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My office is a large room with big, floor-to-ceiling windows. The curtains have been opened and the bright summer sunshine pours into the room. My desk gleams, and on the left side of it, a large stack of folders awaits.
I call for the staff and ask to have them serve my lunch in the office, then take a seat behind my desk. Skimming through paperwork, I sign where I need to. Most of it is inconsequential. Daily logs of castle security, a new law passing through parliament that’s been hotly debated for months, photos to autograph for Nord’s lucky citizens who have reached their hundredth birthday.
The usual.
As I flick through the paperwork, signing where I need to, making notes where I have questions, I let out a long sigh. My thoughts crawl back to Asher and the way I felt in that room. I wonder if I could call him. I could get a secure line and ask him if he’d like to come up to Nord.
Shaking my head, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to get a grip on myself. I’m not that desperate. It’s been two weeks, and I haven’t heard a word from Asher. He told me himself he didn’t want to see me again. Not in those words, exactly, but I’ve been around politicians long enough to know what he really meant. Being too busy to come up to Nord isn’t exactly subtle. At Gabriel’s wedding, he left just a few minutes after we returned to the reception. He got what he needed, and I can’t help feeling a bit unclean for giving it to him. Asher doesn’t want to see me again. That’s one thing I know for sure.
A soft knock pulls me out of my head. I call for the visitor to come in, and my brother Jonah pokes his head through the door. “You’re back less than a couple of hours and you’re already neck-deep in paperwork.” He flashes a smile at me as I motion for him to enter.
Behind him, two palace staff members enter with a silver tray carrying my lunch. The smell of the chef’s special chicken noodle soup wafts toward me, and I let my lips curl into a smile. The man carrying the tray stares at me, wide-eyed, and I wonder if he’s ever seen me smile before. Have I really been that cold?
Jonah takes a seat as I clear a space on my desk, and two staff members arrange my lunch, cutlery, and cloth napkins for me to eat. The daily newspaper is folded neatly on the edge of the tray. They bow and back out of the room without a word. My brother motions for me to eat. “I already had lunch earlier.”
I tuck into the soup, finally feeling like I’m home. “No problems while I was away?”
Jonah shrugs. “Protests are still happening almost daily. I’m told they’re under control, but… I don’t know. We received an application for mining rights near Roston.” Jonah’s brow darkens. “Donovan Enterprises wants to open three large diamond mines.”
“Let me guess, the parliament wants to grant it.”
“They say we need more industry. We could be entering another recession, and new mining projects opening up might just save the economy. And our reputation.”
“Every year I’ve been wearing the crown, they’ve told me we’re entering a recession.” I shake my head and take another spoonful of soup. I tilt my head, staring at my brother. “Why don’t you like Donovan?”
“I’ve seen the way Reginald Donovan does business, and I don’t like it. My contacts in Farcliff, Canada, and the States tell me he’s shady. If we grant him the mining rights, we’re almost certainly opening ourselves up to serious financial and environmental messes.”
“But he’ll provide jobs and money, so the government wants to proceed.” I shake my head, sighing. Nothing is ever simple.
Jonah grunts in agreement. Not for the first time, I’m glad to have my brother near me. With Wolfe in full-on nesting mode, and Silas still in his never-ending party years, sometimes it feels like Jonah’s the only one I can trust. Like me, he’s a responsible family member. The one who knows his duty.
After filling me in on the rest of the news from Nord, Jonah leaves me to finish my lunch in peace. He closes the door behind him, and my heart feels slightly easier. I’m not that lonely here. I have my brothers, and Wolfe’s new wife Rowan is quite nice. Life is far from bad.
I just had a wobble at Prince Gabriel’s wedding. A moment of loneliness. It’s over now, and Asher’s made it clear by his silence he feels the same way. We can both move on with our lives and go back to the way things were before—even if I feel like something inside me has shifted, and I’ll never get it to shift back.
As I push my bowl away and grab the newspaper on the edge of the silver tray, my eyes widen. I unfold the paper and it opens. A gasp escapes my lips.
There, on the front page of the Stirling Times, is none other than Asher Gerhard. The headline screams at me in big, black letters.
Farcliff Executive Bashes Nord’s Unemployment, Lack of Industry
My own words staring back at me. The things I said to him in a post-coital haze, splashed on the front page of a newspaper. Anger is too kind a word for what I feel right now. Bitter heat sweeps through my veins, turning everything inside me to dust. Thick, black smoke fills my veins as I struggle to keep my rage at bay.
I can’t read the article because my hands are trembling too much. I lay the paper flat on the desk and stand up, leaning over it. Blinking a few times, I try to clear my eyes. That fucking dog. I can’t believe I slept with him! I can’t believe I let him lead me away from the wedding and do…do…do that to me. I need a shower. I need to wash this grime out of my pores and clean my tongue from the taste of him.
The article hypothesizes about his presence in Nord and what it means about the future of Nordish industry. Gerhard, Inc. is expanding into Nord, they say. Heat rushes through my chest, spearing me straight through the heart.
Was he planning this trip when he saw me at the wedding? Why wouldn’t he mention it? Was he already intending to work in Nord?
Not once did he say anything about visiting my arctic kingdom. Not once did he say he’d want to see me again. Not once did he say anything about the possibility of a trip here—he said the opposite! He said he didn’t have time to come here. Then, two weeks later, he’s on the front page of a newspaper? He’s here?
I read through the article three times, fuming. Written by Jacinthe Crawley, a woman who has a serious abolitionist streak and would love nothing more than to see my head roll right off my shoulders, the article praises Asher’s business savvy, proclaiming him the most successful closer in his father’s company’s history. He’s the king of mergers, apparently.
I…I didn’t know that. I didn’t know anything about him when I saw him. Why wouldn’t he tell me?
Hurt and anger feel very similar, but mostly I feel embarrassed. I don’t even know why I’m angry. He had no obligation to tell me he was coming to Nord, but…I guess I wish he had. This just makes it seem like he didn’t want me to know. He didn’t want to see me again.
My fingers drift over the image on the newspaper, tracing the outline of his lips. Perfectly formed, I remember exactly how they felt to kiss.
