Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(94)

“The doctors said he’ll recover…this time. The fact is, His Majesty was hospitalized twice in one year. We can’t risk a third hospitalization.”

“We can cut back on his workload,” I said desperately. “Have his aides handle the more strenuous paperwork and meetings. He can still be king.”

Elin glanced at Markus, who stood in the corner looking grimmer than I’d ever seen him.

“We’d discussed this with His Majesty after his first hospitalization,” he said. “He expressly said that if he collapses a second time, he would step down.”

I vaguely remembered my grandfather saying something like that in the weeks after his first collapse, but I’d been so focused on Nikolai’s abdication the implications of it had gone right over my head.

“I realize this is perhaps not the best time to discuss this,” Elin said with another flicker of sympathy. “But His Majesty’s condition is stable, and we need to start preparations right away.”

“Preparations.” Something terrible took root in my stomach and spread. It seeped into my chest, my neck, my arms and my legs, numbing me from inside out.

Elin and Markus exchanged glances again.

“Yes,” Elin said. “Preparations for your coronation as queen.”

I’d thought I had more time, both with Rhys and to convince Parliament to repeal the Royal Marriages Law, but I didn’t. Time was up.

“Do you remember Costa Rica?” Rhys’s lips brushed against mine as he spoke. He lay on top of me, his powerful body swallowing me up, but he’d propped a forearm on the couch so he didn’t crush me with his weight.

“How could I forget?” It was one of the happiest memories of my life.

“You asked me if I’d ever been in love. I said no.” He pressed a soft kiss to my mouth. “Ask me again, princess.”

My lungs constricted. Breathe.

But that was hard when everything hurt to the point where I couldn’t remember what it felt like not to hurt. My heart, my head, my soul.

“I can’t.” I forced myself to push Rhys away.

My skin immediately chilled at the absence of his heat, and small shivers wracked me as I got off the couch and walked to the bathroom. I cleaned myself and straightened my clothes with shaky hands while his gaze burned a hole in my back through the open door.

“Why not?”

“Because.” Tell him. Just tell him. “I’m going to be queen.”

“We already knew that.”

“You don’t understand.” I washed my hands and returned to the room, where I finally looked at him again. Tension lined his face and notched a deep groove between his brows. “I don’t mean someday. I mean I’m going to be queen in nine months.”

Rhys froze.

“That’s not all.” I could barely speak past the lump in my throat. “Because of the Royal Marriages Law, I have to—”

“Don’t say it.” His voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.

“I have to marry or at least get engaged before my coronation.” There would already be backlash against me taking the throne so soon. You need all the political goodwill you can get, Markus had said. I hated it, but he was right. “I—”

“Don’t. Fucking. Say it.”

“I’m marrying Steffan. He already agreed.”

It wasn’t a marriage of love. It was a political contract. Nothing more, nothing less. Markus had reached out to the Holsteins yesterday and made them sign an NDA before making the proposition. They’d agreed a few hours later. It’d all happened so quickly it made my head spin.

Just like that, I had a fiancé, at least in theory. Per the agreement, Steffan would officially propose next month, after the furor over my grandfather’s hospitalization died down. As a bonus, the engagement would drive the allegations about me and Rhys out of the headlines, as Elin had not so subtly pointed out.

Rhys unfolded himself from the couch. He’d already fixed his clothes. All black. Black shirt, black pants, black boots, black expression.

“The fuck you are.”

“Rhys, it’s done.”

“No,” he said flatly. “What did I tell you in the gazebo, princess? I said from that point on, no other man touches you, and I meant it. You sure as fuck aren’t marrying someone else. We have nine months. We will figure. It. Out.”

I wanted to agree. I wanted to be selfish and steal more time with him, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

I’d already had Rhys for three years. It was time to let him go.

No more being selfish.

“What if I want to marry someone else?”

Rhys’s nostrils flared. “Don’t lie to me. You barely know Steffan. You went on three fucking dates with the guy.”

“Royal marriage isn’t about knowing someone. It’s about suitability, and the fact is, he’s suitable and you’re not.” I hoped Rhys didn’t notice the wobble in my voice. “Plus, Steffan and I have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.”

A shudder rippled through his body, and hurt slashed across his face, so raw and visceral it cut through my soul.

“I’m the crown princess, and I need to act like one,” I said, hating myself more with every second. “In all areas of my life. I can’t be with a bodyguard. I…” Tears clogged my throat, but I pushed past them. “I’m meant to be with a duke. We both know that.”