Page 51 of Throne Off Course

“It’s not generosity, it’s observation,” Thornton countered with unusual warmth. “Your father revolutionized how the public viewed the monarchy. It seems you might be following in those footsteps, albeit in your own way.”

The comparison to his father appeared in three different publications the following day. “Like Father, Like Son: Alexander Channels King James Philip’s Charisma” read one headline. “The Golden Prince: Has Prince Alexander Finally Embraced His Father’s Legacy?” asked another.

Alexander wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that but the PR team was ecstatic.

“This is exactly what we needed,” Elizabeth told him, sliding a folder of press clippings across her desk. “For years, the narrative has been that you’re too cold, too distant—nothing like your father. Now they’re seeing the connection.”

Alexander leafed through the articles, his expression unreadable. “So all it took was a sword fight and Emilia’s podcast to convince everyone I’m human?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Sometimes the most authentic moments create the most authentic perceptions.”

For once, Alexander had to admit—reluctantly—that the PR team might be right. Though he wasn’t about to tell Sebastian that his ridiculous duel had actually done him a favor. The man’s ego was insufferable enough already.

24

Her Majesty Is Not Amused

The Queen’s office was a fortress of control. Not a paper out of place, not a breath wasted. The only sign of disturbance was the crisp newspapers spread before her, their headlines variations of the same theme.

Alexander sat across from her, exuding the ease of a man who knew he was about to be lectured and had already decided he didn’t care.

The Queen, however, was in no mood for his defiance.

She lifted her gaze from the papers and regarded him coolly. “Tell me, Alexander, how many times do you expect me to summon you over your behavior?”

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “It was a few interviews, Mother. Not an act of treason.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. With slow precision, she picked up one of the papers, turning it toward him like an accusation.

“I see a prince who has spent his entire life cultivating discipline and decorum—who, instead of carrying himself with dignity, is now a viral internet spectacle.” She picked up another newspaper. “‘Like Father, Like Son,’ they’re saying. As if winning duels and charming talk show hosts is the purpose of the monarchy.”

Alexander fought back a smirk. “People seemed to enjoy it.”

The Queen’s gaze sharpened. “Enjoyment is irrelevant. Control is everything.” She tapped a manicured finger on the bolded headline before her. “The Ice Prince Melts—Is Alexander Finally a King We Can Love?”

“You are nothing more than a playboy prince to them, a passing media trend. Is that what you aspire to be? Your father’s charm had purpose, direction. This—” she gestured at the papers with disdain, “—this is frivolity.”

“Do you know what happens when the people love a prince too much?” she continued, voice laced with quiet steel. “They expect him to be theirs. They forget that he belongs to the crown.”

Alexander leaned back, deliberately relaxed. “You mean they forget he belongs to you.”

Her expression didn’t change, but the silence that followed was absolute.

He had struck too close.

Finally, she moved to set the paper aside as if it personally offended her. “If you insist on behaving recklessly, do not be surprised when people mistake you for reckless company.”

His grip on the armrest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral.

She continued, voice cool and precise. “Tell me, do you enjoy being likened to Sebastian Hawthorne? Because that is the comparison being made in every political circle that matters.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “There are worse people to be associated with than Sebastian.”

The Queen’s gaze remained impassive. “True, but he is careless. And if you align yourself too closely with men like him, the world will assume you are just as deeply unserious and unfitfor any real responsibility.”

Alexander exhaled sharply. “Sebastian is a friend.”

“He is a liability.” Her words sliced through the room like glass. “A self-indulgent aristocrat who thrives on spectacle. You may tolerate him, but do not think for a second that I will.”