The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 53

I froze. My stomach dropped right though the bottom of my chair.

That was not the development I'd hoped for. Not in the least.

"Do you understand now?" Father demanded, his eyes never leaving my face. "Do you understand why antagonizing your false betrothed—the daughter of the Earl of Umberwood—is the last possible thing you should be doing at a time like this? A time when you're asking me to lend troops to a foreign war?"

I swallowed against the dryness in my mouth. Of course I understood. If we sent troops south to Ardalone, that left Umberwood, Kentshire, and every other duchy to the north vulnerable to attack by Germania. And in slighting Adelaide, there was nothing now but Mother's friendship with Sam Winters, the Earl of Umberwood, keeping him from allying with Germania. If he switched sides, it would mean letting the Germanians walk right across our northern border to carve off a chunk of Pretania for themselves. The exact war that my parents had fought tooth and nail to avoid before I was born. And now, because of my foolishness with Adelaide, I'd pushed my country even closer to the brink than before.

"We believe Germania's movements are meant to reinforce Dulciana's demands," Andrew ventured, with a careful glance up at Father. "If we don't send troops to aid her, then Germania will march."

My knee bounced as I chewed my cheek, trying to wrap my mind around the corner we'd found ourselves in. One I hadn't even though to anticipate. Obviously I'd assumed that Germania would side with Dulciana, but I hadn't thought that things were so tenuous with Umberwood that the threat of Germanian invasion was real.

"I refuse to trust either of them," Father said. "Germania's bastard of a king, Leopold, is not a man of his word. We send our troops to Dulciana, and I have every reason to believe that he'll march anyway. Which is why I've decided to do nothing."

"What?" I demanded before I could stop myself. Andrew rested a hand on my knee, but I threw it off. "What do you mean, do nothing?"

"I mean exactly what I said," Father replied. "We will do nothing. Ardalone can sort itself out on it's own. We have our own problems to address—"

I shoved myself to my feet. It felt as if the floor was dropping out from under me. I could barely breathe for the panic clawing up my throat. "You can't refuse! If you don't send—"

"I am the King of Pretania," Father thundered, shoving to his feet to face me down, "I will do what is best for my country. And so will you, or so help me—"

"I already am doing what's best for my country! Don't you understand? If Dulciana wins the throne—"

"If you want to do what's best for your country, you'll marry the Winters girl and forget about the one you left behind in Ardalone."

Father's words struck me like a slap, and I staggered a step backwards, knocking over my chair. Andrew leaped to his feet, a reassuring hand on my shoulder. But I shrugged him off. My hands curled to fists.

"I will not," I said through gritted teeth.

Father's jaw set. "Our country is being threatened. I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice."

"Then you're more of an idiot than I thought you were," I said, then pressed on despite the abject terror lancing through my veins at the white hot fury on my father's face. "Because you can't see the coup that's coming, can you?"

Father pointed a quivering finger at the door behind me. "Get out."

A bitter, mirthless laugh bubbled up my throat and escaped before I could stop it. "No. No, I won't. Because you don't see it. You don't realize how Adelaide is just one death away from sitting atop your beloved throne someday. One coup, and I'm next in line, meaning she's next in line. And you're willing to play right into their plan. You're willing to put your favorite, firstborn son's life on the line beacuse you're too cowardly to take a stand for once in your life!"

The words tumbled out of me as if a dam had broken somewhere within my chest. I couldn't have stopped them if I'd tried, and releasing them all felt like unleashing a pent up weight. I panted, fists still clenched, as silence hung heavily, dangeously, in the air. Andrew's brows had creased, his attention turned inwards.

But Father was boiling with rage.

"GET OUT," he roared, slamming his hands onto his desk.

Andrew's hand was on my arm, but I shook him off again, straightened my lapels, and lifted my chin. "You know I'm right," was all I said before I whirled and left.

Or fled, really. Because I wasn't surprised by the shattering sound of a teacup hitting the door after I'd closed it behind me. But I was shaking, and I barely made it around the corner before I had to catch myself against the wall. I sank down, unable to take another step, crushed beneath the weight of my failure.

Because I had failed. Utterly and spectacularly. Father had made his decision. He wouldn't help. Beatriz was doomed. And it was all my damned fault. My foolish, impulsive, love-addled mind hadn't been enough to save her. I'd let my temper get the best of me. I'd let my desperation win.

But somewhere beneath all the panic, a rising wave of anger shoved free. Yes, I'd been impulsive, but I'd had no choice. No one had taken me seriously from the moment I'd arrived. No one had helped me, so I'd had to help myself. Yes, I'd played into Adelaide's game, but I was doing everything I could to get out of it. And as much as I wished I could trust him to take care of things, I'd known deep down that Father wouldn't. Not in the way I wanted, at least. He'd choose the easy way out, the way that kept his beloved country safe, even if it meant ripping my heart out.

And there really was no denying it now. He'd chosen his country over me. I'd known he would—dreaded it, really—but there was some part of me, buried deep inside, that had held out hope that he wouldn't. That, for once in his life, he'd put me first. That he'd extend the same grace to me that he'd given to Andrew.

But he hadn't.

I didn't realize I was crying until the blur of Anne's blonde hair came racing down the hall towards me. She was dressed for riding, but her eyes were wide as saucers as she knelt before me, all of her swimming in the haze of my tears. She was repeating my name, but I could barely hear her over the sound of someone sobbing.

Of me sobbing.

** Looks like we're stuck in a bit of a hole huh? But did you really think it was going to be all smooth sailing until Andrew and Libby's wedding?! (I'm hoping you all know me better than that...hahaha)

As always, if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to vote and comment - I appreciate every single one! :) **