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Because his sister looked nearly incandescent with fury that she now had the responsibility of the kingdom on her head.

But also as if she had been crying, so he kept his amusement to himself.

“This has to be a joke,” Cesca said. “Did you suffer a blow to the head? You look like you got hit with a hammer. Is this a prank?”

“Yes,” Vesuvius said, stone-faced. “I abdicated my throne so that I could dedicate myself to a lifetime of pranks.”

His sister glared at him. “I don’t think this is funny. I’m not a queen. I have no training for this.”

There were a great many things that Vesuvius could have said to that. There were many more things that he wanted to say, but he understood that this was a critical moment not only for his sister, but for the kingdom.

Sentiment had no place here. Something he had learned, like it or not, at his father’s deathbed.

Men were allowed to mourn. Kings were required to rule.

He leaned closer to the laptop and made sure that his gaze was intent on hers.

“Francesca.” He saw her blink, then straighten, at his use of her full name. “You have all the training you need. Your qualifications are in your DNA. You are as qualified to rule the country as I was. Perhaps more so, because I find that I cannot keep the promises that were made on my behalf.” He did not want to dwell on that with her, so he moved forward. “It will be better for you. You have a blank slate and if we are honest, you and me, expectations are low. This means you can only surprise people.”

Her eyes went wide, but stayed serious. “One thing I have always been good at is surprising people. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“You must be Queen,” he told her, in that older brother voice she had never liked very much and perhaps liked even less today. “There are no other alternatives. I cannot return to the throne. More importantly, no matter what happens now, I will not.”

She looked confused. Maybe something like upset. “I don’t understand. Your whole life is the throne. The kingdom. What is it you think you’re going to do with yourself without it?”

He thought of the look on Aeryn’s face. Pure betrayal. There was no pretending otherwise.

But then again, he had expected that. He was not naïve. He had never believed that it would be easy with her simply because he’d decided to change his life for her. He was aware that his actions didn’t mean that she would respond with the corresponding actions that suited him.

That ship had sailed.

“What I’m going to do is have a life,” he told his sister. “You’ve had quite a rollicking one yourself, so I hope you will not begrudge me the opportunity to live on my own terms.”

She was shaking her head. “What terms? I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“The only thing you need to understand is that you must walk down the aisle in the Royal Cathedral and accept both the crown, and the husband waiting there for you. You must do this today. I understand that this feels overwhelming, believe me.”

Cesca frowned at that, and he wondered, not for the first time, how it was that even those closest to him thought he did not possess the emotions every other human did. What had she thought he’d felt, marching down that aisle in the glare of so many cameras, to speak at their father’s funeral one day and accept the crown the next? He had been twenty-two. Younger than she was now.

But that was not what mattered now. He smiled at her. “I think you will find, once you begin these duties, that you are well suited to them. Far better suited than I ever was.”

“Vesuvius, you can’t—”

“What I could not do was marry Sintia,” he told her baldly. “I could not make myself do it. It would have required that I rid myself of all the remaining things inside of me that make me a human being. A man. And what is left once that happens? A king divorced from his humanity is too quickly a tyrant.” He shook his head. “I found I could not risk the kingdom, particularly not when a far better choice was waiting in the wings.”

“I wasn’t waiting. There were no wings. I was at the club.”

“I’m sorry I cannot be there on your wedding day,” he told her, solemnly. “It was always my intention to step in for our father and give you away.”

“I don’t want to be given away,” Cesca gritted out.

“You have always complained of being shunted aside,” Vesuvius reminded her. “Of always being second best, the afterthought, the spare.”

“That didn’t mean I wanted to toss you aside and take your place!” She pressed her fingers against her eyes, as if they were burning, or she was holding back tears. “I wanted to complain about it, that’s all.”

“I love you, little sister,” he said, and he saw her hands shake as she lowered them. “The next time we speak, you will be the crowned queen, and a married woman, and perhaps then we will discuss the ways in which I can be of service to you. If at all.”

Sheer panic moved over her face. “Vesuvius. I swear to God, don’t you dare—”