Page 55 of Throne Off Course

26

A Summons from the Queen

Genevieve Laurent had never been a woman prone to unnecessary sentiment. She had been raised to understand duty, responsibility, and the careful art of positioning oneself exactly where one needed to be.

She had always known she would marry Alexander.

It had never been a question ofif—onlywhen.

But as she sat in her elegant Parisian townhouse, turning the Queen’s formal invitation over in her hands, she found herselfhesitating.

The wording was polite. Expected.

“Her Majesty cordially invites you to Caledonia for a private audience to discuss the forthcoming engagement,”

But the timing—that was what gave her pause.

Genevieve set the letter down, reaching for the nearest newspaper. The headlines had been impossible to ignore.

“The Prince Warms Up—Is Alexander Finally Embracing ?”

“A New Side of the Crown Prince—What’s Behind the Change?”

She tapped her fingers against the polished mahogany desk, exhaling slowly.

She had known Alexander for years. She knew him wellenough to recognize that he was not prone to sudden transformation.

So the question remained—was this newfound lightness in him a sign that he wasfinallyready to accept their engagement?

Or was there another reason the Queen had summoned her?

One the press hadn’t yet uncovered?

After a long moment, she reached for a pen.

“To Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor—

It would be my honor to accept your invitation.”

She pressed the tip of the pen harder against the paper than necessary.

She had always known she would marry Alexander.

But for the first time, she wondered if he still knew it too.

27

In His Majesty’s Defense, She Did Say ‘Make Me’

Alexander barely remembered coming to the archives. One moment, he had been in his mother’s study, her voice like ice as she dictated his future—his marriage to Genevieve, his duty to the Crown—each word another shackle around his wrists. The next, he was here, his feet carrying him to the one place he shouldn’t go.

And he wasn’t even sure why.

Or maybe, deep down, he knew exactly why. The truth burned in his chest, undeniable: he needed something real. Something that made his pulse race. He needed her.

Emilia was hunched over a stack of papers when he entered, her chestnut hair falling in waves around her face as she scribbled notes in the margins. She didn’t look up immediately—maybe she hadn’t heard him come in, or perhaps she was simply too absorbed in her work. This gave him a moment to watch her, to observe the furrow of concentration between her brows, the way she absently tucked her hair behind her ear.

Three nights had passed since he’d seen her properly at Sebastian’s party. In that time, she’d become remarkably skilled at avoiding him—ducking into side corridors or suddenly discovering urgent business in the opposite direction whenever he appeared. Enter a room, and she’d find reasons to leave it.