Page 43 of Broken Desires

“Father, I…” I trail off, unsure of how to articulate the turmoil inside me. The desire for a life with Nessa, to explore the world on my terms, clashes with the reality of my birthright. His admission adds a new layer of complexity to my decision. It’s not just about what I want anymore; it’s about a duty that goes beyond personal desires. “I understand the weight of my responsibilities,” I continue, my voice steadier. “But isn’t there room for balance? For a life that includes personal happiness as well as duty?”

There’s a pause, long enough for me to wonder if I’ve pushed too far. Then, softly, almost imperceptibly, my father speaks. “Your happiness is not insignificant, Alexander. But the crown… it demands sacrifices. Ones I’ve made and ones you will have to make. It’s never easy, but it’s the life we’re born into.”

The conversation shifts something within me. The realization that my father, too, has made sacrifices for the crown adds a new dimension to my understanding of him and the role I’m destined to inherit. It doesn’t make my decision any easier, nor does it quell the longing for exploring something with Nessa. But it does ground me in the reality of my position, of the delicate balance between duty and desire.

“I need you to come home next month,” my father states, a hint of urgency in his voice that piques my curiosity.

Glancing at the calendar on my desk, I can’t help but frown. “I have exams then,” I point out, hoping for some leeway.

“It will only be for a day or two. There are matters we must discuss… in person,” he insists, adding a weight to his words that I can’t ignore.

Pressing a hand to my forehead, I sigh. “Father, can’t this wait until I’ve d?—”

“This isn’t up for debate, Alexander. This is a directive, not a request, from your king.” The formality in his tone, invoking his role over our familial relationship, strikes a chord of seriousness I can’t dismiss.

Realization dawns on me—this must be serious. My father has never played the king card with me before. Despite being alone in my room, I find myself bowing in automatic respect. “Of course, Father.”

He clears his throat, a sign that he’s about to conclude the conversation. “Ensure your visit is before the seventeenth. Inform Hank of your arrival date, and I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Curiosity burns inside me—why the seventeenth? What could be so critical? Yet, the finality in his voice tells me further questions would be futile. “No problem. I’ll speak with Hank later this week.”

“Very well. I’ll see you then. And Alexander?” There’s a momentary pause, and I detect something unexpected in his voice—could it be a hint of uncertainty?

“Yes?”

“Despite appearances, I am very proud of you. You will make a fine king in time. Goodbye.” And with that, the line goes dead.

Left alone with his words echoing in my room, I’m struck speechless. That was perhaps as close to a declaration of love as I’ve ever received from King Frederik. The acknowledgment of pride, the unspoken affirmation of my future role—it’s a lot to process, leaving me in a rare state of quiet reflection on the complex relationship between duty, destiny, and familial bonds.

Standing here outside the dance studio with a bunch of flowers in hand, I’m wrestling with what to do next. The smart move would be to remind her of our initial agreement—no strings attached, just friends with benefits, nothing more. That’s what I should say, to make things clear, push her away, ensure she moves on without me. That would be the expected move, following the unspoken rules of casual relationships that seem so prevalent here.

But I can’t. The idea of turning our goodbye into something so impersonal, so cold, doesn’t sit right with me. Instead of plotting some tactless breakup, I’m here, flowers in hand, hoping to invite her out for dinner to tell her the truth about who I am. I can’t stand the thought of leaving things unsaid, of her thinking less of me without knowing the whole story.

I’m not sure how she’ll take it, but I need to tell her who I am because I can’t bear to leave with her hating me.

I watch her dance through the small glass window on the door, and I feel the sorrow of goodbyes already.

She’s wearing her pointe shoes today, and I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s mesmerizing in everything she does.

The sudden buzz of my phone breaks the spell, and I glance down to dismiss the call. It’s Hank, likely about my impending trip home, but that’s the last thing I want to tackle right now.

When I look back up, she’s spotted me, a playful challenge in her gaze that sends a grin spreading across my face. I hold up the flowers for her to see, watching a blush color her cheeks, a reminder of the simple joys she’s been denied for too long.

She should have been pampered with every breath, and yet…

“What are you doing here… creeping?” she teases as I walk in before she sits to remove her shoes. The room’s filled with the lightness of her presence, making every concern momentarily recede.

“I was going to ask you out for dinner, but I got caught up watching you dance. You have that effect on me,” I admit, watching her reaction.

Her blush deepens a little as she looks down, trying to appear unbothered as she removes her shoes.

“Dinner? Out in public?” Her voice carries a note of surprise as she looks back down to untie her shoes.

Indeed, it is. And despite the inevitable whispers it might stir, I find that concern fading in the face of what feels right. My phone buzzes again, a call from the embassy this time, but I dismiss it with a swipe. Nothing could pull me away from this moment.

She finally looks up.

“So what? I want us to have a nice dinner, and we can chat.”

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