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“Royal Consort.” He grinned.
Shit. In some cultures, a consort was the royal concubine, and in others the consort was a spouse. Could he have come up with something more ambiguous?
“Your majesty, that title hasn’t been used in Galona in two hundred years.”
He grinned. “Good. I’ll appease the traditionalists with the title and prove to the modern citizens things are changing.”
I didn’t like that they argued because of me. I was already at the center of the palace’s biggest distraction with the olive grove photo. I didn’t want to cause division. I wanted to help Damon secure the irrigation funding. Instead we were in secret meetings so I could move in.
Part of me wanted to walk away. Climb in a car and drive back to my shabby little apartment on Rue de Santa Lucia, where I could crawl into bed and listen to Brooklyn singing in the shower. Where I could get lost in my notecards. The place where I could come and go whenever I wanted.
Had I lost all of that? Had I already given it up to be with Damon?
Sutcliffe and Damon continued to discuss why there had to be a ball tonight and why it was an unrealistic request.
They argued and I grew quiet, absorbed in the place in my mind where I couldn’t escape the doubt. What was I giving up for a man I met through an auction? A man who was used to being in constant control? A man who had never had a serious relationship?
Did Dominic’s girlfriend give up too much for too long? Was she as wrecked as the prince? I didn’t know if she was as haunted by the breakup as he was. Would that be me? Was I going to end up a shell of myself with nothing left? No privacy. No freedom. And no love.
29
Damon
I wasn’t doing this. Sutcliffe could fuck off. There wasn’t an argument he could present to make me back down. Tonight, Molly was going to be presented to the royals and to the Galonian government as the Royal Consort.
The position would entitle her to apartments in the palace. Behind closed doors, it was no one’s damned business where she slept.
“I appreciate your counsel, Sutcliffe. I know exactly where you stand.” I interrupted his incessant argument that I was breaking every royal protocol known to generations of kings. “But this is my decision. There will be a ball in the blue ball room tonight. If it’s too late notice for any of the members, they can read about the announcement tomorrow morning with the rest of the country.”
“Your Highness—”
“No.” I glared at him. “If there isn’t a loophole we can use, then we’re going to pave our own way. I appreciate your perspective on the institute my family represents, but I’ve made my decision.”
I rose, straightening my jacket. I looked at Molly, but she wasn’t paying attention. I wondered how much of my stance she had heard.
“Molly?”
“Yes?” Her head jerked upward.
“Let’s go.”
I held out my hand and led her away from the study. The staff carried on their usual tasks, but in about ten minutes they would find out we were hosting a ball. This place would come alive like a bee hive.
We turned down the corridor for the residence elevators.
“Are you ok?” I asked. She hadn’t spoken since the meeting.
The security officers opened the elevator for us. The doors closed.
“Molly, are you tired from the trip?” This morning we had awakened on the yacht, flew to Freychon, and completed an aggravating protocol meeting. Hell, I was tired.
“Royal Consort? What is that? Mistress or advisor?”
“I didn’t think you’d care what the title was as long as I made this work.”
“I don’t care about having a title at all.” She walked into the apartment. “I do care that people are going to hear ‘consort’ and think I’m the royal call girl.”
“You’re not.” I pressed my lips together. This was supposed to be settled.
