Prince's Son of Scandal

“What he knows is that a country can’t maintain stability when it’s ruled by emotion. Scandal and division among its people are poison. How can he be regarded as a man of integrity when he’s with a woman who is nothing but racy headlines?”

“I can’t control my headlines!”

“No. You can’t. That’s why removing yourself is the least you can do. If you care anything for him and your son, protect them.”

Score one for the Queen. She knew it, too. She didn’t move, but her verbal rapier kept whipping the air, cutting into Trella with casual ease as she spoke again.

“You have no idea the strength required to hold this position. Your weaknesses would become theirs, undermining what has taken five hundred years to build.”

“Loving is a weakness?” Where had she heard that before?

The Queen narrowed her eyes. “Your background, your extensive need for therapy and your delicate mental state are weaknesses.”

It was as if she saw into Trella’s soul where the specters were swirling and cackling, dragging icy fingers over her bones. She sees you. She knows.

“The toll of the throne would break someone like you. This is a marathon that lasts a lifetime. What are you going to do when it becomes too much? Retire behind closed doors and burden the palace with making explanations? If that’s to be the end result, do it now. Fade into the background before you do any more damage.”

“Someone like me,” she repeated darkly.

They won’t come for you. They won’t want you after this. It was the oldest, darkest, ugliest voice. The one that made her eyes sting and her heart shrink.

She hadn’t come back to her family in pieces because she had passively accepted her situation, though. She had fought with every ounce of will she possessed, from the first moment through all the other struggles to today.

“You know nothing about me and what I can endure. Do not confuse my capacity for love as an inability to stand and fight. In fact, love is my weapon. You want to go to war with me? Gird your loins. You might rule this country, but I rule the online world. I’m beloved by billions. You want to protect what’s taken five hundred years to build? I belong to something that’s lasted millennia. Family. When you die, do you think duty will squeeze a single tear from Xavier’s eye?”

The Queen went white. “You’re becoming hysterical.”

“You unleashed this!” She stabbed the air between them. “Love is the only thing that pulls us through hardship. I know that. And your tepid love isn’t enough to sustain him. Yes, you love him in your stunted way, but you’re afraid to show it. Why? Because you might have to deal with grief again? Is that why you don’t even look at Tyrol? You’re afraid he’ll die and you don’t want to be attached? Now who’s weak?”

Queen Julia gave her bell a resounding shake.

“What’s wrong? This is what someone looks like when they’re fighting for the people they love. Still think I’m not tough enough for the job?”

“Get out.”

“Ms. Sauveterre!” Mario entered. “Please.”

She shot him a bitter look on her way past him then ran blindly to her room.

* * *

Voices were droning around him, but Xavier wasn’t tracking. He was lost in a fog he hadn’t experienced since childhood. Twice. The miasma was cold and gray and left him rudderless. His grandmother had been there to lead him along those other two times, but she was the last person he wanted to turn to right now.

Not because he blamed her. No, he blamed himself.

All he could hear was Trella saying, If you loved me.

He had said he couldn’t love her as if he didn’t have the capacity. For a long time, he had believed he didn’t. The love he’d once felt for his parents had stagnated under their leaving, stunting him into an inability to feel anything beyond superficial liking.

And yes, Trella had been a distraction lately as they had tried to cram a lifetime into the short marriage they had agreed to, but the fact that their time was finite had put that pressure on them. Hell, he’d called it off and he was still distracted.

I can live somewhere else.

The doom he’d felt at that statement couldn’t be measured. He tried to picture Patrizia in the room where he’d held Trella and bile rose to the back of his throat.

No, the real problem was that he was afraid to admit he loved her. Otherwise, he might feel like this when their marriage ended. But he did feel like this now, which must mean—

“You agree, Your Highness?”

“Pardon?” He sucked in a deep breath, like he was coming out of a coma. What the hell had he done?