I’m not sure how long we stay like that. Long enough for my breaths to slow. Long enough for my shakes to stop. Long enough for what little strength I have left to drain from my limbs.
The strain of the previous day has officially caught up with me — the speech I gave, the protesters in the street, the sight of my former best friend’s face in their ranks… I am hollowed out. Empty as a drum, with no will left to struggle against my own painful reality, the beat of blood in my veins faint and faltering.
Can’t I stay here forever?
Safe and sound, in the circle of Carter’s arms?
Dreams start tugging at me again with heavy fingers, pulling me under. I’m half-asleep against his chest when I mumble his name, my voice barely audible.
“What is it, Emilia?”
“Please… please don’t leave me.”
His hand stills. I hear a sharp intake of air.
Before he has a chance to respond, before I can say something even more asinine… I blessedly tumble over the edge of consciousness. The last thing I hear as I surrender to sleep is a deep, rasping voice.
A single word.
One I’m not even certain is real or the splinter of a dream.
“Never.”
WHEN I WAKE the following morning, I’m alone in my tangled sheets. I sit up, squinting around my room for traces of Carter but finding none.
Was he really here?
Was he just a dream?
Wondering will only drive me mad. Scurrying out of bed, I walk to the bathroom, stripping off my cotton tank top and pajama shorts as I go. Under the rainfall shower, I lean my forehead against the tile wall with my eyes closed. No amount of hot water is enough to wash away the sensation of being in Carter’s arms. His hands in my hair. His voice in my head…
“Never.”
The memory sets of fireworks inside my nerve endings.
I shove thoughts of him away and focus on getting ready for my morning ride. It’s snowing lightly, so I dress in layers — thick cream colored leggings, knee-high leather boots, a fitted black jacket made with goose down. I’m halfway to the door when someone knocks on it.
Brows raised, I yank it open to find the same nervous pageboy who delivered my mail the other night loitering in the hallway.
“You again,” I say wryly.
His mouth gapes as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. I wait for him to say something, but he can’t seem to get out a single word.
“Can I help you with something, or…?”
“Yes. Um. Your Highness…”
My brows arch.
He swallows hard. “The— the—”
“Hey. What’s your name?”
“Derrick.”
“Okay. Well, I’m going to need you to breathe, Derrick. Because if you pass out in my doorway, I’ll never receive whatever message you’re trying so desperately to deliver.”
Some of his panic ebbs at my teasing tone. “Right. Sorry. The King— King Linus. He’s requested your immediate presence in his study.”
My stomach drops. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He squirms, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world except standing here.
That makes two of us.
“Thank you,” I tell him, sighing resignedly. “You can go now, Derrick.”
He takes off like a shot down the hallway. Frankly, I’d like to follow him. I’m not sure what Linus wants from me, but it must be serious. My father and I aren’t exactly on ‘casual hang out’ terms.
I’ve seen him only twice since the assassination attempt — once at the hospital and once the day he returned to the palace — and both times we were surrounded by a fleet of doctors, assistants, and armed guards, as well as his delightful wife.
Not exactly an ideal scenario for father-daughter bonding.
He’s been holed up in his private chambers in the South Wing ever since, not accepting visitors with the exception of his personal physician and, of course, Simms, who keeps him apprised of all royal affairs.
As for who is running the country in his stead… Octavia’s smug expression flashes in my mind and I scowl darkly. The thought of that woman making decisions that effect an entire nation is genuinely terrifying.
I’ve been waiting impatiently for Linus to reclaim the reins of power from his wife… but it’s been a month and, so far, he seems content to remain in his state of quiet isolation. I know I should be more understanding. The man was nearly killed, after all. He’s entitled to recovery time — I just can’t help wishing he didn’t require so very much of it.
As to why he wants to see me out of the blue, I have no earthly idea. Even before the assassination attempt, we weren’t what you’d call close. Though, in my defense, it’s hard to be close to someone who abandons you at birth, then coerces you into taking on the role of Crown Princess by threatening to sell your childhood home unless you comply.
Good times.
My riding boots rap sharply on the marble floors as I walk from my suite through the hall, around a corner, and down a massive stone staircase. I hear Galizia fall into step behind me. My stalwart shadow.
“I’m just going to see Linus. You don’t need to follow me.”
She doesn’t respond.
“You should go take a break. Have a snack, grab a nap. Get down with your bad self, Galizia. I mean, it’s not like you can even come inside with me. Dear Old Dad requested a private audience, god only knows what about…”
“I’m fine waiting in the hall.”
“You know, when I hired you on as my personal guard, I didn’t mean you had to do it every second of every day. Seriously… don’t you ever take any time for yourself?” I ask, eyebrows arching.
“I take plenty.”
“When?”
“While you’re asleep.”
“And yet you somehow also manage to monitor my mail, work out, shower, scan the castle for threats, and handle your entire personal life in those few brief hours. How is that?”
“I’m efficient.”
“Uh huh. Sure. Be honest — you’re some sort of humanoid-robot-hybrid who doesn’t require sleep, aren’t you? You can tell me. I’m trustworthy.”
Predictably, Galizia does not deign to answer.
I sigh and keep walking.
As we pass through the Great Hall, I avoid looking at the massive throne that sits on the far side of the room on a raised platform, its ornate surface gilded with an obscene amount of gold. Moving beneath a massive archway, I turn toward the ancient part of the castle — the South Wing.
The stones here are older, their construction somewhat cruder. The floor beneath my feet has been worn smooth by thousands of feet over thousands of years. Narrow slotted windows, built to withstand medieval arrow fire, pepper the walls at uneven intervals. It’s not hard to imagine rounding a corner and bumping straight into a corset-wearing courtier from days of yore. Or yesteryear. Or whatever.
I’ve only been here once before, the day Linus came home, and I didn’t have much chance to look around with Simms on one side and Lady Morrell on the other. Curiosity stirs in my veins as I wind through hallway after hallway, admiring the ornate gas lamps that light my way, peeking subtly through open doors.
Fully aware of Galizia’s presence at my back, I try not to be too obvious about my snooping as I bypass the King’s private library, what appears to be a billiards room, and a parlor full of ancient weaponry. Eventually, I find myself standing in front of two heavy oak doors at the very end of the corridor. The doorknobs are shaped like lion heads, as is the ornate knocker embedded in the wood.
I lift a hand and rap the knocker against its plate. The door opens almost instantly, a white-gloved servant pulling it wide to grant me entrance into my father’s sanctum. I step over the threshold and take in the room. It’s a gorgeous study — floor to ceiling bookshelves, massive windows overlooking the wooded grounds, a huge desk dominating the space.
To my surpr
ise, Linus isn’t sitting behind it. He’s seated in a maroon wingback chair by the roaring fireplace, an afghan thrown over his knees, a thick stack of papers on his lap.
“Emilia! Come in, come in.”
I try to keep my face clear of shock as I walk toward him, but it’s difficult to contain my emotions. At seventy-three, he’s never been the picture of health… but now, sitting there by the fire, he looks so terribly frail. So vastly changed from the man I met mere weeks ago.
“I’d get up to greet you, but…” He trails off with a cough.
I sink into the chair across from his, unsure what to say.
His eyes drift toward the door. “Charles, you may leave us. Unless…” He glances back at me. “Would you like tea? Coffee?”
I shake my head.
“Then that will be all, Charles. Please ensure we are not disturbed.”
The door shuts with a resolute click, leaving us alone. For a minute, the only sound in the room is the crackling of wood logs in the fireplace.
I clear my throat roughly. “You’re looking well.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “And you’re a liar.”
“No, I…” I trail off. He knows I’m lying. There’s little point continuing the facade. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a weak old man, if you must know.”
I grimace.
“Don’t waste your worries on me, Emilia. My health has been ailing for a long time. Far before someone decided to spike my champagne with a dose of curare.”
“Curare?”
“It’s a type of poison. Usually lethal. I got lucky.”
“Your definition of lucky needs some tweaking.”
His lips twitch. “True enough.”
“Still no leads on who might be responsible?”
He shakes his head. “Bane assures me they are actively seeking answers. But so far, they’ve come up empty.”
“Do they believe there’s any connection between the person who tried to kill you and the person who started the fire that killed King Leopold and Queen Abigail?”
“I think it would be foolish to dismiss the possibility.” He coughs again — a wet, wracking sound that makes his whole body convulse. I try not to flinch as I wait for him to continue. “If it is in fact the same person, I have no doubt they will strike again. The motivations are clear — to extinguish the Lancaster line, once and for all. And I must say… with my brother in the ground, Prince Henry still lying in a burn unit, and my own weakened state… they appear to have an alarming success rate.”
A chill goes through me.
“That’s why I called you here, Emilia.” His eyes narrow on mine. “I’ve spoken to Octavia—“
“Ah, this should be good.”
“Emilia. Please. I am not naive enough to believe that you and my wife will ever get along. However, I am hopeful that with enough time, you two will learn to respect each other. Albeit grudgingly.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”
“Despite what you might think, Octavia acts in what she believes is the best interest of this family. She’d do anything to protect the Lancaster legacy.”
“No matter who gets steamrolled in the process?” I shake my head. “The only member of this family she cares about is herself. The things she’s done — to me, to her own children…”
His voice sharpens. “What has she done to you?”
I shake my head, not wanting to burden him when he’s in such a weakened state. “The specifics don’t matter, but that doesn’t change the facts: she wants me gone and there’s nothing she will not to do accomplish that goal.”
“That’s simply not true, Emilia.”
“Oh, okay.” My eyes roll heavenward. “You’ve convinced me.”
Linus sighs. “She came to me because she’s concerned about you.”
I scoff. Loudly.
“She wanted me to know you felt unsafe with your current security detail. That you’ve insisted on setting up your own unit of guards. And she is not the only one who’s brought this matter to my attention.”
“Let me guess — Bane came in declaring his deep love for me as well? Honestly, they should start an official Emilia Fan Club…”
“He was rather worked up.” Linus steeples his hands in front of his mouth. “I’ve never seen him in such a state in all the years I’ve known him.”
“I tend to have that effect on misogynistic, power-hungry assholes.”
He barks out a rough laugh.
“I suppose you think it’s an absurd idea as well?” I ask, a bitter thread weaving through my words. “My Princess Guard?”
“On the contrary. I support it completely.”
My brows go up. “You do?”
“Yes.” His green eyes crinkle in a smile. “I want nothing more than for you to feel safe in this palace, Emilia. I heard about the protestors outside the gates yesterday. And I know my coronation didn’t go quite as planned…”
A snort pops out. “You could say that.”
“I know the security measures must feel excessive to you. That you’ve been… cooped up, to say the least. But I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here. I want you to feel as though… well, as though this is your home.”
Home?
I almost laugh.
My home is a ramshackle two-story house on Peach Street in Hawthorne, with a fading, painted mailbox that says LENNOX in Mom’s sloping brushwork. My home is a lumpy twin mattress in a blue bedroom barely larger than a closet, with creaky floor boards and bad insulation. My home is one door down from the Harding family, in whose backyard I spent many afternoons sitting in a treehouse with a blond boy I used to call my best friend.
This cold stone castle will never be my home.
Linus must read the emotions on my face, because he sighs again. “I’d hoped you would not be entirely unhappy here. I can see I was wrong.”
Guilt sluices through me. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. Just… a bit bored.”
“But I’m told you’ve been riding nearly every day with Hans. And you have your stepsiblings for company. I thought you were getting along with Chloe and Carter?”
If you only knew the half of it…
“I do get along with them, but they’re busy with their own lives. Plus, I’ve finished my coursework for the semester. I suppose I’m feeling rather restless without it.” I chew my bottom lip. “You have to understand — I spent three and a half years working toward one goal. To become a psychologist. And now, I’m not doing anything of consequence. Nothing I do has any purpose or meaning.”
“That is simply untrue.”
Linus reaches for the newspaper sitting on the end table beside him. Smiling softly, he extends it toward me. After a moment’s hesitation, I reach out and grab it. My eyes widen as I take in the bold headline across the front page.
THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS: HER ROYAL HIGHNESS EMILIA CHARMS CROWDS AT REMEMBRANCE DAY CEREMONIES
Beneath the headline, there’s a color photograph of me crouched on the street, reaching through the partition to set my tiara atop Annie’s head. Below the fold, another frame shows me standing at the podium, mid-speech. The look on my face is one I’ve never seen before — full of passion. Emblazoned with energy and undeniable excitement.
I barely recognize myself.
Turning the page, I find a whole series of photographs — me, walking through the halls of the hospital. Me, shaking the hand of a WWII veteran. Me, listening intently to a PTSD expert in the trauma center. Even the most cursory scan of the accompanying article tells me it’s a highly flattering portrait of Germania’s newest monarch.
“So you see,” Linus murmurs. “Your actions do have meaning, to a great many people. You do have a purpose, Emilia. It simply may be different than the one you’d planned for yourself before.”
My heart clenches. I glance up at him, feeling more confused than ever. “But… this? Politics and princess duties? I don’t have any idea w
hat I’m doing.”
“Precisely. That’s why they love you.”
Folding the paper, I set it aside so I’ll stop looking at the photos. “Love seems like a bit of a stretch.”
In fact, hate may be more appropriate — especially among certain anti-monarchy circles, as I experienced firsthand only yesterday. I can’t help wondering why there are no photos in the paper documenting that charming crowd interaction.
Under normal circumstances, I might ask Linus about it — how often these protests are happening, whether there’s any way he can rein in Bane’s excessive use of force, if there’s any way to ease anti-monarchist strains. But, as I watch him coughing weakly into a handkerchief every few moments, I hesitate to cause him any additional distress.
“Emilia.” My father clears his throat and winces, as though that small action causes him a great deal of pain. “I think you forget — you are poised to become one of the most influential queens in the world. Many people will admire you for that fact alone. But you could earn more than their admiration. You could easily earn their adoration as well.”
My head shakes, rejecting his words. “I highly doubt that.”
“Then take another look at that newspaper!” His voice is suddenly intent. “You are just starting out and you’ve already captured the hearts of the press, of the public. That proves you have the natural charisma of a true leader.”
“Look, I just don’t think I’m cut out to be anyone’s leader. I’m twenty years old! My life is a damn mess. No one should be looking to me to make decisions for them.”
“Emilia, even the best leaders doubt themselves. They question whether or not they’re the best person for the job, whether they’ll live up to expectation. That’s only natural. In time, you will learn to trust your own instincts — and your own abilities. You will become the person they believe you can be.”
I glance at the newspaper again, feeling undeniably uncomfortable as I study the image of myself spanning the front page. All those excited faces in the crowd, undeniably enamored with their new princess…
The People’s Princess.
“Everyone else is giving you the benefit of the doubt,” Linus murmurs quietly. “Why is it so difficult for you to do the same?”
Torrid Throne: The Forbidden Royals Trilogy, #2 Page 8