Page 54 of Royally Arranged

Then Nova wrapped her arms around my neck, her teeth glittering as she beamed.

He told me to quit piano because it was a waste of everyone’s time.

I’d thought he was right.

Now, thanks to Nova, I knew he wasn’t.

The night wore on. My calves had started to ache from all the dancing, so I’d dropped down in a chair along the wall. Costello joined me, both of us looking on as Scotch, Sammy, and Fran laughed in a small circle on the dance floor. Nova was nearby, and, to my relief, Sammy waved her into their little group.

All of them smiled, plied by alcohol and good cheer. My heart swelled to see Nova looking so happy next to my family.

Costello leaned toward me. “I can tell you care for her.”

I shot him a scalding look, then stared back at the dancing. “Yeah. I’m obvious, huh.”

“Not at all. I just recognize it because I’ve been there.” He wasn’t watching me, he was looking at Scotch where she was spinning in a circle, her dress a whirl of green. “I won’t tell you what to feel, like Fran is trying to. You can’t help if you fall in love.”

I sat up like there was a rod jammed in my spine. “I never said I loved her!”

He was still as a statue. “I know. You don’t have to say it for me to tell.” He closed his eyes, and in the ballroom lights, the long scar that crossed his face looked white as a dead fish’s belly. “Love is love. It’s in your heart, it holds on like a tick in your flesh. It can bring joy or ruin everything you hold dear.”

My fingers dug into my thighs. “Why are you saying all this?”

He opened his eyes, the bright blues freezing me to my chair. “Because you falling in love with Nova is only a problem if she doesn’t love you back.”

“Hawthorne.”

Twitching in surprise, I faced my father. He’d managed to sneak up on us. The creases around his mouth had deepened since I’d spoken to him half an hour ago. “It’s time. They’re waiting for you.”

My stomach dropped off a cliff. “Oh. I hoped I’d be drunker first.”

Maverick faced away, striding through the ballroom, creating a path for me to follow him through the people. Because hedidexpect me to follow him. He had every reason to; I’d gone this far.

Costello’s eyebrows rose. As I stood, he gave my arm a quick grab. Then he released me. I couldn’t tell if it was meant for comfort ... or if he’d instinctively tried to stop me from going forward with this plan. If it was out of worry for me or jealousy, I wasn’t sure.

What is it like for him? For my father?Both were firstborn sons. Both had been fated to sit on this throne, and now, both had been robbed of it.

This was happening to me.

Not them.

In a daze I passed through the crowd. There were angry glares, but there were also a few subtle head bows. To those people I was already king. They didn’t need the next few minutes of ceremony to feel it in their guts.

On either side of the throne were two men dressed like priests. A third hovered in front, his hands holding a glass case at chest height. Inside it was a crown with dagger-sharp tips, the surface a dull bronze. The man holding it was shorter than me, thick and soft all over in a way his ceremonial robes didn’t hide. His aura was one of pure seriousness—the dry crackle right after a snowstorm, where the wrong sound could bring down an avalanche on your head.

“Sit,” he said solemnly.

Turning to face the ballroom, I settled on the throne. I’d expected it to be warm, but the lacquered surface was cool. Or maybe I was simply too hot, so anything would have felt cold in comparison.

“Hawthorne Luca Fredricson.” His voice boomed over the crowd. “Second son of Maverick Julias Fredricson. You are hereby elected as ruler of Torino. By blood and lineage, you shall lead this country. We shall be your subjects. And we will pray for your long life, long health, and eternal protection. Long live the king!”

Glass clinked above me as the case opened. The man lowered the heavy crown onto my skull. It touched my hair; the people swayed forward in a wave as they bent their knees. I wanted to crack some joke about how this felt like prom. But my mouth was too dry. My skin too slick. This moment had gotten away from me and it was no longer something I could make light of.

There was a crown on my head.

I was the king.

- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE -

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