She watches with rapt attention on the second afternoon when it’s announced that plans are underway to conduct a ceremony naming Alec as the next crown prince of Saintland.
“What does that mean?” I ask her, watching the news anchor’s mouth move up and down as she summarizes the news. I’d assumed all this time that “crown prince” was simply a glorified word for “prince.”
Claire doesn’t shift her eyes away from the screen. “The crown prince is the one directly in line for the throne. It means…” She trails off, chews at her lip, considers. “Prince Alexander is the obvious choice to move into that position, but there is a provision in our constitution for the king to name a successor from outside his family if he has no children…or if he finds the potential heirs unsatisfactory.”
My mouth hangs open. “So his father could have chosen someone other than Alec—Prince Alexander?”
“Yes, he could have. It would have been a very unusual decision, but I thought…” Again, her voice falls away.
“You thought what?” I ask pryingly.
She finally looks away from the screen and her eyes search my face.
“I don’t want to offend you, Jessica. I know you and Prince Alexander have a very—.” She searches for the words. “—Close relationship.”
I give her a little smile. “We do. I still won’t be offended by whatever it is you were planning to say.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Claire takes in a deep breath. “I wondered if the fight between the two princes indicated a real divide among the royal family. The king is not known to be a vindictive man, but his eldest son died not long after the Princes Marcus and Alexander nearly came to blows. Those pictures were plastered all over the media. If there’s any truth to the reports circulating about those pictures, they were fighting over your presence here.”
“And you thought the king might choose someone else to be the crown prince because his image in the press was too volatile after that fight with Marcus. If he chose someone else, he could have avoided any further tension with Alec about me.”
“Yes.”
Claire bites her lip, looking apologetic. I turn my attention back to the television, thinking.
“You don’t have to be sorry about that, Claire. I knew working through their differences wouldn’t be easy.”
She flutters her hands in the air. “But the king didn’t choose someone else. Prince Alexander is going to be named the crown prince, so they must have been able to work through whatever was wrong, even if it was tension over Prince Alexander’s image.”
“I guess a shock like this puts things into perspective,” I say.
She looks down at her tablet, swipes absently through a couple of news items. Her answer comes out as a whisper. “It would have to.”
On the third morning, Claire and I are watching a movie—there’s only so much news coverage a person can watch—when there’s a knock on the door. Claire answers it, and when I see who is with her when she returns, I leap up from the couch and rush across the room.
It’s Alec, his eyes red with a slump to his shoulders that I know he works hard not to let show on camera. I throw my arms around his neck, and pulling him towards me, press my face into the side of his neck.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to him, embracing him tightly, the words falling far short of the sorrow I feel for him in my heart.
Claire discreetly slips out the door, leaving us alone.
Alec’s grip on me tightens. We stand in silence for a moment, and then he speaks. “It’s awful, Jessica,” he says solemnly.
I have no answer, so I press my lips tenderly against his cheek and then hug him again.
“Will you do something for me?” he asks, pulling back and meeting my eyes.
“Of course,” I say. “Anything.”
My heart thuds in my chest. I’ve already accepted that he might want to take a break from our relationship while he sorts things out. He might ask me to go back to the United States until things are more stable…or perhaps he’ll even suggest we break up, never to see one another again. At least, I thought I had accepted this could potentially happen, but in the moment it takes him to start speaking again, my throat tightens as my heart braces itself for rejection.
“Come to the funeral with me,” he murmurs in a soft voice.
Relief floods through me, and it’s followed by a wave of apprehension. “Oh, Alec, are you sure? If it’s better, I can go back to New York and give you time alone with your family.”