The Crowns Choice

❦ Chapter Thirty-Three: Charlotte ❦

The tension in the palace is unbearable, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest with each passing hour. The announcement of Damon's return has left me rattled, but the thought of the cameras swarming the palace tomorrow, capturing every moment, is the final straw.

I can't take it anymore. I storm through the corridors, my steps echoing off the cold marble floors, heading straight for my father's office. My mind races, fueled by a mix of anger, frustration, and desperation. I don't bother knocking; I just push the door open, barging in without hesitation.

My father is at his desk, papers strewn across the polished wood, a quill in hand. He doesn't look up when I enter, his focus solely on whatever documents he's reviewing. The sight only fuels my anger further.

"Why did you bring him back?" My voice cuts through the silence, sharp and demanding.

He finally looks up, his expression unreadable, but there's a coldness in his eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. "Charlotte," he says, his tone dismissive, "this is not the time for one of your tantrums."

"This isn't a tantrum," I snap, stepping closer to his desk. "You brought Damon back, knowing what he did to me—knowing what he put me through. Why? Do you enjoy torturing me?"

My father leans back in his chair, his gaze piercing. "Damon is here because he has a role to play in the Crown's Choice. You should know by now that this is bigger than your personal grievances."

"Bigger than my—" I can't even finish the sentence, my hands balling into fists at my sides. "You don't care about me at all, do you? It's always about the crown, about control. You brought Damon back to manipulate me, to push me to my breaking point."

He stands, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he's sizing me up. "You're right," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "This is about the crown. And you, Charlotte, are part of that equation whether you like it or not. Damon's presence here is necessary."

"Necessary?" I scoff, barely able to contain my anger. "For what? To make me miserable? To remind me of everything I've tried to forget?"

"You're weak," he states coldly, his words like a slap to the face. "And you will remain weak unless you learn to confront your past head-on. Damon's return is a test, one you must pass if you ever hope to wear the crown."

I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. I want to scream, to lash out, but I know it won't do any good. My father has always been like this—cold, calculating, and completely devoid of any warmth or compassion.

"You know what?" I say, my voice shaking with emotion. "I'm done with this. I'm done with the Crown's Choice, with being your pawn. You can find someone else to play your games."

"You will do as you're told," he replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This is not a request, Charlotte. This is an order."

I take a step back, my breath catching in my throat. The realisation hits me like a punch to the gut—no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to fight, I'll never be free of him. He'll always have control, always be the one pulling the strings.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm out of the office, my mind spinning. The door slams behind me, the sound echoing through the empty corridor. I keep walking, my pace quickening as I try to distance myself from him, from the palace, from everything.

But no matter how far I go, I know the truth. I'm trapped in this game, and there's no way out. Damon's return, the cameras, the Crown's Choice—it's all part of a twisted plan, one that my father has crafted to keep me under his thumb.

As I finally reach my room, I collapse onto the bed, tears stinging my eyes. I hate him. I hate him for what he's done, for what he continues to do. But more than anything, I hate the power he holds over me, the way he can manipulate my life without a second thought.

And worst of all, I hate that deep down, part of me still craves his approval, still wants to prove that I'm strong enough to stand on my own. But as I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, I know that no matter what I do, it'll never be enough. Not for him.