CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Saturday, 12.01 p.m.
FELIPEWALKEDSLOWLY, leading his stallion. His head was bare beneath the burning sun and he was alone for this part of the procession—walking as an unadorned, humble man—to be crowned King. In the cathedral he would be robed, handed a sceptre, an orb, and finally crowned. The throngs of people lining each side of his path were silent, as was custom. The only thing he could hear was the beat inside his head. He counted, keeping it slow, keeping himself calm. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t focus.
He’d made her leave. He’d lied to her. When she valued truth so deeply.
I used you.
But he’d protected her—hadn’t he? It was all he’d really wanted to do.
He swallowed back bitterness as he recalled her accusations and the deeply buried vat of hurt she’d ripped open. His father had left him. So had his mother. His grandfather had burdened him with so much that wasn’t personal. He’d emphasised his duty—rules, regulations, requirements. So if he didn’t do this now—who would he be then? Who would he be without the crown?
No one. Anyone.
And part of him was tempted. Because he wanted everything he didn’t think he could have as long as he had the crown on his head. He wanted her.
He had never ever been tempted to walk away from it all. Until now he’d been unable to understand his father. He’d thought it weak that Carlos had abdicated and left in the dead of night. And yes, maybe it wasn’t the best way he’d gone about it, but he appreciated now that it had taken his father a courage of his own. Maybe Carlos hadn’t been able to figure out a compromise with King Javier... Yeah, compromise hadn’t existed in the old man’s mind. And the way Amalia’s mother had been vilified in the press? Hell, she still was even after she’d died, which was why Felipe felt so protective towards Amalia.
Finally Felipe totally understood why Carlos would’ve wanted to get the woman he loved far away from here. But here was also amazing. The media was only one minor element and he couldn’t let them win. He couldn’t stop this walk any more than he could stop breathing. This was his home. His soul. His crown. He didn’t want to turn his back on his country. But he wanted to keep Elsie close. And safe. And yet she didn’t want him to turn his back on his country either—not at all.
The temptation of her offer called to him.
I would do anything for you.
The wickedness rose. He wanted her to live in the castle as his concubine. To secretly swim with him every morning and be there in his room for him at night to return to. She could live in a different room every day for three years and still have more to explore. She’d be his secret. It was pure fantasy and it was appalling how tantalising it was.
She could work in the café still, during the day. He’d build another secret tunnel so she could get there. But secrets escaped. And for her to be some secret as if he were ashamed? She’d grow pale and miserable and lonely. He couldn’t let that happen. She deserved so much more than that.
She’d been destroyed once. But she’d risen from the ashes like a phoenix, hadn’t she? Stunning and strong, beautiful and proud. She’d been so proud when she’d stood in front of him today. Regal in her slaying of his doubts and shattering his defences. She’d believed in him more than he believed in himself. She’d expected more from him. Yet she’d accepted everything.
His failure. His heartache. And hers.
He slowly mounted the steps of the cathedral, aware of the absolute silence of the crowds around him. For so many people to be so quiet and focused?
His entire country was watching, waiting for him. Millions more were watching around the world. He couldn’t expect them to wait longer by putting his personal interests ahead of the gift they’d given him in attending the ceremony today. This was about far more than him. Now wasn’t the time. He would not fail them.
He made his promises, clearly, honestly, meaning every word.
The crown was placed on his head. It was heavy. So was the cloak. And his hands were full with the sceptre and the orb. Everything was real and weighing a tonne. A literal burden. But as music played in celebration? That was when his mind wandered again.
Don’t let go of me.
She wanted a home. Someone to want her to stay. He remembered her smoky eyes and her excitement at the lightest of restraint plays. She’d wanted him to make it impossible for her to leave. She didn’t want to be released. She wanted to be kept. Not as a possession. Not as a thing. But safe and secure.
Maybe she’d wanted to be held because she’d been afraid of asking him if she could stay. But in the end she had asked. She’d opened up and told him how she felt. She’d been vulnerable and brave in admitting that she wanted to be a permanent, living fixture in his heart.
Which was exactly where she was already.
Only he hadn’t told her. He hadn’t realised—until right now. Right now when he was in front of millions and unbearably lonely without her. He wanted her beside him. Not watching from the palace. Not waiting in some secret chamber. But walking alongside him. He would be so proud to have her with him. And he didn’t want to do it without her. And he didn’t give a damn what anyone would have to say about it. Somehow he would shut down any rogue reporting. Or maybe he would just rise above it with her. Because being with her gave his heart wings.
But would she stay here in Silvabon?
Have you actually asked her?
Elsie had been referring to Amalia. And he hadn’t asked her either. He’d made a unilateral decision—as if he knew best. An autocratic dictator. His grandfather all over—trying to do what was best, yes, but not understanding everything. It was so much more nuanced than that. He’d been such a fool. Because yes, he’d been afraid.
He had to ask Elsie. He’d never asked her. He should have given her the choice. But she needed to know his feelings first and right now he had to let her go. There wasn’t time. Too many people were counting on him to be here now. She was counting on him too. Not to betray her to the public. Not to turn that spotlight on her. Not without even the limited protections he could put in place first. They needed time alone and that was hardly about to happen. But he’d let her believe he didn’t care. He’d let her think he didn’t believe her. He’d belittled her feelings. And he couldn’t let that stand. He had to tell her how he felt.