“I’ll speak to you however I want,” he spits, his face turning a deep red. “You’re in my kingdom now. If you’re not going to fall in line—.”
“Fall in line?” I gasp in shock, my voice coming out a little too loud and tears starting to burn in the corner of my eyes. I quickly lower it, but heads are turning to watch us. “Fall in line? I’ve been falling in line. I’ve done everything you’ve asked, and I’ve never once complained about—.”
This is useless. I might love Alec more than I have ever loved anyone, but he’s been sucked too far in to his princely role. He can’t see where I’m coming from. I straighten my back and look him directly in the eye, tilting my head in the smallest recognition of his status that I can manage. “You’ll have to excuse me, your highness,” I say sharply. “I’m not feeling well.”
I turn on my heel and stride as confidently as I can muster toward the exit, leaving Alec standing alone by the chairs.
I don’t look back.
Chapter 34
Alec
Goddamn it.
As I watch Jessica’s back retreating into the crowd toward the exit, guilt swells up so painfully in my chest that, for a moment, I think I might combust in anguish.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Jessica has stood loyally by my side through all of this, and for no other reason than because of her selfless love for me.
A wild, inexplicable love, but love nonetheless.
Why else would she have uprooted her life and followed me across the ocean without question after receiving an invitation from a man she barely knew?
She might not know me now.
I might not know me now.
I’ve been dismissive to women before—Emmaline comes to mind—but no matter how hot-headed I was with my father and brother, no matter how careless I was when it came to considering other people, I have never treated anyone as badly as I just treated Jessica.
In front of the royal household, my father, the staff and international guests, no less.
I should have paid more attention to her over the last ten days. Moving into the palace and being thrown into the royal routine the way she was would have been an adjustment for anyone. Things never went this far with any of Marcus’s girlfriends, but then again, the circumstances were entirely different, too. There was never a powder keg of aggression waiting to be lit aflame when Marcus had been involved in a public relationship with a high-ranking woman.
Fuck.
There were times during my childhood and early adulthood when I thought it would have been much easier to be Marcus. He had all the things I wanted—praise from my father, the title of crown prince, and an easy confidence about him, always seeming to know what he was supposed to be doing and what was expected from him at any given time. It never seemed that he and my father were at odds. I never saw him let his anger get the better of him.
Except when the two of us went at it.
What have I done?
I should go after Jessica right now.
As I start to follow after her, I catch my father’s eyes watching me. His expression is neutral, and he doesn’t break off from the conversation he’s having, but I know he’s waiting to see what I’ll do.
He’s waiting to see where my true loyalties lie.
He might like Jessica—he’s said as much to me—but his main concern is keeping Saintland thriving for several more generations.
I can’t let my reaction to Jessica’s social blunder derail this event, or allow my reactions to affect any other event. That is, not if I’m going to remain on even footing with my father, which is essential if I’m going to succeed in this goddamn role.
I change direction midstride, take a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, and join my father in his discussion with the Spanish ambassador. When I approach the pair, they’re discussing Jessica.
“That woman—Ms. Reeves, did you say?—is she a member of the royal household or an invited guest?”
“She is our guest at the moment,” my father says, no emotion coloring his voice.
The ambassador sneers. “You don’t think she’s a little…out of control for important events such as this? She seems to have no interest in observing proper protocol.”
My father shrugs his head in an indifferent sort of gesture that could be interpreted as anything. He is a master at reacting without revealing whether he agrees or disagrees—at least in public. I’m goddamn certain that my skin has turned to an angry color of red in reaction to the man’s words. Who the hell does he think he is?
Taking a deep, discreet breath and letting it out, I sip on the champagne. Then, instead of defending Jessica and explaining that the ambassador is out of line for passing judgments about guests of the House of Caldwell, I do the opposite.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” I say, giving the man a winning smile. “She wasn’t feeling very well and let it get the best of her.”
The Spanish ambassador rolls his eyes. In a low voice, he gets in one final crack. “Some women.”
My blood boils in my veins, but I just give him a shrug and laugh.