Page 54 of Throne Off Course

Not from him.

“I understand if you’re angry,” he continued softly. “But I wanted you to know why I might seem… distant at times. It’s still fresh.”

“You—” She swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “Are you saying you don’t want this marriage?”

His expression softened, his voice gentle, almost apologetic. “No. I know my duty. I know what’s expected of us.” He reached for her hand, covering it with his own. “And I want us to have a good marriage, Eleanor. I truly do. I just… need some time.”

As she studied his face, she could see it in his eyes—a shadow, a rawness that spoke of fresh wounds. He might have broken things off with this other woman, but his heart was still bleeding for her.

“How much time?” she asked quietly.

James Philip’s eyes showed regret. “I don’t know. I wish I did.” He squeezed her hand gently. “But I promise you, I will try. I want to be a good husband to you. I want to move forward.”

She should have pulled away. Should have been angry.

But he wasn’t rejecting her.

He was telling her the truth.

And wasn’t that better than a lie?

Still, something inside her ached.

“You don’t love me,” she whispered.

James Philip’s expression softened. “I could,” he said, his voice soft. “I want to.”

A bitter smile curled at her lips. “But not yet.”

He said nothing because they both knew the answer. His silence confirmed what she had already seen—for now, at least, he still belonged to someone else.

That night Eleanor had sat in front of her vanity, staring at herself in the mirror, her face pale beneath the soft lamplight.

She thought about what her mother had always told her—that love was for commoners. That power was the only thing that lasted.

She had wanted to believe that wasn’t true.

But James Philip had proved otherwise.

He needed time, he said. But Eleanor knew the truth. Time wouldn’t heal what was broken in him—not when he looked at her and saw only what he had lost.

And so—she had to make him love her another way.

She would not be weak. She would not be cast aside.

If she could not have his heart—then she would have his loyalty.

She would become a Queen he could never ignore.

She would shape their marriage into something unbreakable, something that history would respect, even if love had no place in it.

Eleanor had wiped away her tears.

Then she lifted her chin—and never let herself cry for him again.

Now, watching her son below, Eleanor’s reflection in the window showed the same resolute expression she had worn that night. Perhaps Alexander would hate her for this intervention with Genevieve. Perhaps, like his father, he would carry on loving someone unsuitable while performing his royal duty.

But the crown would endure. She had made certain of that, even when her heart had not.