“I’ll get it,” I say, and walk for the office, wearing nothing but my boxers. Hazel pads along behind me and slumps tiredly onto a wooden bench when I answer the phone.
“You can come out,” Chief Minister Arkady says. “It was just one crazy person. Everything else was smoke with no fire. Security council meeting in thirty minutes, and your father wants to see you first.”
We hang up. Hazel leans against the concrete wall, yawning.
“All clear,” I say, offering her my hand. “They’re waiting for us.”
She takes it, and I pull her up. Hazel slides her arms around my waist.
“I’m sorry your dad got shot at, but I’m glad we got to be in a bunker together,” she says.
I kiss her, long and slow, ignoring my erection.
“I’ll think differently about desks forever,” I say.
“And desk chairs,” she says.
“I don’t know if I’ll see you before the ball,” I say. “I have a feeling I’ll be kept busy.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “There’s a country to run and everything.”
“Save me a dance,” I say. “Royal orders.”
Hazel rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.
The air outside the bunker smells incredible, like roses and lilacs and baking pies and sunshine. When we come out, Hazel and I walk together to the wing of the palace where the living quarters are, and then give each other a polite, cordial goodbye. I force myself not to watch her walk away.
In the rest of the palace, everything seems oddly normal. Anna’s at her desk outside my father’s office.
“Good to see you’re well, Konstantin Grigorovich,” she says, nodding once.
“You as well, Anna,” I say.
“He’s expecting you,” she says.
I steel myself, because I have a feeling that this isn’t going to be pleasant, and push his door open.
“Father,” I say.
“Konstantin,” he says, still writing something at his desk.
Shit. It’s never good when either of my parents uses my full name.
“Sit,” he orders me.
My father finishes writing something, folds it into an envelope, seals it, puts it aside, and reaches into a desk drawer.
A moment later, my leather jacket is flying at me, and I snatch it out of the air by reflex. I’d completely forgotten about it.
“A mechanic found that yesterday on that piece of shit you insist on keeping in the garage,” he says.
“I went for a ride,” I say.
“To where?” he asks. His hands are on the desk and his back is perfectly straight. Even though he’s almost seventy, my father’s always had an imposing, commanding presence.
We don’t always get along, but I’ve always respected that. It’s a good thing to cultivate if you’re going to rule.
“I rode to the sea cliffs and back,” I lie.
He leans forward slightly.
“You must think I’m stupid,” he says, his voice very soft. “So I’ll let you try that again.”
“I’m not a prisoner here,” I say, even though I know avoiding an answer is the same as admitting guilt. “There’s no law against taking a ride at night.”
He stands, thrusting his chair back, and begins pacing behind his massive, ornately carved desk.
“You were in the gray district,” he says, barely-controlled fury in his voice. “You were seen at an illegal drinking establishment. You, the heir to the throne, were flagrantly disobeying your own laws.”
I nearly say they’re your laws, but it sounds childish, so I bite it back.
“I disagree with those laws,” I say, simply.
“I don’t care,” my father says. He’s still pacing. “They’re the laws, and until I’m dead and you’re on the throne, Konstantin, they are your laws.”
“Are you going to threaten my claim to the throne again?” I ask.
He laughs, hollowly.
“I don’t make threats for show, Konstantin,” he says.
“You would throw the country into civil war over me getting a drink with my friends?” I ask, and I stand as well, my jacket clenched tightly in my fist.
“Once the people know you’re a degenerate with a taste for American pussy, how many do you think will side with you?” he snarls.
“I’ve been perfectly polite to Miss Sung,” I say through my teeth.
“You stare at her like you’re a dog and she’s a bitch in heat,” he says, disdain dripping from his voice. “And you don’t know the first thing about her.”
I know way fucking more than you think.
“She’s a foreigner in a strange country, and I’ve helped her get settled here,” I say. I’m trying to control myself, but my voice is shaking with fury.
A bitch in heat. If he were anyone but my father, I’d have punched him already.
My father puts both hands on the desk and leans over it.
“You can have anyone you want except the diplomat’s daughter,” he says. “And what do you do?”
“Would you rather I get someone pregnant so I’m forced to marry them?” I ask.
“Careful,” he says.
“It worked for you,” I say. “Now you’ve got a docile queen, an heir, and a spare.”
“That’s right,” he says, his voice getting dangerous. “I took back what was mine and I made you so you could rule it when I’m gone. And it’s your job to do the same. A Svelorian heir. With a Svelorian girl, not this idiot who thinks she can drink like a man. Lust after someone who won’t cause an international crisis, Konstantin. You’re dismissed.”
I turn and walk out, too furious for my brain to form words. I nod curtly at Anna, who must have been able to hear the shouting, but who says nothing to me.
I’ve got fifteen minutes until a full day of endless meetings, briefings, people buzzing on about one thing or another until my brain turns to mush, but I go to my rooms and stand on the balcony, elbows on the railing, overlooking the Black Sea.
I don’t understand my father. At this point, I don’t think I ever will. He got shot yesterday, but now all he wants to talk about is whether I’m sleeping with Hazel. There are problems in the country, real, terrible problems, and he’s concerning himself with my love life.
I take a deep breath of the salty air. I flex my hands against the railing. I need to have a good shooting session. I need to go for a run somewhere and just be alone in stillness.
I need to stop thinking about last night, about Hazel saying I’m a shark, about her getting into bed next to me in the pitch black darkness. I rub both hands over my face, like that will help.
Then I take a fast shower, put on fresh clothes, and go do a full day of prince shit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hazel
My parents hug me for about half an hour. They seem slightly unhappy that it was just Kostya and I in the bunker, but I go on and on about how boring it was, how all there was to do were puzzles and the dictionary, and how he was busy the whole time and didn’t have any time to even talk to me.