“We need to talk.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to speak to me while you’re greeting everyone in court.”
“I think the king is allowed to do whatever he wants.”
“Eli,” I whispered.
“I miss you.”
“Please. Not here.” My heart leaped into my ears.
He couldn’t speak to me like that in public and expect me to keep a poised and stoic appearance. There were photographers everywhere, snapping photos of every single moment. There were journalists ready to rip him apart for any misstep. I pulled away and took a step back with a smile, for their sake, and let go of his hand. He looked at me for one more second before moving on to Pierre, now standing beside me. I let out a breath when he was far enough, but maintained my composure because I’d learned the way the media worked. I’d learned that their lens would stay on me long after I thought they looked away. When Elias was finished greeting and thanking everyone, the room applauded and erupted into cheers once more, and I finally managed to breathe out.
“They probably photographed him doing that,” I said to Pierre in a voice as low as I could muster.
“They definitely photographed it.” He glanced away from me and looked around momentarily, suddenly smiling wide. “They’re photographing us right now. Smile. Or laugh.”
“I’ll be on page one tomorrow.” I laughed. It sounded fake, but thankfully sound didn’t translate in photographs. “What was he thinking?”
“Funny you should ask. I need you to come with me when this is over.”
My smile faltered. “Where?”
“To the King’s State Apartments.”
“For what?” My pulse quickened.
I didn’t know what state apartments were, but I assumed it was some kind of bedroom? Surely Elias didn’t mean to seduce me on his coronation day, when Emily was present. I looked over at the dance floor, which was mostly empty, save for an elderly couple in the corner. Everyone else seemed to be mingling with their drinks. Emily caught my attention. She was standing in the corner speaking to Elias. Or arguing. It seemed like they were arguing. He didn’t look very happy. I tore my gaze from them and looked at Pierre again.
“For what? Why does he need to see me in private? Can’t we speak here?”
“I don’t advise it.”
“Since when do you advise me at all?” I crossed my arms and brought a hand to my lips, chewing on the tip of my fingernail.
“Don’t show them you’re nervous.”
I let my hands fall at my sides again, blinking at him. “I already told him I wasn’t willing to . . . you know.”
“Be his mistress,” Pierre provided with a serious nod. “I’m glad you declined the offer.”
I stared at him for a moment. Was he glad I declined because he thought something could still happen between us? No. I liked to think I knew Pierre better than that. He was too loyal to Elias to try anything with me at this point. Maybe he was looking out for my best interest.
“So, what is it we need to discuss?” I asked again. I was too impatient to wait.
Pierre opened his mouth to answer, but his gaze shifted to something behind me and he shut it quickly and forced a smile. “I’ll see you later, Adeline.”
I opened my mouth to question him, when I heard the sound of my father’s voice just behind me.
Chapter 32
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said.
My heart stopped beating for a millisecond. I turned around and faced him. Being stoic in front of my father would prove to be far more complicated than doing it in front of Elias. This was the man who raised me. The first man I loved. Also, the one who banished me without a second thought the first time I fucked up. And yet, with him in front of me I couldn’t seem to summon the anger I should be feeling. He had bags under his eyes and his black hair was thinning, leaving a crescent-shaped, nearly bald patch on the front of his head. It had been nearly eight months since I last saw him and, in that time, he looked like he’d aged a decade.
“Father,” I said.
“Whose friend are you?” His gaze scrutinized me. “Pilar?”
“No. I mean, yes, we’re friendly, but I don’t think Pilar can invite people to this.”
“Hm.” His eyes narrowed slightly. It took everything in me not to cower. “The Queen Mother then. Your mother told me you planned a ball for them.”
“Mother also planned the ball. She does own half of the company, you know.”
“At least she’s putting the money from the separation to good use.” He scoffed, putting a hand in the pocket of his tuxedo and rocking slightly on his heels.
“Yup,” I emphasized the p in the word and glanced away from his inspection.
“The Crown is a joke,” he said.