Page 87 of Throne Off Course

Neatly folded, some still bearing the royal seal, others marked only by an elegant, looping signature— M. Hawthorne.

Alexander froze. His pulse hammered. He reached for the first letter, unfolding it with careful hands.

And then, as his eyes skimmed the words— He stopped breathing. The first letter was short. Precise. To the point. But the meaning beneath it was devastating.

James—

You and I both knew this was inevitable. You made your choice, and I made mine. But that does not mean I will ever regret whatwe had. What we created. You have given our son everything, and yet nothing at all and I have given him a lie. One I will carry to my grave.

M.

Alexander’s fingers tightened around the edges of the letter. His chest felt hollow, weightless. Our son? There was only one person she could have meant. Sebastian.

Alexander barely registered himself moving as he snatched up another letter. This one was longer. More frantic. The edges creased from where it had been handled too many times.

James—

I received your letter yesterday. No, I cannot reconsider. You ask if it is truly a kindness to keep the truth from him, but what alternative do we have? Your life is not your own. Your family, your crown, your kingdom—they would never accept this truth.

What frightens me most is that I’ve gravely underestimated Lord Hawthorne. He agreed to raise Sebastian as his own, but the price has been higher than I anticipated. He knows exactly what this secret is worth, and I fear what he might do if we threaten his advantage. He is a dangerous man with dangerous connections. For Sebastian’s protection—and perhaps yours—this secret must remain buried.

Sebastian must never know. For now, Lord Hawthorne has agreed to this arrangement, and while I despise him for his coldness, I know this is the only way our son can have a future unburdened by scandal and safe from those who would use this truth against him.

I beg you—do not pursue this further. For Sebastian’s sake, if not for mine.

—M

Alexander let the letter drop onto the desk like it had scalded him. His hands shook. His father had wanted to tellSebastian the truth. He had considered acknowledging him. But Madeline—frightened of Lord Hawthorne’s power—had convinced him otherwise.

Alexander sank into his father’s chair, his mind racing. There was another letter, dated just weeks before his father’s death.

James—

You ask again about telling Sebastian the truth. Even now, even knowing what little time remains, my answer must be the same. He has built his life on the foundation we have given him. To shatter that now would be cruel. I hope it gives you some solace to know that he inherited all your best qualities—your charm, your humor and yes, even your rebelliousness.

Lord Hawthorne has only grown more calculating through the years. The payments you’ve made as well as the favours—which he demanded in exchange for his silence—have given him leverage I never anticipated. I fear what he might do if the truth were to come out, even after you’re gone.

Know that I begin and end every day with the thought of you. I often dream of a different life, one where we were never kept apart. I’ve dreamt of it so often it feels more real to me than anything else. So that’s where I’ll continue to look for you, even after you pass from this world, in my dreams where no one can keep you from me.

Forever yours,

M

Alexander’s breath caught. This wasn’t just an affair. This was love—enduring, complicated, heartbreaking love—that his father had carried in secret until the end. And it was shrouded in fear—fear of what Lord Hawthorne might do if the truth ever came to light.

And now Alexander understood. Why his mother had always looked at Sebastian with thinly veiled contempt. Why LordHawthorne had always held such inexplicable influence.

His father had built a complex web of deception, all to protect the son he couldn’t publicly claim—and to protect him from the very man who had raised him.

Alexander let the letter drop onto the desk like it had scalded him. His hands shook. His father had wanted to tell him. To tell Sebastian but he never did. Lady Hawthorne had convinced him otherwise.

Alexander sighed, dragging a hand over his face. There was no doubt anymore. This was the final piece, and it had been sitting in his own hands the entire time.

He found Sebastian in the library, lounging in a chair with his usual careless grace. His heart hammered in his chest as he approached, letters clutched too tightly in his grip.

“Sebastian,” he called, voice tight.

Sebastian barely looked up from his book. “What is it?”