Unchosen Crown

FIREWORKS

The storm unleashed its merciless fury as they left the De Courcelle estate. 

Lightning streaked across the sky with fierce cracks, momentarily transforming the darkness around them into a theater of ghostly shadows. The trail had turned into a treacherous quagmire, and the roar of the engine almost sounded like a wail against the relentless thunder. The vehicle swayed, struggling for traction, and Oliver's hands trembled slightly as he clutched the seatbelt, watching the raindrops whip the windshield with deafening violence. Beside him, Ian drove with a clenched jaw, his focus locked on the road ahead. But out of the corner of his eye, he studied Oliver with the sharpness of a hunting hawk, as if trying to decipher the emotions slipping behind his composed expression.

After an oppressive silence, his deep voice broke through the barrier of the storm. "I hope you understand the consequences of what we've done." His words were choked, though solemn as a vow. "Your little escape could compromise the entire alliance with Belgium. And tarnish my reputation forever."

Oliver turned, the leather seat creaking under his abrupt movement. A surge of indignation rose in his chest. "Is that what you're worried about now? Your reputation?"

Ian's eyes sparked like the lightning tearing through the sky ahead. "Do you have any idea what's at stake, Your Highness?" The title came out as sharp as well-practiced sarcasm, an acidic reminder of his position.

"Don't call me that," Oliver muttered through gritted teeth.

Ian sighed loudly, running a hand through his wet hair. "The Queen will dismiss me the moment we step on English soil," he said with resignation. "And she'll be right."

"I would never accept that agreement. You know very well why." Oliver's voice was now sharp, filled with a conviction that both frightened and comforted him. "I'd feel like a criminal... a monster."

"Ian, pay attention." Oliver challenged, his eyes fixed on Ian's tense profile. For a moment, Ian glanced away from the muddy road to stare at him, brows furrowed. "I could never agree to that deal, and you know why. I'd feel like a criminal, a monster."

Ian let out a dry, bitter laugh. "If it's not you, it'll be someone else. Princess Anne is going to marry someone, whether you like it or not. Reality doesn't bend to your whims."

Oliver stubbornly crossed his arms as a feeling of helplessness tightened his heart. That truth hit his stomach like a stone, but he wouldn't be intimidated.

The weight of that truth struck Oliver, a heavy blow in the pit of his stomach. Helplessness crept through his veins, making him squirm inside, but his stubbornness wouldn't let him yield. "The Queen won't fire you because of me," he challenged, raising his voice to compete with the sound of the rain hammering on the car roof.

"That's not your decision to make."

The tension in Ian's muscles was palpable, his grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. He turned to face Oliver, and in that moment, his eyes blazed with something almost untamable—pure, distilled rage.

"I'm sick of your meddling, Your Highness. You think you can give me orders, as if I were a lackey with no authority to handle a spoiled prince!"

Oliver met his gaze, defiant. "If half of our problems are my fault, the other half comes from you underestimating me."

Ian exploded, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, frustration overflowing. "Then start acting like an adult!"

"I would, if you'd let me make my own decisions!"

Oliver's heavy breathing filled the cramped space of the SUV, as he tried to control the anger boiling inside him. He knew he was teetering on the edge of something irrevocable. "I'm not marrying her, no matter what the Queen orders. This is absurd, and you know it."