Page 49 of Broken Desires

She enters—a vision of somber elegance in her mourning attire, her natural pallor accentuated to an almost ethereal extent. Despite the stoic mask she wears for the world, the tightness around her eyes betrays her true feelings. Their marriage had been a love match, a rarity in our circles.

“Hank said I’d find you here,” she murmurs, softly closing the door behind her, sealing us away from the rest of the world.

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. “Did he now? Come to lodge a complaint about the new king, has he?” I stuff my hands into my pockets, trying to find some comfort in the gesture. “Please, tell him I’m terribly sorry for not living up to his expectations.”

“Alex,” she sighs, the layers of royal decorum momentarily falling away as she takes a seat across the desk. I find myself leaning against it, the chair behind it still too much my father’s to claim as my own.

“I’m trying, Mom,” I say, the weight of my new role pressing down on me.

She nods, understanding yet concerned. “I hear you’re altering the funeral plans. Son, you can’t?—”

“They’re not changes, per se, I’ve simply removed Sonya Bjornsen from the planning.” My frown deepens at the mention of her name. The impropriety of her coming to my place. Announcing my father’s death and then falsely claiming she was my fiancée, especially right after I pleasured my woman, was… I shake the thought away.

“Alex, the palace, the embassy—they couldn’t reach you. Sonya, being a court member and in New York, it… it made sense at the time.”

I shake my head, adamant. “Her presumed role at the funeral, her place at the table—it sends the wrong message.”

“Alex,” she starts, her tone a mix of caution and concern.

“I am not marrying Sonya Bjornsen,” I state unequivocally.

Her expression shifts from sorrow to worry, and though a twinge of guilt pierces me, my resolve is unshaken. “Alex, I understand we’re all grieving, but now isn’t the time for rash decisions. Let’s just give it time, let things settle, and?—”

“No, Mother,” I interrupt firmly. “This isn’t a decision made in grief. This arrangement with Sonya was concocted by Father and the council long before I could even understand such commitments. I kept silent because it never seemed to matter.”

Until now.

How could I commit to a life preordained by others, knowing what it means to truly connect with someone? Knowing how the mere presence of the right person can breathe life into your very soul?

“Is this about that girl?” she probes, her voice full of curiosity and a hint of disapproval.

I stiffen at her question. “What girl?” My voice is a guarded echo, betraying nothing of the turmoil her mention stirs inside me.

She offers me a sad smile, the kind that knows too much of sacrifice and love. “There’s always a girl, isn’t there? I was that girl once. But Alex, even then, things were different for me. I was still of British nobility. I was… well, I was me.”

I cut through her reflections with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Girl or no girl, it doesn’t change anything. I won’t marry Sonya. It’s as simple as not wanting to, no other reason needed.”

She rises slowly, the gravity of my words settling between us. “Very well. If that’s your decision,” she concedes, her voice carrying the weight of acceptance.

“It is,” I affirm, my resolve unwavering. “I’ll have Hank arrange a meeting with her and her father next week. We’ll clarify things then.”

Glancing at my watch, I add, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up with Hank and his notoriously tight schedule.”

Her parting words stop me in my tracks. “I love you, Alexander. You are my dearest treasure.” Her eyes, misty with unshed tears, meet mine, conveying a depth of belief in me. “You will be a great king,” she asserts, her touch gentle on my cheek.

“At least one of us is sure of that,” I half joke, half confess, in this rare moment of vulnerability with her.

“Perhaps you should speak with Henrick and Astrid. They need your support,” she advises softly.

I give a quiet nod. My attention has been elsewhere, not out of disinterest but overwhelmed by the weight of everything else. Yet the line between personal desires and kingly duties is clear. Duty, as it seems, always takes precedence.

Steering myself toward Hank’s office rather than seeking the comfort of my siblings’ presence, I feel a profound connection to my father for the first time. I’m beginning to grasp the difficult decisions he faced, the sacrifices he made. Walking this path, the weight of the crown feels real, and the legacy of leadership becomes not just an inheritance but a choice—a choice to prioritize the needs of many over the desires of one’s own heart.

Hank pauses, looking up from his laptop perched on the console beside my desk. I’ve finally settled into the leather chair, a seat that remained untouched by me until today, two weeks after my father’s funeral.

“The coronation scheduled for early June isn’t going to work for me. I’ve got a friend’s wedding to attend,” I explain, trying to sound as casual about it as possible, but the thought of seeing Nessa again makes my heart race.

His eyebrows shoot up, clearly taken aback. “You’re still intending to go?”

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