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The last time I saw him, August was a prince.
Now, he was so much more.
His Royal Highness, King Augustus, or August as I grew up knowing him, was a monster of a man. His arrogant presence reverberated across the cathedral. Tall, muscular, and imposing, this was a warrior bred to lead the world. He had tan skin, likely from months abroad on his yacht, and the slight sway to his stance made me wonder if he was drunk. I couldn’t blame him. This morning, I had stared at two small white pills for nearly ten minutes before swallowing them dry. It was only my prescribed relief from my anxiety that kept me sane and in these oppressive pews. The alternative would mean bloodshed, and I couldn’t reveal my new skills just yet.
The temperature in my body dropped. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I bounced my restless legs. As my eyes scanned him, I tried to find traces of the boy I once knew. I remembered the child who held my hand during thunderstorms. He kissed me on the cheek and wiped my tears with his shaky fingers the night my parents died. There was a special bond between our mothers. As if by kismet, we were brought together.
Not anymore.
I closed my eyes, trying to stay calm. August and I could have been soulmates.
If we had met at another time.
If he didn’t share blood with an evil man.
If I hadn’t left without a word.
We probably would have fallen in love, eventually. It was a childish thing, to imagine a life with a man I no longer knew. But it was easy to pretend when you were ignoring the pain of his proximity and the toxic twist in your friendship.
There were plenty of people who would want to behead me if they found out what I’d done three years ago.
August wore pressed pants and a button-up shirt. His suit jacket was black as night. Although expertly tailored, it looked wrong on him, as if he was meant to wear jeans and Henleys instead of the latest royal collection. His eyes were brown, like the king’s. His face was cold and calculating, like the queen’s. “You look beautiful, Mother,” he said in a low tone. Despite his kind words, there was no love in his greeting. No affection. No…nothing. Even the word mother felt like a lie.
As he settled in on Queen Isabelle’s other side, I sat dumbfounded. He had not yet noticed me, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted his darkened gaze to land on my face. In my teenage years, I wept rivers for the boy he was, but a royal drought stole my innocence and dried up our relationship.
I ached. As if by magic, the dead organ in my chest began to beat again. The experience was like being struck by lightning. There was only one thing I missed about my life in Aldrich, and that was him.
But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.
The tabloids had always captured my interest over the years, and I’d be lying if I claimed to have never peeked at them. August was always a source of scandal in the kingdom. Traditions and his image didn’t matter to him. A playboy, he was. A party-hard, privileged royal with more money than God. Rules didn’t apply to King Augustus of Aldrich.
August leaned back in the pew. I kept still, afraid to draw attention to myself.
“I’m happy you showed up,” Isabelle whispered. “Aren’t you going to say hello to Christine?”
At the mention of my name, August’s spine stiffened. His rigid posture made my stomach drop. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he turned to face me. I braced myself for his frigid stare.
Our eyes clashed. His chest heaved. He looked me up and down in a single sweeping assessment, and I knew he wasn’t impressed by what he saw. I wasn’t the naive girl who left him without a word anymore. I was a woman.
My blonde hair was longer now. I’d grown into my features. My teeth were straight. My breasts, more voluptuous. My lips were fuller. My thighs, thicker. “Hello, Christine,” he dutifully said. But unlike the empty greeting he shared with his mother, there was animosity in his tone. Pure anger and resentment. Watching the flare-up of his nostrils, I couldn’t help but cringe. There was a single dribble of sweat dripping down the side of his temple.
I couldn’t blame him for the cruelty in his gaze. We were best friends and then we were nothing. I was a woman determined to flee the dangers of this kingdom and start over. I left him here to fend for himself to save both of us.
“Hello, Augustus,” I replied, intentionally withholding the nickname I had given him all those years ago. The distance was necessary. I’d spent years calling him brother in my mind to stop myself from thinking of him romantically. He clenched his fist and stared at me for a long moment before turning his attention back to the front of the cathedral. Religious artifacts that stood the test of time added a reverent layer of oppression to the moment.
“If we’re going to be formal, please call me your Royal Highness. Are you here to celebrate or mourn?” he asked in a low voice before smiling at a curious diplomat that walked by.
I swallowed. “Neither,” I replied with a sigh. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have come here at all. Queen Isabelle side-eyed me. I could almost feel her curiosity and disdain. If the wrong person overheard us, it would result in another royal scandal. Oh, fucking well. “I’m here because I have no other choice.”
August scoffed. “You always have a choice, Lady Abernathy.”
The use of my last name caused even more distance between us. I absorbed the formal tone of his words like it was sunshine and I was letting the rays burn my skin. “I haven’t had a choice since the day I was born.”
Isabelle’s breath hitched. August glared at me. Maybe if he knew why I left, he’d have more sympathy for my situation. But I didn’t want to tell him. I couldn’t.
I just had to survive this and stand dutifully by the queen for a few photos.
Then, I’d once again be free.
