Page 37 of Thrones We Steal

My head snaps up. Of course he knows about the meeting. He works at the palace. Maybe he knows about everything. Maybe I’ve been stressing myself raw when he’s known all along. Maybe it’s not as big of a deal as I’m making it into, maybe there’s a legal loophole or the situation has died down since the meeting or—

His confused face ends my fantasy.

He doesn’t know anything.

“Yes, that too.” I clear the cobwebs from my rusty voice. “They’ve proposed what they hope will end the riots and acts of terrorism. What they feel is the only viable option. The session lasted all day while they tried to find any other solution, but this is the only thing they came up with.”

I’m stalling.

I can’t do this.

The words won’t leave my mouth.

He stabs a forkful of green beans while he waits for me to continue.

Then the words tumble out on top of each other like a busted gumball machine.

“They want me to marry Henry.”

He freezes mid-chew and looks at me like he doesn’t remember who I am. It’s his turn to be mute. He stares at me for what feels like an eternity.

Finally I can’t take it anymore and whisper, “Please say something.”

He drains the contents of his wine glass first. “I don’t understand. How would marrying Henry solve anything?”

I explain as best I can, but I must fail miserably because instead of comprehension, a steely coldness settles over his face.

“It sounds as though you’ve already made up your mind.”

“No! That’s the problem. I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t know what to do,” he parrots back.

“I’ve been going back and forth in my mind the last few days, and I’m no closer to knowing what I should do than I was. Please help me, Beck.”

He’s quiet for so long I can feel each nerve splitting into a frayed end. I know he’s inwardly processing all of this, but I wish he would do it out loud so I can know what he’s thinking. It’s always been one of the more frustrating differences between us: My words hit a greased slide to my mouth, bypassing my brain altogether. His marinate in his cerebral juices for a while until their flavor is just right.

“Let me get this straight,” he says and adjusts his knife and fork so both are at exactly six o’clock on his plate. “You were asked several days ago to break our engagement and marry Henry. Since then, you haven’t breathed a word of this to me, but have instead been debating what you should do?”

When you put it like that, it sounds pretty awful. “What would you have me do instead?”

“Call me immediately? Tell them right then you wouldn’t do it? Anything but fret about it like there’s a decision to be made.”

“But there is a decision to make.”

He sags into his chair. “You’re actually considering this.”

“You think I should abandon Wesbourne when I have it in my power to save her?”

“It’s not your problem, Celia.”

“It became my problem the day I was born into a royal bloodline. Possibly the only royal bloodline.”

“Does that somehow make you nobler than the rest of us?”

“No, it makes me required by blood to give everything I am to this country.”

“No one would blame you for saying no to this.”

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