by Geneva Lee
Apparently X wasn’t going to take my demand that he couldn’t see me after midnight seriously.
“Am I going to have to call Norris to drag you away?” I asked as I swung the door open, knowing that saying no to Alexander was already a lost cause.
But it wasn’t him at the door; it was his father. The King raised a questioning eyebrow at my appearance, and I adjusted my robe quickly.
“Were you sleeping?”
That was one excuse for how I imagined I looked like right now. I smoothed my tangled hair back and shook my head.
“I was trying to sleep.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. I had considered going to bed.
“I didn’t think women slept the night before their weddings.”
“Perhaps not.” I shifted on my heels, wondering how long we were going to make small talk. I couldn’t imagine why he’d come all the way to Clarence House to speak to me unless it was to threaten me or lecture me. As I was getting married in the morning, I wasn’t in the mood for either.
“May I speak to you about an important matter?” he asked.
I hesitated. It was past eleven, but I was never going to sleep. I stepped into the hallway and shut my bedroom door behind me. There was no way I was going to be alone with him.
I followed as he led me through a corridor into a sitting room swathed in masculine colors and decor. Traditional leather chairs sat next to an unlit fireplace and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls. The dead eyes of animals bored into me as I entered. It was another room I hadn’t discovered yet, but considering the collection of hunting trophies on the wall I wasn’t certain I’d be back.
Albert paused at a serving cart and pulled the stopper on a decanter. He poured himself a bourbon, but I hung back, staying closer to the door. What was I doing here? The sooner I got this over with, the better.
“Alexander has not been entirely honest with you, Clara.” The King swirled his bourbon and watched thoughtfully as the amber liquid spun, coating the sides of the glass. “Nor have I.”
“Imagine that,” I said coldly. How was it possible that in a house staffed by hundreds of people, no one was around to save me from this conversation? I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. If he thought he could sway my decision to marry Alexander by producing some unsavory tidbit about his past, he was mistaken.
“Tomorrow you will wed my son, but it will not be a legal marriage.”
My bravado faltered, and I took a step back. My fingers instinctively found the edge of a bookshelf and gripped it for strength and also to stop myself, because every fiber of my being wanted to slap him. “I’m sure the hundreds of guests planning to attend will be surprised to hear that.”
“I have no plans to make it public knowledge,” he assured me. “But you should be aware. Alexander, as my heir, requires my permission to marry. My written permission, and as you know, he’s made it quite clear he has no intention of asking me for it.”
“Alexander told me—”
“What he wanted you to think. He didn’t tell you the truth. I’m afraid that’s a trait he picked up from me.” His smile was tight-lipped, and it deepened the lines on his face. He looked tired—worn down from the years he’d spent maintaining his fierce grip on the country as well as his sons. “If you marry tomorrow, you can continue living with my son. Perhaps even bear him a child. But for all intents and purposes, there will have been no marriage. As far as the palace is concerned, you will have no claim to the benefits or protections afforded the monarchy nor will your children. They will be illegitimate, and you will be his mistress.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” There was no purpose to it. He could have informed me of this months ago if he wanted to put a stop to our marriage. Maybe he was even more cruel than I’d suspected. I couldn’t think of anything more vile than waiting until hours before the ceremony to deliver this news.
“Because unlike my son, I believe you deserve to know.”
“There’s more to it than that. You’re hoping I’ll cancel the wedding.” If I walked away tonight, it would save the monarchy and Alexander the embarrassment of having to admit to an invalid marriage.
“I know you think me the villain.” He paused as though to give me time to challenge him on this fact.
I didn’t. I thought him much worse than the villain. I had for some time, and he’d done nothing to convince me otherwise. He could claim to have my best interests at heart but it was a lie. “You basically just told me I would be your son’s whore, so you’re right. I don’t think very highly of you.”
“A crude choice of words, but I suppose if you prefer that to mistress.” He took a long draft, his Adam’s apple sliding violently as he swallowed. Running the back of his hand over his mouth, he regarded me with narrowed eyes. “He was intended for Priscilla. I believe you’ve met her.”
“I’ve had the pleasure,” I admitted, not bothering to hide my distaste. She’d been like the rest of the Royal Brat Pack: privileged and self-involved. “I believe she made a joke about my weight. Such class. What a loss for you that Alexander went against your wishes. I had thought you wanted him to marry Pepper.”
“There was a time when Alexander wouldn’t have cared, you know? He would have married who I wished to avoid having to deal with me. That disillusionment would have helped me with the Pepper situation.” He smirked and shifted in his seat until his arms rested on his knees. “I heard you paid her a visit.”
“I’m certain she tells you everything.”
“Not anymore,” he said with emphasis. “Pepper is no longer a friend of the family.”
“Whatever will we do at parties?” This was, perhaps, the first piece of good news I’d heard all day, but it didn’t come close to soothing the rawness creeping into my throat.
Albert motioned for me to take a seat. I tugged my robe together tightly and settled onto the leather cigar chair, shifting to be certain that my thighs remained covered. The King had repeatedly proven himself to be a twisted man, not only having an affair with a girl who could have been his own child, but also directly stating he wished his son had died in Afghanistan. I never quite knew what to expect from him, even after months of being in his presence.
“I make you uncomfortable,” he noted as I squirmed under his gaze.
My eyes flashed nervously to him. It was as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Yet another characteristic of his that unnerved me.
“I make many people uncomfortable,” he continued, smiling wolfishly. “Most can’t see past that I’m King. Others get the wrong impression of me when we first meet.”
“What impression was I supposed to get?” I asked flatly. “Or are we rewriting history? You were horrible to me on our first meeting and our second and practically every meeting since then. You were tolerable at Christmas, which was a surprise.”
“Balmoral is the closest to a normal home that this family has, so it tends to make me sentimental,” he said, speaking of the Scottish castle where the Royal family gathered for the Christmas holidays. “Generally, I regard sentimentality as a weakness.”
“I got that impression when you told your son you wished he had died at war,” I bit out. Whatever he was playing at, I wanted no part of it. Even if it meant there would be no wedding in the morning. Only a truly sick individual would get in bed with King Albert, and I was happy where I slept.
“Alexander’s lack of respect angers me,” he explained. “And on more than one occasion, we have both said things we regretted.”
“You sent him to the warfront,” I said pointedly.
“I sent him to become a man!” Albert roared, spilling his drink on the Oriental rug. “Before he became lost to guilt and grief. He wanted to be treated like a man, so he sought out perversion—and dangerous company. He had no idea what he was getting into. I gave him what he truly needed by sending him away. I forced him to grow up!”
Hot anger coursed through me. Alexander had needed his father’s love a
s well as his punishment. A fact that still escaped Albert. I stood and dipped into a curtsy. “I’m afraid I must take my leave of you. Thank you for being honest with me. I’m certain Alexander only wished to protect me from further insult by not telling me that you’d refused to consent to our marriage. Regardless, tomorrow is the most important day of my life—whether or not you sanction it. Tomorrow will be about Alexander and me. Not the hundreds of guests or the fancy luncheon or the balcony kiss. Tomorrow I will commit my life to his. I will become Alexander’s wife in all the ways that matter and fuck you for suggesting otherwise.”
Turning on my heels, I padded toward the door.
“You remind me of her,” he called.
I stopped in my tracks and spun to face him, silently cursing my curiosity. “Who?”
“Elisabeta,” he admitted. He placed his empty glass on an antique side table. Pushing to his feet, he swayed a little as he crossed toward me.
“I might be a British citizen. You might be the King, but to me you’re just a man—and I don’t obey you, unlike your wife.”
To my surprise, he chuckled under his breath. “My wife was obedient in the public eye, but she had a fire about her. Greek woman usually do.”
His eyes were far away as he recalled his late wife. Albert stepped closer and the harsh scent of bourbon prickled my nostrils. His eyes drooped a little as he straightened up to lord over me. “She questioned every decision I made. Elisabeta was my equal. When I see you and Alexander together, I know he’s met his own match.”
I sucked in a breath, genuinely shocked to hear him say that.
“Then why oppose our marriage?” I asked him in a soft voice, struggling to wrap my mind around the insane and abrupt turns this conversation kept taking. “Do you hate your son so much?”
“Hate?” he echoed. “You think I hate my son?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but he thinks you do.”
“Someday, God willing, Alexander will sit on this throne and perhaps then he’ll understand. Emotional distance is the only way to be an effective monarch.”
“But it’s not the way to be an effective father.” My chastisement was gentle but firm. Choosing not to pander to him anymore meant calling him out on his bullshit. Because we were no longer rewriting history. We were being honest.
Still, I was gambling by even continuing this discussion. I’d avoided contact with the King for months to protect myself from his painfully blunt disapproval of my lack of pedigree. But I’d also avoided him to prevent exactly this. Alexander didn’t want a relationship with his father. He’d made that clear. “Let’s not pretend that you’ve had your sons’ best interests at heart.”
“My wife was the one who helped me become a father. When I lost her, I lost that ability. Perhaps that seems like an excuse.” He shrugged and nearly lost his balance.
My hand shot out to steady him. “Maybe it is. Maybe it shouldn’t be anymore.”
Maybe it’s just the bourbon, I thought.
“You’re so like her.” His words slurred slightly as he repeated himself. “That’s why I refused his request. That’s why I’ve tried to tear you apart.”
“That’s not a reason,” I whispered. Tears smarted my eyes and I blinked them away. I’d be damned if he was going to see me cry again.
“It’s not just your fire, Clara,” he explained, shaking his head sadly. “You’re beautiful like she was, but just as fragile.” His hand snaked around my wrist and squeezed. “I could snap your arm in half. You’re so breakable.”
“Stop.” I tried to tug free but his grip only tightened.
“Too lovely for this world. Alexander knows that.” Albert jerked me forward, causing me to stumble and fall into him. “He knows he’ll lose you just as I know—and that will be what finally destroys him. It’s what destroyed the part of me that cared.”
His breath was hot and I closed my eyes, straining my face away from his. He was somewhere else, caught in a web of memories, and I had no idea what to expect. The fact that he saw Elisabeta when he looked at me wasn’t comforting. Between his intoxicated state and his broad upper body, I couldn’t fight him if I tried. And then as suddenly as he’d drawn me close to him, he released me. I darted away from him, stopping only when I reached the door.
“He’ll never lose me,” I promised. I had no idea why I felt the need to reassure him, except maybe that I also needed to reassure myself.
“I hope that’s true. Sincerely. I only want to protect the family that I have left.”
“They don’t need you to protect them.” Why couldn’t he understand that? How had his perspective grown so warped? “They need you to care about their happiness.”
Silence fell over us. I had nothing left to say, and he could no longer deny that I was right. We both sensed it, just as we both sensed something shift between us. I would never love Albert as a father, but for the first time I felt that I understood him a little.
“Good night.” This time I didn’t follow rules of etiquette to take the proper leave of him. We’d spoken to each other as equals. It didn’t seem necessary to point out our differences now.
He said nothing more.
Back in my temporary bedroom, I locked the door and stood in the oppressive silence. Finally I opened the door to the wardrobe and stared at the only thing inside. With trembling fingers, I unzipped the overstuffed garment bag and drew my wedding dress out. I traced the delicate lace that covered the silk bodice. I’d sent Alexander to another bed tonight to avoid bad luck. It had found me anyway. There would be a wedding, but it wouldn’t be long before the press discovered our marriage was a sham. There would be a scandal that I might have avoided if I’d chosen deference to the King rather than confrontation.
Still it didn’t seem to matter. I’d meant it when I told his father that I would marry Alexander in the ways that truly mattered in the morning. I would give him my body, my heart, and my soul. And no act of King or country could stop me.
I stood before the mirror, tugging my sleeve to my wrist and fastening my cufflink. Edward passed me my jacket when I’d fastened the other, and I shrugged it on, swiftly fastening each of the seven gold buttons. I adjusted my shirt under the banded uniform collar and stepped back.
“Well?” I held open my arms.
“Dashing,” he assured me. “Clara won’t be able to keep her eyes off of you.”
“I’d prefer that she couldn’t keep her hands off of me.” Sitting on the small bench at the foot of my bed, I laced up my patent leather boots.
It had been some time since I’d worn my Royal Air Force uniform, even longer since I’d worn a ceremonial one. This one had been tailored on Saville Row, created specifically for the wedding using the finest Venetian cloth and gold embroidery thread. It was strange to put it on. It symbolised both my past and my future—the old and the new commingling in a way that wasn’t comforting. I dismissed the thought, reaching for my hat. For a moment I imagined Clara wearing it—and nothing else. The vision made my cock twitch, which was unfortunate given Clara’s request that I not see her before the ceremony.
At least I knew how I’d be spending my wedding night.
The door to my bedroom opened and my father strode, uninvited, into the room, already clad in his own Naval uniform.
“The Irish Guard?” he said to Edward, studying him for a moment.
Edward tugged at the hem of his crimson jacket, a tight smile stealing over his face. “My highest rank.”
“Your only rank,” our father corrected him.
“Not all men need go to war,” I said in a lowered voice, drawing his attention to me. My brother had endured years of his attacks while I was serving in Afghanistan, it was time for me to bear the brunt of our father’s abuse, particularly since I was to blame for his foul mood.
“How are you liking the house?” he asked me.
My eyes narrowed as I tried to read him. Everything with my father was a trap. The only way to avoid becoming
snared was not to move.
That was not an option.
“We’re settling in. Clara is a little overwhelmed, of course.” I kept my answer light, but I chose not to thank him. It was my birthright to claim residence at Clarence House, there was no need to flatter him with false gratitude.
His lips turned under as he rested one hand on the scabbard of his ceremonial sword. “I’m certain that she is.”
“With time, it will be easier for her,” I assured him.
“That brings me to the point of my visit.” He turned to Edward and smiled wanly. “Can you give us a moment?”
Edward glanced to me, no doubt wondering if either of us would be left standing when he returned. Bowing his head, he exited the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
“This is unnecessary,” I warned my father. He’d come to levy impotent threats about the legitimacy of my marriage to Clara. Over recent weeks, he’d been increasingly resistant to discussion about my security concerns. It seemed he’d chosen my wedding day to remind me that today’s ceremony was a ruse.
“As you know, without my sanction of this marriage, it will be considered invalid in the eyes of the state. Any children Clara bears to you will be illegitimate and not awarded the Royal status.”
I gritted my teeth, an angry swell burning through my blood. I’d expected his resistance to my marriage, but that did nothing to alleviate my fury. “I plan to have no children, so that should not be an issue.”
Shock flitted over his face. It was the first time he had looked genuinely surprised for as long as I could remember.
“You see,” I continued, “you’ve taught me quite well. Children are a duty, a cross to be borne for the sake of the monarchy. Regardless of legitimacy, I see no need to taint the Royal blood any further with my perversion, as you call it.”
“I assume your bride is aware of your preference for this?”
I nodded. We had discussed it. Undoubtedly there would come a time when she questioned that decision, but I was certain by then she would understand the full responsibilities that came with the crown.
