Page 42 of Broken Desires
His glare sharpens at my dig. “Both. We’re inevitable. Eva just needs more time to see it. And my parents? Mom’s already a fan. And Dad?” He shrugs, a careless gesture, as he heads back toward the stairs. “Couldn’t care less what he thinks. Eva’s mine—always has been, always will be. What other people think doesn’t matter to me.”
His words, so full of confidence and disregard for others’ opinions, strike a chord in me. I find myself envying his resolve—his ability to pursue what he wants without fear or hesitation. If only I could approach my situation with Nessa with the same boldness. If only it were that simple.
Maybe it is… The insidious little voice of hope whispers in my head loud enough for me to go into my room and do something I had not planned to do… Call my father.
Dialing the number, I brace myself. I’m well aware of the protocol; direct calls to my father are a rarity, filtered through Hank, his ever-loyal aide.
“Hello?” Hank’s voice is as neutral as ever, giving nothing away.
“Hank, this is Alexander. Could I speak with the king?” My voice feels strange, using my formal title after so much time.
“Oh! Prince Alexander. I almost forgot how your voice sounded.” There’s a hint of a jab in his tone, a reminder of the distance I’ve allowed to grow between myself and my responsibilities.
“Yes, I’ve been… occupied,” I admit, skirting around the full truth of my life here.
“Certainly, of course,” Hank responds, the professionalism returning to his voice.
“Alexander,” the authoritative timbre of my father’s voice resonates through the line, pulling me back from my thoughts. It’s that same commanding tone that has always demanded attention, respect, and a certain degree of apprehension from me.
Instinctively, I straighten up, even though he can’t see me. It’s a reflex ingrained from years of standing before him, trying to meet expectations that often felt as towering as the castle walls themselves. For a moment, I’m transported back to my younger days, standing in the vast, echoing halls under his discerning gaze that seemed to see right through me.
“Yes, Father,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. The weight of the crown, of centuries of tradition and duty, presses down on me through his voice alone. In this moment, I’m reminded of the divide between the life I lead and the one I’m expected to embrace. Cole’s reckless abandon in love and life, which seemed so enviable moments ago, now feels like a distant dream, worlds apart from the path laid out before me.
I brace myself for the conversation ahead, knowing that this call could shape the future in ways I’m both hopeful and fearful of. The desire to carve out a piece of happiness with Nessa, to blend my duties with personal desires, suddenly feels like an impossible challenge.
“You were missed at the jubilee.”
The conversation looms heavy—each word exchanged with my father carrying the weight of years of expectations and the silent battles I’ve fought to find my own path. His remark about the jubilee and my absence from it underscores the gulf between us—a divide not just of opinions but of understanding.
“I’m sorry for missing it. Something came up,” I offer, my voice carrying defensiveness I can’t quite mask. The truth is more complex, more personal, but not something I can easily explain to him.
There’s a pause, and even without seeing him, I can almost picture the disapproval etched across my father’s face. His silence speaks volumes, a clear sign of his dissatisfaction.
“I’m not sure what could be more important than the duty to our nation, but this charade is almost done, thank heavens,” he finally says, his words sharp with rebuke.
A charade. That’s how he views my desire for a semblance of normalcy, wanting to step outside the golden cage of royalty to see the world not as a prince but as a person. My father, ever the stalwart figure of honor and duty, has never understood this need, this pull toward something different, something more.
I exhale slowly, the weight of resignation settling in. There’s no point in arguing, in trying to make him see my perspective.
“What is it, Alexander?” His voice softens just slightly, offering a semblance of warmth. It’s as close to paternal concern as I’m likely to get. He’s always been clear about his priorities—nation first, family second. And yet, how often have I wished it were the other way around, even just once?
“I just—” The fragile hope I clung to as I made the call disintegrates, leaving me face to face with the harsh truth. My father, bound by tradition and duty, is unlikely to ever sanction another departure from my royal responsibilities.
“It’s time to step into your role. This isn’t merely a position you fill; it’s your destiny. Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” he states, his voice echoing the weight of centuries of lineage and expectation.
“Are you quoting Shakespeare to me?” I can’t help but interject, seeking even the smallest levity in a conversation heavy with duty and destiny.
“It aptly expresses the situation. Your presence is needed here,” he replies, his tone more insistent than I’ve heard in a long time.
This unexpected admission of need from my father catches me off guard. He’s always been the embodiment of strength and stoicism, never one to acknowledge dependence on anyone or anything.
“Is everything okay? Is it Henrick?” I ask, concern threading through my words. It’s unlike my father to show any hint of vulnerability.
He sighs, a sound so laden with fatigue it’s as if I’m hearing it for the first time. My father has always maintained an unwavering facade of resilience in front of us, perhaps only revealing his burdens in private moments with my mother but never openly with his children. This glimpse of weariness, this subtle crack in his armor, shifts something in our conversation, hinting at pressures and challenges I’ve been shielded from.
“Henrick is fine,” he finally responds, his tone carrying an unusual heaviness. “It’s the realm that needs you. The pressures, the expectations… they don’t pause just because you wish to explore a different life.”
This acknowledgment of need, of vulnerability from my father, is uncharted territory. The invincible king, the pillar of strength and duty I grew up admiring and fearing, suddenly seems more human. It’s a side of him I’ve seldom seen, hidden behind authority and responsibility.