Chapter 41
When Your Whole Life Is a Scandal
It started last week with a book Alexander hadn’t meant to take.
The night he had wrecked his father’s office in a storm of anger and grief, he had grabbed something—anything—just to have something in his hands.
It wasn’t even significant. A history text, leather-bound, with pages still stiff from disuse.
He had tucked it under his arm, not thinking, not caring and then he had forgotten about it. Alexander had tossed the book carelessly onto his desk earlier in the week, meaning to put it away, but never bothering.
Now, as he reached for something else, his hand knocked against it—
And suddenly, a flurry of pages spilled out. Not pages from the book. Letters.
Neatly folded, some still bearing the royal seal, others marked only by an elegant, looping signature— M. Hawthorne.
Alexander froze. His pulse hammered. He reached for the first letter, unfolding it with careful hands.
And then, as his eyes skimmed the words— He stopped breathing. The first letter was short. Precise. To the point. But the meaning beneath it was devastating.
James—
You and I both knew this was inevitable. You made your choice, and I made mine. But that does not mean I will ever regret what we had. What we created. You have given our son everything, and yet nothing at all and I have given him a lie. One I will carry to my grave.
M.
Alexander’s fingers tightened around the edges of the letter. His chest felt hollow, weightless. Our son? There was only one person she could have meant. Sebastian.
Alexander barely registered himself moving as he snatched up another letter. This one was longer. More frantic. The edges creased from where it had been handled too many times.
James—
I received your letter yesterday. No, I cannot reconsider. You ask if it is truly a kindness to keep the truth from him, but what alternative do we have? Your life is not your own. Your family, your crown, your kingdom—they would never accept this truth.
What frightens me most is that I’ve gravely underestimated Lord Hawthorne.
He agreed to raise Sebastian as his own, but the price has been higher than I anticipated.
He knows exactly what this secret is worth, and I fear what he might do if we threaten his advantage.
He is a dangerous man with dangerous connections.
For Sebastian’s protection—and perhaps yours—this secret must remain buried.
Sebastian must never know. For now, Lord Hawthorne has agreed to this arrangement, and while I despise him for his coldness, I know this is the only way our son can have a future unburdened by scandal and safe from those who would use this truth against him.
I beg you—do not pursue this further. For Sebastian’s sake, if not for mine.
—M
Alexander let the letter drop onto the desk like it had scalded him. His hands shook. His father had wanted to tell Sebastian the truth. He had considered acknowledging him. But Madeline—frightened of Lord Hawthorne’s power—had convinced him otherwise.
Alexander sank into his father’s chair, his mind racing. There was another letter, dated just weeks before his father’s death.
James—
You ask again about telling Sebastian the truth.
Even now, even knowing what little time remains, my answer must be the same.
He has built his life on the foundation we have given him.
To shatter that now would be cruel. I hope it gives you some solace to know that he inherited all your best qualities—your charm, your humor and yes, even your rebelliousness.
Lord Hawthorne has only grown more calculating through the years. The payments you’ve made as well as the favours—which he demanded in exchange for his silence—have given him leverage I never anticipated. I fear what he might do if the truth were to come out, even after you’re gone.
Know that I begin and end every day with the thought of you.
I often dream of a different life, one where we were never kept apart.
I’ve dreamt of it so often it feels more real to me than anything else.
So that’s where I’ll continue to look for you, even after you pass from this world, in my dreams where no one can keep you from me.
Forever yours,
M
Alexander’s breath caught. This wasn’t just an affair. This was love—enduring, complicated, heartbreaking love—that his father had carried in secret until the end. And it was shrouded in fear—fear of what Lord Hawthorne might do if the truth ever came to light.
And now Alexander understood. Why his mother had always looked at Sebastian with thinly veiled contempt. Why Lord Hawthorne had always held such inexplicable influence.
His father had built a complex web of deception, all to protect the son he couldn’t publicly claim—and to protect him from the very man who had raised him.
Alexander let the letter drop onto the desk like it had scalded him. His hands shook. His father had wanted to tell him. To tell Sebastian but he never did. Lady Hawthorne had convinced him otherwise.
Alexander sighed, dragging a hand over his face. There was no doubt anymore. This was the final piece, and it had been sitting in his own hands the entire time.
He found Sebastian in the library, lounging in a chair with his usual careless grace. His heart hammered in his chest as he approached, letters clutched too tightly in his grip.
“Sebastian,” he called, voice tight.
Sebastian barely looked up from his book. “What is it?”
Alexander placed the letters onto the table in front of him. “I—I found something.”
Sebastian frowned, picking one up. His eyes scanned the first few lines, his expression unchanged. Then something shifted—subtle but unmistakable. The color drained from his face as he continued reading, his practiced nonchalance crumbling with each word.
By the time he reached the end, Sebastian had gone completely still, the paper trembling almost imperceptibly in his grip.
He said nothing. Just set the letters down with careful, deliberate movements, as if handling something volatile.
“Are you okay?” Alexander asked carefully, hovering nearby but keeping his distance.
Sebastian blinked. Once. Twice. Then let out a shaky exhale before muttering, deadpan— “I think my soul just left my body for a minute.”
Alexander stared at him, not sure how to respond. “Well. That’s concerning.”
Sebastian exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. His fingers lingered at his jaw, pressing hard enough to whiten the skin. “You think?”
He sat back hard, staring at the ceiling like it might offer some divine intervention.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
It didn’t break until Sebastian reached for the letters again.
As his eyes moved over the words, something in his expression fractured, just for a moment, before he managed to compose himself.
Alexander watched, his own chest tight with shock.
He knew that his father had an affair, he’d even known about some kind of financial arrangements, but he’d never suspected anything like this.
Now he was with Sebastian—his lifelong friend—showing him the incontrovertible proof that they shared a father… it was unthinkable.
Sebastian set the letters down again, movements unnaturally precise. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, before reaching for a nearby decanter. He poured himself a generous measure of whiskey without offering any to Alexander, then drank it in one swift motion.
“So,” he said finally, his voice rougher than before, “James Philip was my father.”
It wasn’t a question. Alexander nodded anyway.
Sebastian stared into his empty glass, turning it slowly between his fingers. “And my mother… she made him keep it secret.”
Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Alexander remained standing, uncertain where to put himself in this new reality.
“Did you suspect?” Sebastian asked abruptly, looking up with an intensity Alexander had rarely seen from him.
Alexander shook his head. “No, of course not. I only recently knew there was an affair when you showed me the other unsigned letter. I didn’t even know who the affair was with until I found these letters.”
Sebastian let out a short, humorless laugh that seemed to scrape his throat raw. The sound hung in the air between them, brittle as frost.
“And now here we are,” Sebastian murmured, refilling his glass. “Brothers.”
The word seemed to reverberate through the room. Alexander hadn’t even allowed himself to think it yet, but there it was—the unvarnished truth.
“Well technically half-brothers,” Alexander corrected automatically, then immediately regretted it.
Sebastian’s gaze snapped to his, and for a moment, Alexander thought he might lash out. Instead, Sebastian’s mouth quirked in a bitter smile. “Right. Wouldn’t want to overstate my claim on the royal bloodline.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Alexander started, but Sebastian waved him off.
“I know.” He took another sip of whiskey, slower this time. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I’m about to challenge you for the throne.” His attempt at humor fell flat, the words hollow.
Alexander sank into the chair opposite, his own shock finally catching up to him.
His father—the man he had idolized, the king everyone had adored—had fathered a child with another woman, then hidden that child in plain sight.
Had continued to love that woman even after marrying Alexander’s mother. Had paid to keep the secret buried.
“My father wanted to tell you,” Alexander said quietly, nodding toward the second letter. “He wanted to acknowledge you.”
Sebastian’s expression remained guarded, but something flickered in his eyes—a complicated emotion Alexander couldn’t quite name.
“But he didn’t,” Sebastian replied, his voice carefully neutral. “In the end, he chose silence. Just like my mother did. The classic, I love you, but not enough to deal with the consequences.”
Alexander had no answer for that. The weight of their shared history—and the lies that had shaped it—settled between them like a physical thing.
Sebastian stared at the letters for a long moment, then abruptly stood. “I need to process this,” he said, his voice steadier than it had been. “Preferably with more alcohol and fewer royal revelations.”
“Sebastian—” Alexander began, not even sure what he wanted to say.
“Not now,” Sebastian cut him off, gathering the letters with uncharacteristic care. “I can’t… I need some time.” He tucked the letters into his jacket pocket, his hand lingering there as if reassuring himself they were real. “This isn’t something I can just quip my way through, Alexander.”
The admission—so unlike Sebastian’s usual deflective humor—hit Alexander hard. He nodded, understanding.
“I’ll be around,” he offered, the words inadequate but sincere. “When you’re ready to talk about it.”
Sebastian paused at the doorway, not quite looking back. “They both kept this from me,” he said, his voice quiet but clear. “My mother. Your father. They decided I didn’t deserve to know who I really was.”
The raw hurt in his voice made Alexander wince. “I don’t think it was about deserving,” he said carefully. “I think it was about protecting you.”
Sebastian didn’t answer. He simply walked out, his footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving Alexander alone with the fragments of a truth that would change everything—including the memory of the father he had spent his life trying to emulate.