One month, seven days, nine hours and thirty-seven minutes.

Somehow I was still breathing, still living...if that’s what this was called. Existing was a far better definition.

She’d cancelled her phone number, and her house in New York was still closed up. She hadn’t been back as far as I could tell...or could pay people to tell me.

After the first week, I’d still been determined.

By week two, I was drunk.

By week three, I knew that I’d never get her back if she didn’t want to come back. Everything with Willa was her choice, and even as one of the most powerful men in the world—she owned me.

By week four, desperation took over.

By week five, I had a plan.

Which led me to tonight.

I fastened my last cufflink and did a quick scan in the mirror. My royal uniform was perfectly tailored, bearing the ribbons from the years of service I’d spent as an attorney in the Ellestonian military. This was my future. This uniform. This palace. This empty bed.

It had always seemed an adequate size, but it felt huge without Willa’s frame held tight against me. The sheets had been changed, the room thoroughly cleaned by the housekeeping staff over the last month, but I swore I could still smell her when I walked in.

Or maybe her scent was simply imprinted on my soul.

I left my bedroom, Oliver hot on my heels.

“Are they here?”

“They’re all assembled,” he answered, pulling at the neck of his tux.

“Uncomfortable?” I asked as we turned from the residence to the wing of the administration.

“I hate these things.”

“You and me both.”

We rounded the corner to find Damian waiting next to the door of the theater. His shoulders straightened, and he gave me a tense smile. “Your Royal Highness,” he addressed me with a nod.

“Damian. Are they all in there?”

“All four hundred and fifty of them.” He motioned behind me to a bevy of guards. “And they are in possession of four hundred and fifty cell phones. Whatever you need to say will be private.”

“Thank you,” I told him, my voice dropping. “No matter what happens, I owe you a debt of gratitude, and I’ll not forget it.”

“We’re both just doing our parts to move this monarchy forward. Ready?”

“To make the most important speech of my life in a private movie theater?” I joked.

“Well. Yes.”

“Let’s do it.”

The footman opened the door and announced us. “His Royal Highness, Prince Alexander, and the Prime Minister!”

There was a commotion as the members of parliament stood from their seats. The theater was built to hold four hundred, and the unseated members stood in the aisles, the steps, and every vacant space.

I climbed the steps to the small stage, where a podium had been placed.

“Members of Parliament, thank you for agreeing to meet. My father once told me that living rooms are the best board rooms, but seeing as I can’t possibly fit you all in my living room, the theater will have to do. Please be seated...if you have a seat.” Soft laughter came from the members. “I’m aware we’re due in the ballroom in an hour for a very important announcement, so I’ll keep this as brief as possible.” I secured my hands on the sides of the podium and fought the urge to fidget with my collar. “I’m aware that the current law states that not only must a royal be married to ascend to the throne, but that his bride must be of noble birth.”

A rumble went through the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our laws are outdated in three ways. The first is that it should be no concern whom a King chooses to wed himself. Have we not evolved enough to respect the emotional attachment of love? Have none of us been made better by our significant others, no matter the status of their birth?”

Another rumble sounded.

“The second matter is the need to be wed at all. Forcing marriage is barbaric, and outlawed to everyone in this country except its Sovereign. Would it not be in the best interest of this country to allow her King to serve in her best interest, and then find the partner for his life who would best suit him and this country? Why must the crown be tied to a wedding ring? To show responsibility? Is it not more irresponsible to wed in haste to someone with whom there is no chance of a happy marriage?”

Senator Lambert stood about ten rows back from the front.

“Senator?” I called on him.

“Would it not be in haste to change our laws, when the subject of the discussion is a foreigner? Forget that she is an erotic novelist, no matter how...unsavory that might be, Your Highness. Could we in good conscience make such a drastic change that would pave the way for an American queen? We have never allowed anyone besides those of Ellesonian birth on the throne. That is a matter of tradition—of law—not to be taken lightly.” A grumble of assent went through the audience, with more than a few heads nodding.

I wanted to grab him by his skinny tie and pummel his face until he apologized to Willa. What a fucking prude.

“The matter at hand is not that of my attachment to Ms. Collins. It is in the ritual itself. I am prepared to take the throne. I have been raised in deep Ellestonian tradition, in the laws and customs of this land that I love more than my own breath. I can tell you that taking an Ellestonian woman to wed would not deepen my love or commitment to this country. The law is outdated.”

A few heads nodded, and I took heart. Perhaps a few of them could be talked to logically.

“We need to move our monarchy into a modern era. To change as our country has. To keep our traditions without remaining in the middle ages. This law has not changed in a thousand years. Do you know what has? Our society. Our warfare. Our technology. The rights of women—which brings me to the third issue. This law also states, “Before a King takes the throne…” because women cannot inherit by right. We are still in the era of primogeniture, and that needs to change. A firstborn Princess should have every right to inherit.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“Ladies, would you not agree?”

A feminine chorus of “yes,” sounded.

“Gentlemen, would you stand here and tell me that your daughters are any less capable than your sons? Do they not deserve the same chances. Do they not have the same intellectual capacity? This issue is not a matter of law as much as it is simple human rights. Because make no mistake, women’s rights are human rights, and we have been far remiss in this. I do not ask your support in this matter, I expect it.”

A rousing round of applause sounded as the parliament members rose.

“The official legislation has been drafted by Prime Minister McAllister.” I motioned to Damian, who nodded from his place next to me.

Then I moved so he could take the podium.

“I have heard many of you clamor for change,” he said, and the crowd hushed. “Many of you declare that this monarchy is outdated. Many of you whisper that it shouldn’t exist at all.”

The auditorium grew thick with tension. I had no doubts that many of my enemies were in this room. Many of them were Anti-Monarchists, and I knew somewhere in this room there was a man, or woman, who led them.

“I’m here to agree with you. To tell you that it is outdated, but that together we can move it into the modern day that we need to. These measures are the first steps. As unorthodox as this is,” he motioned to the theater, “this can be the venue for change. We can be the change Elleston needs. He—” he motioned to me, “Prince Alexander is ready to embrace the change we need if you will but give it to him.”

Amid the clapping, I thanked them and stepped out into the hallway, Oliver closing the door behind me. The fastest vote in the history of Elleston was about to take place.

I walked across the hallway to wait in the small conference room, but I couldn’t sit. I paced the length of the table while Oliver watched, quiet, but anxious. I glanced at the clock.

I could veto any measure they decided—but not one that had been passed a thousand years ago. I could give them my advice, and could introduce new legislation, as I did tonight, but I could not make them pass it.

I could not control my own fate.

Twenty minutes of hell later, Damian walked into the room without announcement.

Oliver stepped aside once he realized who it was.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said, his mouth tense.

“Fuck the formalities, and tell me,” I barked.

“They agreed that women should be able to inherit. That will pass into law.”

I let go of the breath I’d been holding. Now women like my sisters would have the ability to rule on their own bloodline instead of their husband’s. They’d be valued just as much as I was.

“And the others?”

His face fell, and he delivered the news I’d always known would come.

Neither of the other two measures had passed.

Charlotte would have to be my queen.