Page 100 of Scarred Crown

“She’s working on coronation stuff,” I say while offering the bowl to a well-wisher and subtly adjusting my pants with my free hand. It’s a good thing I’m actually happy about who I married while too drunk to remember or this mock receiving line would be torture. “The movers are hauling all her things to my wing of the palace tonight. We’re also supposed to be figuring out when we’re making our marriage Bellerive official.”

“All the pomp and circumstance?” Brice raises his eyebrows and fills another bowl.

Some drips over the edge, and I wipe it with a cloth before handing it over the counter. The last week since Jules and I got home has been a whirlwind of island outreach. Father wants to make sure the people of Bellerive aren’t too upset about my hasty marriage, and these informal social engagements give me a chance to spread the word that there will be a royal wedding soon.

“Apparently,” I say. “Have to give the people what they want.”

“So you two are solid?” Brice takes a moment to banter with one of the employees about the dwindling soup and excessive line outside.

I consider his question while I ladle more liquid into bowls. “We’re figuring it out.”

“Traditionally, that’s done before the wedding,” he says dryly when he turns back to me.

I resist the urge to punch him in the arm since we’re in public. Dad frowns on those public displays of affection. Any displays of public affection, actually. When we’re out in society representing him, we’re more figureheads than people.

“Alex has been in a foul mood since you announced at the royal family meeting that you’re seeing this marriage through.”

I ignore his comment about Alex because his feelings on my marriage aren’t my problem. Whatever happened with them before is nothing compared to what will be happening between Jules and me for the rest of our lives. Perhaps that should make me more charitable. I’ve been him. But I’m convinced he deliberately drove a deep wedge between me and Jules. Alex and I haven’t spoken since Jules and I returned last week and he caught me outside our father’s office. I’m not even sure Jules has spoken to him, but with the coronation planning, she’s bound to have things to discuss with him. I really wish they’d divided the secretary duties in the run-up to the coronation differently.

“I thought when the royal strategy meeting was called, we might be told the real reason Father is stepping down,” I say.

“You think Julia knows?” A frown creases Brice’s forehead for a beat before he looks up to grin at another customer.

“No.” I answer on instinct. “She’d have told me.” Maybe not at first, but the barriers between us have been coming down, brick by brick. If we’re going to make this work, we have to put each other first.

When I expressed surprise my father didn’t reveal the real reason he was stepping down at the meeting, Jules said that maybe he really did want to enjoy his golden years in peace. A perfect opening for her to tell me more, and she didn’t. There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“She’s still Dad’s employee,” Brice reminds me.

“Not for much longer.”

“You’re going to ask her to quit?”

“I’m not having her work for Alex,” I mutter. “Besides, as my wife, she’ll be engaging in charity work, community outreach, all the things we do.” Every time I say ‘wife’, a shot of adrenaline zips through me. Marriage was never a serious consideration before Julia inserted herself back into my life. Now, wife is my favorite word.

“Suppose you could loop her into the foundation in Tanzania. Heard you two were flying a woman and her child over for some surgeries?”

“Elena and Bahati, yeah,” I say. The line is finally starting to dwindle, and I breathe a sigh of relief. My face hurts from pasting on this fake smile each time I deliver another bowl.

We serve the last customer, and one of the workers flips the sign from open to closed. Brice and I help tidy up the kitchen and do the dishes while our security detail prowls the front. Neither of us is the type to rush away as soon as the public aspect is done.

Brice opens the dishwasher and steps back as steam pours out. “What’s the deal with the surgery?”

“Two clubfeet. The waiting list for the surgery would have been two years.”

“Wow.” Brice shakes his head. “How old is the baby?”

“Just shy of eighteen months.” I finish drying a dish, and since we’ve been here so many times, I slot the item back into the right place. Gus, the man who runs this place, gives me a nod of approval.

“She would have gotten the surgery eventually. I suppose that’s good.” He shakes out his hand when he tries to pick up a dish that’s still too hot from the washing tray.

“The mother-in-law suggested to Bahati that Elena might be better off not existing at all.”

“Infanticide?” Brice leans against the counter and crosses his arms. “Illegal, but I don’t doubt it still happens some places.”

“People break laws all the time.”

“Desperation. Backed into a corner.” He sighs and runs a hand through his short brown hair. “The older I get, the more I appreciate how life is rarely black or white. We live in the gray areas.”