Page 92 of King of the Crease

“You have caused quite the spectacle,” the king says at last.

I close my eyes. “I know.”

“Photographs across every European paper. Commentators questioning your judgment. Ardenia looks foolish.”

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass anyone. I was trying to live.”

“That is not your role. How could you let this happen again? Do you remember last time?”

Vincent couldn’t hold a candle to Hank, and a flare of anger sparks in my chest at them being compared.

“This isn’t like last time. I care about him,” I say. My heart hurts knowing I will likely never see Hank again.

“This is not about affection.”

“It is entirely about affection.”

“You are the crown prince,” my father snaps. “Your life is not your own.”

The words are familiar. Memorized since childhood. Still, they land differently now.

“I have fulfilled every obligation asked of me,” I say. “Every appearance, every tour, every charity, every negotiation. I asked for one month.”

“And in return you have created scandal.”

I had so much fun at the bar crawl. So. Much. Fucking. Fun. I felt free and alive. I drank with friends and danced and kissed a guy and asked him to be my boyfriend. I was making up for a lifetime of holding all my joy locked away inside me.

Something inside of me cracks.

“I don’t want this role.” The words rushing out before fear could stop them. “Do you know what it’s like? Every friendship questioned, every relationship strategic. I am thirty-six years old and I have never once been allowed to choose my own life.”

I pace in the living room, my feet indenting the plush carpeting.

“I am lonely, Father,” I continue, my voice shaking now. “Painfully lonely. Sourwood was the first place I felt real. I made friends who didn’t bow to me. I fell⁠—”

I stop myself, but it’s too late.

“I met someone,” I say quietly. “Someone kind. Someone genuine. Someone who treats me like a person rather than an institution.”

“That man is a distraction.”

“He is not.”

“He is unsuitable.”

The word makes my stomach twist.

“Why?” I ask.

A pause.

“Because he is a man.”

There it is. Plain. Final.

“You must marry,” my father continues. “You must produce an heir. This is not optional, Nicholas. The monarchy depends upon stability. We’ve been over this. We don’t have time.”

“Gay men are getting married and having children. I’ve met a few of them here.”