#kingliam

Stepping to the towering glass doors of her balcony, Emilia pressed her hand against the cool pane, her warm breath immediately blossoming into a delicate cloud of mist on the glass. She blinked against the clean, blinding glare of the white landscape. It was a winter wonderland, breathtakingly beautiful, offering a quiet, clean slate that seemed to soothe the raw edges of her spirit.

Below her, the grand palace gardens had been completely transformed. The rows of frost-hardy chrysanthemums that had fought so bravely against the autumn chill were now buried beneath a thick, heavy duvet of snow, their colourful faces entirely hidden. The towering, ornate fountains, which had spent the summer splashing music into the warm air, stood completely silent, the water in their wide stone basins frozen into smooth, glittering pools of ice that caught the morning light like polished mirrors.

Further out, the great hedge maze looked like a labyrinth of sculpted marble, its high, dark green walls capped in thick, pristine ridges of white. Every perfect line and sharp angle was softened by the snow, making the maze look less like an impenetrable fortress and more like a peaceful, sleeping giant.

Adjacent to the maze, the woodland area was a study in stark contrasts. The skeletal branches of the ancient oaks, stripped bare by the autumn winds, were now outlined in delicate, sparkling ice, reaching up toward the brilliant blue heavens like fragile fingers of glass. Beside them, the dark, stoic pines bowed their heavy branches under the weight of the snow, releasing quiet, soft flurries to the ground whenever the biting winter wind dared to whisper through their needles.

Running straight through the heart of the estate, the long gravel drive was slowly being reclaimed from the winter. Below the balcony, a solitary palace gardener was already at work, the rhythmic, scraping sound of his shovel clearing a path through the heavy white powder.

Emilia watched him for a long moment, observing the steam rise from his lips as he worked. As if sensing her gaze, the gardener paused, wiping his brow before looking up toward her balcony. Emilia didn't draw back into the shadows of her room. Instead, a genuine, soft smile brushed her lips, and she raised her hand, offering a gentle wave.

The gardener's face lit up, and he quickly returned the wave with a wide, respectful smile and a small bow before returning to his work.

Emilia wrapped her heavy velvet robe tighter around her shoulders, but for the first time in months, she didn't shiver. The world outside was cold, yes, but it was blanketed in a peaceful, healing quiet. As she stared down at the snow-covered lawns directly beneath her balcony, the familiar, aching hollow in her chest felt... lighter.

She no longer hovered anxiously by her door at the sound of Rose’s morning footsteps, her pulse racing with a desperate, agonizing hope that only crashed into devastation when the silver mail tray proved empty. She had stopped checking the post with that frantic, trembling urgency. The raw, bleeding wound of those early autumn months had finally closed, leaving behind a quiet, tender ache. She still wished, with a soft and persistent sadness, that a letter would arrive. She still carried the quiet, heavy shape of Drake’s absence in every breath, a steady, physical pull in her chest that anchored her to the memory of him, and there wasn't a single day where he didn't occupy the quiet corners of her mind and heart. She still loved him with a desperate, soul-consuming intensity, and she knew she always would.

But the furious, destructive anger that had consumed her on the night of the Homecoming Ball had finally burned itself out. In its place was a quiet, sober acceptance of the silence. She had come to terms with the reality of their separate worlds. She had accepted the heart-breaking possibility that Drake had simply chosen to move on—to build a new, uncomplicated life for himself across the border that didn't involve the impossible, suffocating reach of a Cordonian princess and her crown.

It was a deep, permanent bruise on her soul, but she was learning to live with the grief. She was carrying her love for him like a warm coal beneath the winter snow, keeping her spirit alive rather than letting the sorrow freeze her completely.

Stepping away from the towering balcony doors, Emilia let the quiet warmth of her suite envelop her. She walked slowly toward the ornate mahogany vanity, her bare feet pressing into the plush, thick carpet. Sitting down on the cushioned stool, she picked up her silver-backed hairbrush, letting the rhythmic, soothing motion of the bristles sliding through her golden curls ground her in the quiet morning.

As she raised her arm, her heavy velvet robe parted slightly at her collarbone.

There, resting against the soft skin of her chest, was Drake’s silver ring, catching the pale gold of the morning sun.

Emilia’s hand paused, her breath catching in her throat—not in panic, but in a sudden, sweet wave of quiet affection. She set the brush down on the cool glass tabletop, her hand drifting instinctively to her neck. Her fingertips curled around the familiar, worn metal, and a soft, genuine smile played on her lips. She hadn't taken it off, not for a single moment, since she had gotten it back.

As the cool silver warmed against her skin, her mind drifted backward, slipping effortlessly into the memory of the morning she had reclaimed it.

Two Months Earlier

The morning after the Homecoming Ball had arrived with a sharp, crisp bite. The dew was heavy, clinging to the grass blades in the palace gardens like tiny, liquid glass beads, and a thin layer of frost dusted the stone paths.

Liam Rhys stood near the edge of the formal garden beds directly beneath Emilia’s private balcony, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his structured charcoal wool overcoat. The collar was turned up slightly against the biting breeze, and his boots crunched softly as he shifted his weight on the gravel. He wore a simple, dark green knit sweater beneath his coat, looking rugged yet effortlessly elegant in the pale morning light.

He was waiting.

When his mother had first written to him in Italy, practically commanding his return to Cordonia to attend the social season and meet Princess Emilia, Liam had let out a long, defeated sigh. He had assumed she would be like all the rest of the debutantes—hollow, pretentious, and entirely consumed by the superficial glitter of court gossip and inherited titles. He had expected to meet a fragile, porcelain doll of a girl with a practiced smile and nothing of substance behind her eyes.

But Emilia had completely shattered every single one of his expectations.

She wasn't like them at all. Over the course of the previous evening, and their quiet escape on the terrace, he had discovered a woman who was remarkable. She was smart, carrying a sharp, observant wit that kept him on his toes. She was funny, possessing a quick, feisty spark that refused to be dimmed by the stifling protocol of her father’s court. And she was so unbelievably beautiful—not with the empty, painted perfection of the other noblewomen, but with a vibrant, raw, and fiercely genuine fire.

Yet, beneath that spark, Liam had noticed a deep, quiet sadness clinging to her. It was in the way her eyes lingered on the dark horizon, and the faint, guarded tension in her shoulders. She had told him she had been through a very difficult few months. Liam hadn't pushed for details; it wasn't his business to pry, and he respected her privacy too much to demand explanations she wasn't ready to give. He suspected, more than anything, that she was profoundly lonely. In a court full of vultures and sycophants, there were only a select few she could truly trust. She could use a friend—a real, unyielding anchor who wanted nothing from her but her company. And Liam was more than happy to be that friend.

The soft rustle of dry leaves caught his attention.

Liam turned, a warm, genuine smile instantly gracing his lips as he saw Emilia walking down the gravel path toward him.

The morning chill had painted a delicate, rosy flush across her cheeks. She was dressed warmly, wearing a tailored, forest-green wrap coat that hugged her waist, with a soft cream cashmere scarf looped snugly around her neck. Her hair, free from the rigid curls of the previous night, was pinned back simply, a few loose strands framing her face and dancing in the wind. She looked breathtakingly real, a stark and lovely contrast to the cold limestone walls of the palace behind her.

As she reached him, her eyes met his, and for the first time since he had met her, the heavy shadow in her gaze seemed to lift, if only by a fraction.

"Good morning, Liam," she said, her voice soft in the quiet air.

"Good morning, Emilia," he replied, taking his hands from his pockets and bowing his head slightly in greeting. "You're exceptionally punctual for someone who survived a royal homecoming ball."

Emilia let out a small, genuine laugh, the sound clear and bright against the autumn chill. "I could say the same to you. I half-expected you to have fled back to Rome by sunrise."

"It wasn’t for want of trying," Liam joked, a playful, warm spark dancing in his ice-blue eyes. "But I was informed my flight was cancelled. High winds, apparently. Or perhaps a sudden, tragic lack of willpower."

Emilia's laugh rang out again, a lighter, happier sound than she had produced in months.

Liam watched her, his smile softening into something deeper. There was a quiet touch of longing in his gaze, a silent appreciation for the easy way she fit into the morning air. "In all honesty, Emilia... I'm actually enjoying myself here far more than I ever expected to."

Emilia met his eyes, and the sincerity she found there made a small, fragile warmth blossom in her chest. She simply smiled back, a quiet, unspoken understanding passing between them.

"Right, well," Liam said, clearing his throat gently to break the spell. "Let's find that necklace of yours."

"Let's," Emilia agreed, her smile widening.

They moved toward the garden beds directly beneath her private balcony, stepping carefully onto the damp lawn. The grass was crisp underfoot, crackling softly with the morning frost. They bent down, parting the cold, heavy leaves of the slumbering chrysanthemums and scanning the dark, damp earth.

As they searched, the silence of the morning was filled only by the rustle of dry leaves and their own steady breathing. Emilia glanced over at him, feeling a sudden, deep swell of gratitude.

"Thank you again, Liam, for offering to help me with this," she called out, brushing a stray dirt particle from her sleeve. "I'm sure there are many other ways you would have preferred to spend your first morning back in the capital."

"Not at all," Liam replied, shrugging his broad shoulders as he peered beneath a low-hanging evergreen branch. "Besides, I'll have you know that I was the undisputed champion of the family scavenger hunt as a child. I'd be highly remiss if I didn't put my legendary skills to good use for the Princess."

Emilia laughed, the sound warm and clear. "Well, I certainly hope those legendary skills are at their absolute best today. I honestly don't know what I'll do if we don't find that ring."

Liam paused, straightening up. His brow furrowed in mild, amused confusion. "Ring? I thought we were looking for a necklace."

Emilia froze, her cheeks instantly burning with a delicate, rosy flush that had nothing to do with the autumn wind. She bit her lip, cursing her slip of the tongue, before letting out a soft, defeated sigh.

"We are. Sort of," she confessed quietly, looking down at her hands. "It's... it's a silver ring. I wear it on a chain around my neck. It's incredibly important to me."

Liam looked at her, his blue eyes soft and entirely devoid of judgment. He took in her flushed cheeks and the protective, almost fragile way her fingers had drifted to her collarbone. "I assume," he said gently, his voice carrying a quiet, respectful warmth, "whoever gave you this ring is very important to you?"

Emilia’s throat tightened. The image of Drake—his fierce hazel eyes, his rough calloused hands, and his easy, lopsided smile—flashed behind her eyelids, sending a sharp, sweet ache straight to her heart.

"He is," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the breeze. "He... he was."

Liam didn't pry. He didn't ask for a name, a status, or an explanation for why the ring was lost in the dirt. He simply offered her a reassuring, comforting smile that seemed to wrap around her like a blanket.

"We'll find it, Emilia," he promised, his voice firm and steady. "Even if I have to stay out here until the sun goes down and come back again tomorrow. I'm not leaving until it's safely back where it belongs."

Emilia’s heart swelled. The sheer, unyielding decency of his words brought a sudden sheen of tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back, offering him a brilliant, genuine smile. "Thank you, Liam."

They returned to the search with a renewed, quiet focus. Emilia felt a profound sense of relief settling over her spirit. Liam didn't look at her with the fragile, suffocating pity she had grown so tired of receiving from her friends. He simply accepted her as she was, standing by her side as a steady, quiet anchor.

They searched for another ten minutes, moving deeper into the shadows of the formal boxwood hedges, when Liam suddenly gasped.

"Ah-ha! I think I have something."

Emilia’s heart stopped. She spun around, her breath catching in her throat as she watched Liam bend low, reaching deep beneath the thick, frost-dusted branches of a large chrysanthemum bush.

When he pulled his hand back, a glint of bright silver caught the morning sun.

The delicate silver chain hung from his fingers, and dangling securely at the bottom was Drake’s worn, heavy ring.

A breathless sob of pure relief broke from Emilia's throat. Tears finally spilled over her lashes as she scrambled across the damp grass to his side. She snatched the chain from his open palm, clutching the cold metal tightly against her chest as if she could pull its warmth straight into her soul. She tipped her head back toward the brilliant blue sky, a dazzling, tear-stained smile breaking across her face.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Thank you, Liam. Thank you so much."

Liam stood up, brushing a few stray leaves from his knees. The sight of her radiant, tearful joy made his own chest tighten with a quiet, profound warmth.

"It was no problem at all, Emilia," he said softly, his blue eyes holding hers. "I'm here for you. Anytime."

Emilia looked down at the ring in her hand, her heart hammering a steady, triumphant rhythm. The metal was cold against her palm, but she knew that beneath her skin, the memory of Drake would always burn warm. She carefully slid the chain and the ring into the deep, secure pocket of her coat, gently patting the wool to make sure it was safe.

Then, she turned back to Liam. The sheer weight of what he had done for her—without question, without expectation—overwhelmed her defences.

Stepping forward, Emilia wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight, incredibly warm hug.

Liam froze in surprise for a fraction of a second before his arms came up, wrapping securely around her waist to pull her close. He leaned into the embrace, inhaling the sweet, complex scent of jasmine and fresh linen that clung to her hair and her skin. It was a perfect, grounding moment of comfort in the quiet garden.

As they slowly pulled back, Liam offered her a soft, boyish grin.

"It was entirely worth it," he whispered, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "just to see you smile."

Slowly, the golden-hued memory of that crisp autumn morning faded, gently pulling Emilia back to the present.

She blinked, focusing on her reflection in the heavy mahogany vanity mirror. The pale, winter-bright light of the morning poured through her balcony doors, illuminating the quiet warmth of her suite. Down in her palm, Drake’s silver ring had grown warm, absorbing the heat of her skin. She smiled softly, tracing the worn metal one last time. Slowly, she raised the band to her lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the familiar silver, letting its smooth shape anchor her heart. With a quiet breath, she let it rest back against her collarbone, tucking it safely beneath the soft velvet of her robe.

She picked up her hairbrush again, but her mind remained anchored in the quiet gratitude she felt for the young lord who had helped her find it.

Liam hadn't left after that day.

As the social season had swung into full, exhausting motion, it was entirely customary for the heads of the Great Houses and their eligible heirs to take up semi-permanent residence in the sprawling guest wings of the Royal Palace. It spared them the daily limo rides from their grand estates and kept them in the direct orbit of the King's favour. When Liam had quietly informed her that he had accepted her father's invitation to stay at the palace for the duration of the social season, Emilia had felt a profound, genuine wave of relief wash over her.

She had desperately needed a friend, and Liam had stepped into that empty, echoing space in her life with an effortless, unpressured grace.

Over the last two months, they had become nearly inseparable. When the suffocating protocol of the court threatened to choke her, Liam was always there, offering a quiet escape.

Emilia closed her eyes, a warm, genuine smile gracing her lips as she recalled their afternoon rides. They would escape the palace gates on horseback, tearing through the crisp, leaf-strewn valley trails of the royal estate. She remembered the powerful, rhythmic stride of her horse beneath her, the biting wind stinging her cheeks and whipping her loose curls into a wild tangle. Liam would ride alongside her, his laughter rich and free, a brilliant contrast to the rigid, silent guards who trailed at a respectful distance. Up in the hills, away from the watchful eyes of the King, they would pull their horses to a halt, letting the animals breathe as they looked out over the sprawling capital, sharing a comfortable, healing silence that required no performances.

And then there were the walks. Even as the autumn gold withered into grey December frost, they would bundle up in heavy wool coats and cashmere scarves, walking the winding paths of the formal gardens. Liam would listen to her—really listen—whenever she spoke, never looking at her with the fragile, suffocating pity she had grown so tired of receiving from Hana or Olivia. Nor did he ever look at her with the hungry, predatory appraisal she so routinely endured from the other eligible bachelors of the court, who treated her like a prize to be won or an asset to be calculated for their family lines. With Liam, there were no hidden agendas, no suffocating expectations, and no prying eyes. He simply met her where she was, offering a steady, unyielding presence that helped ground her fluttering spirit.

But perhaps her favourite memories were of the endless, tedious balls.

Emilia opened her eyes, her smile widening as she recalled the sheer, ridiculousness they had managed to find in the middle of her father's glittering cage. During one particularly stuffy banquet, trapped at a table between a pompous duke and an incredibly dry minister, she had caught Liam’s icy-blue eyes from across the room. He had offered her a barely perceptible, deadpan raise of his eyebrow, nodding toward a minor count who was currently asleep in his soup.

They had taken to finding quiet corners during those long nights, standing near the heavy velvet drapes with champagne flutes in hand. In hushed, conspiratorial whispers, they would make fun of the preening nobility, sharing a private world of quiet, breathless laughter. They would dissect Lord Thorne's increasingly ridiculous, towering wigs, or predict exactly how many minutes Lady Vescovi could hold her breath while trying to look poised in her suffocating corset.

In a room full of vultures and sycophants, Liam had become her sanctuary. He had shown her that she could still laugh, that she could still find joy, and that she didn't have to carry the crushing weight of her heartbreak entirely alone.

He hadn't made her forget Drake—nothing ever could, and she still carried the quiet, heavy shape of his absence in every beat of her heart. But Liam had made the winter feel warm. He had made her existence feel like a life again, rather than a death sentence.

*****

A short while later, a soft, tentative knock rattled the heavy ornate wood of the door, breaking the quiet sanctuary of the suite.

Emilia paused, her silver hairbrush resting against her curls. "Come in," she called out, her voice calm and even.

The door groaned open, and Queen Eleanor stepped inside. She wore a beautifully tailored, slate-blue wool day dress, her posture as impeccably straight and statuesque as ever, but her eyes held a soft, searching warmth.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Eleanor said gently, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

"Good morning, Mother," Emilia smiled, turning slightly on her cushioned vanity stool to face her.

Eleanor crossed the room, her elegant heels sinking silently into the plush carpet, and stood beside her daughter, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I just wanted to see how you are. You seem to have been very busy recently. The winter social season is always a whirlwind, of course." She offered a soft, knowing smile.

"It is," Emilia laughed softly, setting her brush down on the glass-topped vanity. "But in all honesty, it's been fun. Better than usual, actually."

Eleanor watched her daughter’s face closely, noting the subtle brightness in her eyes—a light that had been missing for so many painful months. A small, knowing smile played on her lips. "Does that have anything to do with Lord Rhys?"

Emilia turned to face her mother fully, her cheeks warming with a delicate, shy flush. "It does," she admitted softly, her fingers tracing a fold of her velvet robe. "He’s a wonderful man, Mother. He’s kind, and he’s funny, and... well, he’s nothing like the other men at court. He's been an incredibly good friend to me."

"I’m glad," Eleanor murmured, her thumb gently caressing Emilia’s shoulder. She paused, her voice dropping to a tentative, delicate whisper. "Is... is that all it is, darling?"

"Yes," Emilia replied without hesitation, her gaze steady and honest. "I like him, Mother. A lot. He is a truly wonderful person. But he’s a friend, and that’s all."

Eleanor smiled, a soft knowing expression crossing her features, though she remained quiet, waiting.

"Besides," Emilia added, turning back toward the mirror to pick up her hairbrush, "I owe him a lot."

Eleanor’s brow furrowed slightly in mild confusion. "What do you mean, sweetheart? What do you owe him?"

Emilia let out a long, heavy sigh, setting the brush back down. She turned back to her mother, her expression softening into something intensely raw and honest. "Before I met him, Mother, I was drowning. The grief... it was consuming me entirely. I hadn’t heard from Drake, and my heart... it was completely broken. It still is, in many ways. I love Drake. I always will. He is the love of my life, and nothing will ever change that."

Eleanor’s chest tightened, a quiet pang of sorrow reflecting in her eyes, but she didn't interrupt.

"But the grief... it isn't controlling me anymore," Emilia continued, her voice gaining a quiet, mature strength. "I've accepted the reality of things. I've accepted that perhaps all of this—" she gestured around the room, “—the Crown, my title, the constant, suffocating reach of this life—perhaps it was just too much for him to carry after what Father did to him. And I can’t blame him for that. I can’t blame him for choosing a life where he can breathe. But what we had... I will never forget what it felt like to be loved by him. I'll never forget him. But the pain isn't as raw now. And I think a lot of that healing had to do with Liam. He was simply there for me when I desperately needed someone."

"I am so glad to hear it, Emilia," Eleanor whispered, her eyes shining with a rare, watery sincerity. "You deserve peace, my love."

"Plus..." Emilia started, her voice suddenly tightening as a sharp flash of anger and anxiety crossed her features. "The night of the Homecoming Ball... Liam saved me."

Eleanor’s posture instantly stiffened, her hand tightening on Emilia’s shoulder. "He saved you? From what?"

Emilia let out a ragged breath, her fingers tightening into fists in her lap. "I went out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air. I was upset, and... Lord Tariq and Neville Vancouer followed me out. They cornered me, Mother. They actively, physically backed me against the freezing stone balustrade so I couldn't escape. They were... insistent. They made disgusting, suggestive comments about how they could act as my 'comfort,' and how they could help me forget all about Drake."

Eleanor’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in absolute horror. "They did what?"

"Nothing happened," Emilia said quickly, trying to soothe the sudden, violent panic in her mother’s eyes. "Thanks to Liam. He came outside for a break from the formalities just before they could do anything. He challenged them. They actually attacked him, but Liam fought them both off effortlessly. He pinned Neville against the wall and told them if they ever spoke to me, looked at me, or came near me again, he would make them deeply regret it. And they haven't bothered me since, thankfully. But... I don't know what would have happened if he hadn’t stepped onto the terrace when he did."

"Emilia..." Eleanor’s voice trembled, a mixture of terror and white-hot maternal instinct vibrating in her throat. "Why did you never say anything? Does your father know?"

Emilia let out a harsh, bitter scoff, her jaw setting into a cold, hard line of pure disdain. "No, Mother. I never told him. What would be the point?"

"What do you mean, what would be the point?!" Eleanor cried softly, her voice cracking. "You can’t allow them to get away with this!"

"I haven’t. Liam hasn’t. But you know exactly what Father is like," Emilia spat, the words dripping with a deep, permanent resentment. "That man has proven, over and over again, that all he cares about are appearances, alliances, and duty. He would have brushed my complaint off as me being 'too sensitive.' He would have told me I was overreacting, or that I had misunderstood their 'gentlemanly' advances as something more sinister. He would have protected Tariq’s family line and Neville’s standing before he ever protected me. That’s why I never told him about Applewood, either."

Eleanor froze, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. "What about Applewood, Emilia?"

Emilia looked up at her mother, her eyes entirely devoid of fear, filled only with the bitter truth of her reality. "Tariq tried to force himself on me there, too. Before you and Father even arrived at the estate. He insisted on walking me to my suite after dinner, and the moment we were alone, he pinned me against my door and kissed me. I tried to push him off, I told him no, but he completely ignored me. He thought his title gave him the right to take whatever he wanted. Luckily, I managed to knock some sense into him when I slapped him across the face and threatened to ruin his family line if he didn't leave."

"He... he did what?!"

Eleanor’s voice was no longer a royal whisper. It was a low, dangerous hiss, her face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. The pristine, stoic queen was completely gone, shattered by the visceral, protective rage of a mother whose child had been hunted in her own home.

"It’s okay, Mother," Emilia said quietly, her voice entirely calm. "I handled it."

"It is absolutely not okay, Emilia!" Eleanor said, her chest heaving as a fierce, dangerous fire flared in her eyes. "How dare he? How dare he touch you? How dare they treat the Princess of this country—my daughter—like prey in our own palaces?!"

"Mother, please. I’m okay," Emilia insisted, reaching up to gently squeeze her mother's hand. "Neither of them have dared to look in my direction since the Homecoming Ball. Liam made sure of that. I’m safe."

Eleanor took a long, trembling breath, forcing her shoulders back as she fought to rein in the violent anger threatening to tear through her regal composure. She looked down at her daughter, her eyes softening with a fierce, protective devotion. "Well... I am endlessly glad you have Liam looking out for you. Are... are you seeing him today?"

Emilia offered a soft, genuine smile. "Yes. We’re going for a walk in the hedge maze."

"Good," Eleanor murmured, her voice tight but loving. "I will leave you to get dressed, then."

She leaned down, pulling Emilia into a tight, fierce hug, holding her as if she could shield her from the entire world. "Are you absolutely sure you are okay, Emilia?"

Emilia smiled against her mother’s shoulder. "Yes, Mother. I'm fine. Truly."

Eleanor pulled back, gently kissing her daughter's hair. "That is all that matters."

With a stiff, precise nod, Eleanor turned and left the suite. But the moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind her, the fragile restraint she had forced herself to maintain shattered completely.

The cold, calculated anger came flooding back, hot and merciless. She stood in the empty, gilded hallway, her breathing shallow, her hands clenching into tight, trembling fists at her sides.

They had dared to touch her daughter. Constantine had allowed this toxic, predatory behaviour to fester in his court, all for the sake of political alliances and empty sashes. He had banished the only man who had ever truly loved and protected their daughter, leaving her vulnerable to the wolves.

Turning on her heel, Eleanor did not walk. She marched. Her heavy wool skirts hissed violently against her silk stockings, and her heels struck the ground with a rhythmic, thunderous cadence of pure, unyielding fury as she headed straight toward the King's private study.

*****

The heavy oak doors of the King’s private study did not merely open; they were violently breached.

Eleanor did not wait for an invitation, nor did she heed the startled glance of the royal guard stationed at the end of the hall. She pushed through the threshold, her wool day dress rustling with a sharp, heavy cadence before she slammed the heavy door shut behind her. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet, mahogany-panelled room.

King Constantine sat behind his sprawling desk, a gold-nibbed pen suspended mid-air over a stack of state papers. He blinked, a flash of genuine surprise breaking through his formidable, carefully cultivated mask.

It had been months since she had spoken to him with anything resembling warmth. Ever since their return from Applewood—and the brutal banishment of the Walker boy—a freezing, impenetrable wall had risen between them. Eleanor had retreated entirely to her own private wing, refusing to share their marital suite, and had spoken to him only when the strict demands of public protocol required it. She had made herself a ghost in his bed, but a silent, mocking jury in his court.

But now, she was entirely, terrifyingly alive. Her chest heaved, her knuckles white as she gripped the back of a leather visitor's chair, her eyes burning with a white-hot fury that made him instinctively straighten his spine.

"Eleanor?" Constantine asked, his voice tight but attempting to maintain a calm, kingly authority. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"Our daughter," Eleanor said, her voice vibrating with a low, dangerous tremor that made the crystal decanters on the sideboard hum, "has just informed me that certain members of your court have tried to force themselves on her."

Constantine’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting from surprise to a dismissive, defensive annoyance. He set his pen down with a quiet tap. "Excuse me?"

"Lord Tariq attacked her at Applewood," Eleanor spat, the words cutting through the quiet room like broken glass. "He forced himself on her in the hallway. He pinned her against her own suite door and kissed her, and when she told him no, when she actively struggled against him, he completely ignored her. She had to physically push him off and slap him across the face to make him stop. And then, at the Homecoming Ball, he tried again. With Neville Vancouer in tow that time around."

Constantine stared at her for a silent, agonizing heartbeat. His jaw worked, but his expression did not soften into horror. Instead, he leaned back in his leather chair, letting out a heavy, tired sigh.

"Oh," he murmured, waving a dismissive hand. "Right."

Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at him, her vision temporarily blurring with a wave of sheer, unadulterated disgust. "Right? Right? Is that all you have to say to me, Constantine? Right?!"

"Eleanor, be reasonable," Constantine said, his tone flat and clinical, as if he were discussing a minor trade dispute rather than the assault of his daughter. "I am sure Emilia was mistaken. I am sure it was simply Tariq’s way of trying to court her. She is a beautiful girl, and she is the heir to the throne. Suitors will be aggressive. She must have given him some indication, however subtle, that his advances would be welcomed."

"Are you serious right now?!" Eleanor’s voice cracked, a raw, maternal scream ripping through her regal throat. She slammed her hand down on the edge of his desk, scattering several diplomatic briefs. "Constantine, if Emilia had not found the physical strength to push him off at Applewood, if Liam Rhys had not been there to physically fight them off at the Homecoming Ball, they could have raped her! Do you understand that?! They cornered her against a freezing stone balustrade and trapped her!"

"I am sure it would not have come to that," Constantine muttered, his eyes darting toward the closed door, clearly concerned that the guards outside would hear his wife's shouts.

"She is your daughter!" Eleanor cried, tears of pure rage finally spilling over her lashes. "She is the future Queen of this country, and those animals have no right touching her like that! They have no right touching any woman like that! What is wrong with you?!"

Constantine stood up abruptly, his broad chest rising as his own anger began to flare, matching her heat. He slammed his palms onto the mahogany desk, leaning forward. "They are men, Eleanor! They are noblemen of the court, and they have needs. They are young, they are wealthy, and they are navigating the traditional games of the social season."

Eleanor stepped back, looking at him as if he were a complete stranger. The disgust in her stomach turned into a physical sickness, cold and oily.

"How dare you," she whispered, her voice dropping to a deadly, shaking hiss. "How dare you turn this around to make it sound as if they did nothing wrong. You sit there and pardon their predatory, disgusting behaviour because... why? Because Tariq is a Lord and Neville is the son of the Prime Minister? Because punishing them would damage your precious, fragile alliances with their families? What about the damage to our daughter?!"

She took a step closer, her eyes locked onto his, refusing to let him look away.

"Are you seriously going to allow these beasts to remain at court, where she has to see them day in and day out, whilst you thought absolutely nothing of brutally beating and banishing the one man in this world who she actually loves? The one man who made her happy, and who would have protected her with his very life, simply because he lacked a noble title?!"

Constantine’s face went purple, a vein throbbing violently at his temple. "Drake Walker had no right touching her!" he roared, pointing a trembling finger at his wife. "Do not speak of that peasant in this room! He had no right being anywhere near the future Queen! He was a servant who dared to think he was our equal!"

"That man was the love of Emilia's life!" Eleanor shouted back, her voice ringing with a fierce, absolute truth. "And he has more right to a title of honour than any of the predatory cowards you choose to protect in your court! The men you insist on shielding because of your pathetic alliances! I want him gone, Constantine. Lord Tariq. I want him stripped of his title, and I want out of this palace."

Constantine let out a harsh, bitter laugh, straightening up and smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket. "Eleanor, do not be hysterical. The man is a layabout, yes, and perhaps his manners are... lacking. But his family, his house, are incredibly important to the Crown."

"More important than your daughter?!" Eleanor spat, her eyes flashing with a cold, terrifying clarity. "She is the Crown, Constantine! And you have spent her entire life forcing her into the role of a monarch, never letting her forget her duty. If you insist on treating her like a chess piece, you should at least have the decency to protect her above all else! And you can start with that animal. I want Tariq gone. If you refuse, Constantine, I swear to you..."

She stepped back toward the door, her hand resting on the brass handle. Her posture was incredibly straight, her expression a mask of pure, unyielding iron.

"...I will make sure everyone in this court—every duke, every count, and every foreign diplomat—knows exactly what kind of criminals and rapists you are willing to protect to keep your crown. I will burn this court to the ground myself."

Before Constantine could speak, Eleanor turned on her heel and slipped out of the room, slamming the heavy oak door behind her with a thunderous crack that rattled the paintings on the walls.

Constantine stood frozen behind his desk, his face red, his breathing shallow and laboured. His hands trembled slightly as he slowly sank back into his leather chair. He was furious at his wife's unprecedented outburst—outraged that she would dare threaten him, the King, with such public ruin.

But as the silence of the study slowly settled around him, and his erratic breathing began to steady, a cold, calculating pragmatism began to take hold.

He hated being dictated to, but he was a statesman first. He knew Eleanor’s threat was not empty; she was the Queen, immensely respected by the nobility and adored by the public. If she chose to expose Tariq's behaviour, the scandal would not just destroy Tariq—it would destabilize the entire monarchy, framing the King as a protector of predators.

He leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he thought of Emilia.

He had noticed a distinct change in his daughter over the last two months. When he had first banished Drake Walker, she had been hysterical, unreasonable, and entirely difficult. She still hadn't forgiven him—she likely never would—but since the start of the social season, she had finally begun to carry herself like a princess again. She was smiling, she was attending events, and she was no longer dragging her feet.

And Constantine knew exactly why. Liam Rhys.

The young Lord of House Rhys had been a constant, steady presence by her side. Liam was a spectacular match—influential, wealthy, and brilliant. Constantine was highly pleased by the connection. But if Tariq and Neville continued to crowd Emilia, if they tried to corner her again, the resulting chaos could ruin the match entirely. It could send Emilia spiralling back into the destructive grief he had worked so hard to crush.

Perhaps this newfound, fragile peace she had found was something he needed to protect. Not out of fatherly love, but out of absolute, calculated survival for the Crown's future. Tariq was a liability.

Constantine reached out, his hand steady as he picked up the receiver of his desk phone. He dialled the downstairs office.

"Yes," the King said, his voice cold, flat, and carrying a quiet, lethal authority. "Please inform Lord Tariq Ahmad that I wish to speak with him in my study. Urgently."

He replaced the receiver with a quiet click, resting his chin on his steepled fingers as he waited.

The phone on the desk started ringing and he coughed into his fist to clear his throat before picking up the receiver. He licked his lips and then answered, "Hello?"

"Your Majesty, Bastien here. The SUV carrying Kate Darling didn't reach the airport. Conner and Jax were supposed to meet Mark and Derek at the airport to ensure her deportation was successful. The flight to New York already left."

To Nicholas the only name he was familiar with in that explanation was Kate. And it infuriated him that the words 'deportation' and 'Kate' should ever be linked together.

"I see." Was the only response he could put together.

"Drake hasn't returned with the Ambassador's car yet either."

"Please extend my sincerest apologies to the Moroccan Ambassador and his driver. I authorized Drake to engage in risky behavior and I shouldn't have given him so much liberty to do so. If the vehicle comes back damaged in any way I promise to replace it."

"I'll inform you immediately of any new developments as they come to my attention."

"Thank-you, Bastien."

Nicholas hung up the phone and swallowed the remains of his drink in one gulp. It hit his gut with a scorching fire and the resulting cough burned his nostrils. He welcomed the pain of it, because the deep worry over Kate's disappearance had shifted toward one of dread. Where was she? And where was Drake?

..

The large puddles of water on the highway became spraying fountains as the silver Audi slashed through them. Drake was dangerously pushing the limits of its tires to keep traction. The other drivers had slowed down for safety and Drake hastily wove his silver dart around them. Come on people it's just a little rain.

But of all the vehicles he had passed, none seemed to be the black SUV that he was looking for. With a frustrated sigh he was forced to slow down as the vehicles became more erratically placed in his way. Are the other drivers moving at all?

When he took the car in the first place he had left the window open. He enjoyed the reckless freedom of hearing the engine growl as it accelerated. But once the rain began he had to close the window to spare the leather interior. Unfortunately ever since the window had closed he'd been struggling to modulate the car's internal temperature to keep his windows clear. He rarely drove anything other than the fleet vehicles, and driving in the rain at night wasn't helping either. The unfamiliar atmospheric controls and placement of the vents had him turning the fan up higher to compensate for the humidity.

The staccato rhythm of a random car horn forced him to look up at the road. Were they warning him of something? It was then that he smelled the smoke. It was the unmistakable oily smell of a car fire. Sweet Jesus, No.

The flashing hazard lights of the parked cars ahead were the next clue. He crept past them and then looked to his right. In the darkness, the flames and smoke boiling out from under the hood of the crumpled SUV didn't seem real. But the model of it couldn't have been more real to Drake. He quickly swerved to park his vehicle on the shoulder. The tires had barely imbedded themselves in the gravel before he threw his door open to exit the car. He ducked back in to jab at the trunk release. Hopefully there was something in there he could use.

Other drivers were standing by their cars and shouting at him to wait for the emergency crews. Help was on its way.

But Drake couldn't afford to wait. There was someone he cared about in that burning vehicle. As he threw the trunk lid open he felt a measure of relief at the bag of golf clubs that he saw. There was also an emergency tool kit and a first-aid kit. He dumped out the golf clubs and chose a nine iron. He bashed up his knuckles rifling through the emergency kit and found the tiny jack handle/pry bar. These would have to do.

In the garish flash of the hazard lights and the blinding headlamps of the other cars, he saw the path of destruction that the tumbling SUV had torn in the grassy hillside. He cursed the slick soles of his dress shoes as he slid and skidded his way down through the fresh mud. Having miss-matched metal tools in each hand added to the clumsiness of his endeavor; but who ever said playing the hero was pretty. It was still raining and that made everything that much worse. He quickly became soaked to the skin.

As he approached the wreckage he threw down his tools and tried to open the back door of the car first. The rollover had crushed the door frame and the hinges were jammed. Fuck.

The smoke burned at his eyes and nostrils and he covered his nose with his elbow as he assessed the condition of the window glass next. The fleet vehicles had tinted, reinforced window glass, but he hoped it wasn't shatterproof. The windows in the front were not tinted as darkly and he saw the crumpled bloodied remains of the driver and his seat belted passenger. In the dark backseat he couldn't see if Kate was moving.

"Hold on Darling, I'm coming for ya." He shouted as he bent down to get the golf club. He swung the club like a baseball bat and it harmlessly bounced off the glass. No damage to the glass, but it bent the shaft of the club and loosened the head. He swung it against the fender to break it off. Changing his grip on the slippery club he stabbed at the glass like an ice pick. Finally the surface began to chip. He jabbed at the edge of the window by the frame and punched a hole. Working the shaft around in the hole he tried to make it bigger. Smoke leaked out through the hole, but he still wasn't any closer to seeing the inside of the car. Fuck!

He dropped the club and picked up the crowbar. The wet dirty metal slid around greasily in his hands and his skin burned from trying to get a grip. He jammed the crowbar into the crack of the doorframe where the latch would be. He kicked at it as hard as he could, cursing his stupid shoes as the pain shot up into his ankle. He needed boots, heavy boots.

He could hear sirens approaching.

Come ..on! .He kicked harder in desperation and the latch popped. Smoke billowed out from the crack and he could hear coughing. She's still alive. Grabbing the bar in both hands he wrenched at the door and worked enough gap to get his fingers around the top edge of the door frame. He pulled with all his might and yelled out. "Kate?! Kate! Can you hear me?"

He heard her cough again, "Drake?"

"Are you injured? Help is coming. But damn it if I'm not going to try to get you out of there myself." He growled in desperation through clenched teeth as his hands slipped and slid along the edge of the door. His fingers were bleeding, but his pumping adrenaline masked any pain.

He jammed the bar into the top of the doorframe and levered with as much force as his tiring arms could manage. He coughed against the hot smoke that filled his lungs.

A loud voice boomed at him from behind. "Sir! Step away from the vehicle!"

He squinted over his shoulder at the bright flashlights of the approaching firefighters, " 'Bout time you guys showed up. Help me get her out!"

Strong hands pulled him out of the way, and he watched another firefighter jam a large pry bar into the edge of the door and wrench it open wider.

"Wish I'd had one of those.."

He looked down at the tiny bar he held in his hand and then dropped it.

Someone dropped a warm blanket around his shoulders and he held it closed like a robe. They tried to lead him away, but he resisted.

"No, not yet. I need to see if she's ok."

He watched them spray some sort of foamy stuff on the engine compartment and the fire went out. The hot metal sizzled and hissed as the rain pattered down. Two men pulled the backdoor open and then one climbed inside to check on Kate. He could hear the quiet assurances from the firefighter and Kate's sobs of relief and gratitude. Then she was lifted out in his arms.

Drake's heart sank when he saw the state that she was in. Her skin and dress were blackened from smoke. Kate's beautiful face was bloodied and bruised, and her delicate hands and fingers were scraped raw and bleeding. She was missing a shoe, and her shins and ankles were scraped up badly as well. They laid her down carefully on a stretcher and covered her with a blanket. She turned her head and looked at Drake as they carried her past him, and her terrified expression made him want to throw up.

Drake was led back to his car and sat down on the passenger front seat. A paramedic treated the scrapes on his hands while another one offered him an oxygen mask from a portable tank. He accepted the mask and took the deepest breath his sore lungs would allow. He coughed and then brushed the mask aside, shaking his head. His voice was hoarse, "I'll be fine. I was a smoker for years, this is nothing. Go look after her."

A police officer came over to ask him questions.

"Your name, Sir?"

He coughed, "Drake Walker."

"Did you witness the accident?" The officer scribbled on his notepad.

Drake shook his head, "No."

"What prompted you to attempt such a rescue? To risk your own safety instead of calling for help?"

Drake coughed into his fist, "I was ordered to follow them. Her safety is my job."

The officer frowned, "But you didn't see how the accident happened."

Drake shook his head again, turning in his seat to watch Kate being put into the back of an ambulance.

"I was several kilometers behind. I'm her bodyguard, and was giving chase to catch up."

The officer narrowed his eyes and looked him up and down, suspiciously. "You were chasing them? Did they know they were being followed? If you're her bodyguard then why weren't you in the vehicle in the first place?"

Drake pointed at the crumpled SUV angrily, "Because the bastards separated us and then forced her into it. They took her against her will. And if you're implying that I chased them off the road and caused the accident... That's fucking insane."

The officer scribbled details down on his notepad, and then repeated his question, "Why didn't you call for help when you came upon the crash?"

Drake's angry outburst had scraped his throat raw. He coughed painfully and then leaned over to spit black soot on the ground. He wiped his mouth on the blanket. "I am the help. Now if you don't mind I need to follow her to the hospital."

He got out of the car and gave the blanket back to the paramedic, "Thanks for helping me warm up and dry out."

He pushed past the officer, "And Fuck You very much and get the hell out of my way."

He sprinted back around the front of the car to get back in the driver's seat. He reached over and retrieved his phone from the floor and saw all of the missed calls from Nicholas. Untangling his suit jacket, he put it back on and then jabbed at his phone screen to call him back.

He switched the call to speaker and then restarted the car, honking his horn to scatter the people standing in the way. Nicholas's voice was frantic as he picked up the call.

"Drake?! .. what's all the honking for...Drake?"

He pulled out onto the road to follow the ambulance that had already left.

"Sorry, I had to clear the people out of my way."

"Where are you? What's going on?" Nicholas asked.

Drake took a moment to cough, his throat was still raw as he choked out a response. "There's been an accident, and I'm on the way to the hospital."

"You sound terrible, don't tell me you crashed the Ambassador's car."

Drake looked at his raw knuckles as they gripped the steering wheel. "Don't worry about me. No, the SUV was in an accident. Kate's in rough shape."

There was a long pause on the other end and Drake wondered if Nicholas was ok.

"Are you still th-.."

"Did you run them off the road?" Nicholas interrupted.

"Jesus Christ, No! You're the second person in the last five minutes to ask me that. And it's really starting to piss me off."

Drake coughed again, the painful force of it causing him to swerve and then correct his steering. He smacked the steering wheel in frustration, his heart racing. He'd never catch up at this rate. A sense of panic twisted his gut at the thought of Kate slipping further and further away. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly nauseous.

He opened his window and gulped at the fresh air, his skin felt clammy as he wiped the sweat from his face.

"Drake? Are you sure you're ok?"

Forcing the bile back down his throat burned his chest like acid. His eyes watered. No, he was definitely not ok.

"I'm ok," he lied. Sucking in more of the cool night air.

Nicholas' voice wavered with concern, "Can you tell me more about the accident?"

"I don't know how it happened... Just that the driver is going to be leaving the scene in a body bag, and the other guy with him didn't look much better. Dear God, Nicholas..." Drake's voice broke, and he coughed to cover it up. He couldn't stop the tears as they trickled down his face. "I tried so hard to get her out of there, the car was on fire and there was so much smoke. I..I don't know how she survived."

"Drake, maybe you should pull over."

Drake sniffed and then coughed again, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He made a black smear on the grey material. "No, I can't stop. I don't know where they're taking her."

"Probably Capital General. Thank goodness she survived..was she conscious? How bad did she look?"

Drake scrubbed his hand through his wet hair, "From what I saw, her outside injuries seemed to be superficial. But being trapped in the car with all that smoke and heat must have done a number on her lungs. I was outside the car and it fucked me up pretty bad."

"But She.. she's alive..." Nicholas's voice trailed off.

"I didn't really get the chance to talk to her before she was loaded in the ambulance, but yes she was conscious. And very alive."

"Thank-you Drake. If she pulls through you'll definitely be rewarded for your bravery. ..And if she doesn't, well..I.."

Drake shook his head, wiping the tears from his face this time. "I don't want to think about that scenario either."

There was a pause and then Nicholas continued, "Get yourself checked out at the hospital, and try to keep tabs on her the best you can. Don't leave her side if you can help it."

"I won't."

Drake heard Nicholas sigh on the other end of the phone call, he could tell their call was coming to an end. It was as if his sorrow had totally depleted him.

"I'll be in touch to discuss our next steps. Wait for me to contact you. Other than you, I don't know who else I can trust right now."

Drake could hear the nervousness in his voice, and he didn't like it.

**Liam and Jilian after the Comery Isle meeting*****

“So wait. You’re telling me that Neville was insinuating that YOU were flirting with Riley.”  Jilian asked as she pointed her index finger at Liam.

“No Love, he was insinuating that I was interested in her.”

Jilian stood in the doorway of their bathroom, combing her hair.  “Well, are you?”

“Am I what?”

Jilian looked at the ceiling and let out a breath. “Are you interested in her...Liam?”

“Love, no.” Liam’s tone had changed just enough to make Jilian question his relationship with Riley.

“So why would Neville think you were?”

“Love, I don’t know. Besides, it's Neville.  He’s always looking for the upper hand, leverage, something to hold over someone’s head for retribution for not approving his much needed funds.  Now, please drop this. I’m telling you it’s nothing, really. I love you and only you.” 

Jilian continued to comb her hair as Liam started to get undress. 

“I’m going to take a shower.” 

**Leo and Liv****

“Liv, you can’t tell Jilian.  This isn’t something she should hear from you. Let’s let my little brother handle it.” Leo said as he took Olivia’s phone out of her hand.  “This isn’t your story to tell.”

“Leo. Jilian is my fri-.....Queen. And I’ve pledged to always protect and serve the Queen, just as I do the King.  I can’t let some skank waltz in here and destroy what they have.”

Leo sat in silence as he listened to Olivia talk about being loyal to the crown, when it suddenly hit him.  “OH...WOW!”

“What?”

“You don’t want Jilian to get hurt. You care about her!”

“For your information Leo Rys, I care about Liam and Jilian.  They’ve been through more than their share of life’s obstacles, and yet they’ve made it through without a scratch. Stronger than ever.”  Olivia said as she stared across the room, envisioning Liam and Jilian together with their princess. 

“So, what’s wrong? Why are you trying to create another obstacle for them?”

“I’m afraid Leo.” Olivia said as she looked down at the floor. “I’m afraid that Jilian may feel like enough is enough.  She has a baby to think of.” Liv’s voice dropped down to a whisper.

Leo knew that Liv always thought of herself as the protector. Ever since Eleanor was murdered, Liv felt as if she should protect Liam.  She knew the hurt, the pain of losing a parent; and the hole it left in your heart.  That was the common bond that her and Liam shared. They both knew the empty filling of not having the one person(s) they loved the most gone, forever.  

So when Jilian named Olivia as Liana Eleanor’s God-mother; she made it her sworn duty to protect Liam’s family as if it was her own.  Liam, Jilian, and Liana Eleanor became the family Olivia never had.

******The Costume Gala***********

As the large ornate doors opened, everyone’s attention was on the grand entrance of the King and Queen.  “Your Majesties. King Liam, Queen Jilian, and Princess Liana Eleanor of Cordonia.”  The ballroom erupted with thunderous applause and glee, as the guests cheered and clapped for their monarch and alley.

Here we go. Time to put on my game face, Riley thought. Look at her. She has no right standing there as the Queen of anything.  Riley scoffed as she rolled her eyes at Jilian while she stood with her back to Riley.  Hell, she shouldn’t even be here. 

“Hello Your Majesties.”

“Hello Lady Riley,” Liam replied while Jilian just nodded.

“The Gala seems to have turned out well,” Liam continued.

“Yes, it did.  You sound surprised.”

At that moment, Bradshaw and Isabella sashayed over practically pushing Riley out of the way.  This brought a small smile to Jillian’s face.

As the night went on, Liam and Jilian made their rounds. Greeting their guests together and separately, until the orchestra began to play.  Liam looked around the ballroom for Jilian and he noticed that she was engaged in a conversation with Princess Marguerite.  Once he made his way over to his Queen, Liam placed his arm around Jilian’s waist, excusing her from her conversation with the Princess of Monaco.

The King and Queen danced while holding their princess in between them.  Everyone was overjoyed to see the young royals dance as a family.  This gave their friends and allies the picture of a strong monarch.

“They look so good together. So in love,” Marguerite sighed as she pressed the knuckles of her left hand against her lips.  “One can only hope to be blessed enough to find a love like theirs.”  

Riley let out a deep breath and rolled her eyes at Marguerite’s comment. “Yeah, I’d say they're pretty lucky,” she added as she took a long gulp of her champagne.

*****The morning after the fight*****

“Knock, Knock. Jilian…..Jilian.  Gaylyn sent you some breakfast. You need to eat something. Jilian, please open the door.” Hana’s voice drops to a whisper. “I’m worried about you.”

Jilian could hear the worry and concern laced in Hana’s voice, but she just didn’t have the will to answer.  She didn’t have the strength to move.

*****Drake and Hana phone conversation the same day******

Drake: “So, did Winchester tell you what happened last night?”

Hana: “Yes. I finally got her to tell me what happened after she handed Lily over to me.”

Drake: “OK. Can you tell me what happened?”

Hana: “Sure.”

Hana’s POV

After their dance, Liam and Jilian parted to finish speaking to their guests.  Jilian noticed that Liam was at the mercy of King Erik.  She giggled and pointed him out to me.  That’s when Leo and Liv walked over.  We were chatting with them when Leo asked Lily where her Daddy was. Jilian and I started to laugh as she said he was with Erik.  We all rolled our eyes and continued to laugh.  After a few moments, Leo turned to see if he could spot him, but he didn’t see him.  He then asked Jilian if she knew where he was, because he wanted to speak with him about an important matter.  Jilian started looking around the ballroom for him, but she couldn’t find him.  Then she handed Lily over to me and said, “Watch Lily for me.  It looks as if I’m going on a search and rescue mission for our King.”  At the same time, a servant walked over and handed Olivia a note.  Once she read it, you could sense that something was wrong, because she immediately began to look around the room as well; prompting Leo to ask her what’s wrong.  Liv then handed Leo the note.  Then they excused themselves and left Lily and myself alone.

Drake:  “Yeah, I remember seeing Leo and Liv hightail it out of the ballroom.  I thought they were….well...you know.”

Hana: *giggle* “No, Drake.” *giggle* “Where were you? I didn’t see you.”

Drake: “Now that I’m a part of the Kings Guard, I had to stand at my post; and keep a watchful eye on things.”

Hana: “Oh, yes. I forgot.”

Drake: “Hana. You were looking for me? Why?” There was a brief moment of silence on the phone after Drake asked his question.  He knew the answer to it, but he wanted Hana to say it.

Hana was grateful this conversation was occurring by phone and not face to face. “Uhmmmm, yes. I thought we could have...danced or had a drink.”

And again, there was this awkward silence.

Drake cleared his throat, “So, what did JIlian say about what happened after she found Liam? Did she tell you where he was?” 

Hana: “Yes. Once we got settled at Valtoria, I asked her.”

Jilian’s POV

“Jilian, what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happened to Liam’s face?”

“I punched him.”

“You.What?!?”

“I punched Liam in the face.”

“Why?”

Jilian stopped and turned towards the balcony.  Her mind was reeling.  She was trying her hardest to unsee the image of Liam and Riley.  As her eyes began to fill with unshed tears, she said “I punched Liam in the face because I saw him kissing Riley on the veranda of the ballroom.”

I was stunned at what Jilian had just told me. Liam and Riley, no way. Liam would never betray Jilian. He loves her!

Jilian continued to recall what happened after she left Lily with Hana.

I searched the entire ballroom looking for Liam, but I couldn’t find him.  Then I turned just enough to see what I thought was the back of his jacket, out on the veranda.  I figured he probably stepped out there to get some air, but when I made it closer I heard a female’s voice; Riley’s voice.  When I stepped out on the veranda, I saw him kissing her.  He had his hands on her arms, pushing her up against the wall.  They must have heard me, because they both turned to look in my direction.

“Oh Jilian.” Hana said as she began to cry for her friend, who’s tears fell steadily down her face.  “I’m so sorry.”

Jilian drew in a deep breath, but didn’t say anything else. She just stood there leaning against the railing. 

****Drake and Hana continued phone conversation********

Drake: “Whoa! Ok, so that part makes sense.”

Hana: “What part?”

Drake: “What Liam said.”

Liam’s POV

“Erik had cornered me with one of his elaborate, animated stories about a lion, witch, and a wardrobe?!? When one of the servants came over and handed me a note saying “Meet me in 5 minutes out on the veranda.”  I immediately thought it was Jilian.  I looked around the ballroom for her, but I couldn’t find her.  So, I excused myself from Erik and started to make my way out towards the veranda.  When I made it out there, I should’ve turned and walked away.”

“Why?” Drake asked.

“Because, I could smell her perfume.”

“Who’s perfume,” Drake questioned.

“Riley’s. I should’ve turned around and went back into the Gala, but she stopped me. She asked me if everything was turning out according to plan; and then we started talking.  I swear Drake, if I would have known she was going to kiss me, I would have left.”

Drake sat quietly, trying to piece everything together. “I know Li,” he said trying to comfort his best friend as he paced the floor of his quarters. “But Li, what I don’t understand is how?  How did she just kiss you and you did nothing?”

“No, she didn’t just kiss me. We were talking and I would occasionally turn to look for Jilian.  That’s when she made the distance between us closer by straightening up my medals and regalia.  Before I knew it, she was kissing me.  I grabbed her arms to try to push her off of me, but her grip only became tighter.  We ended up against the wall.  Next thing I knew, Jilian was here packing up hers and Lily’s stuff, and now they’re gone. Drake, she’s gone.”

***Drake and Hana phone conversation******

Hana: “Wow! So, Riley sent Liam the note.”

Drake: “ I would assume so.”

Hana: “So where’s the note?  If Liam shows Jilian that note, then she’ll forgive him. Of course, he would need to explain all of the prior events.”

Drake:  “Well…..that’s where we have a problem.”

*****Liam and Drake********

“Li, I told you everything is going to be OK.  Winchester loves you.  Hell, she’s always loved you.  You just need to tell her what you told me and show her the note.”

“Yeah, you’re right.  I need to show her the note.”

Liam got up to go and retrieve the note from his jacket pocket, when….”it’s not here.”

“What’s not there?”

“The note.  I placed it in my right breast pocket.  Underneath my medals.”

“OK, so maybe it fell out.  You know when you and Winchester were on your way back here.  Let’s retrace your steps.”

Liam gasped and flopped down on the couch, running both hands over his face. “Drake, if it fell out, then chances are the staff picked it up and has since disposed of it.”

Drake could tell Liam was about to lose it.  He knew his friend was angry and hurt; and there wasn’t anything he could do.

****Drake and Hana*******

Hana drew in a breath and then released it. “So, we don’t have a note.”

“No, we don’t,” Drake replied.

At that moment, Hana knew that without that note, it was going to be next to impossible to get Jilian to forgive Liam.

****Valtoria, two days later*****

“Knock, Knock.”  A voice said as the door to the royal quarters opened slowly.  Gaylyn the Majordomo was standing in the doorway with a tray full of fresh fruit, cheese, and vegetables.  “May I enter, your majesty.” 

Jilian turned in the direction of Gaylyn’s voice, “Yes.”

Jilian always enjoyed Gaylyn’s presence.  After Gladys betrayed her on her wedding night; Jilian found it hard to trust her again.  So when Bastien referred Gaylyn, Jilian interviewed her, went through her background, and hired her. 

Gaylyn turned out to be a great asset to Valtoria.  She took her duties seriously, and was well liked by the staff and the Valtorian people.  Hiring her, gave Jilian the nickname of “the common peoples Queen.” The people of Cordonia loved that Jilian always looked out for the commoners.  Making sure that everyone had a fair chance at life in Cordonia.  Although Gaylyn came highly recommended by Bastien, that’s not why Jilian hired her.  She hired Gaylyn, because she reminded her of home.  Gaylyn had the ability to make the darkest moment... better.  

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You haven’t eaten since you’ve arrived.”  Gaylyn asked as she searched Jilian’s face for a response.

“Sorry, I don’t have much of an appetite.  I’m just not hungry,” Jilian said.

“Are you not feeling well?  Do you have a stomach bug?”

Am I sick, Jilian thought. I feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest, like the air has been sucked from this room.  I close my eyes and all I see is them.  Embraced, up against the wall.  Tears began to fall from Jilian’s eyes.  Seriously, how can one person produce so much water.  I’ve been crying non stop for the past couple of days.

“Oh, honey, come here.  What’s wrong?” Gaylyn placed the tray down on the end table next to the couch and sat down next to Jilian.  “Why are you crying?”

Jilian drew in a deep breath and began to tell Gaylyn everything. From the day they promoted Riley up to her leaving the Palace...and why.

Gaylyn sat next to Jilian holding her while she cried her eyes out, stroking her head and rubbing her back.  

Jilian always felt comfortable with Gaylyn, she was easy to talk to, and she reminded Jilian of her mother.  

Gaylyn listened to Jilian, trying to console her the best way she could.  She really cared about her; she saw Jilian as a daughter.  A daughter she would’ve been proud to call her own.

“There...there. You stop all of this crying and pick up that phone and call the King.”

Jilian cocked her head to the side and said, “Do what?”

“You heard me. Call him,” Gaylyn said.  “You two need to talk.”

At that moment Jilian’s phone began to ring a certain ringtone, that she knew all too well.

You’ve already won me over

In spite of me

And don’t be alarmed if I fall

Head over feet

Don’t be surprised if I love you

For all that you are

I couldn’t help it

It’s all your fault.

Jilian’s eyes began to sting.  She knew who was calling her, hell he’s called her constantly since she left.  As she reached up to wipe her tears away with the backs of her hands, she whispered “I...I can’t.  Not now.  I’m too hurt and disappointed.”

Gaylyn knew that that must’ve been the King calling his Queen.  She knew he missed her.  He called her a few times that morning trying to be discreet and check in on his wife and daughter.

“Good morning Gaylyn, this is King Liam.”

“Yes, Good morning  your Majesty. How are you?”

“I’m well. I was wondering if Queen Jilian was near you.  I called her phone, but she didn’t answer.”

Liam knew that Gaylyn would make sure Jilian took his phone call.  He thought that calling her was better than calling Hana or Mara.

“No sir, she’s not down here.  I’m walking through the common area right now, and I just left the throne room.  I can check the library, if you like?”

“Oh no, no that’s ok.  I’ll just call her later.”

And now, it was later. “I know sweetheart, but you need answers; and sitting here replaying those horrific events in your head isn’t helping.”

Jilian continued to listen to Gaylyn’s advice, and decided that she would call Liam, but it wouldn’t be today.

When Gaylyn finished telling Jilian about her marital woes of being married to a Kings Guardsman, Jilian was laughing and even eating some.  Gaylyn felt that she had done her job when she saw that.  Once she left the royal quarters, she searched her pockets for her phone.

- Eleanor - 

Gabe and I go back to school on Monday. It was uneventful, but all of my friends were especially nice to me and my teacher told me that I didn’t have to worry about any of the work I missed. In the middle of math, the school counselor took me out of class and told me I could come and talk to her if there was anything I needed. I told her I was alright and walked back to my seat, feeling the eyes of the entire class on me.

Around noon, it was time for lunch. Grandma had packed our meals the night before. I took my lunch bag and started walking with my class to the cafeteria where we would eat. We passed by the main office, where I saw Gabe, sitting along the wall of the room with his backpack on the seat next to him. I ran up to my teacher and pointed out my brother, asking if I could sit with him for lunch. 

“That’s fine, Eleanor,” she allowed, “but make sure you come back to line up with us when the bell rings.”

I go into the main office, and the secretary smiles at me. I tell her that I was there to have lunch with my brother, and she nods. 

I sit down in the seat next to Gabe. Both of our classes had lunch right now, but it didn’t look like he had eaten. “Aren’t you hungry?” I ask him. 

He shakes his head. 

I take out my sandwich and start eating, glancing at Gabe to see if he would reach for his own lunch. When I was done with my sandwich, I threw out my wrapper in the trash next to the secretary’s desk and opened up Gabe’s backpack to take out his lunchbox. 

Mama and Daddy had bought us our lunchboxes when I started kindergarten. We found one with my name on it, and since we couldn’t find one with Gabe’s name on it, Daddy bought him the Avengers one and Mama later sewed his name on. 

Remembering Mama and Daddy together, when they were both alive and well, made me sad again. I had so far gone the whole day without feeling any hints of tears. Now, standing in the office, with Gabe not talking to me and the reminder that Mama and Daddy were both technically gone, I wanted to cry again. 

I forced myself not to. Instead I placed Gabe’s lunchbox on his lap. I had to show Gabe that everything was alright, and I couldn’t do that if I was crying. 

I start eating the cookies that Grandma packed me. I take out an Oreo and wave one in front of Gabe’s face, hoping that he would take it, but he just shakes his head. 

I put the rest of the cookies back into my bag, feeling weird about being the only person in the room eating — especially since I wasn’t even sure if we were allowed to eat in the main office — and then the secretary turns to me and asks, “Honey, what’s your grandmother’s phone number? I called her workplace and they wouldn’t put me through.”

I give her the number. Gabe continues to stare down at his lap. 

“Hi! Mrs. Brooks?” the secretary cries. “This is Miss Newman, Mr. Henderson’s secretary from Gabriel’s school? Yes I’m just calling to ask if you could pick him up? Oh, no he’s been an absolute angel! It’s just that, he had a nervous breakdown during science and disrupted the class.... Yes, he’s here in the office with me. Oh, you would like to speak to him? Sure!” She motions at Gabe to come over to her and take the phone, but he still hasn’t looked up from his lap. “Gabriel!” Miss Newman violently whispers. 

After a few more moments of her trying to get Gabe on the phone, she begins talking to Grandma again. 

“Gabriel’s not in too good of a mood right now. Principal Henderson asked me to call you. Yes, he spoke with him. No, he won’t be suspended, but we’re asking you to keep him home for a few more days until you’re sure he’s doing better. He’ll be home without consequences, yes. Oh, you’ll pick up Eleanor as well? Great! I’ll have her collect her things.” 

As soon as she hangs up, I nod at her and then walk out of the office, leaving my lunchbox with Gabe. I go to the cafeteria where my teacher is and tell her that I’m being picked up and need to go back into the class to get my things. Another teacher watches the class as I’m led back up to the classroom. I give my thanks to her for opening the door, and then dash back down towards the office.

When we get in Grandma’s car, Gabe’s head still hung low. I wanted to give him a hug, mostly because I wanted one, but I decided against it. 

We don’t talk during the drive, and we don’t talk on the elevator ride up. Once we’re inside our penthouse, Gabe goes towards his room, but Grandma calls him back. 

Gabe shrugs his bag off and falls back onto the couch, staring at his shoes. 

Grandma sighs. “Gabriel, Eleanor. I have something important I need to talk to you about.”

“Is it about what happened at school?” Gabriel mumbles.

Grandma sighs, but doesn’t answer. “Gabe, baby, do you remember where you and I went on Saturday after dropping off Ella for a ballet class?”

He nods. 

“Well, we went over there to get a test taken. To see if that man, Liam, was your father.”

“But...,” I say, frowning. Neither of them had told me where they had went. “Isn’t... Daddy Gabe’s father?”

Grandma ignores me. “The test came back positive, which means that Liam is your dad.”

“Both of our... dad?” Gabe and I look between each other and Grandma. My heart was racing. How could Liam be his father if we didn’t know who Liam was? And what about Daddy? Did suddenly not exist for Grandma?

“No, baby,” Grandma explains. “Your mother was with Liam before she was with Theodore, which means that Liam is your father, Gabe, and that Theodore is Ella’s father.”

“But... but...,” Gabe sits forward, panic and heavy tears in his eyes. “Does that mean... wait... Grandma do I have to go live with him?”

Grandma doesn’t answer, and Gabe starts crying. 

“I don’t wanna do that Grandma, I don’t wanna leave. I don’t wanna leave you and Ella, I don’t wanna leave Mom,” he pleads.

My breathing quickens. I don’t want Gabe to leave us either. If he was going to leave, then I’d have no more siblings to play around with, or tease, or cry with, or laugh with, or talk about my day with, or ask for help, or anything. I couldn’t do those things with Grandma or Mama. I would be alone.

Grandma rushes over to sit in between us and holds Gabe in her arms. “No, baby,” she whispers. “I’m not going to let that happen.” 

She does her best to soothe him. The power of his sobs increases and decreases. When Gabe’s tears subside and the only proof of him having cried were his whimpers, Grandma grabs both of our hands. 

“Come on, let’s go visit Mama.” We nod. “Do you want to know what the doctor told me?” We shake our heads. “She said that showing Mama pictures can help bring her memory back. Do you want to try that?” 

We jump up from our seats and race into Mama and Daddy’s room, where all the family albums were. There are three: one filled with pictures of specifically Gabe and I, another with pictures of Mama and Daddy (which is thinner than the other two), and the last one was filled with pictures of all of us together. 

On Mama’s side of the closet we find an empty beach bag, so we put the albums in there. There were some framed pictures in their room and on the walls, and so we took those, too. There were pictures of me, Gabe, and Mama in Daddy’s office, which we also gently placed in the bag. 

The bag was so heavy that Gabe and I had to carry it together. When we got to the hospital, Liam and his friends weren’t there. I wanted to tell Gabe that maybe it was important to try and look for him and talk to him, but him and Grandma were already ushering me into Mama’s hospital room. 

“Hello, there,” she says to us, smiling. 

“Hi, Mom,” Gabe greets, we put down the bag and stare at her for a couple moments. 

“I hear that you guys have some pictures to show me?” Her tone isn’t motherly or cheerful like it used to be. Instead it’s... friendly... but not really. Like when a stranger in the subway asks for directions, or when the cashier asks if you found everything you needed. She sounded like she was obligated to be nice to us, and didn’t really want to. I wanted to understand her feelings, I really did. I tried to remind myself that Mama didn’t know she was a Mama. 

I just wanted to leave everything be and disappear, to fade from existence the same way that Mama’s memories of us did. 

But if I faded from existence, what would happen to Gabe? If Mama never gets her memories back, then what else would keep him here? He would have to leave Grandma and Mama and go with Liam. He would have to go alone. Just as if he left, I would be alone. 

And I hated being alone or even thinking of it. Mama and Daddy were always close to us, so I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to isolate myself from everyone. Even the word “isolation” made me think of how the police had told Grandma that they found Mama under a pile of rubble. Was Mama able to see before people pulled her out? If they didn’t pull her out, and she stayed there, and we never found her, and her name was never in the news, would she have technically existed? Would she have existed for the doctors and nurses and our family friends who sent her flowers? Would she have existed anymore for Liam and his friends?

Technically, she wouldn’t have. But right here, right now, she existed, Gabe existed, and so did I. We just had to remind her. 

I pull out the album filled with pictures of Gabe and I first, mentally marking us as the top priority. I walk over to one side of her bed and sit next to her. Gabe seems hesitant. He looks disconnected, just as he has the entire day. Now there’s a confusion mixed in with it, and I know it’s because of what Grandma told us about Liam. Gabe’s face represents all of the questions I have. 

Usually when he gets like that, I leave him be so I don’t accidentally make it worse. But this time is different. 

“Come on,” I call to him from Mama’s left side. 

“You can sit here, Gabriel,” Mama pats the right side of her bed, where there’s a space big enough for him to sit. 

My face falls a little when she calls him “Gabriel” instead of the sweet “Gabe”. The memories flash through my head, how Mama never referred to us as “Gabriel and Eleanor,” but always as “Gabe and Ella.” Her affectionate nicknames that caught on became a larger part of our identities than our actual names.  

But, still, it’s a step in the right direction. She’s trying to pull us towards her, which is better than leaving us on the side by ourselves. 

When Gabe sits down, I open the book up to his kindergarten graduation. She smiles and laughs at our stories, and for the first time during the longest, most helpless week of my life, I have hope that everything might just turn out okay.

- Olivia - 

Almost a week after Liam and Drake left for New York, a folder with pictures of them walking around Times Square was smacked down onto Olivia’s desk by her assistant and sidekick, Jacob. 

There were pictures of Liam, Drake, and Maxwell walking down a crowded street and into a store with stuffed animals. Olivia looks up at Jacob and asks, “Where did you get these pictures from?”

“Intercepted them in the capital this morning before they reached the palace.”

“Who in the palace would be trying to get pictures of the king?” Olivia wonders aloud. She suspected Madeleine, that good-for-nothing she-devil who never stopped delving into everyone else’s business with the intent of “making sure no one’s actions could embarrass Cordonia”. 

Liam and Drake hadn’t gotten back to Olivia since they had left to go find Riley. Olivia wanted to give Liam a call, but decided it was best to leave him alone. She already knew that nothing she could say would make him feel better. All of them knew that Riley was the only thing that could lift his mood. 

Olivia forced herself to understand that a long time ago. When Madeleine was no longer the Queen-to-be, Riley was nowhere to be found, and Liam was in need of a wife, Olivia did her best to hint towards them marrying. But Liam, in his state of heartbreak, didn’t notice Olivia, so she consoled herself that he would never be in love with her. It hurt, but pain wasn’t new to Olivia.

What she couldn’t accept was the fact that some commoner came in out of thin air and broke the only man Olivia had ever loved, and left just as she had arrived. Olivia made it her goal that not only would she do everything in her power as Duchess to make her king happy again, but she couldn’t wait to give Riley a piece of her mind as punishment for what she did to Liam. 

Yet as the years went on, the likeliness of them finding Riley began to decrease, and Olivia was almost desperate to get her back. Riley’s punishment be damned, Liam was going to lose himself.

She knew that having to bring back Riley after she had just been in an accident would be a challenge, but at least Liam would be more relaxed. At least there would be hope for a more secure government. 

But six days after she had sent them off to New York, she still hadn’t heard back from them. And seeing these images of them walking around the city without Riley was very concerning. Picking up her phone, she debates whether she should call Liam. Even though it was almost midnight in Lythikos, It would be around six in the evening in America. Would Liam, Drake, and Maxwell still be roaming or would they be with Riley?

She decided that calling Drake would be a bit better, considering that she could seriously use some entertainment. 

The line rings until finally his rugged voice goes, “Hello?”

“Drake. Where are you and Liam?” 

“My day was fine, thank you for asking. I hope you’re having a nice day, too, Olivia.”

She scoffs. “I don’t have time for pleasantries.” She pauses, listening closely to the song that was playing in Drake’s background. “Are you... watching a children’s show?”

“No!” he shouts. “We’re in a candy store. That’s just the... music they put on.”

“Shouldn’t you all be focusing on Riley instead of pleasing Maxwell’s sweet tooth?”

“For your information, we are technically focusing on Riley, and the candy isn’t for Maxwell. How’d you know he was with us, anyway?”

Olivia picks up a picture of Liam, Drake, and Maxwell inside a store with Maxwell holding up a stuffed animal at least two feet taller than him. “Just a hunch. If you’re not in there for Maxwell, then who are you getting candy for? Riley?” 

Drake doesn’t respond. She can hear him sigh, and then he finally says, “We found out that Riley has two kids. The older one is Liam’s.”

Olivia’s jaw goes slack. A moment later she breathes out the words, “Liam didn’t know, did he?” Olivia knew that the last thing Liam would ever be was a negligent or cold father — especially after they discovered what his own father had done to him and Riley. If Liam knew that he had a son, there was no way that he would have allowed such a distance to come between them for so long. But along with pity for Liam, a fire in her chest was lightened as well. How dare Riley keep Liam’s son from him?

“Nope. He didn’t. They took a paternity test to make sure. It came back positive this morning. So that conversation between Gabriel and Liam is going to happen eventually, and we thought it’d be better to surprise him and his sister with gifts. To think of it, Eleanor should be in that conversation, too.” She can tell Drake pulls the phone away from his ear, because his voice sounds distant when he yells, “Maxwell! Get some extra gummy worms for Eleanor!”

There’s a faint, “Got it!” from the other side. 

“Gabriel and Eleanor?” Olivia asks. “Are those the children’s names?”

“Yup.”

“Gabriel is suitable for the name of a prince. A strong name, part of Cordonia’s history as an honorable warrior.... But Eleanor? She isn’t Liam’s, is she?”

“No,” Drake answers. “Her dad’s name is Theodore Blaise. He died in the accident.”

“But Eleanor is also the name of Liam’s mother?”

Drake lowers his voice. “I know, I thought about that, too. That doesn’t seem like something Riley did without thinking. I wish we could ask her, though it’d be useless.” 

“Useless?” Olivia frowns. “Why wouldn’t she be able to tell you? Does she not want to talk to you?”

Drake sighs again. “She lost her memory.” 

“Oh,” Olivia states. She thinks to herself, A clean slate, huh? But she can’t bring herself to explain the sense of dread in her chest. Now what will happen between her and Liam? Will he give up on her? He wouldn’t, though. He’s not like that. He has a son with her. And a step-daughter. “Don’t get Eleanor gummy worms,” she speaks after a silence moment.

“What?” She can imagine the look of confusion on Drake’s face. 

“I said don’t get her gummy worms, get her gummy bears. Worms are sad. Bears are happy. Haven’t you heard that childish gummy bear song?”

“I’m surprised you’ve heard it, Olivia. But I disagree. Worms are for when you’re happy. Bears are for when you’re sad. She just lost her father and is probably still upset, and we’re here to try and make them happy. Cheer them up before a serious conversation, y’know?”

“Is that why you guys were in the toy store?” Olivia picks up the picture that shows the three men walking out of said store with shopping bags in their arms.

“Olivia, are you spying on us?” 

“No,” she states, “though I probably should be since you all aren’t bothering to tell me anything. Anyway, Jacob intercepted some photographs of you three going around stores in Times Square. The pictures were being sent to someone in the palace.” 

“Damnit,” Drake spits. “Who else knows that we’re in New York? Whatever. I’ll let Bastien know. In the meantime I think you should go over to the palace and check everything out. See if anything suspicious is happening.” 

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Olivia declares. “Oh, and Drake?”

“Yeah?”

She sighs. “Let me know if Riley’s condition improves. And tell Liam that I’ve been meaning to talk to him. It’s alright if he can’t, I know he’s got a lot on his plate, but... just....”

“Damn,” Drake comments. “Someone’s going soft. Was it the gummy bear song that did it?” 

Drake was released from the hospital at 5:30 the next morning. He checked in at the nurse's station to fill in the gaps in Kate's information and listed himself as her next of kin. He stressed that she was to have no visitors other than himself or King Nicholas, and asked that a hospital security guard keep watch over her until she had recovered enough to be released.

Drake took a deep breath of fresh air as he left the hospital building. The pain in his chest had subsided, and he had been prescribed a rescue inhaler just in case he had any lingering cough or shortness of breath. He was also given a bottle of water to sip on and some medicated throat lozenges to combat the dryness in his throat. The nurse advised him to rest his voice as much as possible. But he couldn't see that happening, because he was anxious to talk to Nicholas about what was going on.

As he walked over to the silver sedan that he'd "borrowed" the night before, he noticed the yellow slip of paper tucked under the windshield wiper. A parking ticket.

Pulling it out from where it was tucked against the glass, he shook his head as he saw Officer Turner's signature on it, and then crumpled it up and stuffed it into his pocket. When he’d arrived at the emergency department the night before, the parking lot had been full and he abandoned the car at the curb.

His clothes reeked of smoke and he was desperate for a shower. But first he had to check in with Nicholas and find out what his next moves were as Kate's bodyguard. He couldn't just hang around at the hospital and wait for her to be released, because he’d just be in the way. He couldn't keep the Ambassador’s car much longer either, because even with Nicholas giving him spoken permission to do whatever he wanted in his pursuit of Kate, that wouldn't hold up very long if the Ambassador decided to press charges.

He got into the Audi and started it up for his drive back to the Palace. Linking his phone to the car's  bluetooth gave him the benefit of talking hands free and he dialed the new phone number that Nicholas had used. He wasn't surprised that the King was awake at such an early hour.

"Hello?" Nicholas said, sounding tired.

Drake checked over his shoulder and then did a U-turn in the hospital driveway. "Good morning, Your Majesty," Drake replied, his own voice a little rough.

Nicholas sighed with relief, "It's good to hear your voice, such as it is. Are you on your way home?"

Drake turned left, speeding up to match the flow of the traffic. "Yes,"

He coughed, and then continued. "I'm a little dry, after being on oxygen for a while. Swallowing all that greasy smoke didn't help me either. I'm going to be fine, by the way. But, yeah. I'm on my way home."

"And Kate's status?"

"When I left she was still sedated, but the doctor said that the amount of mucus in her lungs is responding to the medication. She's being monitored closely for infection and is on antibiotics. She's not totally out of the woods yet, but she's strong and otherwise healthy and should make a full recovery." Drake said, feeling optimistic.

"Good, good... I'm so glad she's going to be okay." Nicholas replied, and Drake could hear the smile in his voice. "Once you get home and cleaned up, we need to meet and discuss what our next steps are.  Would 10am be good for you?"

Drake checked the time on the car's console, 5:45.. "That works for me. We can meet in my room. Send me a text when you're on your way, just in case I doze off or something. The drugs they gave me were great and all, but the environment wasn't exactly quiet enough to give me much sleep."

"Do you want me to bring you some breakfast?" Nicholas asked.

"I'm not sure what I can comfortably swallow right now. So I can see my breakfast being water and cough drops. I'll figure out lunch later. Thanks for offering though." Drake struggled to reply, reaching for his bottle of water to take a sip. His voice was getting weaker by the moment.

"I'll let you go for now. Preserve what voice you have left for our talk later. Park the Ambassador's car in the fleet garage when you get here, please."

"Understood," Drake whispered, and then hung up.

....

Nicholas sat on the edge of his bed looking down at the phone in his hand. So far the only people who knew he had it were Drake and the friend who had given it to him. He’d been warned by that friend to keep the phone's list of contacts to a minimum. There was no point of having a secret phone for sharing secret information if everyone knew you were using it. He needed some advice to help him make sense of the mess he was in. Drake was barely in the loop as it was, and he wasn't sure how much he could trust Bastien.

He needed help from someone outside the Palace who he could trust, someone who knew the inner workings of Crown politics as well as he did. He knew who to call, but given how last night's Coronation had ended, he wasn't sure how receptive she’d be to talking to him.

With a deep feeling of apprehension he punched in her phone number from memory, and hoped that the unfamiliar number he was using wasn't going to be ignored. The dial tone repeated in his ear and he waited for the inevitable voicemail interruption. But he should have known better. Olivia Nevrakis didn't use anything as conventional as voicemail. She either answered her phone or ignored you.

Her angry voice was full of impatience when she finally answered, “Hello?..Who the fuck is this? You better not be some spineless paparazzi scum or I’ll…”

Nicholas interrupted, hoping the amused smirk on his face didn't come across in his words, “Relax, Red. It's just me.”

There was a brief pause and Nicholas imagined her looking at the unfamiliar number on her screen with an angry frown, “Nick? You have some nerve calling me this early in the morning.”

He scrubbed at the bristly stubble on his cheek, trying a more polite approach. “Sorry. Good morning, Duchess.”

Olivia huffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “No, don't you suddenly Duchess me, Your Majesty.  What's with the weird phone number? You called me Red.… You haven't used that nickname for years.”  There was a pause and then her voice softened with concern. “Wait. Did something happen to you? Whose phone are you using?”

Nicholas heaved a deep sigh, “The phone you gave me. Remember months ago you secretly slipped it into my pocket at your estate, after you so publicly kissed me on the dancefloor? You said that if I was ever in a position to need your help, to activate it…well that day has come.”

There was a long pause on the end of the phone line, and Nicholas imagined Olivia being deep in thought. He wasn't sure what he was going to get from her next, a barrage of sarcastic gloating and ‘I told you so’ or genuine friendly concern. In the end he got a mixture of both.

“Oh. Now that you've got yourself accidentally hitched to the icy Countess of Fydelia, you suddenly turn to the Duchess of Lythikos for help. I warned you about that insidious family a long time ago. It amazes me that you've survived living with that snake Regina for all these years. No doubt Madeleine is beside herself with triumph too."

"Honestly, Nick.  After last night I don't blame you for feeling heartbroken and miserable. Thanks to that silly tabloid story, your American sweetheart has been blacklisted and likely shipped back to New York as well. I’m surprised you're coherently sober this morning.”

Nicholas allowed himself a grim smile. Olivia could never be accused of sugar coating the truth. “I suppose I deserved some of that snark, but actually Kate is still here. Her SUV crashed on the way to the airport and she's in the hospital..”

“Jesus, Nick…”

“But luckily Drake was following them and helped get her out of the vehicle.” Nicholas continued.

“Of course he did..” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Liv..,” he warned.

“Sorry..sorry. At least that ridiculous drunken oaf wasn't the one driving the SUV. Although it had crossed my mind when you mentioned the crash.”

“Seriously, Liv! That's uncalled for. Even from you. I know you and Drake don't get along, but that's a low blow.” Nicholas replied incredulously.

Olivia sighed, “Forgive me, it's stupid early in the morning and I haven't had my coffee yet. After leaving the Coronation early last night, I spent the rest of my night working my way down to the bottom of a bottle of wine.  So.... Kate's in the hospital and Drake's been playing hero like the loyal dog that he is. What do you need me for?”

“Over the past few months, there have been threatening letters sent to my office. Some of them contained photos….”

“That's nothing new,” Olivia interrupted. “As a famous person with great authority, with every two pieces of fan mail that sing your praises you're bound to get some hate mail too.”

“Yes..yes, I know. But what if the SUV crash wasn't an accident? Some of the threatening letters had Kate's pictures in them too. What if Kate was a target? Would someone hurt her to get back at me?”

“I know the social season was competitive amongst us Royal Suitors, but I hope you don't think I would deliberately target her. Or one of the other women? Would Madeleine stoop that low? The tabloid story was damaging enough for Kate. Whether it's true or not.”

“I have no doubts about your loyalty to me, Olivia. Or Drake's either. Bastien I'm on the fence over, though. I already know that Madeleine and Regina were working together to keep Madeleine as a frontrunner in the competition for Queen. They're related after all. But going back to that insidious Amaranth family reputation you mentioned, I need to know just how deep the corruption goes.”

“I’ve been keeping files on Fydelia and Krona for years. Do you want me to do some more digging for you?” Olivia replied excitedly.

“Please. But as discreetly as possible. Are you back home in Lythikos already?”

“No, I’m still in the capital. After leaving the Palace last night I checked into a hotel to drown my sorrows with a bottle of your wine. I plan on returning home today.” she said.

“I hope you stole a bottle of the good stuff.” He chuckled.

“Naturally.” She replied. “It was from your Coronation gala.”

“What hotel are you staying in? I want to talk in person before you go back. I can show you the threatening letters and photos I received too.”

“The Victoire on Fenton Street. Call me when you get here and I'll meet you in the lobby.”

“Excellent. Thanks, Liv. I've missed our talks. See you in a few hours.”

“Mmmhmm,” she replied, and then hung up.

Olivia and Drake were so much alike it was comical sometimes. Although they would both vehemently deny it. Nicholas wondered how they were going to behave when they found out they were going to be working together.

….

Nicholas sat at the head of the breakfast table feeling totally alone, although the room was full of members of his royal court. All familiar faces, but not a true friend or ally amongst them. Madeleine sat to his left and Regina on his right. Kiara Theron and her brother Ezekiel, Penelope Ebrim and her mother Emmeline filled out the other chairs. The room was full of conversation surrounding last night's Coronation and the upcoming Royal Engagement Tour.

Nobody was talking to him, and he was fine with that. The people he really wanted to chat with over tea and toast were absent. Kate, Drake, Hana, Maxwell, Olivia and Bertrand. The few people he felt were on his side. As far as he knew, Bertrand and Maxwell were still in custody of the Royal Guard. Drake was likely still sleeping after his harrowing night out. Poor Kate was fighting for her life in hospital. Hana had left Cordonia three days ago to go home to China after receiving word of her mother's cancer diagnosis. And Olivia. At least he’d spoken to her today.

He knew that Bastien was stationed outside the breakfast room, and that gave him a little bit of comfort. Setting his empty teacup down on the saucer he reached into the pocket of his jacket for his phone. His personal one. He was aware of Madeleine's eyes briefly cutting towards him, but he ignored her and then looked back down at his screen to unlock it. He picked up Bastien from his onscreen contacts and tapped out a quick message.

We need to talk, alone. Give me a reason to leave breakfast early.

A few seconds later his phone vibrated with a response.

That's all the reason you need, Sire.  Library, two minutes?

Nicholas answered back, Thank-you.

He tucked his phone away in his pocket and then straightened his jacket and sat back in his seat. Madeleine reached out to place her hand on his arm.

“Something wrong, Dear?” she asked quietly. The fake smile on her lips was a direct contrast to the stern look in her eyes.

He casually brushed his hand down his sleeve and then she quickly pulled hers away. “Nothing to be concerned about, just checking in with Bastien. If you’ll excuse me..”

Placing his hands on the table he stood up and pushed his chair back. All eyes turned to look his way as the conversation stopped. He addressed everyone, “Thank-you all for sharing breakfast with me this morning. But I have a meeting to get to.”

He nodded to Regina as he passed her chair and felt everyone's eyes on his back as he approached the door. He paused as a servant opened the door for him, and then glanced toward the security guard from the corner of the room who stepped forward to escort him. Nicholas waved him off with a shake of his head and then stepped out into the hall. When the door closed behind him he breathed a sigh of relief. Bastien wasn't at his post by the door, but James was.

“Sir.” He spoke up, standing up straight from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “Do you require an escort?”

Nicholas shook his head, giving him a smile, “At ease, James. I'm meeting Bas in the library. I'm pretty sure I can get there on my own.”

“Understood.” James nodded.

Nicholas heard James speak quietly into his radio as he turned right to enter the hallway. “He's on his way.”

Unbuttoning his suit jacket and stuffing his hands into his pockets, Nicholas made his way down the familiar corridor, the soft carpet muting his steps as he went.  He looked up at the wall of regal portraits, as usual, as he went through the gallery. He stopped at the painting of his father and his mother. They both looked so youthful and vibrant, as if they could just step out of the past. Constantine, so stoic and stern, wore an imperious commanding expression. Eleanor, fair haired like himself, was smiling and angelic in comparison. His heart ached for her, and he longed to hear her kind voice again. It astonished him to think that nearly twenty years had passed since she'd died. He could really use her advice right now. He wondered what she'd say to the adult Nicholas she never knew.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Bastien had been kept waiting long enough. He would have to settle for the counsel of his head of security for now. Nicholas had been King of Cordonia for less than a day, but had years of courtly training ingrained into his character by this point. Although he hadn't talked with his father in over a week, his voice rang clearly in his memory. It reminded him of who he was and how the fate of his country was now his responsibility. Now that Constantine was in no position to give orders, he needed to establish with Bastien where the hierarchy of power lay moving forward. And it no longer began and ended with Regina.

Resuming his walk to the Library, he quickened his pace, feeling a rush of adrenaline spurring him forward.

…

Bastien Lykel stood in the library, looking out through the open doorway and into the dimly lit ballroom across the hall. He glanced at his watch. I should have given the King a longer interval of time. It's already been four minutes since I've left my post.  He was reaching into his pocket for his phone again when he heard the echo of footsteps coming down the hall. He straightened his posture and stood at attention as he saw Nicholas breeze in through the doorway. He watched the King turn and pull each of the double doors closed. There was a resounding echo as the heavy wood of each door connected, sealing them into the cavernous space.

Nicholas sighed, slightly out of breath, as he leaned back against the door with relief.

“Good morning, Bastien.”

“You wanted to speak to me, Sire?” Bastien replied.

Nicholas smirked, rubbing at his jaw. “Please, Bastien. You've known me my whole life. I'm not your father, and I'm definitely not my father either. 'Sire' isn't my style.  Going forward, ‘Sir’ when we're alone. Or I suppose ‘Your Majesty’ while we're in the presence of the court is fine.”

Bastien nodded, “As you wish, Sir.”

“Bear with me, please. I'm new at this." Nicholas began to pace nervously as he tried to organize his thoughts.

"Something on your mind, Sir?"

Nicholas stopped, and then leaned back against the end of a bookshelf. "Yes. I've noticed that since we returned from Applewood, there are new faces among the security staff. Why? Who hired them?"

"Countess Madeleine has brought guards with her from Fydelia. Plus, Queen Regina has dipped into the staffing pool and shuffled some of the guards between Applewood and the Palace."

Nicholas crossed his arms with a frown, "Did she explain why she did this all of a sudden?"

"As Head of Household a shuffling of staff is something she's done periodically for years."

“Oh, I see. I'm assuming the two guards who abducted Kate last night must have been two of Madeleine's then.”

Bastien blinked with surprise, then frowned. “Abducted? No, they were supposed to escort her to the airport.”

“I saw them lead her across the courtyard. They didn't escort her, but rather forcefully pulled her along by the arm. When she resisted getting into the vehicle, she was struck and then roughly shoved into the backseat. They treated her like a damned criminal. She didn't deserve that. The photos taken of her and Tariq at Applewood were clearly a setup meant to smear her reputation.”

Bastien looked down at the floor. “She wasn't supposed to be harmed,” he said quietly.

“Harmed? The bastards nearly killed her!” Nicholas shouted. His voice echoed in the stillness of the large room and Bastien flinched.

The captain of the guard looked up into Nicholas’s angry face. “A police officer informed me that there had been an accident involving one of our SUVs and that the victims had been taken to hospital. He wanted to know if I could identify the occupants. He didn't tell me about Kate’s condition, but he said that Drake had been attempting a rescue when the emergency vehicles arrived on scene.”

“He told me about it.”

“The police officer?” Bastien asked.

“No, Drake did.” Nicholas replied.

“I should talk to him too. Is he here, or at the hospital with Ms. Darling?”

“He's been treated and released. But no, I don't want you talking to him about the accident. I sent him after her, not you. He’s not one of your guards, so he's not under your command.” Nicholas insisted.

“But he stole the Ambassador’s car. That's breaking the law. He needs to be punished for that.”

“There was no time for him to politely ask to borrow a vehicle. He didn't have keys to one of our fleet vehicles either. I gave him permission to use whatever means necessary to go after that SUV. I saw what those guards did to her and feared for her life. Knowing now that the vehicle they were driving crashed with her in it, doesn't that put them more at fault than Drake?”

Bastien shrugged, “I don't know. You said that you had given him permission to use whatever means necessary. How do we know he didn't run them off the road?”

Nicholas gaped at him, “We both know Drake would never do such a thing. Especially with Kate inside. I expected him to intercept and neutralize the guards at the airport and then usher her to safety.”

“Well the guards were certainly neutralized. I contacted the hospital and they informed me that they'd died. I was politely informed that the female occupant was to have no unauthorized visitors, and they weren't disclosing her condition to anyone besides her next of kin.” Bastien said. “Was that your idea?”

“More or less. I told Drake to keep watch over her while he was at the hospital. The rest he arranged on his own. Who else knows that Kate didn't get on that plane to New York?”

“Well the guards that were waiting for her at the airport know, of course. But they were sent there by me. They reported back to me that the SUV they were expecting hadn't arrived, and that the flight had left.”

“I certainly didn't order her deportation. So who did? And don't say it was my father. He's too ill to pass along any orders.” Nicholas demanded.

“Fletcher contacted me and said that incriminating photos had been leaked to a tabloid. The details of those photos would reflect badly on you, and could have influenced your decision last night. He informed Queen Regina, and then the order was passed along to me. I was told that if the photos happened to go public, that I was to arrange Kate Darling’s removal from the country.”

Nicholas sighed, looking down at the floor. He could still remember the offensive words that Regina had said to him about Kate. And the triumphant look on her face as she’d said them. He couldn't fault Bastien for following her orders. “Well, did you report back to Queen Regina that Kate didn't get on that plane?”

“No, I didn't.” Bastien answered with a grin.

Nicholas shook his head in disbelief, “Really?”

“As far as she's concerned, Kate Darling has been sent home.”

“Good, and I don't want her to know any different. The fewer people that know about Kate’s whereabouts the better. Tell nobody, especially not Countess Madeleine. When Kate's well enough to leave the hospital, I'm entrusting her to Drake’s care. He doesn't know it yet, though.”

Bastien chuckled, “Do you think that's wise? I know he's your best friend and all, and I've known him since he was a child, but for what purpose do you want him to keep Kate?”

“I love her, Bastien. And if it weren't for those photos and the story made up to go with them, I was going to propose to her. I already know that she would have said yes. I'll begrudgingly go along with Madeleine on this Engagement Tour, and show the world the King I can be. I need to give the false impression that I've rejected Kate, and I hope the media coverage of the tour outshines what the tabloid said about her.”

Bastien looked skeptical. “So you're going to do the tour, and then do what when it ends…marry the Countess anyway? Or Invoke your right to change your mind and marry Kate instead? Why bother to go through with the tour at all?"”

“Between the time needed to make arrangements and then complete the tour itself, we’re talking several weeks. That should give us plenty of time to find out who took the photos and restore Kate's reputation.”

Bastien nodded. "And hopefully keep her actual whereabouts a secret until then."