Page 115 of Heavy Crown

A flare of pettiness sparks. What could she possibly have to say to me after avoiding me for three weeks? After rejecting my plans for us?

I’m on the cusp of telling him to send her packing out of spite when Kane says, “She seemed upset. Looked like she’d been crying.”

“Oh,” I say, and the pettiness in me vanishes. “No, I’ll… I’ll see her. Of course I’ll see her.” I open the door to my wing and turn back to him. “Between us, yes?”

Kane purses his lips and nods.

The door to my room is closed, and I hesitate before seizing the handle. My bedroom has been my sanctuary. It’s the one place in the palace that bears no memories of Rory, but once I step through the door, that’ll no longer be true.

Maybe I should have sent her home or had Kane move her to another room, a more neutral location.

With a deep breath, I open the door. She’s in one of the chairs by the fireplace, pale and puffy faced. The door is still open behind me, but I can’t help taking a beat to drink her in. This conversation might haunt me, but I won’t forget this mental picture of her in my room as though she belongs here.

She wipes her tear-stained face and stands. “I’m sorry.”

I ease the door closed behind me, and I shove my hands into the pockets of my suit pants to stop myself from trying to physically comfort her. We’re not those people anymore, the ones she claimed weren’t real in the first place. In her cottage is the closest I’ve ever been to Alex, whoever he is. Perhaps she was right, and he was a mirage. Who I was then feels impossible to reclaim.

Words are failing me, so instead of saying anything, I stand behind the chair and try to memorize every inch of her to take out like pieces of treasure to admire later.

The sharp stabbing pain is back in my ribs. A piece of me is carved out and belongs to her. The pain used to bring me pleasure, too—to realize I was capable of such a big feeling for someone else was a revelation. She’s the first woman I’ve ever been one hundred percent certain I loved, and it wasn’t enough.

“What are you doing here?” My last thought has tinged my voice with annoyance.

She swallows and more tears leak down her cheeks. I clench my hands in my pockets to keep myself in check. I’m engaged to someone else, and I made a promise to Simone, to my father, to my country.

“I’m not sure what to say or where to start,” she whispers.

My frustration and anger from earlier resurfaces. She’s here, and there’s nothing I can do to soothe her. Aurora Wilson isn’t mine anymore, and the cold realization makes me want to roar with rage.

“If this is a kitchen matter or if someone on palace grounds hasn’t been treating you properly, you’ll have to speak to HR.” My tone is clipped with frustration. I won’t stand for anyone being unkind to her. While I can no longer have a direct hand, once HR is aware, I’ll ensure whoever it is loses something in return for hurting her.

She stares at me, and I can’t read what’s being processed behind those green eyes. Some calculation I cannot possibly fathom is happening.

“What if I...” She takes a deep breath. “What if I wanted to change my mind about us?”

“About us?” I frown and search her face. Am I understanding this right?

“Yes.” She doesn’t elaborate.

I run my hands through my hair in rough movements, but I keep the chair between us. My resolve around her is paper thin, and I’ve made promises to other people now.

“It’s too late.” The words come out a dull rasp, as though nothing in me wants to form them.

“You’re not married yet,” she says. “We could run away together. I don’t care where or what we do or anything.” She rises from her chair and takes a step toward me.

I step back and shake my head. “I spent the better part of a week trying to get you to open your door to me. I even sought you out in the kitchen. Now—now is when you change your mind?”

Her bottom lip quivers. “I should have said yes.”

“But you didn’t say yes. On that Thursday night, I sat outside your door for over an hour laying out three very detailed plans of places we could go, lives we could live together. Three! And you didn’t open the fucking door. I told you, come Friday, the course would be set, and you kept me locked out. I needed your yes then.” My voice cracks, and the pain in my ribs is almost unbearable.

“Three?” she whispers.

“Come on, Rory.” I let out a huff. “You made a choice.”

“I didn’t make the right one because I didn’t hear you,” she says, and she takes another step in my direction. “I locked myself in the bathroom to stop myself from opening the door.” Her tone is pleading.

I cover my face with my hands and run my fingertips over my temples. My stomach rolls with the realization of how fucked up everything has gotten. She didn’t hear me. Explains so much, but it’s still too late. My word has to matter, and I gave it to my father. I gave it to Simone, and when I stepped out onto the balcony with her at Nick and Julia’s wedding, I gave it to my people.