Reign A Romance Anthology - Nina Levine Page 0,238

thought were close companions, near and dear to my heart, had capitalised on my name. I counted those close to me on one hand, and of that number only two were not related to me by blood or marriage.

Fame and fortune were fleeting, royalty was forever. And I'd learned the hard way that no one truly understood this, not even my siblings. Only my father had understood this burden.

And he's gone.

"Thank you," I said, finally rising from my seat. The men rose with me, all deference and meekness now.

Bastards.

"I'll consider your words."

I walked to the door, then paused, turning slightly. "And Prime Minister?"

He straightened. "Ma'am?"

I offered him a small smile. "I expect you'll want to discuss an election date when next we meet."

His face flushed, red creeping up his neck. "Of course."

With that, I parted, not bidding them good day, not acknowledging them further. An unspoken criticism, but not a subtle one. My father would be turning in his grave, I could practically hear his gentle rebuke.

You know better, Kit. Don't let them rattle you.

I strode through the palace, smiling, and nodding at guards and maids, dimly aware of the man and woman at my back. The bodyguards followed me everywhere, silent, and watchful, keeping me safe.

Since my coronation, there'd only been three attempts on my life— each easily handled. Hardly worth the fuss.

I caught sight of my mother's handmaid ahead, calling, "Pauline? Where is my mother?"

The maid dipped her head in greeting, bobbing up. "In her parlour, Ma'am. Should I bring tea?"

I glanced at my watch and shook my head. "No, I only have a few minutes. Thank you."

She bobbed again, then hurried on her way, no doubt to fulfill some needless endeavour my mother had tasked her with.

These days, my mother preferred solitude but with a house full of staff, that quiet was rare.

I opened the doors to the parlour, finding her exactly where I expected, by the window sitting in the sun, sorting letters. We received hundreds of letters a day, and yet my mother always dealt with them personally, sometimes responding herself, other times asking my siblings. Rarely, but sometimes, she asked me to put pen to paper, and each time I did it knowing it meant as much to her as to the receiver of the missive.

"Darling." Mother gestured me over, tilting her head as she read the tension on my face. "Sit, tell me what's happened."

I wanted to drop and slump, wanted to stamp my foot and pout like a three-year-old. Instead, I settled gracefully, adopting the perfect straight-backed posture that had been drilled into me since birth.

"The men wish me to marry."

Mother pursed her lips but didn't comment.

"It's ridiculous," I told her with a frown. "Isn't it?"

She seemed to weigh her words, glancing at the bodyguards positioned by the door, then back at me.

I swallowed knowing she was about to deliver advice I had no wish to hear.

"Marriage isn't easy, Kit." She reached out, taking my hand in hers. "And marriage to a monarch? To the Monarch?" She shook her head. "It is its own kind of torture."

Her lips quirked; her eyes sad. "Your father and I had many wonderful years together before your grandfather passed. But when he took the throne, even then I wasn't prepared for the changes in our life. Oh, your grandmother tried. She advised me well. But as Queen or King, your loyalty isn't to your partner. Your loyalty should and always will be to your people. The crown demands nothing less." She blinked, tears shimmering on her lashes.

"Your father tried. He made time for you, Leo, and Charlotte. He carved out hours to sit with me. But it's not the same as it was. And I found that the partner I married, the man so easy to laugh, retreated behind the weight of his responsibility. And yet it was during this time that he needed me more than he'd ever needed me before."

She squeezed my hand. "Your husband will never know you as anything but Queen. And, my darling, you do need to marry. You're the first Queen in the long history of our great nation. Your ascension has been nothing but good news. You're doing wonderful, dear. But you need a partner."

"I need an heir," I corrected her.

"No, darling. You need a partner. Someone to share your burdens. Someone who you can lean on when times are tough. The only person you can trust. Someone to remind you to have fun, to laugh."

She let go of