Majesty (American Royals, #2)(95)

Her and Ethan, facing the world, together. It was what Daphne had always wanted, if only she’d let herself realize it.

“I know you, Daphne, in a way that Jeff could never know you—and if he did know, he would leave you in an instant. Whereas I loved every last part of you: your ambition and your inner fire and your utter brilliance. We could have been so happy together, if you’d ever given us half a chance.”

“We can be happy now,” Daphne protested, but Ethan hardly seemed to hear.

“At the museum, when you suggested this ridiculous bargain, I agreed to it. It was never really about the title—not that I don’t want one,” he said helplessly. “But, Daphne, I put my heart out there and you flat-out rejected it. Then, to add insult to injury, you asked me to date someone else. You made me a pawn in your master plan, just like always.

“So I decided that I would punish you by doing what you thought you wanted.” He gave a wry, bitter smile. “I guess I hoped that once you heard that I’d been spending so much time with Nina—because I knew you’d find out; you always know everything that happens in this town—you’d start to feel jealous, and realize that it wasn’t what you wanted at all.”

“But, Ethan, I have realized!” Daphne cried out. “I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to see. I was just…blinded by things that don’t matter.”

“Yeah. You were.”

Light slanted through the flags of knighthood, making his profile stand out as clearly as on the head of an ancient coin: handsome and prideful and resolute.

He wasn’t making this easy on her, but she deserved it, after everything she’d put him through. If he wanted her to beg, then Daphne would do it, and gladly.

“I’m so sorry, but I’ll make it all up to you,” she swore. “Don’t you see—Ethan, look at me!—things will be different, now that we finally know how we feel!”

“Felt,” Ethan corrected. “You had my heart for years, and you kept on treating it thoughtlessly.”

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s too late for sorry.”

Daphne’s hands darted up to grab Ethan by the shoulders. “I love you, okay?” She tightened her grip, her voice hard and furious. “And you just said that you loved me!”

“I did love you, for a long time. But even I couldn’t sit around waiting for you forever.”

He spoke impersonally, as if that love were an emotion that someone else had felt, a very long time ago.

No. Daphne refused to accept that his love for her had just…faded away. That it had guttered and burned itself out like one of these forgotten candles. No, if he had loved her that much then there must be something left, some ember of feeling that she could coax back to life. Unless…

“You fell for her, didn’t you.” She couldn’t bear to actually say Nina’s name.

“I did.”

Daphne’s hands fell to her sides as she stepped back, fighting the urge to stamp her foot like a child. How had the only two men in her life both ended up with the same mousy, unexceptional commoner? “That girl is painfully boring, has no sense of style—and has nothing at all to say for herself—”

“She has plenty to say; you’ve just never bothered to listen—”

“If you loved me the way you say you did, for as long as you say you did, how can you possibly care about Nina?” she hissed.

Ethan didn’t blink. “If you wanted Jeff for as long as you claimed to, how can you possibly care about me?”

A strained silence fell between them. Daphne’s pulse echoed dully through her veins. She almost wished that Ethan resented her, hated her, even. Anything would be better than this smooth, cool indifference.

And yet she loved him in spite of everything: all her flaws, his betrayal, both of their stubborn prides.

Ethan was right; he was the only person who’d ever truly known her, aside from Himari. And now that he’d pushed her away, it was the real Daphne he was rejecting.

To think that she’d come to the wedding in triumph, on Jefferson’s arm, only to realize in a panicked flash that Ethan was the one she’d wanted all along. And now, somehow, he no longer cared.

She felt that she had gained and lost the world in a single morning.

“Well then, it seems like we’re done here.” Daphne pivoted on one heel and stormed off, blinking back her stupid, traitorous tears.

She’d always thought there was such power in knowing other people’s secrets. At court, secrets were even better than money: you could hoard them and guard them and barter them away. But for what?

What did any of it matter when the entire time, she’d been keeping the greatest secret of all from herself—only to discover the truth when it was too late.





Beatrice’s skirts frothed up around her like lace-stitched clouds, probably creasing in countless places, but it didn’t stop her from pounding at the door.

“Beatrice, don’t,” Connor pleaded.

She ignored him, though she knew she looked utterly absurd: standing here in her wedding gown, slamming her fists against the reinforced steel. But that alarm had sent her careening past all rational thought. All she wanted was to get out.

Connor stepped forward and caught her hands in his, circling her wrists as he gently lowered them. “It won’t do any good, Bee. That door can’t open until a full sweep of the palace has confirmed that it’s safe.”