But your positions are not the reason you dislike her so. You don’t like Camille because she’s the only person who could ever separate you and me.
Your words hit me so hard, Eadlyn. Because I wanted to believe you. I wanted to hear you out and consider your suggestions. I knew that if I did, one day you’d convince me to give up everything for you. Maybe even put your crown on my head. And, heaven knows, I would have done it. I would do anything for you.
So before you could ask for my life, I gave it to Camille.
I wish you could find love, Eadlyn. The reckless, relentless kind that consumes you. If you could, then maybe you’d understand. I hope someday you will.
My happiness with Camille is tarnished by one thing: that I may be estranged from you if you choose not to forgive me. That sadness will be great, but far more bearable than my separation from my soul mate.
Even as I write this I miss you. I cannot imagine us being so far apart. Please find a way to forgive me and know that I love you. Maybe not as deeply as you’d like, but still.
As a testimony to my desire to always be there for you, I want to give you one last piece of information, something that may help you in the coming months.
More provinces are protesting the monarchy than you could guess. Not all of them, but plenty. And while it pains me to tell you this, the problem people have with the monarchy stems from one person: you.
I don’t know why—perhaps because of your youth, perhaps because of your gender, perhaps for reasons none of us could believe—but they worry. Dad’s aging beyond his years. The stress of the amount of things he’s accomplished in his reign is bigger than his predecessors’, and the general population thinks you will ascend soon, and they are not prepared.
I hate saying those words to you, but you’ve already kind of guessed at this. I didn’t want to let you dwell on those thoughts, hoping you could move past it. And I only tell you this because I think you can change their minds. Stop holding everyone at bay, Eadlyn. You can be brave and still be feminine. You can lead and still love flowers. Most important, you can be queen and still be a bride.
I think those who cannot know you the way I do would finally have a glimpse of this side of you if you consider finding a mate. I could be wrong, but just in case this is the last time you ever want to speak to me, I must give you the only piece of advice I can.
I hope you can forgive me.
Your brother, your twin, your other piece,
Ahren
CHAPTER 33
I STARED AT THE LETTER for the longest time. He left me. He left me for her. When the finality of it hit me, I was consumed by a wild rush of rage. I picked up the closest breakable thing and flung it across the room with every ounce of strength I had.
I heard Neena gasp as the glass shattered against the wall, and that brought me back. I’d completely forgotten she was there.
Through heavy breaths I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll fix it.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s . . . he’s gone. Ahren’s gone.”
“What?”
“He eloped with Camille.” I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling slightly unhinged. “I can’t imagine why the queen would have authorized something like this, but she unquestionably did. Gavril said it was legal downstairs.”
“So what does that mean?”
I swallowed. “With Camille in line for her throne and Ahren as her prince consort, his primary duty is to France now. Illéa is nothing more than the country he was born in.”
“Do your parents know?”
I nodded. “But I’m not sure if he sent them letters as well. I should go to them.”
Neena came over and smoothed out my dress and my hair. She took a tissue to my face, blotting away any imperfections.
“There now. That’s how my future queen should look.”
I threw my arms around her. “You’re too good to me, Neena.”
“Hush. Go to your parents. They need you.”
I stepped back and swiped at the tears that were so, so close to falling. I went down the hall, knocking on the door to Dad’s room, which they generally shared.
No one answered, so I risked a quick peek inside.
“Dad?” I stepped into the huge space. I hadn’t been here in so long—maybe since I was a child—and I couldn’t remember if it had always been this way. The room looked more like something Mom would have decorated than him. Warm colors on the walls, books everywhere. If this was his retreat, why didn’t it feel like him at all?
Without Mom and Dad joining me, I felt like I was intruding and turned to go.