Page 80 of Throne Off Course

It was making Alexander quietly insane.

An hour later, after dutifully making his rounds, he found himself at the edge of the dance floor. Sebastian and Emilia were dancing—nothing too intimate, nothing that would raise eyebrows, but they moved well together. Sebastian said something that made her smile, and Alexander felt that twist in his chest again.

“The Queen has been asking after you, Your Highness,” came Thomas’s quiet voice beside him. “She’s across the room with the Minister of Culture.”

Alexander knew what that meant. His mother would expect him to join them, to charm the Minister, to fulfill his duties for the remainder of the evening without distraction.

Once he was at the Queen’s side, there would be no opportunity to speak with Emilia. The window was rapidly closing.

“I see,” Alexander replied, his eyes still on the dance floor. “Is she requesting my presence immediately?”

Thomas’s expression remained perfectly neutral, but something in his eyes softened. “I believe I could reasonably inform Her Majesty that you’ll join her after fulfilling your obligation to acknowledge Miss Carter’s work on the exhibition.” A subtle pause. “Protocol would dictate at least that much, sir.”

It was as close as Thomas would come to openly acknowledging what he knew—that Alexander needed this moment, and that he was willing to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.

“Thank you, Thomas,” he said, genuine gratitude in his voice.

Thomas inclined his head slightly. “I should warn you, sir—the press contingent is larger than anticipated. They’re quite interested in the royal collection pieces you’ve loaned to the exhibition. The royal photographers are positioned by the south entrance, but several independent journalists have managed to secure invitations.”

The message was clear: whatever he did next would not go unnoticed or undocumented.

“Your future bride is also watching,” Thomas added more quietly, though without judgment. “She’s been observing your attention to the dance floor for some time.”

Alexander didn’t need to look to know Genevieve was watching him. She missed nothing.

He considered this. One dance. That was all he wanted—needed. Just a moment to be near her, to tell her not to give up, that he was still fighting for them. But he wasn’t naive enough to think it wouldn’t have consequences.

“I understand,” he said finally. “Thank you for theinformation.”

Thomas nodded once. “I’ll be nearby if needed, sir.”

Alexander waited until the music ended, until Sebastian had escorted Emilia to the edge of the dance floor. Then, with a subtle nod to Thomas, he made his approach.

Sebastian spotted him first, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Ah, Your Highness. Enjoying the festivities?”

“Immensely,” Alexander replied, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s face. She looked up, and their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the gala became a distant hum.

Sebastian glanced between them, then stepped back slightly. “I believe I’ll get us some drinks.”

As Sebastian disappeared into the crowd, Alexander moved closer to Emilia. She seemed wary, guarded. The wall she’d erected between them since ending things was plainly visible.

He stopped in front of her, his voice quieter than before. “Dance with me.”

Her brows lifted, her lips parting slightly. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated, softer now.

She hesitated, glancing around the room. “Alexander, everyone is watching. The press—”

“I know.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You know this will be in every paper tomorrow.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “I’m acknowledging the historian who helped curate the exhibition. It would be rude not to.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “The last time we saw each other alone, I told you I couldn’t do this anymore. Not without aplan.”

“And I’m asking for one dance,” he said, his voice steady. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”