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“There is,” I said, catching my mother’s startled smile. She’d guessed what I was about to say. “Dad, from the beginning this crown belonged to you. It was never meant for me.”

Maverick’s hands went slack at his sides. He was at a loss for words, something that was very rare. As he stood there watching me, reading me, trying to decide what to do next, a new voice spoke out from the crowd. “Your son is right.”

I recognized the man as the one who’d slung slurs at my mother the day we’d left our hotel on the way to meet with the Valentines. He said, “You’re the first person in a long time to give a shit about this country. I don’t know why you ran away years ago, and as much as it pisses me off that you did, it doesn’t matter now. You’re here. You’re the one who should sit on the throne, because you’re the only one who seems to know what the hell needs to be done anymore. I don’t know about everybody else, but I’d celebrate you being king.”

More flashes of cameras, more whispers that rose into excited cheering and exuberant nods of affirmation. These people knew a real king when they saw one. The newscasters moved away, surrounding my father and abandoning me to the side.

I’d spent years sitting to the side like this. The sensation of impotence had driven me forward without any purpose. It had left me hollow and hurt and angry. Right then, standing in my father’s shadow, watching him be praised ... watching his smile grow ... it was the first time that being ignored didn’t hurt.

- EPILOGUE -

HAWTHORNE

The news article on my phone showed a photo of a solemn Kurtis Valentine in front of a white wall, his mug shot. “What will happen to them?” I asked, showing it to my father.

He leaned over, eyeing the screen. “Treason is a serious crime. I told you before.”

“I know. But death?” I flicked my cell phone off. “They’re Nova’s family, awful or not. And Richard ... he did try to help at the end.”

My father inhaled gently, huffing the air out after a second. “The sad thing about this country is that it’s changed.” He glanced my way. “The happy thing is that ... well, it’s changed. When I was younger, I couldn’t picture a time when the crimes they pulled could be handled with anything but brutal death. Now? It’s my decision. I make the law. Let Nova know her family won’t be killed for this, but they won’t be leaving our prison anytime soon, either.”

Smiling in relief, I looked back out over the huge castle yard. “She’ll feel better hearing that.”

“Good.” Clearing his throat, my dad studied the same part of the garden I was. “Hester and I used to play out here.” He pointed with a thick finger. There was an ivory-colored statue of an angel, its base tinted with green ivy. “We climbed that one a lot. Even after we were too big, and the gardeners would shake their fists at us, swearing we’d snap it in two.”

“Did you?” I asked, chuckling at the image.

“Hester chipped the tip of the right wing off. We both pretended it had always been missing that piece.”

From our distance, I could almost spot the broken feather. As we stood there, the light wind playing through our hair, we forgot how to force a conversation. This was how we were. How we’d learned to interact.

Any other time, I’d have walked off. His silence was a cue to leave. Instead I stayed there with my hands in my jacket pockets. I didn’t know the next time I’d be around my father. Or even in this country.

“You don’t think I believe in you,” he said abruptly, still looking out over the roses.

I gave him a wary side-eye. “Did Glen tell you I overheard you out here weeks ago, talking about me?”

My father scrutinized me with a bittersweet smile. “Son, I don’t need anyone to tell me how you perceive me. It’s in your face, in how you speak to me. In the brittle jokes you make to keep us from ever having a serious conversation.”

“You’ve got me pegged,” I admitted, feeling uncomfortable. “I’ve known for years that you never wanted to have to rely on me. I guess I didn’t need to hear it out loud, was all.”

“Hawthorne, what I said to Glen was the truth.”

“Jesus, if this is supposed to be you apologizing, you’re shit at it.”

He shook his head briskly. “Listen to me. It was the truth at that time. You weren’t meant to rule this place any more than I was when Hester threatened my life. My brother pulled open my eyes and showed me what a damn coward I was.”

My mouth went slack. “You weren’t a coward. You told me you didn’t stand up to him because you knew he’d be put to death for trying to overthrow you.”

“That’s what I convinced myself of.” Shrugging his massive shoulders, my father looked to the sky. “It helped me sleep at night. Then something happened that forced me to admit my own failure at being a leader.”

“What was that?”

He closed his eyes. “I became a father.”

I couldn’t speak, afraid that if I did, it would close up the hole that had opened, allowing me to glimpse his heart.

“When I was younger,” he said, “I rebelled against everything my old man was. I didn’t want to play the same political games he did. I believed he hated that I wasn’t as good as him, and that I never would be. I’ve always seen myself in you, Thorne.” He breathed in slowly, gathering himself, before facing me again. “We’re the same. Your flaws are mine. I wanted more from you, and when I feared it would never come, I shied away. Watching you grow up to be exactly like me ... always running away from your problems ... it scraped my soul raw.”