Page 223 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Gustav forced himself to stop pacing. Any show of emotion was a show of weakness, an opportunity for his father to exploit him. But right now, Gustav had little interest in his father’s thoughts. Instead, he was frustrated by the restlessness that had crawled through him since Livia had left. Each of her accusations were another twist of the sharp knife she had so deftly wielded at his righteous anger. You can make a different choice. You are better than vengeance. The words had left something else in the wreckage, an emptiness that ached inside relentlessly, putting all his plans at risk. Gustav could not afford the distraction—not when he was on the cusp of something this important.

Livia’s father and the king were keeping Gustav waiting. Though he suspected this was either a power game or more back-room dealings, he was having difficulty mustering his usual sharp-edged anger that focused his thoughts. Instead, he found that all he could think about was the fact that Livia had left him when he needed her the most.

And he had told her never to come back.

He had been so focused on keeping his temper under control, on not destroying the plans he had worked so hard for. Livia had been right about one thing: He hadn’t thought any further into the future than his revenge. Not consciously at least. Yet somehow, over the last week, a vision had developed in his mind, one with her at the center of it. Not just on paper. Not hiding their secrets. Truly together in a way that had felt within reach—at least for a short time. But that was before she had chosen her sister, who was not currently in danger. Before you chose vengeance, she would snap back, if she were here to fight with him. Gustav frowned. Now the vision of their future was fading, and all he could see was emptiness in front of him. Just power and control.

So much like his father.

Gustav stalked over to the decanter of whisky on the side table. He snatched the bottle from the silver tray and poured himself a few too many fingers. He forced himself to take a sip of the amber liquid and ordered himself to enjoy the burn in the back of his throat, the sweet full taste and the warmth that followed. The pleasure didn’t come. He frowned at the glass in his hand, then slammed it onto the table, finding a little satisfaction in the way the sound disturbed a quiet room. Where was the rush of success that should be resonating inside him? Where was that final thrill that culminated when justice was served?

Gustav shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from balling his fists, then stalked over to the window. He looked down at his home country he loved. A country that took care of its people. A country that, despite its small size, figured out how to come forward in a crisis, from refugees to wildfires, in the name of the greater community. A country he did not want to fall into greater debt because of the excesses of his family. He was trying to do the right thing.

But he had allowed Livia to become his weakness. Yet even his anger at her was turning into something more complicated. Livia had told him that her sister needed help, that she needed to be there for Adele, and yet he had demanded that she put Adele aside. He hadn’t searched for a compromise. And now he found himself alone in a room he hated, stepping further into a role that he had resented for his whole life.

He had never wanted to be a crown prince—and definitely not the king. He had just wanted to be respected for who he was. Even if being loved was out of the question. He didn’t want to be the Bastard Prince. Just Gustav. He hadn’t even arrived at the what happens next part that Livia has pushed him to consider, and he could already feel that he was making an enormous mistake. Because he would never find what he was looking for inside the walls of this castle.

The doorknob clicked, and Gustav’s body went rigid while his heart exploded with something that felt dangerously like hope. Was it Livia?

Slowly, he turned, and the rush of hope died in his chest. Of course it wasn’t her. Instead, Henri Jacard and King Fredrik af Isborg filed into the room. Gustav had fully expected his brother to walk through that door, too, enough that he had instructed the assistant to arrange four chairs. But even stealing his brother’s fiancée was not enough to convince Edvin to return. Gustav filed that away for later consideration and focused on the two men who were there. Livia’s father was technically the taller of the two, and he had a rugged look of a man who’d spent years outdoors, despite his close haircut and bespoke suit. But his father felt taller, with the look of a man who wielded his importance comfortably.

Gustav felt an aversion to both of them that was physical, and it took a moment to understand it. But when he did, the realization haunted him: If Gustav did not change course, he would be some version of them. He would spend his life grasping for power, wasting away the opportunities and privileges and responsibilities he had. How easy it was to waste one’s life.

The king crossed the room as if he noticed none of the glittering chandeliers and lush fabrics around him. He sat in one of the chairs and ignored the spread of drinks and fruits and desserts that another one of the many attendants had placed on a dark wooden table. His gaze was on Gustav, and it was icy. “I made the mistake of underestimating you the last time you showed up here. I won’t make that mistake again.”

This was probably the closest to praise that his father had—or would—ever give him.

“Where is my daughter?” Jacard barked. He was hovering behind a red chair, his tanned hand curled into the silken material. “The last time I saw her was all over the tabloids.”

“My father can stop that bad press anytime he wants.” Gustav raised his eyebrow at his father, taunting him. The king’s expression was stony. “It’s impressive what a few words from the palace’s public relations team can do, isn’t it?”

Gustav let that subtle accusation hang between them. His father’s silence said everything he needed to know, and he hoped Jacard saw this, too. It was better that Jacard understood exactly what kind of man the king was.

“As for where Livia is,” he continued, “while as her husband I will use any resource necessary to protect her, I am not her keeper.”

Jacard blinked, as if this was the last answer he expected. “But you are—”

“Her husband,” Gustav thundered. He braced himself as the words triggered a wave of desire and longing that had no place in the cold excesses of this room. “Do you care about your daughter, or is she a negotiation tool?”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Jacard quickly, but he looked away.

“She can participate as a partner in this negotiation whenever she chooses,” Gustav said.

It was at this inopportune time that the full effect of his mistakes hit him. He had demanded Livia’s obedience, but now he could feel that wasn’t what he wanted from her, not really. When he said he wanted Livia by his side, he had wanted a partner with all of her compassion and strength who would be there for him. And now she was on an unnamed Greek island far across the continent. If he wanted to find her, he would have to convince the pilot to help him locate her.

“I’m here.”

Her voice floated through the room, but Gustav was sure he was imagining it. He could only hope so many times. Still, he turned.

Livia stood in the doorway. She was wearing the same navy dress that she had worn when she had ridden away in the tender this morning, but she had pinned her hair into a twist at her nape, exposing the graceful column of her neck. She looked like a princess, and she looked like Livia. So beautiful it made him ache.

But both his father and Jacard were looking in her direction, too. Livia glanced at Gustav, and her gaze was wary. She was quite possibly still furious with him, but she was here. That was something. Gustav resisted the urge to cross the room and carry her away somewhere where they were alone, where he could show her exactly how much he needed her. Over and over.

He loved her.

The truth of that simple thought rang through him. He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to get to his knees right here and tell her that. Soon, he told himself. Instead, he watched as her chest rose and fell, and she approached the table.

“What is this?” the king barked. “What is going on?”