She looked out her window toward the direction of the Palace, realizing she’d just witnessed a masterclass in royal power. Alexander had used his unique position to cut through the noise, to remind everyone what the real story was supposed to be about.
Charles had played his nuclear option, revealing Sebastian’s parentage to create maximum chaos and distraction. But he’d underestimated the bond between the brothers, and the willingness of the Crown itself to support transparency over tradition.
As Harper grabbed her coat and headed for the door, she felt something she hadn’t experienced since waking up to the morning’s headlines: hope. The story wasn’t dead. If anything, it now had the implicit backing of the monarchy itself.
The real fight was just beginning.
32
Private Moment Between Brothers
Alexander’s private study felt worlds away from the formal press room they’d left behind just minutes earlier. The space was quintessentially him—comfortable leather chairs that had seen decades of use, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with everything from constitutional law to modern fiction, and tall windows that overlooked the palace gardens. Unlike the public rooms with their gilt and ceremony, this study spoke of a man who actually lived and worked here.
Sebastian entered without his usual swagger, immediately commandeering one of the wingback chairs but without his characteristic sprawl. His shoulders curved with fatigue, and there were shadows under his eyes that spoke of a sleepless night spent watching his parentage become tabloid fodder.
Alexander moved to the sideboard, pouring two generous measures of Macallan 25 into crystal tumblers.
“Well,” Alexander said, handing Sebastian a glass, “I do think I’ve just salvaged the monarchy before lunch. Not bad for a Tuesday.”
“Oh good. You’re making jokes, I was worried I’d have to pretend to be serious now,” Sebastian replied.
“Of course not.” Alexander settled into his chair. “You only know how to express feelings through sarcasm and light insults.”
“Exactly.” Sebastian took a sip of whisky. He looked directly at his brother. “Alex, you didn’t have to do this for me. The implications for the monarchy—”
“Are significantly less dramatic than the press will make them sound,” Alexander interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “The monarchy survived Uncle Freddie’s ridiculous scandals. It’ll survive you.”
Despite everything, Sebastian snorted. “The trapeze artist was never confirmed.”
“The palace paying for her silence was confirmation enough,” Alexander said dryly. “So, how are you feeling?”
Sebastian let out a long, shuddering breath he seemed to have been holding since he stepped up to that podium. “I feel…” he started, then stopped, searching for the word. “Lighter.”
“You just publicly disowned one of the most powerful men in the country and renounced a 400-year-old title,” Alexander observed. “I should think you’d feel lighter.”
“Or I’ve just declared war on Charles with no title and zero political capital,” Sebastian countered, though without his usual cynicism.
“You’ve got mine,” Alexander said simply.
“And I appreciate that, Alex. But he won’t stop, you know. This will only make him more vicious.”
“Let him try,” Alexander said, his voice laced with a cold fury. “He just made himself a public pariah to attack his son—a son who has now been publicly embraced by the Crown. He is isolated. We, on the other hand, are united.”
They drank in comfortable silence for a moment before Alexander spoke again. “You know, you’ve spent years cleaning up Charles’s messes. It’s oddly satisfying to see you light one on fire for once.”
Sebastian looked down into his whisky. “It was the only thing that felt right. He used me. No more.”
“No more,” Alexander agreed. He raised his glass again. “To Sebastian Rousseau.”
Sebastian met his gaze, his eyes clear with a gratitude and determination that hadn’t been there that morning. “To brothers who do the right thing,even when it’s complicated.”
They drank, and in the comfortable silence that followed, Sebastian asked, “So what’s the constitutional precedent for all of this?”
“I have no idea,” Alexander admitted. “We’re rather making it up as we go along.”
“Excellent. I do my best work without precedent.”
“That’s what worries me,” Alexander said dryly.