Chapter 4
I cleared my throat to maintain composure as I followed the man into the hall, where King Bryan sat regally upon his throne. The juxtaposition of ancient and modern was startling as he, crowned and majestic, focused intently on his smartphone.
The man who had escorted me bowed deeply before the king, addressing him with deference that he hadn't extended to me. It felt personal, the way he'd been rude only to me.
Standing before the throne, I curtsied respectfully. "Your Majesty."
He acknowledged me with a cursory glance. "Ah, the Sinclair daughter. Welcome," he said nonchalantly, barely looking up from his device.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," I replied, concealing my irritation behind a veneer of polite gratitude.
Without further preamble, King Bryan cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Your role here is simple: stay by the prince's side. That's it. Keep your nose out of anything else," he commanded, eyes glued to his screen throughout.
Hera's voice echoed my sentiments in my head, "I hate him."
"Me too, Hera. " I responded.
"Yes, Your Majesty" I replied him. He seemed not to like me. Well, the feeling was mutual. He feels off, I hated the vibes he was giving off.
With a perfunctory gesture, he dismissed me. I curtsied again and turned toward the exit, unsure how to approach the massive closed doors. Should I knock or wait for someone to notice me?
As if in answer to my silent question, the doors swung open, revealing a woman instructing the guards to keep them ajar. She looked up, and for a moment, we both paused, caught in mutual assessment. Then her face broke into a warm smile, and she approached with arms wide open. Though puzzled, I was drawn into the embrace, the welcoming gesture bringing an unexpected comfort. It had been so long since I'd experienced such maternal affection.
After a tender stroke of my hair, she pulled back to look at me, brown eyes shining with kindness, her dark hair neatly coiled into a bun.
She seemed about to speak when the king's presence distracted her. With an eye roll and unrestrained familiarity, she chided, "Bryan, what the hell are you doing? You look like a clown. We only use this room for events."
Though I didn't turn to observe their interaction, her exasperated tone suggested intimacy, perhaps even an equal standing with the king. As she rolled her eyes once more, she took my hand, leading me out through the now-open doors.
Alone at last, Sasha led me confidently through the beautiful corridors of the mansion. Our hands remained linked as we walked; her casual demeanor was a stark contrast to the formality I had expected. She spoke amiably, but it wasn't until she mentioned her identity that I fully grasped the magnitude of her presence.
"Please forgive my brother's foolish behavior. I'm Sasha, Alexander's mother," she said.
The revelation stopped me in my tracks—she was the prince's mother and the king's sister. Overwhelmed, I instinctively dipped my head. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I had no idea."
With a gentle tug, she coaxed my chin upward, amusement dancing in her eyes before laughter spilled from her lips. "First off, call me Sasha."
Reassured, we continued to a balcony overlooking an enchanting garden. The beauty of the view stole my breath away, and I absentmindedly voiced my awe. Sasha's warm chuckle broke through my embarrassment as she revealed her preference for my company over Sabrina's—a sentiment that brought a smile to my face.
As we sat, Sasha openly expressed her disdain for my sister, aligning herself firmly on my side. "I like you, Renée, and I know Alex will too," she said with conviction. Her easy way made me stumble over my words, fumbling between titles and names until she corrected me with a giggle: "Sasha, Renée. Sasha."
My cheeks flamed with heat.
Her next words carried the weight of expectation. As the orchestrator of this arranged marriage, she held hopes for grandchildren—a desire I could understand but one that filled me with trepidation. The fact that Alexander Dekker, the prince rumored to be ruthless, would soon be my husband was daunting enough without the pressure of progeny.
Sasha reassured me about his supposed disability, explaining that he was recovering from an accident and using a crutch. This news challenged the dramatic rumors I had heard, and we shared a laugh over the exaggerations.
It was time to meet the prince. Despite Sasha's jokes and attempts to lighten the mood during our walk to his quarters, my anxiety built with each step. My heartbeat thundered in my ears—this was the moment I would meet the man I was bound to marry.
Finally, we halted at a door and Sasha knocked. When she didn't hear any response, she shook her head, rolled her eyes and opened the door.
I stepped inside after her and my eyes immediately found his and oh my moon goddess, goosebumps sprouted on my skin and my mouth ran dry at what I saw.