Page 36 of King's Heir of Hate

What it means is that our kingdoms have spun themselves a fairy tale, and we star in it, he had told her in as unemotional a voice as possible.

Let me guess, Esme had said.You don’t believe in fairy tales in the same way that you don’t believe in love. Or happy marriages. Or anything that might make the monarchy human.

What I believe, he had said, refusing to give in to her provocations,is that all royal marriages are treated like fairy tales, but ours has already been written. You were betrothed to me upon your birth. Our subjects have been concocting tales about us ever since. All we have to do is ride that wave.

Have you taken up surfing?she had asked.How fascinating. I have never seen the appeal. Standing on objects that move very quickly on the surface of the water? No, thank you.

He had ignored that. Especially because he had never enjoyed surfing himself, something he had not shared with her.

I would like to formally begin our courtship, he had said instead.It will be, by necessity, extremely public. I will furnish you with a schedule. We will be seen together for a year,engaged within nine months of that year, and married at the end of that year.

For a moment, she had only looked at him with those fathomless dark eyes of hers and he’d braced himself. He’d been certain that she would do something he hadn’t thought to ward himself against. Like when he’d seen her after the breakup, very briefly, to exchange the things they’d left at each other’s places and she hadn’t wept. She hadn’t shouted at him. She’d only looked at him, a lot like she did then, and had asked,What do you do with the real you when you put on this mask?

He had not answered that question.

And that day in the palace, she hadn’t asked it again. Or anything like it.

She had laughed. Esme had come to the palace dressed like a Londoner. Which was to say, she had been wearing jeans tucked into boots, a chic little sweater, and minimal jewelry. She’d had her hair up in a glossy ponytail, and she had looked edible.

If he’d had any idea how long that simple meeting would end up haunting him, he was sure he would have sent a letter instead.

And why do you imagine that I would do any of those things with my ex-boyfriend?Esme had asked him. The funny part was that she had really sounded curious. As if he was a puzzle she could not figure out, which was absurd.

Even then, Tadeo had known himself to be entirely transparent in all ways. Just as his father had taught him. Just as his people deserved.

You either love your country or you don’t, he had said. Perhaps a bit darkly, because exposure to her was a challenge. He’d made a mental note to up his workouts.Which is it?

Of course, she had murmured.The only love you admit exists.

Tadeo found himself thinking about all of that ancient history entirely too much as he paced about in the office now,wondering why it was taking her so long to turn up. Maybe she was still in the lake, paddling about like a happy little turtle. Maybe she had no intention of ever coming out of the water.

Either way, he knew the fault would not lie with Arturo. The old man would do his job perfectly, as he had done since before Tadeo was born.

Just as he knew that Esme would go out of her way to make it difficult, because she made everything difficult. She had been an agent of chaos from the start. He was half convinced that she was a Clarebonne spy, planted here to take down Bellaza from within.

She was halfway there.

When the door opened some while later he turned, and was unsurprised to see Esme saunter inside with her hair perfectly dried and set, meaning that she had taken her sweet time. And was challenging his own memories, for she seemed to be dressed a little too similarly to that memory he had of her in his head. The only difference was her belly, looking bigger and rounder now and reminding him that there was far more at stake here than her talk of love, or his memories of the most embarrassing year of his life so far.

Not to mention what had followed that had led them here.

Though when no one but Esme was in the room with him, it was difficult to remember why he found anything about her or the two of them embarrassing in the least.

You are your worst problem, he seethed at himself.

“If you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head about my father, I prefer you never mention him again,” he told her coldly. “The man was a saint.”

He didn’t like the fact that instead of looking taken back at that, Esme simply looked…sad.

For him. That part was clear, and he couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Is that what he told you?” she asked.

Tadeo felt his heart catapulting against his ribs again in a manner he could only call alarming. He felt the way he had down on the dock, as if the world was closing in on him. Or as if he was being sucked out and carried away to…somewhere else.

It took effort to pull himself back. Too much effort for his liking.

“This is an indisputable fact,” he shot at her. “Everyone knows what he suffered. What he went through. And through it all, he stayed calm and in control of himself. What’s not to admire?”