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Sutcliffe pressed his lips together.
“You may speak freely. What is it about Molly that you don’t like?”
“I am to speak freely?”
“Yes.” I didn’t have time for this, especially if he was going to make me repeat myself.
“I’m not the only member of the palace household who knows where she came from.”
“You have something against Americans?” I questioned. I didn’t need political issues along with family ones.
“No, sir. I’m talking about The Titan.”
My eyes darted across the room. “The Titan?”
He folded his hands behind his back. “A woman who would participate in a function there is not someone I would choose to be our next queen.”
“Queen?” What the fuck was he talking about?
“You’ve moved her into the palace, given her a title, and tonight she meets the entire royal family and every member of government. Do you not want to marry her?”
I balled my fists at my side. “It’s none of your damn business.”
“It is my business. I serve the crown. And if that minx thinks she has the right to rule next to you, I’m going to have a say.”
“Is that so?” I arched my eyebrows.
“Your majesty, you asked me to speak freely.” He wasn’t backing down. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes.
“I did.” I walked toward the bedroom door. I turned before I exited. “You are the last of my father’s advisors.”
“I am, sir.”
My eyes set on him. “Did you ever question his decisions as you have mine?”
“Your father was king for years. He was much older when he had the crown.”
“Don’t confuse age with wisdom. I’ve learned they aren’t synonymous.”
Sutcliffe puffed his chest forward. “She’ll do the same thing to you, XX did to Dominic. I’m only trying to protect the crown.”
I glared. “I’m the one who protects the crown.”
I walked toward the elevator not giving a fuck how rude or abrupt the ending was to our conversation. Sutcliffe was here because I allowed him to be. If he didn’t embrace the new Royal Consort there was only one decision I could make.
32
Molly
The creamy silk was unbelievable. I looked at the woman in the mirror. When had this happened? No messy bun. No glasses. No yoga pants.
“His majesty will love this dress on you.” Ayla stood next to me, admiring her work.
“You think so?” I watched her expression in the mirror.
“It fits you perfectly.” She grinned. “The color is perfect for your skin. It’s almost bridal.”
There it was again. The hint that tonight’s ball meant more than moving into the palace. My stomach lurched. Wasn’t it possible for a royal to date without having to make a life commitment? Couldn’t we get to know each other first?
