Twenty-One
Sutton knocked twice then slowly opened the door to the king’s chambers. The scent was what hit me first—a sterile stillness in the air where bourbon and expensive cologne used to waft. Dad’s room had smelled the same way, only without the cologne and bourbon.
My eyes drifted from the doorway to a plush velvet sofa and two wingback chairs that sat in front of a massive fireplace, then to long custom window coverings that shielded the room from any outside light, and finally to a large four-poster bed where the king slept. Thin, clear tubes ran from the back of his hand to an IV pump next to his bed. Other than the hushed sound of his shoddy breathing, the room was hauntingly silent.
I stopped walking.
I stopped breathing.
I stopped everything.
I was frozen.
My heart plummeted to my stomach as painful memories slammed into my chest, taking hold and making it hard to breathe. I closed my eyes and tried to forget Mama’s tears and frantic prayers. I forced away the hurried sound of nurses’ footsteps as they clamored into the room the moment Dad’s lungs finally stopped working. Panic threatened to claw its way up my throat, ready to drag me back to a dark time when I wished my father didn’t have to die.
It was months ago, but I still grieved. I still hurt. I still woke up in the middle of the night wishing it would all go away.
Sutton gripped my elbow with his long fingers. “Hey, you okay?” His eyes flicked from me to his father then back. “We don’t have to do this.”
I blinked my thoughts away. “No. It’s okay. I’m fine. It was just…” I paused, my throat tight. “Unexpected.”
Why did you bring me here?
He followed me to the foot of the bed where I silently prayed for his father. Not for healing because in my experience, God didn’t work that way, but for peace. For him. For the queen. For Sutton. For me. There was no way I could stay angry at a dying man.
“How long…” My words trailed off.
“How long does he have left? Weeks. Days. Hours,” Sutton said. His voice cracked with a tortured mix of anger and exhaustion.
“I was going to say how long have you known.”
He took in a deep breath then exhaled a long sigh of… relief maybe? It was hard to tell. We both stared at the man in bed in front of us, acknowledging the reverence of this moment. I felt like an intruder on a very private and painful thing. The king’s chest rose and fell with each breath. His once impressive stature now nothing more than sunken cheeks and pale skin. My heart broke for a man I hardly knew, for a family I thought I hated.
“Since the accident. They found it somewhere in the midst of looking for concussions and stitching him up.”
Guilt twisted and coiled in my gut. All of my anger and resentment seemed so selfish now. In a way, Sutton lost his father when I lost mine. He was broken, and so was I. And together our broken pieces seemed to just… fit. We were the same. Interconnected. Two souls intertwined. Our losses were linked together by God’s Wrath and a fateful storm. He just had more time to say goodbye. Or to process the pain.
Except Sutton couldn’t waste time processing or saying goodbye because his obligation was to the Crown, not to grief. He lost a father but gained a kingdom. The very idea of that kind of responsibility made it hard to breathe, and I wasn’t the one about to wear a crown. I suddenly saw the overwhelming sadness in being royal. If people knew the only way to gain a kingdom was to lose your heart, there would be fewer people chasing a crown.
I looked over at the prince and saw the unspoken words in his eyes as he stared at his father, so many thoughts and no one to share them with because being royal meant there was no room for weakness. Bitterness and defiance disappeared, buried beneath my need to be the one to soothe him. “Sutton, I’m so sorry.”
He pulled me hard against his chest, stealing my balance and leaving me clinging to him. His eyes dropped to my lips and his mouth parted. “Say it again.”
My heart pounded, and all my dismal thoughts faded away. I’d barely come down from the high he gave me in the Billiards Room, and here he was seeping into my bloodstream all over again. “What?”
He moved close, so close that his mouth hovered over mine, his lips brushing my lips, a breath away from kissing me. His hardness pressed against my belly.
I wanted.
I ached.
I burned with the carnal need to reach between our bodies and touch him.
“My name. Say it again,” he demanded, turning my insides to hot liquid. My lips parted, desperate to taste him.
“Sutton.” I breathed out and he breathed in, his mouth still touching mine.
“It tastes every bit as sweet as it sounds.”
“What are you talking about?”
He bowed his head, bringing his forehead to mine. Hope blossomed in my chest at the rare, gentle look in his eyes. “My name on your lips.”
“Katarina Bellizzi.” King Phillipe’s familiar voice broke our connection.
Oh God. How much did he see?
I broke away from Sutton and dipped in a slight curtsey. “Your Majesty.”
The harsh lines around his eyes softened when he offered a weak smile. “Look at the two of you.” He breathed a laugh. “Matteo is probably rolling over in his grave.”
Sutton reached down and squeezed my hand at the mention of my father’s name. It was a comforting gesture, intimate and sweet. Dad never talked to me about the king, and since King Phillipe moved me into the castle, he never talked about my dad. Hearing the king speak of Dad in such a familiar way sat heavily on my chest.
The king shifted his gaze to Sutton. “The answer was right there all along. Your first act as king and you managed to do what I never could.”
Someone’s had too much pain medication…
“We can finally have peace. All of us.” King Phillipe’s eyes moved to mine. “You’re going to make a great queen, Katarina. I wish your father were here to see it.”
Definitely too much medication.
“Oh no. I’m not… We’re not—”
Sutton cleared his throat, interrupting me. The air in the room turned thick and stale, suffocating. “You should get some sleep, Dad. I’ll come check on you tomorrow.”
Did I step into an episode of the Twilight Zone? Sutton was already king? What peace was King Phillipe talking about? And why would he wish Dad were here? Why did Sutton seem like he knew exactly what the king was talking about?
We said our goodbyes, and as soon as we were out of the room and in the hallway, my legs felt weak and unsteady. I sucked in a breath and braced my hand on the wall for support. The hope that had blossomed in my chest wilted faster than flowers without the rain, quickly replaced with confusion and doubt.
“What in the name of all things holy was that? Why would he think I’m going to be queen? And what did he mean your first act as king?” I asked through shaky breaths, feeling as though I could crawl right out of my skin.
More secrets.
He stood in front of me, staring at me with a cold, stormy edge that darkened his eyes. “Fuck if I know.” His voice was calm and quiet, his face unreadable. “But it’s not a bad idea.”
I nearly choked on my spit. “I’m not marrying you just because someone gave your dad too much morphine this morning. Surely you know how crazy that sounds. What good could possibly come from a pretend marriage?”