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I sat down on a nearby leather couch and leaned back as Adonis walked away to tell the captain of our travel plans. Soon, the entire world would know my father was dead. Soon, everyone would start pressuring me to grow up and start preparing for my role as king of Aldrich.
Soon, I’d have to face what I’d been running from.
There was a discarded glass of champagne on the nearby end table, and I grabbed it with trembling hands. Lifting the crystal up, I declared my first proclamation to the salty air.
“Long live the motherfucking king.”
Chapter Two
CHRISTINE
Funerals were nothing more than publicity stunts, last-ditch efforts to sway public opinion. There wasn’t a soul alive that would miss King Frederick. His behavior was sexist and perverted. He voraciously defended racism, classism, and totalitarianism. Every terrible thing a person could be—he excelled at. King Frederick was an abusive sex trafficker and possibly even a rapist, though I had no evidence of that. He was a sinister, festering boil swollen with high society that oozed contempt.
Each polished wooden pew was occupied at the funeral. As I stared at the gold-plated altar, my attention was drawn to the display of wealth and power. The sanctuary was filled with beautiful stained glass windows and marble statues of saints and angels carved into every nook. Hosting the devil’s funeral in such a sacred place felt sacrilegious.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” a faceless fool murmured before kissing the top of my hand. A shiver traveled down my spine, years of disgust rolling through my gut at his touch. Members of the court had that effect on me. Anyone acquainted with the Crown made me sick to my stomach.
His condolences were as forced and fake as my diplomatic smile. This was no loss.
When the news broke, there were parties in the streets. The bars in Aldrich were overcrowded with celebrating drunks. It was an embarrassment to the monarch. Throughout the world, King Frederick was mocked for how hated he was by his subjects. After seeing his lifeless photo plastered across the news, I skipped my morning class and hurried home to pour a glass of wine and sob with elation. As I savored that feeling of relief, I realized that the world now had one less powerful predator. I had fled Aldrich three years ago because of the king, and now his death had brought me back.
Luckily, I didn’t have to attend the twelve days of fanfare leading up to his funeral. People around the world watched from their couches, while news reports covered the days of mourning, the funeral processional, and the ceremonial transfer of power. I avoided it like the plague and showed up at the last possible minute. I would only be here for what was required of me, and no matter what happened, I would be on the next plane home.
I couldn’t risk staying. The Crown was like a blade poised at my chest, my heart a beating testament that this was no longer my home. I had a comfortable life on the other side of the world. Attending the funeral was a small price to pay for privacy and independence.
“Welcome, Lady Christine. The entire kingdom rejoices in your return, despite the unfortunate circumstances.” I nodded in response to the scrawny man bowing before me. There was always someone wanting to kiss the ass of the royal family. Since I was a product of high society, the last remaining heir of the House of Rose, and unofficially adopted by the queen, there was a long list of hopefuls that wanted to get in my good graces or between my thighs.
“I’m happy to be home,” I replied mechanically, the lie like ash on my tongue. I needed to play nice so I could go to my actual home, which was as far as hell away from here.
“We are thrilled to host the House of Rose once more. Many hope you choose to stay.” He bowed again, and I sensed that he was eager to hear some juicy gossip about my traveling plans.
I stiffened, nausea rolling up my throat like acid. My title seemed important to some. My father was a lord, my mother a wealthy merchant’s daughter. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
“I have plans to return to Harvington.” My new home was on the other side of the world, far enough away to keep my heart safe and my head firmly attached to my neck.
At my side, Queen Isabelle stiffened. She wore a black dress and very simple makeup. The icy queen publicly mourned the late King Frederick, regardless of how insignificantly she loved him. It was unclear whether she was cheering his demise privately, though.
Queen Isabelle was a graceful woman. Porcelain skin covered her body. Her hair was black as coal, and her sharp cheekbones framed an angry scowl. Every curve and point of her willowy body was delicate—except for her face. With a stern expression, she channeled all of her strength into her icy blue eyes.
I sat beside her as she tapped her pale pink nails on her knees. My adult eyes saw her through a cynical lens, but she was everything I remembered her to be as a child. Every time someone offered condolences, she nodded and whispered thank you. When anyone hugged her, she went rigid. She kept flickering her gaze toward the door. Queen Isabelle spent her entire life wanting to escape the responsibilities of marriage. Today was no different.
As a child, I considered her to be a hero. She took me in when my parents died and always seemed so in control of herself, a trait I longed for in myself. Sadly, she was now just a broken woman hurt by the same man who had haunted my nightmares.
“Behave, Christine. I know how difficult this is for you, but we all have a part to play,” she murmured under her breath, low enough for only me to hear. She knew just how difficult it was. Queen Isabelle witnessed my descent into hell.
I poured defiance into my response. “You’re lucky I’m even here, Your Majesty.” It was once my habit to call her Izzy, like my late mother did. No longer, though. The concept of nicknames and familiarity was reserved for family members or close friends, and we were neither. We were forced to conform to the Crown’s demands with a formality we both disliked. Three years ago, she placed a chasm between us that neither of us would ever cross again. “You said I’d never have to come back.”
“I’ve broken many promises in my lifetime,” she replied ominously.
“Where is August?” I asked, his name draining the blood from my heart. I had a feeling he would arrive at the last minute, sparking controversy with his entrance. It was in his nature to cause chaos.
Seeing him was the most nerve-wracking part of the day for me.
As a child, August was my closest friend. He was one of the few people in Aldrich that I missed. The twisted king hated me now.
It was better this way, though. Made forcing my soul to stop longing for him much easier.
A low voice called out, “Hello, Mother.” My stomach tightened as I turned my head toward the speaker. While I looked at the boy I once loved, my arms formed a barrier in front of me.
