Page 74 of Throne Off Course

Alexander picked up one of the pages, his expressionunreadable. “And you’re certain these came directly from my father?”

Sebastian nodded. “Very certain. But that’s not the most interesting part.”

He slid a smaller note forward. Alexander hesitated before picking it up. He read it once, then again, his expression tightening. Emilia, watching him carefully, reached for it next. She scanned the words, then let out a slow breath.

“An affair.”

Sebastian leaned back, arms folded. “Looks like it. And given the payments, it seems my father was blackmailing yours.”

Alexander set the note down carefully, but his fingers remained against the edge of the paper, as if reluctant to let it go.

“Do we have any idea who wrote this?” His voice was calm. Deliberately calm.

Emilia shook her head. “Not yet. But…” she glanced between Sebastian and Alexander. “We can check the King’s travel records. See if we can match these payments to specific trips.”

Sebastian smirked. “Now that sounds like proper investigative work. Very professional of us.”

Emilia rolled her eyes, already reaching for one of the travel logs. “Let’s just see what we can find.”

Alexander didn’t say anything.

But as he picked up another document, his grip was noticeably tighter.

* **

That evening, Alexander left the archives in a daze. So lost in thought, he barely registered the turns he took, the long corridors stretching ahead, or the sound of his footsteps echoing against the marble. His body moved on instinct, guided by muscle memory rather than intent.

He didn’t realize where he was going until he stopped—finding himself standing in front of the heavy oak doors of his father’s study. A room he had barely entered since the funeral. His fingers curled around the handle, breath unsteady. He shouldn’t be here. But he pushed the door open anyway.

The moment he stepped inside, Alexander was struck by how little had changed. The same books lined the shelves. The same desk stood at the center, and other than the lack of papers and files, everything remained as it had always been. He could almost picture his father behind it, grinning at him, explaining that kingship was nothing more than a bigger game of strategy. And then there was the portrait. Alexander’s chest tightened. It was different than the one featured in the exhibit, more informal. His gaze locked onto the familiar painted figure, and something inside him snapped.

The king stared back from the canvas with that expression of calm—the smile that never failed to put everyone at ease. Suddenly, fury bubbled up within Alexander. How dare his father sit there, frozen in time, golden and untouchable, while the truth unraveled everything Alexander had once believed?

His father had been many things—charming, complicated, frustrating as hell—but not this. Not a liar. Not a coward. Not someone who would shatter lives and leave behind a mess for others to clean up.

Alexander’s breath quickened, sharp and uneven. “Why?” The word was barely above a whisper, but it trembled with raw emotion. The portrait stared back. Unmoved. Unbothered. The man in the painting looked exactly as a king should—steady, strong, untouchable. A father to be proud of.

But Alexander couldn’t see that man anymore. He saw thepayments. The secrecy. The affair. His mother left to cover up his father’s recklessness. He saw the cracks in a legacy he had spent his entire life trying to uphold.

His pulse pounded in his ears. “I defended you,” he murmured, voice low and sharp. “I never believed her.” His mother’s words echoed in his mind—her cold, cutting remarks about his father’s indulgences and recklessness. He had always assumed she meant his politics, his idealism. Not this betrayal.

“‘When you’re older, perhaps you’ll understand some of the choices I’ve made,’” Alexander whispered, his anger giving way to something deeper, more broken. “You said we’re all more than our worst mistakes. Was this what you were talking about all along? That one day I’d discover you had an affair, that you’d been blackmailed? That all your talk of honor and loyalty was just… what? A performance?”

A harsh laugh escaped his throat, chest burning with self-loathing. “God, and now I’m just doing the same thing, aren’t I?” His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the desk. “Loving someone I shouldn’t. Risking everything for moments stolen in archives and whispered conversations.” His jaw clenched until it ached. “Was she worth it? Was she worth destroying everything for? Because I look at Emilia and I—” His voice cracked. “I think she might be. And I hate you even more for making me understand.”

He paced across the room, running his hands through his hair. “‘Did you want me to be brave enough to do what you couldn’t—choose love over duty?”

Rage clawed to the surface. He turned, eyes burning, and grabbed the nearest object—an old, forgotten ledger—flinging it across the room. It struck the bookshelf with a dull thud, toppling a stack of papers. But it wasn’t enough. The storm inside him persisted. So he grabbed another. And another. Papers and books crashed to the floor. “Youdon’t get to do this,” he said, voice rising, cracking at the edges. “You don’t get to just—” He slammed a hand against the desk, rattling ink bottles, sending a silver paperweight skidding across the surface. “—leave me with your mistakes!”

His breath heaved. His hands trembled. Sweat beaded at his temples despite the cool air. He pressed his palms flat against the desk, bracing himself as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. Silence. His father’s painted gaze watched him, still calm, still golden. As though nothing had changed. As though the truth hadn’t just torn through Alexander like a blade. And that was the worst part. Because his father wasn’t here. And never would be again. There would be no explanations, no chance to ask if the love had been worth the cost, no opportunity to understand.

Alexander squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers dug into the wood of the desk. And for the first time since learning the truth, he felt like a son grieving his father all over again.

For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if the man he had spent years trying to emulate had ever been worth it.

35

Genevieve, Meet Alexander’s Backbone