
The sharp, authoritative knock on the archive door felt like a gunshot in the charged silence.
They both froze, tension instantly shifting from desire to alarm. Alexander’s eyes darted to the door, then back to Emilia, his expression hardening into royal composure with frightening speed.
Before either could speak, the door swung open with practiced precision. Thomas stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over them with the calculating efficiency of someone who assessed situations for a living.
“Your Highness,” he said, his voice perfectly neutral despite the scene before him—Alexander with his hair uncharacteristically disheveled, Emilia flushed and standing just a little too close, the tension between them thick enough to cut.
“Lord Davenport is searching for you. The palace has received word that Lady Genevieve’s father will be arriving next week to discuss… arrangements.”
His emphasis on the last word was slight but unmistakable. His eyes flickered briefly to Emilia, then back to Alexander, his expression revealing nothing but his posture conveying volumes.
Alexander straightened his shoulders, the transformation from man to prince completed in seconds. “Thank you, Thomas.”
“Sir,” Thomas continued, stepping further into the room and partially closing the door behind him, his voice lowering, “Lord Davenport mentioned he was heading to the archives next.”
“I see,” Alexander said, the words carrying a weight of understanding.
Thomas’s expression remained perfectly professional, but there was a subtle shift in his stance—protective rather than merely efficient. “I could inform him you’ll meet him in your office in fifteen minutes, if that would be preferable, sir.”
Alexander nodded. “Thank you, Thomas. That would be… helpful.”
Thomas inclined his head, then turned to Emilia.
“Miss Carter,” he acknowledged with a slight bow.
His voice remained formal, but there was something almost gentle in his tone.
“The palace corridors are particularly busy this afternoon. Perhaps when you’ve finished your research, you might consider using the eastern exit. It tends to be less… observed.”
Emilia stared at him, caught between shock and gratitude. This wasn’t the reaction she had expected.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt.
Thomas nodded once, then turned back to Alexander. “Fifteen minutes, Your Highness.” His eyes communicated far more than his words—not judgment, but caution. Concern for his prince rather than disapproval of his actions.
“I’ll be there,” Alexander assured him.
With another precise bow, Thomas retreated, closing the door softly behind him.
For a moment, neither Alexander nor Emilia spoke, the weight of what had just happened settling between them.
“Well,” Emilia finally said, her voice still slightly uneven, “that was…”
“Unexpected,” Alexander finished, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
“I thought—” Emilia hesitated. “I was sure he’d…”
“Report to my mother?” Alexander shook his head. “Thomas is loyal to me. Not to the crown, not to the institution. To me.”
Emilia studied him, reassessing yet again. “So he won’t tell anyone about… this?”
A hint of a wry smile touched Alexander’s lips. “Oh, he’ll absolutely tell me what a catastrophically poor decision this was. At length. But no, he won’t tell anyone else.”
The tension in Emilia’s shoulders eased slightly, but the reality of their situation remained. “Alexander—”
He held up a hand. “I know.” The wild look had faded from his eyes, replaced by something more controlled but no less intense. “We should talk about this. But not now. Not with Davenport about to descend.”
Emilia nodded, stepping back further, trying to create enough distance to think clearly. “Go. We’ll… figure this out later.”
Alexander hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more—or perhaps do more—but instead, he nodded once and moved toward the door.
“Alexander,” Emilia called, just as his hand touched the handle.
He turned back, eyebrows raised in question.
“Your hair,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a mess.”
A genuine smile broke across his face, transforming his features. “Worth it,” he said simply, before smoothing his hair back into its customary perfect arrangement and stepping out into the corridor.
Left alone, Emilia exhaled shakily, her fingers unconsciously rising to her lips. The kiss itself had been shocking enough, but Thomas’s reaction—his quiet, efficient protection rather than censure—had been almost as surprising.
She had assumed the palace equerry would be the first to enforce boundaries, to remind Alexander of his position and duties. Instead, he had created space, offered cover, protected them both from immediate discovery.
Which meant that Thomas Blackwood was far more complex than she had initially assumed. And perhaps, just perhaps, she had an unexpected ally in the heart of the palace.
* * *
The archives were silent, the staff long since departed, the only light coming from a single lamp that cast long shadows across the stacks of ancient texts. Emilia hadn’t planned to stay this late, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave—not when there was still so much unsaid between them.
She heard his footsteps before she saw him. Measured, deliberate—Alexander always moved with purpose, even when no one was watching.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” she said, not looking up from the documents spread before her, though she hadn’t read a single word in over an hour.
“Thomas managed to clear my schedule,” Alexander replied, pausing at the edge of the table. “Apparently I had an urgent need to review exhibition materials this evening.”
A small smile tugged at Emilia’s lips despite herself. “He’s very resourceful.”
“He’s worried,” Alexander corrected, moving closer. “About me. About this.”
Emilia finally looked up, meeting his eyes. In the dim light, his face was half in shadow, but she could still see the intensity in his gaze—the same intensity that had been there just before he’d kissed her.
“I think we both should be,” she said quietly.
Alexander pulled out the chair across from her, deliberately putting the table between them—a physical barrier to match the emotional one.
“We need to talk about what happened,” he said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of something less controlled.
Emilia took a deep breath. “Yes, we do.”
For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of what had transpired earlier hanging heavy between them.
Finally, Alexander broke the silence. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
“No,” she agreed, “you really shouldn’t have.”
His lips twitched, though there was no real humor in it. “Most people would be more delicate in their agreement.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”
Another silence stretched between them, more charged than the last.
Alexander took a step toward her. “Emilia—”
“No.” She held up a hand, cutting him off. “This—this can’t happen.”
“Why not?” His voice was rough, challenging.
“Why not?” She let out a harsh laugh. “I saw what happened at Sebastian’s party. I’m not blind, Alexander.”
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“The whispers, the people watching us.” She crossed her arms, a defensive shield. “If we weren’t at Sebastian’s it would have been a tabloid scandal.”
“And now here we are,” she continued, her voice quieter but no less intense.
“You kiss the commoner, get her all twisted up, and then what? Go back to your palace and your arranged marriage while I—” She let out a harsh laugh, shaking her head.
“While I what, exactly? Become the footnote in your royal biography? ‘The Crown Prince’s scandalous fling before duty called’? ”
Alexander’s jaw clenched. “That’s not—”
“Not what?” Her voice cracked. “Not what you meant? Not what this is? Then what is it, Alexander?”
Silence.
And then—
“I’m not trying to lead you on. I don’t want the palace and the arranged marriage.” His voice dropped, stripped of all pretense. “You challenge everything I thought I knew. When you argue with me, when you push back—it wakes something in me I didn’t know was there.”
He took another step toward her, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t stop thinking about you. When I’m away from you, I count the minutes until I can see you again. When I’m with you, everything else—the Crown, my responsibilities, my mother’s plans—they all fade away.”
He hesitated, then added softly, “You make me feel alive, Emilia. For the first time in my life, I’m not just going through the motions. I want you. Only you.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. A chill ran through her, hope and dread colliding in her chest.
“You can’t,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her forehead, something fragile cracking inside her. “That’s not fair.”
She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “Do you think I don’t feel it too? That electricity when we’re in the same room? The way time seems to stop when you look at me?”
Her voice trembled. “I feel it all, Alexander. And it terrifies me.”
“Why?” he asked, moving toward her, hope kindling in his eyes.
She gave a sad laugh. “Because we both know how this ends.” She gestured between them. “Tell me, in all those royal archives we’ve been studying, which king or queen actually got a happy ending with a commoner? Which royal chose love over duty and didn’t lose everything?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“That’s what I thought,” she said softly. “You’re only going to break my heart.”
The words hung between them, raw and undeniable. A truth neither could escape.
And for the first time since she’d met him, he wasn’t playing a role. He wasn’t calculating his next move. The careful mask of the Crown Prince had fallen away completely.
He was just him. Vulnerable. Real.
“And what if we wrote our own ending?” he asked, a desperate edge to his voice.
That was so much worse, because now she could see exactly what she stood to lose—not just her heart, but the possibility of something beautiful and impossible and fragile.
She closed her eyes briefly, trying to gather her thoughts. “Thomas knows.”
Alexander nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“And today he helped us. But what about tomorrow? Or the next day?” She looked at him directly. “How many people can we trust to keep this secret? How long before someone decides their loyalty to the Crown outweighs their loyalty to you?”
Alexander moved around the table, closing the distance between them. “Thomas won’t betray us.”
“You sound very certain,” she said, unable to keep the doubt from her voice.
“I am,” he replied simply. “He’s been with me since I was seventeen. He’s seen… everything. The good and the bad. And he’s never once wavered.”
Emilia studied him, searching for any hint of uncertainty. “He seemed almost… protective earlier.”
“He is,” Alexander confirmed. “Of me. And by extension, of what matters to me.” He hesitated, then added, “And apparently, that now includes you.”
The implication of his words hung in the air between them.
“Alexander,” she began, her voice softer now, “even if Thomas helps us, even if we somehow manage to keep this private for a while—it doesn’t change the fundamental reality. You have obligations. Expectations. An entire country watching your every move.”
“I know,” he said, reaching for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers.
“But I also know that I’ve spent my entire life doing what was expected of me.
Following the path laid out by others. And for what?
To end up in an arranged marriage, ruling a country that sees me as a symbol rather than a person? ”
His fingers curled around hers, warm and solid. “For once, I want to choose something for myself. Something real.”
Emilia looked down at their joined hands, her heart racing. “This is dangerous.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his voice low and certain. “It is.”
“We could both lose everything.”
“Or,” he countered, “we could gain something worth fighting for.”
She looked up, meeting his gaze. The vulnerability there, the raw honesty—it undid her. This wasn’t the Prince of Caledonia standing before her. This was just Alexander. A man asking her to take a chance on something neither of them fully understood but both desperately wanted.
“I can’t promise you forever,” he said softly. “Not yet. Not with everything as it is. But I can promise you now. And tomorrow. And every day after that until we figure out what comes next.”
Emilia took a shaky breath, her resolve weakening with every word. “Your mother—”
“—doesn’t need to know. Not yet.”
“And Thomas?”
Alexander’s lips curved into a small smile. “Will help us, in his own way. He understands more than you might think.”
Emilia hesitated, standing at the edge of a precipice. One step forward and there would be no going back. Everything in her rational mind screamed caution, warned her of the inevitable heartbreak. But her heart—her treacherous, hopeful heart—was already reaching for him.
“This is probably the worst decision I’ll ever make,” she whispered.
Alexander’s smile deepened, a hint of that princely confidence returning. “Or the best.”
And then he was kissing her again, but differently this time—not desperate and consuming like before, but tender, reverent, a promise sealed with the gentlest of touches.
When they parted, Emilia kept her eyes closed for a moment, memorizing the feeling. “So,” she murmured, “what happens now?”
“Now,” Alexander said, his voice warm with something that felt dangerously like hope, “we see if Thomas’s talent for discretion extends to secret rendezvous.”
Emilia laughed softly, despite everything. “I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”
Outside in the dimly lit corridor, Thomas Blackwood glanced at his watch, noted the time with military precision, and added another fifteen minutes to his mental schedule before he would need to remind His Highness of his evening obligations.
Some matters, after all, required a certain diplomatic flexibility—even for the most punctual of royal equerries.