Page 92 of Throne Off Course

Alexander looked at him with concern, pushing aside the nearest empty glass. “Let’s go, Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s fingers tightened around his glass, his practiced charm wavering for just a moment before he recovered. “Go where? The night is young.” He gestured expansively.

Alexander held out a hand, jaw tightening. “You’ve had enough.”

Sebastian’s gaze flickered to the outstretched hand, something unreadable passing over his face. And for a moment, just a moment, he looked—lost. Then, just as quickly, he smoothed it over, leaning back casually. “Oh, come on. Just one more drink? One more bad decision?”

Alexander didn’t flinch. “You’ve already made enough bad decisions for the night. Get up.”

Sebastian studied him for a long beat. And then, with a weary exhale, he got to his feet. “You’re such a killjoy.” The quip lacked his usual bite, the words heavy with something that mighthave been relief.

Alexander glanced at him with concern. “And you’re an idiot,” he muttered, guiding him toward the exit.

Sebastian let himself be led, quiet for once. Not fighting, not teasing—just silent. The night air hit them as they stepped outside, the city buzzing around them, but it all felt muted. For the first time, Sebastian let himself feel it—that yawning, endless thing inside him that no amount of drinking, flirting, or even drugs could fill. The truth that his mother had kept from him, that she had chosen his father’s secret—and ultimately death—over staying with her own son. Alexander didn’t say anything as they walked toward the waiting car. And for once, Sebastian was grateful.

The ride back to Alexander’s palace apartment passed in silence, broken only by the occasional sigh from Sebastian as he leaned his head against the cool window, watching the city lights blur together. When they finally arrived, Alexander guided him through marble corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly, their footsteps echoing in the quiet of the late hour.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Sebastian muttered as Alexander unlocked the door to his quarters, his voice regaining some of its familiar edge. “I’m perfectly capable of self-destruction without supervision.”

Alexander just shot him a look that said everything and nothing at once, then pushed the door open and ushered him inside.

Sebastian sank into the familiar surroundings of Alexander’s palace apartment—the understated elegance and meticulous order that was so quintessentially Alexander. Tonight, the familiar space offered a sanctuary after the chaotic energy of the club and the suffocating tension of his father’s study earlier that day.

Alexander disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a tall glass of water, which he handed to Sebastian with a pointed look.

“Drink.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes but took the glass, draining half of it in one go. “Happy now, Mother?” The familiar sarcasm was returning as the cool water began to clear his head, but the word ‘mother’ caught in his throat as he said it, suddenly loaded with complicated feelings about Madeline Hawthorne.

Alexander ignored the jab and moved to a cabinet, pulling out two crystal tumblers. He poured a measure of amber liquid into each, but set Sebastian’s aside.

“Finish the water first,” he said, taking his own drink and settling into the chair opposite.

Sebastian drained the rest of the water with exaggerated obedience, then reached for the waiting tumbler. “I see your control issues are thriving as usual,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. “Why are you even bothering with me? Don’t you have better things to do than rescue me from having a good time?”

“You call that a good time?” Alexander raised an eyebrow.

Sebastian’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Better than sitting around here brooding,” he shot back, gesturing with his glass. “Tell me, when was the last time you actually did something you wanted to do?” His words had a sudden sharpness to them.

“I mean, Hamlet had more direction than you. The guy saw a ghost, contemplated existential oblivion, and still had more forward momentum than whatever it is you’re doing right now.” He took a deliberate sip of his drink. “At least Hamlet made some damn decisions. Granted, most of them were catastrophic and ended in death, but still, he took action.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Sebastian, you’re not exactly in a position to hold the moral high ground.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong,” Sebastian challenged, leaning forward. “I may be a mess, but at least I’m honest about it. You? You’re drowning just as much as I am, only you’re doing it induty and responsibility.”

A tense silence fell between them. Sebastian had pushed too far—had seen the flash of genuine hurt cross Alexander’s face before he could mask it. Something in Sebastian’s expression softened, the sharp edges of his anger dulling.

“Look,” Sebastian said, voice softening slightly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I appreciate the rescue, but maybe instead of trying to fix me, you should try fixing your own problems.” He hesitated, then added, more gently than he’d intended, “What’s happening with Emilia, anyway?”

Alexander exhaled slowly, the fight draining out of him. “Now that the exhibit is over, there’s no reason for her to be at the palace anymore.” The defeat in his voice was palpable. “The Queen has made it clear that my duty is to the crown, not my ‘personal indulgences,’ as she calls it.”

Sebastian studied him, sobering up a little. “And you’re just accepting that?”

“No, I refuse to make the same mistake our father did,” Alexander said firmly, his voice tight with conviction. “He chose duty over love and left destruction in his wake. For both of us.” He stared into his glass. “I told Emilia I would find a way to make it work but everything I’ve tried has been a dead end. I’ve challenged my mother directly, tried to win over votes in Parliament, consulted every advisor loyal to our father—nothing.”

The phrase “our father” hung in the air between them, new and strange and undeniable. Sebastian studied him, realizing for the first time the weight of the constraints binding Alexander. Something shifted behind his eyes—a recognition that reached past his own pain.

Sebastian sat slouched in his chair, drink in hand, watching Alexander with newfound understanding. For a moment, he let the silence stretch. Then he sighed dramatically, shaking his head, the theatricality layered over his genuine concern.