Chapter 28 Secret Affairs and Other Team-Building Exercises
Secret Affairs and Other Team-Building Exercises
For two people who prided themselves on intelligence, they were making incredibly stupid decisions.
The first time they met in secret, it had been an accident. Or at least, that’s what they told themselves.
Alexander had been leaving a late-night strategy meeting, exhausted, suffocating under the weight of a dozen voices telling him who he needed to be. Meanwhile, Emilia had been working late in the archives, scribbling notes furiously, lost in research.
He found her in the dim glow of the old study, ink smudged on her fingertips, a strand of hair falling from her loose bun. She looked up, startled, their eyes locking in the hush of the moment.
They should have walked away.
Instead, they stayed.
A few whispered words. A stolen glance. And then—just like that—he was leaning in.
Her back hit the bookshelf as he kissed her, hands bracing on either side of her like he needed to trap himself here just as much as he needed to trap her. She returned his kiss with the certainty of someone embracing a mistake they’d already chosen to make.
When they finally pulled away, breathless, she whispered, “That was reckless.”
“It was and I loved it,” he smirked, pressing his forehead to hers.
And that was how it began.
They weren’t careless—not exactly. But the palace was a place of eyes and whispers, and stolen moments were the best they could afford.
A week later, she had been pulling a book from a high shelf when she felt his presence behind her.
“You’re late,” she whispered without turning.
“I was being a responsible future king,” he murmured, stepping closer. “It was awful.”
“Did the responsibilities of the monarchy make you miss me?” She asked with her voice full of teasing.
A beat of silence.
And then his lips were at the curve of her jaw, trailing down to her throat, slow, deliberate.
“Every second,” he admitted against her skin.
She melted against the shelves, damn him.
* * *
They weren’t supposed to be here.
Alexander reached the rooftop first. As he helped her onto the cool stone ledge, the city unfurled below them—a sprawling kingdom of lights.
“If anyone finds us, we’ll be headlines by morning,” she whispered, breathless from the climb. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. He didn’t hesitate, shrugging off his perfectly tailored royal jacket and draping it over her shoulders.
“Alexander—”
“Shh,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thomas says we don’t have long and so I thought we might try something different tonight.”
Alexander uncorked a bottle of wine he’d brought up—a deep red that looked even darker in the moonlight as he poured it.
“Different?”
“A trade.” His eyes met hers over the rim of his glass. “One secret for another.”
Emilia studied him, intrigued despite herself. “Secrets? That sounds dangerous for someone in your position.”
“Probably.” He didn’t deny it. “But I’m tired of carefully edited conversations, and I suspect you are too.”
The evening breeze caught at her hair as she considered his offer. “What kind of secrets are we talking about?”
“The real kind.” Alexander took a slow sip of his wine. “Things no one else knows.”
Emilia felt a flutter of something in her chest—apprehension, excitement, she wasn’t sure. “Why?”
Alexander’s expression softened. “Because I trust you. And I’d like to know if you might trust me too.”
She looked away, back to the sprawling city, buying herself a moment. “Okay, you go first,” she finally said.
Alexander nodded, gathering his thoughts. “When I was eleven,” he began, his voice quieter now, “the night before my father’s funeral, I snuck into his study and took his favorite fountain pen.”
Emilia turned to look at him, surprised by the personal nature of his opening.
“It was this ridiculous antique thing that leaked constantly. He loved it anyway.” Alexander’s expression held a distant sadness. “My mother started packing most of his personal items, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it being locked in some archive.”
“Where is it now?” Emilia asked softly.
“I still have it.” A small smile touched his lips. “I keep it in my desk drawer. Sometimes I take it out before important meetings—signatures, proclamations. No one else knows I’m using it.”
“You don’t think your mother would notice?”
Alexander shook his head. “She never liked it. Said it was impractical, unprofessional.” His voice was gentle. “She wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t the point.”
“What was the point?” Emilia asked.
He met her eyes. “That not everything has to be perfect to be valuable.”
The admission hung between them, simple yet revealing.
“Your turn,” Alexander said quietly.
Emilia took a steadying breath, the wine warm in her throat. “When I was in graduate school, I discovered a collection of letters that contradicted a major historical narrative about the civil wars,” she began. “It was potentially groundbreaking material that could have made my early career.”
“But?” Alexander prompted.
“But the letters belonged to this elderly woman whose family had preserved them for generations. She let me see them on the condition that I wouldn’t publish anything until after her death.
” Emilia’s fingers traced the rim of her glass.
“She was protective of her family’s legacy, worried about how people would perceive her ancestors. ”
“That must have been frustrating,” Alexander observed.
“Incredibly. I sat on that research for almost three years while other historians published their work using the same sanitized sources everyone had always used.” A rueful smile crossed her face. “I watched as people built their careers on narratives I knew were incomplete, if not entirely wrong.”
“Why keep your promise?” Alexander asked. “Most academics I know would have found a way around it.”
Emilia met his eyes. “Because she trusted me with her family’s story.
And in the end, that mattered more than being first or making a name for myself.
” She shook her head. “The secret isn’t that I kept my word—it’s that sometimes I still resent making that choice, even though I know it was right.
Three years of watching others get recognition for work that wasn’t as thorough as what I could have done… ”
“But you eventually published it?”
“I did, after she passed away. By then, the academic conversation had moved on to other topics.” She shrugged. “My work was noted, but it wasn’t the splash it could have been.”
“Do you regret it?” Alexander asked quietly.
“No,” she said firmly, then paused. “But I’m not as noble as that answer makes me sound. There are still days when I think about those three years and feel bitter about what they cost me. That’s the part of myself I don’t like to admit—that doing the right thing didn’t always feel satisfying.”
They fell silent, the admission settling between them like a shared weight. The city lights grew brighter as darkness crept across the sky.
“Your turn again,” she said eventually.
Alexander smiled, the tension easing. “I hate mint chocolate.”
Emilia blinked, then laughed, the sound bright against the evening quiet. “That’s your big revelation?”
“It’s true,” he insisted, eyes crinkling with amusement. “The palace chef makes this mint chocolate dessert for state dinners that everyone raves about, and I’ve been pretending to enjoy it for fifteen years.”
“The burdens of royalty,” Emilia said dryly.
“Endless,” he agreed, refilling their glasses. “Now you. Something lighter this time.”
Emilia thought for a moment. “You know that GQ spread you mentioned when we first met?”
Alexander winced. “Ah yes, your introduction to my charming personality.”
“I believe that your exact words were that I ‘saw that ridiculous GQ spread’ and ‘decided applying to work at the palace might get me close to royalty,’” she quoted with a raised eyebrow.
Alexander had the grace to look embarrassed. “Not my finest moment.”
“Well, it gets worse,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Harper actually saw it first and wouldn’t stop talking about it. She kept chasing me around our apartment with the magazine, trying to get me to look at it.”
“And did you?” Alexander asked, equal parts mortified and intrigued.
“I refused on principle,” Emilia said firmly. “Until she took drastic measures.”
“Dare I ask?”
“She taped it to our refrigerator,” Emilia confessed, laughing at the memory. “For weeks before I came to the palace, I had your brooding royal gaze judging me every time I reached for leftover takeout at midnight. Your intense stare silently criticizing my poor nutritional choices.”
Alexander groaned, covering his face with one hand. “That photoshoot was torture. I was so annoyed about having to do it in the first place—that’s probably why I looked so intense.”
“Well, it worked,” Emilia said, still smiling. “You looked so disapproving that I started avoiding the fridge.”
“So when we met…” Alexander trailed off.
“I was already well-acquainted with your judgmental glare,” Emilia finished. “Harper called you ‘His Royal Intensity’ and kept insisting that I should at least—and I quote—‘appreciate the jawline.’”
“His Royal Intensity?” Alexander repeated, aghast.
“Her nickname, not mine,” Emilia clarified quickly, though her expression suggested she might have used it herself once or twice in jest.
“And then I had the pleasure of confirming all your worst suspicions about my character within the first thirty seconds of our meeting,” Alexander said dryly. “No wonder you looked at me with such disdain.”
“To be fair,” Emilia said, “the real you has turned out to be slightly less judgmental than Refrigerator You.”
“High praise indeed,” Alexander replied with a genuine laugh. “Is Harper disappointed that I haven’t lived up to the photos?”
“Oh, she still doesn’t believe me when I tell her you’re actually human,” Emilia said. “She’s convinced you glide around the palace in bespoke suits, making withering remarks and maintaining that perfect royal posture at all times.”
“Only on Tuesdays,” Alexander said, his eyes warm with amusement.
And so it went—secrets trading back and forth, some profound, some trivial, each one a small bridge between their worlds. The hour passed too quickly, measured in confessions and shared laughter.
* * *
The invitations had already gone out. The palace was buzzing with the news. Alexander would soon be formally engaged to a woman he barely knew.
And Emilia—she would be nothing.
She found him in the dimly lit corridor, just beyond the grand ballroom where nobles were already toasting the impending union.
“This isn’t fair,” she whispered, voice breaking.
“I know.”
He reached for her, but she stepped back, blinking hard, refusing to let him see how much this was shattering her.
“You said you didn’t want this.”
“I don’t,” he whispered. “But it’s bigger than me. Than us.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked, voice raw.
He looked into her eyes. “Because even knowing it’s impossible… I couldn’t stay away.”
She hated him for that.
And worse—she loved him for it too.
Thomas found them, his approach deliberately noisy to give them warning.
“Your Highness,” he said, his voice formal but gentle.
“The Queen has requested you rejoin the gathering. Your absence has been noted.” He paused, then added quietly, “Miss Carter, if I may suggest—the archivist’s office will be empty if you need a moment of privacy before his Majesty returns to the ballroom. ”
It was the most direct acknowledgment he had made of their situation, his eyes conveying understanding rather than judgment. As Alexander reluctantly moved, Thomas stepped aside, his posture straight but his voice lowered: “I’ll ensure no one disturbs you, Miss Carter.”
* * *
They had spent weeks stealing moments. Kisses between locked doors. Glances across crowded rooms. Secrets whispered between shadows.
But secrets couldn’t stay secrets forever.
The truth was coming for them.