Page 109 of Throne Off Course

“She is a talented professional, a historian in her own right, and she deserves to be recognized for more than just her association with me,” he said.

Emilia’s breath left her in a rush. He hadn’t even said her name, but he didn’t have to. He had protected her. He could have brushed past the question, could have denied it outright. But instead, he had made it clear—she was not some passing scandal, not a footnote in his story.

She realized in that moment that she needed to see him, to talk to him.

The decision crystallized instantly. Emilia closed her laptop, grabbed her coat, and was out the door before she could second-guess herself. She hailed a taxi with unusual urgency,her fingers tapping restlessly against her thigh during the entire ride.

The palace gates loomed ahead as the taxi approached. Normally, she’d take in the grandeur, the weight of history embedded in every stone. Today, she barely noticed. Her security clearance was still active—a small mercy that saved her from what would have been an excruciatingly long wait.

“Miss Carter to see Prince Alexander,” she told the guard, her voice steadier than she felt. “He’s expecting me.” A small lie, but one that would expedite matters.

The palace corridors seemed longer than usual as she strode through them, her footsteps echoing against marble floors. Staff members nodded respectfully as she passed, but she barely registered their presence. Her mind was fixed on what she would say—what she could say—after what she’d just witnessed.

Alexander barely had time to register the knock before Emilia was pushing open the door to his office.

She looked flustered, her eyes sharp with something he couldn’t quite place.

“Emilia—”

“Why did you say that?” she interrupted, her voice quiet but insistent.

He blinked. “Say what?”

She huffed, stepping forward. “In the interview. About—” She gestured vaguely, as if she didn’t quite know how to phrase it. “Me.”

Alexander exhaled slowly, closing the file he had been pretending to read. “Because it was the truth.”

She stared at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he cut in, his voice firm but gentle. “Because I meant it. And I won’t let them reduce you to just being my historian. Youare more than that. You always have been.”

Her lips parted slightly, something unspoken lingering there. He wanted to reach for her, to close the distance between them, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“You know what this means, right?” she finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “They’ll speculate. They’ll twist it into whatever story sells best.”

Her expression grew hopeful. “And you still said it anyway.”

“Of course I did,” Alexander murmured.

She exhaled, shaking her head like she didn’t quite know what to do with him. Then, in a voice much softer than before, she admitted, “I saw you.”

He frowned. “What?”

“At the gala,” she clarified. “When you danced with Genevieve.”

Ah.

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. “And?”

She let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “I hated it.”

His expression softened.

“I knew it wasn’t real. I knew it was for show,” she continued, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “But it tore at something inside me.”

Alexander moved then, standing so quickly his chair scraped against the marble floor.