Page 37 of Throne Off Course

Alexander pulled out the document, sliding it across the table. “We need information on this address. It appeared multiple times in my father’s financial records, and we don’t know why.”

Sebastian picked it up, brows lifting slightly as he read. Then, after a beat, he let out a low chuckle.

“Interesting.”

Emilia leaned forward. “What? What is it?”

Sebastian set the paper down, tapping the address with a lazy finger. “Because, my dear scholars, this happens to be my family’s townhouse.”

Alexander stilled. “Your family’s?”

Sebastian nodded. “Indeed. My mother’s family owned it for generations. And knowing my father, if the king was making secret payments to that address, he probably had some… leverage.”

Emilia’s mind raced. “Leverage how?”

Sebastian leaned back, expression unreadable for a rare moment. “My father collects secrets the way some people collect fine art. If the king was paying, it means he owed something. And trust me—my father doesn’t deal in trivial matters.”

Alexander looked wary. “Can you find out what it was?”

Sebastian studied him for a long moment, then replied. “I suppose I could.” He gave a slow grin. “But it will cost you.”

Emilia groaned. “If you say ‘your eternal gratitude,’ I swear to God—”

“No, no,” Sebastian cut in smoothly. “I was actually thinking of a far greater price. Attendance at my party this weekend.”

Emilia tilted her head, unimpressed. “Ah, so this was all a ploy to drag us into one of your ridiculous social gatherings.”

Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Of course not. I was going to invite you anyway. This is just a delightful bonus.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Fine, we’ll be there.”

Emilia hesitated. “We? Oh God. This isn’t one of those twisted, cultish, Eyes Wide Shut type things, is it?”

Alexander actually laughed. A rare thing from him. A dangerous thing. “Sebastian is many things, but a cult leader isn’t one of them,” he said, amusement laced through his voice.

She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure? Because I have to tell you—his whole bored aristocrat with too much money and no moral compass aesthetic really screams secret society initiations.”

Sebastian grinned, clearly delighted. “Flattered, truly. But I must assure you, no one will be wearing masks or reciting Latin incantations.”

Emilia pointed at him accusingly. “Fine. But if I see even one candelabra positioned ominously, I’m leaving.”

Alexander gave her a slow, considering look. “You know… I find it interesting that you immediately assumed you were being invited to a ritualistic masquerade and yet you still agreed to come.”

Emilia sipped her drink, unbothered. “I’m an academic. I live for research.”

Sebastian threw his head back, laughing. “That’s why I love you Emilia.”

21

Duel Me, Maybe?

Sebastian Hawthorne’s townhouse was already buzzing. Laughter, music, the clinking of expensive glasses—Sebastian’s parties were the kind of affairs that bordered on legend. No one ever quite knew who had been invited, what was being celebrated, or how the night would end. It was chaotic, indulgent, absolutely ridiculous and somehow, utterly effortless.

The room pulsed with music, glasses clinked, and laughter echoed through air thick with expensive perfume and even more expensive whiskey. Alexander, drink in hand, stood at the edge of it all, his presence noted but not central. He was always observed, but rarely did he allow himself to be seen.

Sebastian, on the other hand, had no such reservations.

Alexander turned in time to see Sebastian—relaxed, sprawled across one of the grand leather sofas—his arm draped lazily around a woman who looked both amused and entirely captivated.