Page 18 of Throne Off Course

Alexander eyed her hand, then met her gaze. “For now.”

He took it. A firm, steady shake. His palm warm against hers, neither increasing pressure nor yielding ground. Neither let go first.

Emilia arched a brow. “Are you trying to prove something?”

“Are you?” he countered, his expression unreadable.

She huffed a laugh, releasing him. “You know, for a prince, you’re surprisingly petty.”

Alexander smiled very slightly. “And for a historian, you’re surprisingly difficult to impress.”

“Trust me,” she said, gathering her notes with renewed purpose, “I’m even worse when Idolike someone.”

Alexander watched her for a beat before shaking his head, an unexpected warmth settling in his chest. God help him. This was going to beinteresting.

12

An Exhibit in Stubbornness

The exhibit was designed to be ambitious. It was supposed to be a chronicle of Caledonia’s monarchy across the centuries, highlighting key rulers and how their reigns had shaped the nation. Each monarch would be examined through their policies, victories, failures, and influence. In other words, a carefully curated selection of defining moments.

Alexander saw it as an opportunity to solidify the monarchy’s relevance in a modern era. Emilia saw it as a chance to strip away the polished narrative and highlight the real, complicated history behind the crown. They both wanted this project to be accurate. They just vehemently disagreed on what “accurate” meant.

The first few days had been predictably strained. Their conversations were brief, their disagreements frequent, each retreating to opposite ends of the archives whenever possible.

They had been working together less than a week when one morning Alexander slid a centuries-old royal decree across the table, the parchment yellowed with age but the royal seal still intact.

“This supports the archival records from 1783,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

Emilia took it, glancing over the elegant script before pausing. She looked up sharply, a crease forming between her brows. “How did you know thisexisted?”

Alexander, flipping through another document, didn’t look up. “I read,” he said simply, turning a page with careful fingers.

Emilia narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but most people don’t bother with obscure royal decrees from minor reforms under King James III.”

Alexander finally met her gaze, arching a brow. “Then most people should educate themselves better.”

Emilia blinked. Okay. That was… not the answer she had expected. She had assumed he’d learned just enough history to repeat whatever PR-approved version of royal events the monarchy wanted to highlight. But this? This suggested actual interest and scholarly engagement. Her assessment of him shifted, just barely, but enough to notice.

For his part, Alexander caught that subtle change in her expression, the momentary surprise and if she was reassessing him, it meant he had successfully challenged her assumptions. Which was deeply satisfying.

After that, they settled into an unspoken routine, a rhythm of debate, research, and grudging cooperation. The friction didn’t disappear entirely, but it transformed into something more productive. A mutual challenge rather than an insurmountable barrier.

Most mornings followed a pattern. Emilia would arrive, armed with notes, documents, and a strong sense of determination. Alexander, who had apparently decided assisting with research was now part of his daily schedule, would already be there usually sipping his tea by the tall windows, looking far too amused by her early-morning scowls.

It was during one such morning that Emilia arrived earlier than usual, hoping to get a head start on a particularly challenging set of documents. As she approached the massive oak doors, she was surprised to find them already unlocked.Even more surprising was the sight that greeted her: a lean, impeccably dressed man in his early forties methodically arranging documents on the central table.

He moved with practiced efficiency, placing reference materials precisely where Alexander typically sat, organizing research folders with color-coded tabs, and setting out freshly sharpened pencils at perfect right angles to the notebooks.

When he noticed her, he straightened immediately, his expression shifting from concentration to polite neutrality.

“Miss Carter, I presume,” he said, his voice crisp and formal. “His Highness mentioned you might arrive early today.”

Emilia hesitated in the doorway, caught off guard. “Yes, that’s right. And you are…?”

“Thomas Blackwood, personal equerry to His Royal Highness.” He gave a slight, precise bow, not servile, but perfectly correct. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing the materials His Highness requested for this morning’s session.”

Emilia stepped forward, noting how the documents were arranged with military precision. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. Though I was planning to pull some additional materials.”