Reign A Romance Anthology - Nina Levine Page 0,237

control my life.

"I said, no." I repeated, my tone ice.

"The crown carries a price, my Queen."

Everything in me revolted. Anger warring with despair.

"You must see," the Prime Minister said, spreading his hands in supplication. "The people have allowed you to grieve. But two years without an heir… it's unheard of."

"Not since your many great grandfather, King—"

"Leopold the Third. I know my family history." I waved a dismissive hand, fighting to restrain my anger.

I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to casually lean back, to settle into my throne. I knit my fingers, bringing them to my chin, adopting the same pensive pose my father had used throughout his reign. I did so deliberately, finding over the past two years that it had reassured the men in the room, eliciting an emotional response, the ghost of my father a memory I had yet to shake.

Manipulation, thy name is Katherine.

I lowered my hands, glancing up at the men. "Prime Minister, explain your reasoning."

If the polls were correct, he wouldn't be sitting in this room come September. The people were displeased with his performance— he promised much but delivered little and most to the benefit of the rich.

His term had started under my father and I'd be pleased to see him gone. He wore far too much cologne, rarely said anything of value, and spoke down to every woman in his vicinity— especially his Queen. I'd been forced more than once to put him in his place. Gently, of course. It wouldn't do to have conflict between the head of state and the people's elected official.

I reigned over a constitutional monarchy, where power between the crown and the executive was a tenuous balance of diplomacy and negotiations. I may have final power, but my ability to govern relied upon the will of parliament bringing forward the proposals I wished to endorse.

And this Prime Minister? He'd brought forth nothing but half-hearted rubbish for me to consider. Twice in my short two-year reign I'd been forced to send motions back to Parliament for renegotiation, the Bills insufficient to provide for my people. The last time such an event had occurred ad been two decades ago, under my father. That I'd reject not one but two had left him red-faced and resentful.

I'd known the Prime Minister disliked me. I hadn't quite realised how he wished to control me until this moment.

An ambush. I'd walked into a goddamned ambush.

"As you are aware, Your Majesty," the Prime Minister began, wringing his hands nervously. "The constitutions requires that you name an heir within four years of ascending the throne. With your sister engaged to a foreigner, and your brother…." He paused and I found myself curious if he would finally discuss my brother's sexual preference.

I'd long ago found that men like the Prime Minister saw any threat to what they thought as 'the right way to live life' as insurmountable— and I knew my brother's sexuality, no matter how ordinary and normal, would be met with disapproval by this worm of a man.

He proved me right when he cleared his throat, avoiding discussing Leo's sexuality by saying, "Serving overseas. Which would put him in great danger. I see no other option. You must marry."

I raised an eyebrow at the rest of the table. "And does the table agree?"

The Archbishop cleared his throat. "It's prudent to at least consider the option, Ma'am."

You knew this day would come, Kit.

I couldn't lie to myself. This moment had been brewing for years. I bordered on thirty, my fertility now rife speculation in the media. My life had already been dissected, my virginity questioned time and again by conservative gossip rags, feminists determined to see a progressive queen on the throne. My sexuality, much like the rest of me, remained open speculation.

I was a progressive, I made no secret of that. But my private life, the scraps of it that remained, were mine. In the privacy of my bedroom, locked away from prying eyes and open ears, I remained free. Free to rage, free to cry, free to love.

Well, I had experienced two of those three. And that was the problem. It wasn't that I didn't wish for love, I did. For all my practicality I remained a closet romantic, stealing romance novels from my sister, wishing for the day I'd experience the spark that let me know I'd found my one.

But when you were Queen few people approached you without an ulterior motive. Even the most genuine of my friends, those I had