“Remember who you are. And who you aren’t.” His eyes were clinical, dissecting. “Alexander may call you a brother, but should anything come to light about who you really are, the palace will have to distance themselves from you.”
Sebastian gave him the kind of smile meant to look respectful. It didn’t touch his eyes. “Of course.”
Only when the heavy door closed behind him did Sebastian allow himself a moment—one hand pressed briefly against the corridor wall, Hawthorne’s words settling precisely where they’d been designed to wound.
Then he straightened his tie, reset his expression, and walked down the corridor with easy confidence. Handsome, careless, untouchable.
But with every meeting, every calculated insult, Charles Hawthorne was providing the very ammunition that would eventually destroy him.
17
Updates for the King
Alexander’s private study was deliberately different from every other royal workspace. Less imposing, more functional. Contemporary art on the walls instead of stern ancestors. Books that showed actual use rather than decorative leather bindings. It was, like many things about the new king, a quiet rejection of tradition masquerading as simple preference.
Sebastian entered without knocking, a privilege afforded to few, and immediately sprawled across the visitor’s chair with deliberate disregard for its antique value.
“Your favorite evil politician sends his regards,” Sebastian announced, picking up a stress ball from Alexander’s desk and tossing it absently. “By which I mean he spent twenty minutes not-so-subtly insulting me while fishing for information about your fiancée’s potential scandals.”
Alexander looked up from his paperwork, visibly relieved to see him. “Tell me you at least wore the blue tie. You know it really brings out the bastard in your eyes.”
Sebastian flopped into the chair with exaggerated dignity. “Tempting, but I went with burgundy. Felt more… thematically appropriate. Blood relations and all.”
Alexander smirked. “So, what’s new in the wonderful world of Charles?”
Sebastian idly tossed the stress ball up and caught it again. “He summonedme this morning. Apparently, not answering his calls was ‘childish and beneath the dignity of a Hawthorne.’”
“Technically, you’re not—”
“Yes, he reminded me of that too.” Sebastian’s smile was sharp but genuinely amused. “Don’t worry, I gave him just enough to keep him satisfied. Palace communications overhaul, wedding timing, your frustrating lack of corruption.”
“What else?”
“He wants me to keep tabs on your inner circle. Who you’re meeting with, any weaknesses he can exploit. Asked about your lovely fiance.”
Alexander’s expression darkened. “What did he say about Emilia?”
“Nothing. He’s just fishing for scandals. I told him she’s boringly perfect, which is mostly true except for her inexplicable taste in monarchs.”
Alexander rolled his eyes, but concern lingered in his expression. “He believed you?”
“Probably not entirely. But he has no reason to think I’d protect her.” Sebastian dropped the casual act slightly. “He also asked about Harper but I told him she moved to business reporting.”
“Yes, how is all thequality timewith your favorite reporter going?”
Sebastian immediately threw the stress ball at him. “Don’t.”
Alexander caught it effortlessly, grinning. “Just saying.”
“Say less.” Sebastian stood and moved to the window. “Ethan’s helping us dig into Hawthorne’s finances. We found some interesting patterns—transfers that coincide with key parliamentary votes.”
“Bribes. Shocking.” Alexander tossed the ball back. “But proving it won’t be simple with Charles. He’s not your average corrupt politician. You’ll have to be careful,” Alexander warned. “He’ll only get more vicious when he’s cornered.”
“Of course. Careful is my middle name.”
“Your middle name is Philippe, after our father,” Alexander corrected automatically.
“Yes, that was a bold naming choice. Clearly I get my subtlety from the paternal side,” Sebastian quipped.