The Heir Apparent - a historical why choose, rh, poly, MMF, spicy romance ✅

Chapter Eleven

Tolliver

I spent the night tossing and turning, fretting over every possible way the entire ceremony could go wrong.

It had been nearly three days since I had gotten solid rest, but I assured myself I would be able to once this wretched event was over, and things could go back to some semblance of order in the castle.

"Tolliver," Acton said, taking long-legged strides toward me, face more serious than I was used to seeing it.

"What is wrong now?" I grumbled, shaking my head at him.

"There is someone here demanding to see the queen."

"Who would think they have any right to demand to see her?" I asked, shaking my head, thinking of all the wealthy businessmen in the area who did often have irrational demands.

"Her fiancé," Acton said, brows lifting.

I knew that was going to come back and bite us in the ass eventually. I guess it was better to deal with it now than have to face it later on down the road.

"Algerone something-or-other, right?" I asked.

"Darrington."

"Oh, right. Darrington." I did not know much about him, save for some rumors that went around that he was cheap, solitary, and curmudgeonly. Not to mention thirty-five years Anevay's senior.

I knew arrangements like that were common. I had never given them much consideration before. I always imagined that, of course, a rich and powerful man would want a young, attractive wife.

I never saw it from the other side.

Until Anevay.

"Send him in."

"To see the queen?"

"To speak to me. That is as good as he is going to get on such a monumentous day."

"He will want to see the queen."

"And he shall learn to live with disappointment."

"As you wish," Acton said, looking relieved that he was not the one who would have to deal with the unhappy fiancé.

Not a few minutes later, Acton was leading another man into the room.

From my estimation, Algerone Darrington was a man of four-and-fifty. If you looked at him, however, you would have guessed older. He was rotund, balding, and afflicted with a rounded back that made his gaze inspect the floor as he walked.

"Where is she?" he demanded in a scratchy voice after his beady-eyed gaze moved around and did not find her present.

"If you are referring to your queen, she is unavailable at the moment."

"She is not the queen yet. And she will not be. I demand there be a stop to this ceremony."

"She is, indeed, your queen, sir," I told him. "The scrolls which officially make her queen were signed before we made it back to the palace."

"That... that... that is unacceptable!" he objected, face growing red.

"Whatever you may feel it may be, it is already done, sir. You shall have to find another wife."

"She was mine!" Algerone seethed.

"She belongs to the kingdom now."

"I demand to speak to her."

"You can not make demands upon your queen," I reminded him. "Whatever arrangement you had with the queen's father is null. Your anger and disappointment are noted, but do not change the situation."