Page 5 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)

At the moment, I couldn’t give less of a damn about any of it. So, without pausing to allow my more rational side to take charge, I turn away from my study, stepping out a side door and into the palace’s sun-soaked rose garden.

It’s hardly easier to breathe amidst the meticulously pruned greenery than it was indoors. For one thing, a very good number of the palace’s offices overlook the gardens, and the weight of unseen eyes has me keeping my back straight as I stride forward, my shoes crunching on the gravel path.

If anyone is watching, they’ll know where I’m headed.

As a boy, I’d been certain that no one knew the way through the hedge maze of Ashwell Palace as well as I did.

Before I went away to school, I spent summers mapping out every corner of the intricate layout and arranging treasure hunts for my younger brother, Leopold, who was not nearly as invested as I was.

Surely it wasn’t a secret to the adults in my life where I was spending all this time, but the prospect of hunting me down wasn’t worth the pleasure of my company.

When I was in the maze, everyone left me alone, and the refuge I found within its walls afforded me a deep fondness for the place.

A fondness which certainly didn’t carry over to any other part of my opulent childhood home.

With each step I take, the pressure on my chest seems to grow more unyielding, and by the time I pass beneath the arched entrance, I’m struggling to draw breath.

It’s darker and cooler inside the high, living walls, and I stop nearly the moment I’ve turned the corner, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air.

Perhaps it’s ridiculous for a grown man in my position to spend such an inordinate amount of time wandering through a maze, but in the eighteen months since I found myself back here, it’s been the only place where I’ve been able to breathe freely.

Even the shame and self-disgust at my weakness aren’t enough to deprive myself of such a luxury.

The tops of the hedges rustle in the summer breeze as I move forward, joining in a familiar symphony with my heartbeat. After so many hours in this place, my muscles know the way forward without my mind needing to participate in the journey.

It seems impossible that I’ve only been back here for so brief a time, when each day seems to stretch twice as long as the one before, and I feel no closer to settling into my role as I did the day it was thrust upon me.

Christ, even in the darkest, most miserable days of my charade of a marriage, I had my work as an escape.

Now, there is only protecting and upholding an institution I resent, in the shadow of men better suited to it than I could ever be .

Perhaps if, like Arthur, I had been raised to know this was my future, it would have been easier.

When our father died, my brother was prepared for the throne.

Not even six hours later, and he was on national television, delivering a deep, moving tribute to the late king—only about seventy percent of which was utter bullshit—and reinforcing his undying dedication to this country.

My shoulder brushes the hedge as I take a corner too quickly, and a bird caws, disgruntled, from within.

The maze is roughly an acre and could take hours to find your way through if you don’t know where you’re going.

There are no maps that I’m aware of, and during the hours I spent exploring as a boy, I’d often happen across stretches of maze which the palace groundskeepers hadn’t tended to in quite some time.

The path is easy for me, though, and it isn’t long before I find myself at the center.

The perfectly circular path of grass is interrupted only by a lonely stone bench and an ancient oak whose branches stretch out over the tops of the nearest hedges.

The place hasn’t changed a bit, and I blow out a long breath as I make my way over to the bench, sinking down on it and burying my face in my hands.

I think I’m going mad. Actually mad.

With every passing day, the pressure increases, as do the omnipresent reminders that all my efforts have been all but useless. I’m fucking terrible at this, as ill-suited as it seems possible to be, and it seems a cruel joke that I’ve ended up in this position.

It was never supposed to be me. Nobody bothered to prepare me for the role.

I was the spare, after all, and, with modern medicine at our disposal, a fairly unnecessary one.

The likelihood of my ever becoming king wasn’t large, and it grew even more improbable after the birth of my insufferable brother’s equally insufferable sons .

My hands shake as I scrub them roughly over my face, as if doing so can clear my mind of its perpetual fog of misery. If the last eighteen months have proven anything, though, it’s that escape is impossible. The royal institution has its teeth in me, and the only way out is death.

Something to look forward to.

My heart jolts at the sound of footsteps along the neighboring path, and my hands fall as I stare at the entrance to the maze’s center. Waiting.

I know who it will be.

There is a very short list of people who would dare interrupt me here, and only one who is in the palace today. Sure enough, when the tall, brown-haired man moves into view, the gold buttons of his officer’s uniform glinting in the sunlight, I groan.

“Brother,” Damien greets me mildly as he strolls forward, his hands buried in his pockets. “I thought I might find you here.”

Once, I would have been embarrassed at being found hiding. Now, I don’t have enough remaining pride to care. “You’ve found me,” I confirm wryly. “What can I do for you?”

In response, Dam reaches into the breast pocket of his coat and produces a cream envelope with a flourish. “Actually, it’s what I can do for you.”

He hands it over, and my mouth goes dry as I make out the seal, pressed into the thick paper. For fuck’s sake. “Why would you bring me that?” I demand, tossing the letter onto the stone bench beside me and glowering at my brother.

Damien lifts an eyebrow, smirking. “I thought you could use a night with better company than your right hand. How long has it been?”

The answer is too humiliating to truthfully admit, even for a man who believed only minutes ago that his pride was a nonissue. “I couldn’t possibly get away. ”

“I’ve arranged everything,” counters my brother smoothly.

“It will all be very discreet. You know these things are kept under lock and key. The Hosts are more than happy to accommodate an evening with additional security to have you on the guest list. It’s quite the feather in their cap, I’d imagine, getting the King of Stelland off. ”

My lips twist as I search for more reasons to refuse.

It’s not as though I’m totally unfamiliar with the particular type of gathering that The Hosts offer.

As a personality-poor but financially wealthy young man, I’d attended more than my fair share.

That was a long time ago, though, before the decade I spent in my cold, transactional charade of a marriage.

“Go,” Dam insists firmly. “It will be good for you. Find a gorgeous woman who doesn’t mind you scowling while she sucks you off, and you’ll feel like a new man in the morning.”

“Jesus, Dam.” My gaze falls to the envelope. “You said it’s tonight ?”

He laughs. “I thought it would be better to spring it on you. Less chance of you trying to find a way out of it. Heaven forbid you do something enjoyable, right?”

Raking my hand through my hair, I groan in resignation. “Christ. Fine.”

“Thank you, Damien, for being such a good brother that you worry about my lack of sex life?”

My god, he’s obnoxious. “Thank you, Damien, for being such a meddling pain in my ass.”

He throws his head back and laughs, the sound of it echoing out over the surrounding hedges. “Don’t mention it. If I were in your position, I would also need to get out of my own head from time to time.”

Being in my position isn’t something he will ever have to worry about.

We may be brothers, but Damien’s place in this institution couldn’t be more different than my own, or that of our youngest brother, Leopold.

While his father was a king, my brother’s cocktail waitress mother makes him all but inconsequential.

His relationship to The Crown isn’t public knowledge, and I can’t imagine how it ever could be with both his parents dead.

As has been done with most of the royal family’s illegitimate progeny through the ages—as he is certainly not the first—my brother was given an excellent education, a trust fund, and an esteemed position within the royal household.

While Leo and I have lived our entire lives in the public eye and became products of the institution masquerading as a family, Dam is free.

He is allowed all the benefits that befit an Ashwell son, but none of the burden of a title or the public scrutiny.

No one cares in the slightest whether Dam marries, divorces, has children, or dies a bachelor.

Shaking off the familiar pang of bitterness, I take the invitation from the bench beside me and stand. “Will you be there?”

Damien scoffs, strolling past me, his gaze trained on the branches of the great oak.

“I’ll leave this one to you. There are some things that can’t be unseen.

Unless you’d like a wingman, of course. Though I can’t imagine what enticement I could offer your prospective lovers that tops the crown. You should bring it along.”

“I don’t think I will, believe it or not.”

“Yes, I guessed as much.” Dam chuckles. “ Try to have a decent time tonight, will you? I think it could turn The Crown Frown upside down!”

I ignore this, already moving toward the gap in the hedges, which leads out. He’s a good brother for trying, but as the frown in question dates back far before the crown, reversing course after one night seems unlikely.