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But that was hard when everything hurt to the point where I couldn’t remember what it felt like not tohurt. My heart, my head, my soul.
“I can’t.” I forced myself to push Rhys away.
My skin immediately chilled at the absence of his heat, and small shivers wracked me as I got off the couch and walked to the bathroom. I cleaned myself and straightened my clothes with shaky hands while his gaze burned a hole in my back through the open door.
“Why not?”
“Because.” Tell him. Just tell him. “I’m going to be queen.”
“We already knew that.”
“You don’t understand.” I washed my hands and returned to the room, where I finally looked at him again. Tension lined his face and notched a deep groove between his brows. “I don’t mean someday. I mean I’m going to be queen in nine months.”
Rhys froze.
“That’s not all.” I could barely speak past the lump in my throat. “Because of the Royal Marriages Law, I have to—”
“Don’t say it.” His voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.
“I have to marry or at least get engaged before my coronation.” There would already be backlash against me taking the throne so soon. You need all the political goodwill you can get, Markus had said. I hated it, but he was right. “I—”
“Don’t. Fucking. Say it.”
“I’m marrying Steffan. He already agreed.”
It wasn’t a marriage of love. It was a political contract. Nothing more, nothing less. Markus had reached out to the Holsteins yesterday and made them sign an NDA before making the proposition. They’d agreed a few hours later. It’d all happened so quickly it made my head spin.
Just like that, I had a fiancé, at least in theory. Per the agreement, Steffan would officially propose next month, after the furor over my grandfather’s hospitalization died down. As a bonus, the engagement would drive the allegations about me and Rhys out of the headlines, as Elin had not so subtly pointed out.
Rhys unfolded himself from the couch. He’d already fixed his clothes. All black. Black shirt, black pants, black boots, black expression.
“The fuck you are.”
“Rhys, it’s done.”
“No,” he said flatly. “What did I tell you in the gazebo, princess? I said from that point on, no other man touches you, and I meant it. You sure as fuck aren’t marrying someone else. We have nine months. We will figure. It. Out.”
I wanted to agree. I wanted to be selfish and steal more time with him, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
I’d already had Rhys for three years. It was time to let him go.
No more being selfish.
“What if I want to marry someone else?”
Rhys’s nostrils flared. “Don’t lie to me. You barely know Steffan. You went on three fucking dates with the guy.”
“Royal marriage isn’t about knowing someone. It’s about suitability, and the fact is, he’s suitable and you’re not.” I hoped Rhys didn’t notice the wobble in my voice. “Plus, Steffan and I have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.”
A shudder rippled through his body, and hurt slashed across his face, so raw and visceral it cut through my soul.
“I’m the crown princess, and I need to act like one,” I said, hating myself more with every second. “In all areas of my life. I can’t be with a bodyguard. I…” Tears clogged my throat, but I pushed past them. “I’m meant to be with a duke. We both know that.”
Rhys flinched. One tiny movement, but it would haunt me forever.
“So we’re over. Just like that.” It came out low and dangerous, edged with pain.
No, not just like that. You’ll never know how much my heart is breaking right now.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I wished I could tell him I’d never been happier than when I was with him.
I wished I could tell him it wasn’t about the throne or power, and that if I could, I would give up a kingdom for him.
But I’m sorry were the only words I was allowed to say.
The emotion wiped clean from Rhys’s eyes until I was staring at steel walls, harder and more guarded even than when we’d first met.
“No, Your Highness,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
He walked out.
One minute, he was there. The next, he was gone.
I crumpled, my knees giving out beneath me as I sank onto the floor and hot tears scalded my cheeks and dripped off my chin. My chest heaved so hard I couldn’t draw enough oxygen into my lungs, and I was sure I would die right there on the hospital floor, just a few feet away from the best doctors and nurses in the country. But even they wouldn’t be able to fix what I’d just broken.
“You have to move.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your house. It’s a security nightmare. I don’t know who signed off on this location, but you have to move.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“No. But I hope to be one day.”