“Hmm.” The sound came out loaded with meaning.
He couldn’t be saying what I thought he was saying. “Grandpa, you wanted me to break up with Rhys. You’ve been pushing me to marry Steffan all this time and…” A messy ball of emotion tangled in my throat. “You had a heart attack when I refused.”
Horror drenched his expression. “Is that what you think?” Edvard straightened, his eyes suddenly fierce. “Bridget, it wasn’t because of you or any one thing. It was because of an accumulation of stress. If anything, it was my fault for not listening to you and Nikolai.” He grimaced. “I should’ve cut back on my workload, and I didn’t. My heart attack was unfortunate timing, but it was not your fault. Do you understand?”
I nodded, the ball of emotion expanding until it filled my nose and ears. My chest felt too tight, my skin too hot, then too cold.
“I don’t blame you for what happened. Not one bit,” he said. “And by royal decree, I order you to stop blaming yourself.”
I cracked a small smile at the same time a hot tear scalded my cheek.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Edvard let out another, heavier sigh. “Come here.”
He opened his arms, and I walked around the desk and hugged him, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent of leather and Creed cologne. Some of the tightness I’d carried around since his heart attack eased.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed his implicit forgiveness until now.
“You are my granddaughter, and I want you to be happy.” Edvard squeezed me tight. “We can’t break the law, but you’re a smart girl, and you have nine months. Do what you have to do. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I think so,” I whispered.
“Good.” He pulled back and kissed me on the forehead. “Think like a queen. And remember, the best rulers are those who can wield both the carrot and the stick in equal measure.”
The best rulers are those who can wield both the carrot and the stick in equal measure.
Edvard’s words lingered long after he’d left and the late afternoon sun morphed into the cool blues of twilight.
I picked up my phone, my mind racing with the implications of what I wanted to do.
I had one card left up my sleeve, but I hadn’t entertained the notion until now because it was manipulative, underhanded, and went completely against my morals.
It wasn’t a carrot or a stick. It was the equivalent of a nuclear bomb.
But while I had nine months in theory, I respected Steffan too much to humiliate him by breaking up with him after his proposal should I succeed in repealing the Royal Marriages Law. I also couldn’t not go through with the proposal without a good reason. It would send the palace into a tailspin.
So, I had three weeks to get Erhall, who despised me, to bring forward a motion he’d gone on record as being against and convince three-fourths of Parliament to overturn one of the nation’s oldest laws.
The nuclear bomb was my only feasible option.
I scrolled through my contacts list until I reached the name I was looking for. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Did I really want to do this? Would I be able to live with myself?
This is the life we were born into.
We have nine months. We will figure. It. Out.
Baby, we’re way beyond like.
I dialed the number. He answered on the first ring.
“I’m calling in my favor.” I skipped the greeting and got straight to the point. If anyone appreciated efficiency, it was him.
“I was expecting your call.” I could practically see Alex Volkov’s smile over the phone, icy and humorless. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”