Page 70 of Throne Off Course

“Alexander,” she greeted, her voice light but firm, carrying just the right amount of familiarity and expectation.

His eyes met hers, and for a moment—just a flicker—she saw something there. Resentment? Hesitation? Resignation? It disappeared as quickly as it surfaced, but she had caught it.

“Genevieve,” he said, his voice perfectly measured. “Welcome back.”

The greeting was polite. Unremarkable. Unmoved.

She tilted her head, studying him for half a second longer than necessary. Genevieve was many things—elegant, poised, practically designed for royal life—but she was not naïve. Something had changed. And more importantly, someone had changed him.

A lesser woman might have faltered. Instead, she smiled. It wasn’t forced, not rushed, but strategic. Reaching out, she linked her arm through his, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve in a way that had always made him sigh in quiet defeat. It had never been difficult to remind him where he belonged.

“Shall we?” she murmured, her voice smooth as silk.

Alexander hesitated. For a brief moment, his body tensed, as if considering pulling away. But he didn’t. Because he couldn’t.Because he understood what this moment represented, what it had to become, what everyone watching expected to see. So he let her lead.

Genevieve looked at him with a small satisfied smile. He might have changed, but some things still remained the same. She would not be cast aside so easily.

33

A Strictly Professional Relationship

With Genevieve’s arrival, Alexander had been pulled back into the world of royal obligations, and Emilia had thrown herself into the final preparations for the historical exhibition.

The exhibition stood nearly complete. Display cases were arranged, narratives polished, and a delicate balance between reverence and honesty carefully struck. It was bold—bolder than anything the palace had ever approved before. The monarchy had always controlled its own narrative, smoothing over the uncomfortable edges, curating the past to maintain an image of unwavering dignity. But this exhibit told the truth: the good, the bad, and yes—even the ugly.

Emilia had fought for that. Fought for a version of history that wasn’t justapprovedbuthonest. The triumphs, the struggles, the missteps. The ways the monarchy had shaped the country, for better or worse.

Now, only one section remained unfinished—the exhibit dedicated to King James Philip.

And that was the problem.

Because while every other monarch’s legacy had been meticulously pieced together, Alexander’s father was different. His records were curatedtooneatly. The financial irregularities had been cleaned up and explained away. It was all there, just beneath the surface, but nothingconcrete. Every time Emilia tried to find the missing pieces, she hit another carefullyplaced roadblock.

The only new information she had uncovered was a collection of private letters revealing that King James Philip, too, had struggled with the idea of an arranged marriage. Alexander wasn’t exactly surprised when she showed him these letters. He knew his parents didn’t have the warmest relationship, but it seemed that his father had been truly in love with someone else but they were forced to break up before his marriage—a parallel to Alexander’s own situation that neither of them acknowledged aloud.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That she had done her job, that the exhibit was already pushing boundaries as it was. But deep down, she knew better. Somethingwasmissing, and she hated unfinished stories.

Still, there was nothing more she could do. Not without going down a path she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

So instead, she focused on the final touches, ignoring the ache in her chest every time she caught a glimpse of Alexander in the papers. There he was, dutifully playing his role alongside Genevieve.

It was fine.

This was what she had signed up for.

And if something about it feltwrong—well, that wasn’t something she was prepared to deal with anymore.

* * *

A few days later Emilia found herself checking details that had already been checked a dozen times over.

“You know, at some point, you have to actually let go,” Alexander said, appearing beside her.

Emilia sighed, stepping back. “I know. It’s just—”

“Perfect,” Alexander finished for her. “It’s perfect, Emilia.”

She was about to respond when a voice—unmistakably French—echoed through the exhibition hall.