NOT ROYALE ENOUGH [18+]

27

CHRIS

The meeting dragged on far longer than it should have. Father, in his usual overbearing way, insisted we discuss security—more guns for tomorrow's ceremony. I gave him a silent nod, knowing any argument would be futile. Even if I dared to suggest that our current measures were enough, it would only invite another lecture. He’d go on about my inadequacies, comparing me to Alex as though she were the man he always wanted in my position.

If only he knew.

"Christopher."

The way he said my name never failed to grate on me. It always carried the weight of his disappointment, like I’d already failed before I even opened my mouth.

“Yes, Father,” I replied evenly, masking my irritation.

“Have you heard from Alexandria? She hasn’t been visiting as regularly as she should.” His tone was clipped, disapproving.

I wondered if he even knew how much Alex despised being called by her full name. Then again, he never cared about our preferences—only about control.

“She’s been busy traveling,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “But she’ll be at the ceremony tomorrow.”

“She’d better be.” His voice turned sharp, authoritative. “It’s the perfect opportunity to introduce her to one of the bachelors I’ve selected for her. She’s not getting any younger.”

I stared at him, the words hitting harder than I expected. “You’ve chosen someone for her… without her consent?” My voice was calm, but the tension in my jaw betrayed me. “She should have a say in this.”

“She doesn’t need a say,” he snapped, his tone dripping with scorn. “I’m her father, the king. If I decide she’s to marry a fucking peasant, then she will. Consent is irrelevant.”

His words were like a match to dry kindling. My restraint snapped.

“This is wrong!” I shouted, standing to meet his glare. “How could you force her into this? Don’t you see? This is the same thing you did to Elliot! It’s why he left!”

The mention of Elliot’s name was a calculated strike, and it landed exactly as I intended. Father’s face darkened, his teeth clenched, and his fists curled at his sides. He despised hearing his firstborn’s name—his perfect son who had walked away from it all.

“Don’t you dare speak that name in my presence,” he hissed, his voice low but deadly. “Or else…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, and part of me wanted to push, to force him to say whatever empty threat he had ready. But instead, I bit back the retort burning on my tongue. Respect, or what little of it remained, held me back.

“You’ll tell Alexandria that I want to see her the moment she arrives tomorrow,” he said coldly, rising from his chair. Without another word, he stormed out, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.