Page 115 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

‘You’re surprised?’ Sebastian said with a short, harsh laugh. ‘Do you feel betrayed by the old man?’

She hated it when he called the king that; it reeked of disrespect.

‘Need I remind you that he exiled his owndaughter?’

Rosie played with the necklace she wore, a fine platinum chain with a string of diamonds in the centre.

‘For that man, nothing matters more than his will being obeyed, and right now, he wants us to have a baby.’

Rosie’s eyes squeezed shut. ‘I can’t believe it.’

She loved Renee. She had worked for him for five years, worked closely, on a great many projects. She thought it was mutual. She believed he loved her too.

‘Relax, wife,’ Sebastian ground out, and when Rosie opened her eyes, it was to see Sebastian had crossed the room and was standing right in front of her, so close she could see the handful of freckles that ran across the bridge of his nose. They were tiny, not noticeable unless you were up close like this, because his tan all but concealed them. They’d reminded Rosie, the first day she’d noticed them, of stars in the heavens, as if a constellation had been plucked down and scattered across his face. ‘He told me the last thing he wants is for us to separate—the choice, he insisted, was to be yours, and I agree with him.’

She dropped her head forward, a thousand thoughts running through her mind, scattered and chaotic, totally unlike Rosie’s usually clear and precise approach to problem solving. On the one hand, she’d worked for the king for a long time. She could go back to her old job, couldn’t she? Perhaps continue with her pet projects in that capacity?

But no.

If Sebastian were to remarry—and he would do so swiftly, she had no doubt—then the new princess wouldn’t want Rosie hanging around the palace, never mind that their marriage had been strictly business.

Whatever funds she needed for her work would surely be allocated to that princess, and not to her.

She shook her head at the impossible situation she found herself in, and chose, rather than answering, to go on the attack. To push Sebastian to face his own doubts, rather than needling her about her own.

‘You don’t want this, surely?’

‘To have a baby with you?’

She nodded quickly.

‘I want my birthright,’ he responded, each word a staccato pulse, and for one of the first times since knowing him, she felt his regal bloodlines reverberate around the room. No, that wasn’t quite right. Prior to returning home to Cavalonia and negotiating the terms for his exiled mother’s readmission to the royal family, Sebastian had established himself as a king amongst men—in the business world, at least. Far from wasting his life lamenting his expulsion from this country, he’d made his first billion before he was twenty-three years old and had since gone from strength to strength. But this was different. When he spoke now of birthright, shefeltit. The justness of his claim on this palace, this life. She felt the importance of his place here, and his duty to this country.

She felt her own duty too.

She loved Cavalonia. She loved the people, the history, the culture; she was immensely patriotic. She’d worked tirelessly for the king, had even walked away from a serious relationship because her fiancé had expected her to stop working, once they were married. She’d sacrificed everything to be where she was. Was she willing, even, to sacrifice her life? And what then of her baby? What of her work? Was there a way she could do this and ensure her child would be cared for, no matter what? Having grown up without the presence of a mother, and with a father who had become increasingly less reliable, she knew she couldn’t bring a child into the world without certain guarantees. But could Prince Sebastian give her those assurances? Would he promise to love their baby enough for two parents?

‘I need to think,’ she said, quietly, not meeting his eyes.

She was surprised when he reached out and touched her chin, his strong, commanding fingers tilting her face towards his, forcing her to face him head-on. His voice, though, was low and soft, as if he understood the magnitude of this decision. Not just for himself, but for Rosie too. ‘Think fast, wife. The king will not wait long for our answer.’

CHAPTER TWO

HESTORMEDFROMthe palace with long strides that conveyed, to anyone who dared look at the prince, the strength of his emotions.

He hated this place.

He had hated it for a long time.

His childhood memories of the palace were all troubled. Thoughts of his grandfather tainted by that last awful week, when his mother had fought with her father constantly, and Sebastian, a boy of only four, had listened to their screaming matches without understanding the content, but perceiving, in that way children could, that it was very serious. Somehow, he’d known his life was about to change forever.

In America, he’d initially refused to think of his life here at all. Avoiding feelings he didn’t like, emotions that weakened him, like the dull ache of rejection. Of knowing that he was dispensable—his grandfather had easily cut him from his life without a backwards glance, as had his own father. When Sebastian’s mother had left him, Sebastian’s father had chosen to forget his son existed. At first, he’d missed his father and grandfather as one might a lost limb. He’d ached for them, for the time they’d used to spend together. But missing them had hurt too much. It had made him miserable and flooded his little body with a deep sense of worthlessness, so he did everything he could not to give those feelings power over him.

But bit by bit, with age, certain things had forced their way into his consciousness. The strangest things, like facsimiles of memories, really. Rather than being of anything important or specific, they were always transient—like the way the sun lit the marble floor of his childhood home, or the smell of the spruce trees that grew near the lawn, or the sound of the waves, crashing against the shore. He remembered the feeling of that too, his feet digging into the sand as wave after wave rolled over him; he’d laughed at the sensation. There were glimpses of his father and grandfather too, memories he hated, because they were good, warm and happy, which made a mockery of how they’d treated him afterwards.

He had been exiled, along with his mother, as a little boy. Punished for her sins, perhaps used as leverage to force her to relent. She hadn’t. And though he was now back, it didn’t undo the pain and hurt that his grandfather had caused. Sebastian had been permanently altered by the insecurity that came from rejection: it had made him careful and cynical, and determined never again to put himself in a position of such weakness and vulnerability. He had once loved with the happy abandon of a little boy, the innocence of a child who expected to always be loved in return. He would never make that mistake again. As a man, he had grown to crave control.

No wonder he found it galling to have been manipulated into marrying the woman his bastard of a grandfather had hand chosen.

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