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“You will respect Augustus. You will surrender to his authority,” my mother continued. She was every bit the regal queen. This was the woman I knew. This was the woman who raised me with an iron fist. This was the person who should be leading our country. She was still young. Healthy. Capable. But they wanted someone with a dick and a pure bloodline. “…And that respect and reverence will now extend to his betrothed. August and Christine asked my permission this morning to get married, and I have chosen to formally approve their request now. Please welcome the future queen of Aldrich.”
Mom stood up and raised her wine glass with a smile. Her eyes were trained on me, as if daring me to defy her.
What the fuck? Christine dropped her fork and glared at us both.
I looked at Christine. Had she planned this? I knew an arranged marriage was a possibility—way down the fucking road—but I wasn’t expecting this.
It took a while for my mother’s audience to realize they needed to raise their glass or show some outward expression of support. A slow clap surrounded us, and I reached under the table to grab Christine’s thigh. She was frozen in place, staring at the blood-red merlot in her glass and ignoring the queen’s performance.
Yeah. Christine knew something was up.
I would sort this out.
“The Abernathys have a history of supporting the Crown,” one lord said. “God rest her father’s soul. But do you think this marriage is what’s most beneficial for the kingdom? Maybe someone wealthier? Someone with more patriotism, perhaps? Hasn’t Christine spent the last three years studying abroad?”
Someone grumbled in agreement. Another person was whipping out their phone and likely ordering a complete background check on Christine to secretly sell to the tabloids. I didn’t even have a fucking ring. Yeah. Christine needed a ring. A big one. Something that told everyone in the motherfucking kingdom that my cock was huge and she was moaning my name every night.
“And is this truly the right time to make an announcement? We just finished our twenty-seven days of mourning, and the funeral was yesterday. It would seem dispassionate and rude to celebrate an engagement so soon afterward.”
My mother shrugged. “The people need a reason to hope. A distraction.”
“We should wait six months to announce it.”
I growled in frustration, but my mother spoke before I could. “People need to see August making commitments and settling into his role. You’ve seen the tabloids. No one trusts that he’s taking anything seriously. What’s more serious than a marriage?”
“My decision is final,” I snapped, even though it wasn’t my decision. Even though this was a lie. Even though this was fucking insane. “As king, I am more than capable of picking a wife fit for the Crown.”
“But, sir, we’ve already started planning your coronation. You’ve formally ascended and are acting king, but we need to coordinate the ceremony. A royal wedding would disrupt our timeline.”
“Wedding first,” I snapped. “I want to be married first.” Maybe I was too high to be making decisions like this.
Wide eyes stared back at me from around the room.
“Don’t you think it’s more important for people to witness the coronation?” an older man asked. “To establish yourself formally as the king? You can’t even technically call yourself—”
I glared at him. “I established myself when my father died, did I not? It’s my heart that still beats, my blood that is still royal. I’m king with or without the ceremony. But Christine won’t be my wife until I say my vows in a church. I’d like to focus on the more pressing issue.”
“It goes against what’s always been done!” a man shouted.
I slammed my fist on the table. “It is what I desire. Wedding takes priority.”
I couldn’t let Christine slip from my fingers. If I allowed too much time to pass, she’d find a way out of this. I just knew it.
I didn’t like how they were doubting me. I might not have been around for a while, but the lack of respect rubbed me the wrong way.
Was my mother predicting tyranny? Was arranging my marriage with Christine her way of protecting the Crown? The world was one big chess board for my mother, and now that my father was dead, she was moving pieces to protect our family.
But from what?
And why did I care?
Chapter Eight
CHRISTINE
The dinner was a blur. After the queen announced our engagement, I tuned the rest of the affair out and focused on my breathing.
I’d learned that shock was one of the most ineffective responses to trauma. I was taught how to suppress my humanity by my trainer, Hudson. When he found me punching a bag at the local gym with tears streaming down my face, he didn’t introduce himself or avert his eyes. He walked up to me and said, “Your hits are weak. If you really want to hurt the person who hurt you, you’ll need to build up your muscles.”
