9. Luca

CHAPTER 9

LUCA

T he funeral suit hangs on the wardrobe like a specter, black fabric seeming to suck all light and joy from the room. My fingers tremble slightly as I button the crisp white shirt, fumbling with the onyx cuff links.

Each step of dressing feels heavy, weighed down by the grim reality of what this day holds. My father, my king, lying cold and lifeless, about to be sealed away forever. It still doesn’t feel real.

I stare at my reflection — pale face, shadows beneath red-rimmed eyes, golden hair combed into rigid submission. The picture of a grieving son and solemn future monarch. But inside I’m screaming, raging against the cruelty of fate that ripped him away too soon.

A quiet knock at the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Sir?” Stefan peeks his head in. “It’s nearly time.”

I nod curtly, not trusting my voice not to crack. Shrugging on the jacket, I take a shuddering breath, trying to steel myself. But how can I possibly be ready to lay my father to rest? To take his place on the throne, when all I want is to beg him not to leave me?

Our last conversation plays through my mind for the thousandth time. I’d been so rude to him, so unwilling to listen and see his point of view. Yet even though I acted like a brat, he still took it upon himself to tell me I wasn’t a disappointment, that I “never could be” — his last words to me.

He was a good father. A good man. I only regret that I was too foolish to see it.

Stefan clears his throat. “The press release is prepared. After the service, the official announcement will be made to the public.” His wizened face softens. “Werdenfeld shares in your loss, Luca. They too will mourn the king that led them so well.”

Hot anger flares in my chest. I don’t want their grief, their expectations. I want my father back. But I swallow the childish words. “Of course. Thank you, Stefan.”

Straightening my tie, I meet my own bleak gaze in the mirror one last time. Time to bury my father. Time to lead my country.

I can do it, despite each step feeling like another knife jab in my heart.

As I descend the palace’s grand staircase, a familiar figure waits at the bottom. Simon, my closest friend since childhood, looks up with empathy shining in his hazel eyes.

“Luca.” He enfolds me in a tight embrace, one hand gripping the back of my neck. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m so sorry, brother.”

For a moment, I let myself sag against him, face pressed to his shoulder as I struggle to hold myself together. Simon is the one person with whom I can let my guard down. After a shuddering breath, I pull back.

“Thanks for being here, Si. It means a lot.” My voice is hoarse, strained.

He squeezes my shoulder. “Where else would I be? You’re not alone in this, Luca. I’ve got your back, always.”

We walk together to the waiting car, sliding into the spacious back seat. As we wind through the cobblestone streets, my thoughts drift unbidden to warm brown eyes and soft lips curved in a smile. Hailey. Amidst the chaos, she’s been a bright spot, a tantalizing possibility of something real. But since that magical night, there’s been only radio silence.

Did she receive my message?

I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I don’t have time for women now. Not with the way my life has abruptly been flipped upside down.

“I met someone,” I murmur, gaze fixed unseeing on the passing scenery. “In New York. Hailey. She’s… different. Special.”

Simon turns to me, one brow raised. “Oh? Do tell.”

A wistful smile tugs at my mouth. “She’s a journalist. Passionate, brilliant. Doesn’t give a damn about my title.” I shake my head. “I thought we had a connection. But now… maybe it was just a fantasy.”

“Hey.” Simon jostles my arm until I meet his eyes. “You felt something real, right? Then don’t give up so easy. Give her time.”

I blow out a heavy sigh. “It’s more than that. I’m about to be made king, Simon. That changes everything.”

The car slows to a stop. My heart clenches painfully as I take in the crowds of black-clad mourners lining the walk to the cathedral. Simon’s hand finds mine, giving a bolstering squeeze.

“One step at a time, Luca. Your people are with you. I’m with you. You can do this.”

Jaw clenched, I nod tightly. The cathedral looms before us, ancient stone and soaring spires. A monument to the enduring legacy of the Werdenfelden monarchy. My legacy now.

I climb the steps on leaden feet, Simon steadfast at my side. The great oak doors groan open, inviting me into the cavernous sanctuary. Perfumed air and low organ music envelop me. My gaze draws inexorably to the coffin at the altar, draped in our royal standard.

Father .

I stumble, catching myself on a pew. Simon’s arm slips around my shoulders, propping me up as I make my way down the aisle. Memories flash through my mind — sailing on the lake, hearty laughter echoing through the palace rooms, long talks by the fire. All gone now, lost to the ether.

I reach the bier, hardly recognizing the still, waxy figure within as my father. My king. Grief rises in my throat and I bow my head, tears slipping free. “I’m sorry, Father,” I rasp. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t ready.”

But there’s no more time for selfish regrets. Werdenfeld needs me. I have to shoulder this mantle, bear it with strength and grace as he did. Inhaling shakily, I press a hand to his folded ones, which are cold as marble.

“I’ll make you proud. I swear it. I’ll be the king our people deserve.”

The words hang heavy in the hallowed air. Squaring my shoulders, I turn from my father’s remains to face the future. A future without his guidance, but not without his love. His memory will live on, even as mine is just beginning.

Long live the king.