Page 114 of Throne Off Course

Alexander closed his eyes briefly, the reality of their new situation setting in. His stand against his mother had set things in motion that couldn’t be undone. “Just a moment, Thomas,” he called, keeping his voice steady.

He looked back at Emilia, who was already sitting up, sheetclutched to her chest, the spell of their morning bubble clearly broken.

“Em—”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly, though her expression had shifted, some of the warmth replaced by the practical efficiency he recognized from their early days working together. “You have responsibilities. I understand.”

“Come here,” he said, catching her wrist before she could pull away further. He drew her back to him, capturing her lips in a kiss that he hoped conveyed everything he didn’t have time to say. “This isn’t over,” he murmured against her mouth. “We’re just getting started.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. “Go,” she said, giving him a gentle push. “Before Thomas has to break down the door. I suspect that would be harder to explain.”

Alexander laughed, pressing one more kiss to her forehead before reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed. As he gathered his clothes and headed for the bathroom, he paused to look back at her—hair tousled, sheet pulled to her chest, morning light making her skin glow.

“What?” she asked, self-consciousness creeping into her voice under his steady gaze.

He shook his head, memorizing the moment. “Nothing,” he said. “Just… stay there. I’ll be quick with Thomas.”

Her smile returned, small but real. “I’ll be here.”

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Alexander believed that the world might actually bend to his will—not because he was a prince, but because some things, once found, were worth fighting for.

Even if that meant changing everything.

Even if it meant redefining what the monarchy could be.

Because in defying his mother, in standing against theengagement, in letting the world see him choose love over duty—Alexander had already started a transformation that would reshape his future reign. And with Emilia by his side, that future suddenly felt not just possible, but right.

50

Forget the Champagne, We’re Serving Drama Tonight

Sebastian Hawthorne believed in one fundamental truth: if you orchestrate a political coup without technically committing treason, you deserve a damn party.

And so, two weeks after the Queen stepped back, he threw one.

The party was alive with music, laughter, and champagne flowing freely. Nobles, politicians, and journalists mingled, all eager to celebrate the officially unspoken but universally acknowledged defeat of Queen Eleanor’s carefully laid plans. The air buzzed with relief, with victory, with the electric hum of a new era.

This wasn’t just any party—it was a spectacle. The room shimmered under the golden glow of chandeliers, the warm hum of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clink of champagne flutes. Aristocrats and power players mingled with celebrities and socialites, each hoping to be at the heart of Sebastian’s orchestrated chaos. But amidst the revelry, Alexander only saw her.

Emilia stood by the bar, deep in conversation with Harper, entirely unaware of how effortlessly she commanded his attention. She was laughing, her hand wrapped around a champagne flute, her green dress catching the light like a jewel—a deep emerald that made her eyes glow brighter than the chandeliers above. She looked up then, her gaze catching his across the room. There was a moment—an undeniable shift in the air—before she set her drink down and walked towardhim, the crowd parting as if it knew this was their stage.

“Enjoying your victory?” she asked, tilting her head as she stopped in front of him, a playful edge to her voice.

Alexander let out a quiet laugh, his heart thudding in a way no royal training could ever suppress. “Our victory.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something softer there too, something that had grown between them over months of arguments and stolen glances.

“I call it what it is,” he replied, his voice steady but warm, stepping closer so the space between them felt charged. “None of this would have happened without you.”

A smile played at her lips, but she didn’t look away. “I’m not sure the history books will record it quite that way.”

“Then we’ll have to rewrite them.” He paused, his breath catching as he studied her—the woman who had unraveled his world and stitched it back together in ways he’d never imagined. He offered his hand, palm up, a quiet invitation. “Dance with me?”

Emilia’s eyebrow arched slightly, her expression teasing. “I thought you only danced when absolutely necessary.”

His lips curved, but his eyes were serious, locked on hers. “This feels necessary. More than anything ever has.”

She studied him for a beat, searching his face as if she could decipher every layer he’d spent a lifetime building. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, she slipped her hand into his, her fingers warm against his skin.