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11. Luca

CHAPTER 11

LUCA

I stare at my reflection in the gilded mirror, not recognizing the hollowed man staring back. Dark circles rim eyes dulled by grief and exhaustion, and my jaw clenches at the suffocating straitjacket of this formal black suit.

I want to rip off this tie, shatter this mirror. Scream until my voice gives out. Anything to relieve the crushing pressure in my chest.

But I can’t. Though my coronation isn’t due to take place for several weeks yet, I am already, for all intents and purposes, the king. And a king doesn’t have the luxury of falling apart.

A sharp rap at the door. “Your Majesty? It’s time.”

I close my eyes briefly, despising that title. It should still be Father’s. If only I’d told him that more often…

“I’ll be right there,” I manage, voice rough. Turning from the mirror, I shove down the welling grief and pain. Lock it away to deal with later. Or never.

Yanking open the door, I stride down the hallway, Stefan scrambling to keep pace as he briefs me on today’s crammed itinerary.

“After the morning cabinet meeting, there’s a luncheon with the visiting dignitaries. Then we need to finalize your coronation remarks…”

His words fade into a droning buzz as my temples begin to throb. Has it really only been a day since we put Father in the ground? It feels like a lifetime ago.

The ache of his absence hits me anew and I stumble, catching myself on a marble column.

“Sir? Are you all right?”

Am I all right? No. I’m the furthest thing from all right. But I don’t have the right to not be all right.

Inhaling shakily, I straighten my shoulders and give a tight nod. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Stefan frowns. “I wish you had not asked to schedule all these meetings today. You are in mourning, and?—”

“I’m fine,” I say, less kindly than I intend to. “There’s no point in sitting around moping. There’s too much to be done.”

And I march on down the hall, each step heavier than the last, knowing I’ll have to keep marching, keep going, no matter how much I’m fracturing inside.

As I sit through meeting after meeting, barely registering the discussions swirling around me, my mind keeps drifting to Hailey. The way her eyes sparkled when she laughed at something I said. The feel of her hand in mine as we walked back to her apartment from dinner.

God, that feels like a lifetime ago now. When I was just Luca for a night, a man falling for a woman. When I could steal a few precious hours away to spend with a captivating person, without the duty for a nation pressing down on me.

I want to reach out to her. To hear her voice, even if only for a moment.

But wouldn’t she get in touch with me if she wanted to? I sent her the message. She knows why I had to leave New York so suddenly.

Should I call her office? See if…

No.

Personal desires have no place in my life anymore. Hailey is firmly in my past, and that’s where she needs to stay. No matter how much it aches to accept that.

Shoving down the longing, I tune back into the droning voice of yet another government minister. But it’s no use. The words slide in one ear and out the other, my exhausted mind unable to grasp them.

“Your Majesty.” Stefan falls into step next to me as we leave the meeting. “Perhaps we should take a short break? You’ve been going nonstop since dawn.”

I start to refuse, the automatic denial rising to my lips. But I catch the barely concealed concern in his eyes and hesitate. He’s only trying to look out for me, as he always has.

Maybe a few minutes to clear my head wouldn’t hurt. I’ll be no good to anyone if I work myself into the ground.

“You’re right,” I say reluctantly. “Let’s take fifteen minutes. But then it’s straight back to work, understood? I don’t have time to waste on breaks.”

He bows his head in acquiescence, but I catch the flash of relief on his face.

Striding down the hallway, I make my way out to the palace gardens, hoping the fresh air will sweep away the cobwebs and longing, letting me focus on my duty once more.

The smell of honeysuckle and roses envelops me as I step into the lush gardens. I inhale deeply, willing the fragrant air to soothe my frayed nerves. But the ache in my chest remains undiminished.

Everywhere I look, memories assault me. There, the fountain where Father and I used to sail toy boats. The oak tree I fell out of at age seven, resulting in a broken arm. And the rose bushes I was told my mother so lovingly tended before her death. It’s fragments of just another life that one day will be lost to the wind.

No, correction: another life that is already slipping away, my mother and father gone. It’s only me now, the last of my family left standing.

Tears blur my vision, but I blink them back. Turning around, I head for the palace doors. Stefan waits with a slight frown.

“What is it?” My stomach twists. Is it more bad news?

“The journalist that has been sent to shadow you…” He pauses. “You know her.”

I frown. Why is he saying it in such a weird way?

“All right.” I walk past him, not interested in the ambiguity.

The meeting room is bustling with activity when I arrive, courtiers and officials moving to and fro. I barely register them, my mind still churning with dark thoughts.

“Your Majesty.” Geoffrey, my chief of staff, bows low. “May I present Ms. Hailey Warren, the journalist from The Morning Star who will be shadowing you this week.”

My head snaps up at the name, certain I must have misheard. But no, it’s her. Hailey.

She stands stock-still, her slim figure clad in a gray suit, brown hair pulled back in a sleek knot. Those whiskey eyes that captivated me from the first glance meet mine, and there’s a sorrow there.

For a moment, the world falls away. There is only her. The woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since our chance encounter. The woman I was certain I’d never see again.

“Hailey,” I breathe, forgetting protocol, forgetting the dozens of eyes upon us. “What are you doing here?”

Her lips part, but no words emerge. Her face turns pink, and she licks her lips.

Reality crashes back in as my chief of staff clears his throat. “Ms. Warren is here to write a piece on Your Majesty’s first days as sovereign. Didn’t you approve her assignment personally?”

I blink, trying to reconcile the dull memo that crossed my desk with the vibrant woman before me. I’d thought nothing of approving an American journalist. How was I to know it would be her?

Fate, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor. Bringing Hailey here, now, when I’m at my lowest. When I’m in no position to explore the connection that sparked between us.

I want to apologize for leaving New York without saying goodbye, to ask her why she didn’t get in touch — as a journalist who interviewed me already, the palace would have accepted a direct message to my desk. All of that is water under the bridge, though, gone in the face of more important matters.

Squaring my shoulders, I incline my head in a regal nod, shoving my tumultuous emotions to the back of my mind.

“Welcome to Werdenfeld, Ms. Warren. It is good to see you again. I look forward to giving you an inside look at our great nation.”

If my voice trembles slightly on the words, I trust no one is gauche enough to comment. Hailey sinks into a graceful curtsy, her eyes never leaving mine.

So it begins. A single, charged look. An assignment that perhaps I should hit the brakes on. I could ask for another reporter, at least. No one would even question me.

But I know how dedicated Hailey is to her career, to showing the heart of her stories. I wish for the world to get to know the true me, the future king, — and the only journalist I know who will do me justice is standing right in front of me.

So it has to be Hailey. There is no one else.

I only pray I’m strong enough to resist temptation. For both our sakes.

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