Her words knock all of the amusement right out of me. “What? What do you mean you’re on the birth control pill?”

I’m still processing what she’s told me. It’s not just that she isn’t actively trying to start popping out male heirs—a reluctance I attributed to all the fast, huge changes in her life over these past few months—she’s purposefully working against it. She’s not even letting chance decide.

“Why would you be on the pill?”

She drops her eyes, but not before I see the panic in their depths—I suddenly realize she probably didn’t mean to tell me this, and I’m torn between sympathy and anger.

“It’s my choice,” she says finally, still not looking up at me. “I’ve been on the pill for a couple of years, and I saw no reason to suddenly stop just because we got married.”

“No reason? But the heirs—”

“At the end of the day, it’s my choice, and I’m not ready for children.”

I run a hand through my hair, trying to control the maelstrom of emotions sweeping through me. Trying to gather my thoughts. “Does that…does that mean you might be ready someday?”

“I don’t know,” she says, still not looking at me. “But I’m not ready now. I need you to respect that.” She shakes her head. “I’m not ready to settle down yet. There’s so much I want to do still. And if I start having kids, if I find myself suddenly on track to become queen…everything changes. And I don’t want that path.”

My jaw is tight, and I realize I’m clenching my teeth. I can tell she’s not telling me the whole truth, but I don’t know what she’s hiding.

“We don’t always get to choose our paths,” I say stiffly. “Not when we’re born into royal families. It’s the price of our privilege.” I open my hands, which have somehow curled into fists at my sides. “Don’t you think I would have chosen differently if I’d had the option? Do you think my first choice in life was to marry a woman who has no interest in building a life with me? Who spurns my attempts at connection? Do you think I wanted to give up my old life for this?” I spread my arms. I don’t mean to be so harsh, but now that I’ve started, the words seem to pour out of me. “But I’ve accepted my responsibility. And I’m doing everything in my power to make the best of it. Trust me, Princess. You can spend your entire life running from your responsibility, but you’ll never escape it. And in the end, you’ll just be miserable. Sure, run off to the United States if you want to, abandon your people to your idiot brother, pretend you don’t care about anyone but yourself, but don’t expect me to support your choice. In fact, don’t expect me to stand by you at all. If you have no interest in making this work, then why should I? Why would I even bother?” I desperately want to go back to half an hour ago, when we were laughing and dancing together. I want to go back to pretending that we had a chance together.

Justine doesn’t respond, but honestly, nothing she could say will fix this. Without knowing it, she brought up the very thing that’s been bothering me these past few weeks, the thing I refused to look at too closely—the realization that I’m fighting for this marriage alone. Anger builds in my chest, and my hands clench again, my nails digging into my palms.

I can’t even look at her right now.

“Go to the hotel,” I say. “Don’t worry—you’ll have the room completely to yourself.”

Her head snaps up. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I say, already walking away. “But far away from you.” I need time to think. To figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

Justine calls after me again, but her voice is lost in the sounds of the crowd. It makes my heart ache to walk away from her, but my feet keep moving. I lose myself among the people heading in and out of the Christmas market, ducking around a couple of stalls and putting as much distance between Justine and me as possible. The sights and smells and music that only a short while ago seemed festive and cheerful suddenly feel oppressive.

But even though she’s no longer in front of me, I can’t stop hearing Justine’s voice in my head. And I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she hid something so important from me, that she’s actively trying to avoid having children.

I reach the far edge of the market, and I keep going. The sun has completely set, but there’s still plenty of light in this part of the city, and plenty of people still move through the streets. As I told Justine, I have no idea where I’m going, but I need space to figure out what to do next.

You could go back and fight for her, a voice whispers. And honestly, a significant part of me longs to do just that—to go back, give her another chance, and use all of my charming powers to persuade her to take responsibility for her role. After the evening we just shared, I want to believe that this marriage has a future. That we will laugh together and dance together, that we could actually make each other happy.

But nothing I’ve tried has worked so far—why would it work now? And at the end of the day, I’ll always wonder if she’s just on the verge of changing her mind, of running away again. Why put myself through that? Obviously we want different things.

I stop in front of a large church. The windows are dark, but there are plenty of streetlights in this square. I sit on the church steps, propping my elbows on my knees and letting my head fall into my hands.

You have another option, that voice in my head says. If she’s determined to act in her own self-interests, with or without consulting you, then why should you do any differently? Let Justine do whatever she likes—let her move across the bloody ocean if that’s what she wants. There’s no reason I have to follow. If she’s doing what she wants, then I should, too. Hell, I wouldn’t even need to stay in Rosvalia—I could return to Montovia, get on with things as if I’d never married at all. Why, we wouldn’t even have to divorce, and the political alliance between our two countries could remain intact. Justine and I would merely be leading separate lives. Plenty of royal couples spend large amounts of time apart, seeing to their various duties and needs. We’d be no different.

It physically pains me to think of giving up on Justine. But the more I debate my options, the more the idea of returning to Montovia appeals to me. Seeing Sophia and Nicholas made me realize how much I miss my family—and I’m sure they can still use plenty of extra help around the palace while my father is still recovering from his illness. Andrew and Victoria will be marrying soon, as will Leo and Elle—and there’s the impending arrival of Leo and Elle’s baby, too. So many important events I want to make sure I don’t miss.

And I’m not going to lie—many of the smaller things appeal to me, too—sleeping in my old bed again. Spending hours practicing fencing with my épée, clearing my mind. Returning to my favorite restaurant in the city. Visiting my old friends.

I drop my hands. I’ve been so committed to building my new life in Rosvalia that I never let myself think about how much I missed home. And Montovia will always be home, no matter how much I’ve tried to tell myself otherwise.

And with that, I’ve decided—I’m going back to Montovia. Maybe for a few days, maybe forever. Either way, I need to clear my head, and the only way to do that is to go home, to spend a few days far away from all of the nonsense in Rosvalia. I can forget about my difficult wife, her bastard ex-lover, her troublesome friend, and whatever King Maximilian is hiding in the eastern wing of his palace. I can stop fighting, stop struggling, stop trying to force my way into the lives of people who obviously don’t want me there.

I stand. If I’m not mistaken, the train station isn’t far from here. I might even be able to make it back to Montovia before dawn.

Pulling my collar up around my ears to protect me from the chill wind, I hurry down the street before I can change my mind.