Page 45 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)
Ben opens his mouth to respond, a curious expression on his face, but footsteps over the suite’s wood floor have both of us turning.
Damien enters the room, his eyes darting between me and Ben curiously.
“I spoke to the security team. Fernmoor House is currently being staffed, and I’ve reached out to the National Aerospace Commission to ensure it’s made a no-fly zone.
The security systems will take a bit more time; the electrical in the house will need to be updated prior, but my people are on it.
All the work should be completed by this time next week, and I’ve tripled staffing until then. ”
My mouth falls open. A no-fly zone? All that seems like an incredible amount of overkill, but Ben appears satisfied. “Good. Any answers about how the intruder made it past the team?”
A dark look crosses Damien’s face. “The man in question was related to a former hotel employee and used his credentials. In theory, my team is supposed to be checking IDs against employment badges, as well as running names through the database, but so many people are coming and going…” He trails off with a grimace.
“It’s been a challenge, having her here.
Fernmoor House will be considerably less complicated. ”
I swallow, looking between them. “If you want to send me a bill for the house and for the staffing?—”
“Absolutely not,” Ben huffs. “Your relationship with me is the reason you’re experiencing this kind of attention. That makes me responsible for your safety.”
Damien offers me a conspiratorial grin. “I would listen to him, Zelda. You know how these kings are with getting their way.”
I smile back weakly. “Believe it or not, he’s the only king I’ve met, so I don’t have much basis for comparison. We don’t see too many of them in California.”
Ben’s brother laughs. “You’ll need to take my word for it, then. Terribly bossy, the lot of them. Benedict likes to pretend he’s above that, but you should have seen him after you called earlier.”
“Alright,” grumbles the aforementioned king, waving his hand toward the door. “Leave. We’ll be finished soon.”
Damien does as he’s told, departing with one last wink, and I feel myself smiling as I return to packing. It was subtle, but I didn’t miss the attempt to endear his brother to me. In between the brotherly teasing, of course.
“You have siblings, don’t you?” Ben asks unexpectedly when I return to my suitcase with another stack of clothes. He’s hovering beside the bed, brow furrowed, and arms crossed over his chest, looking far too intense about such a basic question.
I set down the T-shirts, nodding. “Three. Two brothers and a sister.”
“And where do you rank, amongst them?”
Is that how Ben and his brothers were treated? By rank?
“Um.” I swallow, glancing at him on my way back to the closet. “I’m number three. My brothers are both a lot older than my sister and I; they’re from my father’s first marriage.”
“You and your sister are from his second?”
It’s been a while since I had to actually tell the story.
Most of the people I meet are well aware of who I am, who my parents are, and the high-profile scandal that surrounded my birth.
“No,” I admit, careful not to look at him.
“My parents were never married. They were together for a while but separated before my sister was born.” A pleasant way of telling him that Sybil and I are the result of an extramarital affair that was exposed in the press and led to a messy divorce from my brother’s mother.
Ben doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. Outside in the living area, I hear Leopold and Damien conversing quietly as we work in silence, filling my suitcases with the rest of my belongings.
“Were you close to your older brother?” I ask hesitantly, voicing the question that’s been on my mind a lot since Ben and I met.
Obviously, the death of the late king would have had incredible implications on his life.
While I haven’t seen any signs of grief from him so far, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It’s clear the Ashwell family has more secrets than I could possibly hope to uncover.
When he doesn’t answer at first, I peek over at him, and my heart sinks. Ben has paused, his hands resting on the edge of the dresser, and his expression is wooden. My shoulders tense as I brace for the inevitable brush-off, but it never comes.
“Arthur was the heir, and I was the spare.” Ben’s voice is determinedly matter-of-fact, but I can sense an underlying tension there, too, as I hover beside the bed, waiting. “He was better at all of it than I am, and he never let me forget it.”
I can’t stop myself from looking at him directly now, my throat tight with sympathy. “I’m sure that’s not?—”
“True?” Ben supplies wryly, glancing over his shoulder at me, eyebrows lifted. “It is true, Zelda. It is so true that I’m reminded of it every time I open a newspaper or look in the mirror. We would not be here right now if it weren’t.”
“We are here, though,” I remind him, my eyes round.
“You’re here. I can’t begin to imagine how difficult it is, but even if you don’t like it, even if none of it comes naturally to you, and you spend every single day feeling otherwise, you’re still showing up, Ben. That matters. It matters so much.”
To be told every single day of your life that you are inferior to your brother, then to have him die and be forced to do his job while the world looks on, confirming you aren’t as good?
I would have crumbled to dust under that kind of pressure, but Benedict Ashwell is still standing, and that says more about the kind of man he is than anything else I’ve learned thus far.
Behind his beard, Ben’s lips twist, but he doesn’t look away. “You seem very sure of this.”
“I am.” He doesn’t reply, but gazes at me for so long that I find myself letting out a nervous laugh. “What?”
Ben only shakes his head, smiling slightly as he turns away at last. “Let’s get your things packed.”