Page 9 of Throne Off Course

“Survived selective storytelling?” Emilia interjected sweetly.

Alexander’s jaw clenched. “We want to highlight the monarchy’s role in shaping the nation,” he corrected, pointedly ignoring her remark.

Emilia angled her head. “Would that be before or after the monarchy crushed a number of democratic uprisings?”

Alexander took a slow calming breath. Davenport had warned him about her. Outspoken. Difficult. It seems that may have been an understatement.

He reached for a document and slid it toward her. “We’re focusing on key moments of royal influence.”

Emilia glanced at the paper. “By ‘key moments,’ I assume you mean the ones that make you look good?”

Alexander’s expression hardened. “The ones that are most relevant to the public.”

Emilia skimmed the proposed outline. “Ah, yes,” she murmured. “Glossing over the questionable parts of history and focusing only on the pretty bits. A time-honored tradition.”

Alexander just looked at her coolly, his expression betraying none of his annoyance. God help him, she was infuriating.

For the next hour, they argued over nearly every aspect of the exhibition.

By the time they reached the final section, Alexander dropped his pen onto the table and exhaled sharply. “Is there anything in this proposal you actually agree with, Miss Carter?”

Emilia smiled brightly. “Oh, absolutely,” she replied. “The font choice is lovely.”

Alexander stood. “So glad to have your approval.”

They stared each other down across the table, both unwilling to break first. Davenport, who had been watching the entire disaster unfold, glanced at his watch and cleared his throat.

“Well,” he noted, voice strained, “I think we’ve made… some progress.”

Alexander and Emilia both scoffed. They had made exactly zero progress. And now, they were both certain of exactly one thing: they absolutely could not stand each other.

6

Whiskey, Sarcasm, and Terrible Advice

Alexander collapsed into a leather armchair with a heavy sigh, dragging a hand over his face. Across from him, Lord Sebastian Hawthorne sipped his whiskey, the amber liquid catching the lamplight as he remained entirely unbothered.

“I take it your meeting with the historian went well?”

Alexander glared at him. “She is, without a doubt, the most insufferable person I have ever met.”

Sebastian perked up immediately, eyes brightening with interest. “Oh, really? Fantastic.” He grinned as he leaned forward, “Tell me everything.”

Alexander did not need encouragement. “She’s some up-and-coming academic who was determined to question everything,” he began, gesturing agitatedly with one hand while the other gripped the armrest. “Every single point. Every carefully curated exhibit section. Every historical highlight. Nothing was good enough for her.”

Sebastian nodded sagely. “Yes, yes. The horror. Someone questioning the great Prince Alexander. The audacity.”

“She implied. No, she outright stated, that we were rewriting history,” Alexander continued, his voice rising as he straightened in his seat. “As if she alone holds the key to some grand hidden truth.”

Sebastian swirled his whiskey thoughtfully. “So, a historian is upset about historical inaccuracies?” he mused. “Trulyshocking.”

Alexander ignored him. “She’s also disrespectful,” he went on, still fuming. “She looked me in the eye and smirked. And the tone. God, the tone. It was like she was deliberately trying to provoke me.”

Sebastian rested his chin in his hand, looking thoroughly entertained. “And did it work?”

Alexander scowled. “That is not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point,” Sebastian countered, his grin widening.