“Your Majesty,” Jérôme replied with a slight nod that managed to be both respectful and challenging.
“We should talk,” Alexander said to Sebastian. “All of us. But perhaps…” He glanced at Jérôme.
“He stays,” Sebastian said firmly. “He’s also family.”
Alexander nodded. “Then let’s find somewhere private.”
* * *
A formal receiving room in the palace glowed with afternoon light filtering through tall windows. Everything spoke of ceremony and tradition—walls lined with oil portraits, reminders of history in every gilded frame. Alexander closed the door behind them, the click echoing in the sudden quiet.
“First,” Alexander said, turning to Sebastian, “are you all right?”
Sebastian managed a bitter smile. “Define ‘all right.’”
“Fair point.” Alexander’s expression was grim. “We need to decide how to handle this. The press office is in chaos. They’re asking if you want to make a statement, if the palace needs to confirm or deny—”
“There’s nothing to deny,” Sebastian said quietly. “It’s all true.”
“I know that. But the question is how we respond and when.” Alexander looked between Sebastian and Jérôme. “This is clearly Charles’s doing. He’s trying to create such a massive scandal that Harper’s investigation gets buried in the noise.”
Jérôme studied Alexander carefully. He saw it clearly—the unmistakable echo of James Philip. “Christ, you look like him,” Jérôme said quietly, almostto himself, the observation laced with old bitterness.
Alexander stiffened. “Everyone says that.”
“They’re not wrong. You’ve got his jaw. His smile.” A pause, heavy with unspoken history. “But the hair’s your mother’s. Queen Eleanor’s.” He said it without malice, but with the weight of tangled history. “It’s like someone resurrected James and gave him just enough difference to twist the knife.”
The room fell silent. Harper watched the exchange, understanding she was witnessing the collision of decades of pain and secrets.
Sebastian stepped forward trying to redirect the conversation before it spiraled further. “We need to focus on what comes next. Charles wants us to get distracted instead of fighting him.”
“Sebastian’s right,” Harper said quietly. “Every minute we hesitate is a minute Charles gets to shore up his defenses.”
“Fine so we take back the narrative,” Alexander said without hesitation. “I can make a statement that will put out the fire.”
“Good,” Harper said, checking her phone. “Because I just got word thatThe Chroniclewants to fast-track Parts Two and Three. We publish tomorrow.”
Sebastian didn’t speak at first. He stared at his brother, chest rising and falling like he’d just surfaced from deep water.
Then, quietly, he said, “You know this doesn’t just cost you political capital. It costs you the narrative. The image. Clean lines. Fairy tale unity.”
Alexander stepped closer. “I don’t care about the fairy tale.”
“You used to.”
“I grew up.”
Sebastian nodded once, his voice rough. “Well then I guess we need a new narrative.”
Harper moved to stand beside him. “And we’ll give it to them.”
Jérôme’s voice was softer now, filled with something that sounded almost like hope. “Let’s make sure your mother’s story—yourstory—gets told on your terms. Not Charles’s.”
For a long moment, none of them moved. Outside, camera shutters clicked somewhere far off. The world was still watching, still waiting to tear them apart.
But in this room, there was only resolve.
Sebastian finally exhaled. “All right. Let’s show them what a bastard really looks like.”