I lace my fingers together in my lap as I wait for my father to look up from the papers on his desk. He has a stack of files nearly half a meter high next to him—official documents to oversee, economic reports to review, transcripts from the courts to go through. The King of Montovia plays a very active role in the government, and even though he has officials to take care of the day-to-day functions of the country and court, he is far more than a decorative figurehead.

Thank God I’m the second son, I think as I watch his pen scratch across the paper. I don’t envy Andrew his future. Far better to be the son who has no such responsibilities.

At least my father seems to have calmed down from last night—he didn’t shout at me the moment I walked through the door. I wasn’t entirely eager to speak with him again without my mother’s calming presence in the room, but I seem to have little to worry about at present.

I hope Elle is getting on well at tea. My mother will make her feel comfortable, I know. I’d much rather be there than here, though I suppose this is for the best. If my mother had never extended the invitation to her, Elle and I would probably still be in bed, and I suppose it’s only healthy to allow ourselves some time to recover from our exertions.

After what seems like an eternity, my father finally sets down his pen and looks up at me.

“You might have guessed why I invited you here this afternoon, Leopold,” he says.

Certainly not to apologize for last night, I think. I say, “I confess I have no idea.”

My father leans back in his chair, surveying me with his dark eyes.

“I have agreed to allow you and Doctor Parker a chance to reside in the palace so that you might have the chance to show me you’re serious about your life and your role in this family,” he says. “Thus far, you’ve done a poor job of convincing me of that, but I thought I might give you another opportunity to do so.”

I sit forward in my chair, both eager and wary. “What exactly do you mean? I am serious about this.”

“Saying you’re serious and showing me you’re serious are two different things,” he says. “I need you to show me.”

I frown. “I’ve already promised to stay out of the tabloids—”

“This isn’t about any silly magazines,” my father says. “This is about you taking a more active role in this country. About showing me you’re ready for some real responsibility.”

I don’t like where this is going at all. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have some tasks I’d like you to complete.” He pulls the top file off of the stack to his left and places it on the desk between us. “This is an overview of the land taxes paid to the Crown so far this year, broken down by geographical location.” He takes the next file off the stack and places it on top of the first. “This file includes all customs taxes and additional taxes concerning imports and exports.” Another file goes on the pile. “This one is the sales tax on local goods, as well as any commercial business taxes.”

I stare at the stack of folders. “They do have computers for this, you know.”

“And our Treasury Council has all of this digitally organized, I assure you. But it is the responsibility of the king to go through it himself—it is my duty to know about the economic state of this country, as well as to oversee the Treasury Council’s work. I go through all of this and initial each page to show that I have seen and approved it.”

“This all seems very archaic and inefficient,” I say.

My father’s eyebrows draw together. “Not everything is about efficiency, Leopold. It’s about being fully aware of the economic state of this country.”

And you can’t do that with a computer? This isn’t the nineteenth century.

I straighten. “I’m still not entirely sure why you are telling me this. I am not the king, nor will I be.”

“There are no guarantees in this life,” my father says grimly. “I didn’t grow up intending to be king, either, but my older brother died when I was twenty-four.”

This is so absurd I’m not even sure what to say. “You want me to prepare for the remote possibility of Andrew dying?”

“No. Whether or not you actually become king makes no matter. You are still a member of this family, and you will take an active role in the governing of this country. Or are you not as prepared for responsibility as you claim to be?”

In truth, my idea of responsibility revolved more around not doing things—not having wild nights or causing scandals—than doing things. But I can’t exactly say that, not when so much is on the line.

“I’m ready for responsibility, Father,” I say. “But I admit I’m still not entirely sure what you’re asking of me.”

“First of all,” he says, “I want you to go through these files and review them. Initial each page to show me you’ve read it. When you’re done reviewing them, write me a summary report of what you’ve learned.”

This is so ridiculous I actually laugh out loud. “Is this some sort of punishment?”

“No. This is the least of your assignments,” my father says. “And don’t even consider making Matthias do it for you. I will know if you do.”

Good God, this will take me two weeks to complete, I think, looking at the massive stack of papers.

“I also want you to sit in on the Treasury Council meeting each week,” my father says. “Write me a report of those proceedings as well.”

I suppose I should be grateful that he’s giving me the opportunity to prove myself, but all I can think is how abysmally dull this is going to be.

“I also want you to review our country’s tax codes,” my father continues. “I want another report on that, and please include your considerations about where you think it might be improved.”

All right—now I’m certain this is all some great jest. Certainly, my father can’t believe I would have any improvements for our tax code.

“Did Andrew put you up to this?” I ask with a grin.

“He most certainly did not,” my father says, not a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I assure you, I am entirely serious about this.” He looks sharply at me. “You said you wanted responsibility, and I took you at your word. It is my hope to have you a seat on the Treasury Council by the end of the year.”

“The Treasury… Father, you can’t be serious.”

“You need to have an active role in this government,” my father says. “And you will. I thought the Treasury Council would be a good fit since it will teach you some respect for the money you spend so freely.”

I must admit I don’t know very much about the day-to-day activities of every entity within our government, but I do know this—it is a full-time job. The Treasury Council meets regularly, and when they aren’t in session, its members are usually shut away in their offices, going through piles of numbers much larger than the ones I see here on my father’s desk.

“I do want responsibility,” I say carefully. “But might we discuss a few options before making any final decisions?”

“You will do the reports as I commanded,” my father says. “After that, we may discuss your future role here in Montovia.”

There’s my chance, I think. When he sees how little I understand taxes or financial matters, he’ll see this isn’t a good fit.

“You had better take these assignments seriously,” my father says. “If you don’t, I’ll think you aren’t serious about your commitment to this country and our agreement will be void.”

“This wasn’t our agreement,” I say. “I promised to behave myself and—”

“I’m amending the agreement. In view of last night, you understand.”

No—what I understand is that my father has discovered he has a way of getting exactly what he wants from me. He’s just trying to see exactly how far he can go, how much he can get me to do for the chance to keep Elle at my side.

And the worst part is, I’m not even sure how to fight it.

“That will be all,” my father says. “You are dismissed.”

My hands curl into fists as I rise. This isn’t right. I refuse to spend the next three months submitting to his every whim because he decides he has the right to amend our agreement.

“Don’t forget the files,” my father says. “I want that first report on my desk in three days’ time.”

When I don’t move, he looks up at me, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s.

“You claim to be responsible now,” he says, not a hint of compassion in his voice. “Prove it.”

Though I hate myself for doing it, I lean over and take the files.

“Three days,” my father says. “And don’t forget the next Treasury Council meeting is tomorrow as well.”

I don’t say anything as I turn and walk out the door.

He’s just testing you, I tell myself. Seeing where your limits are. Sure, maybe I’ll have to write up some dull reports and sit through a mind-numbing Treasury Council meeting. At the end of the day, this is my opportunity to show him how serious I am about Elle. Maybe once he understands that, things will change. He’ll see this isn’t just another phase, that Elle really has changed me. Then perhaps his views will change, too.

His views never change, the other voice in my head says. And they won’t change, no matter what you do. This isn’t a test. This is a look at what your life will be, if you continue on this road.

I’ve reached my suite, and the moment I get inside, I throw the files down on the sofa. Is this really it? Is this what the rest of my life will be like if I stay here with Elle?

I must admit, I’ve thought a lot about my future with her. And in those visions, I saw us here, in Montovia. Sure, I imagined we’d take regular trips around the world—there are still so many places I want to see, so many places I want to show her—but in the end, I always imagined we’d be back here. That we’d live here. Raise our children here.

If I have a seat on the Treasury Council…the here part wouldn’t change. But everything else would. I’d have daily responsibilities. Meetings to attend. Endless piles of papers to go through and infinite reports to prepare. And it’s hardly work I could blow off—we’re talking about the fate of this country, about the money of our citizens. I’d spend the rest of my life in an office poring over numbers. My life would be an endless stream of drudgery. I’d be trapped here.

Suddenly, the walls feel too close, the room suffocating. I turn and stride right back out the door. In less than five minutes I’m outside, moving quickly across the grounds, heading past the lawns and gardens away from the palace and the city. My chest is tight, my hands curled into fists, but I wait until I’m out of sight of the palace windows before breaking into a run.

I need to get out of here.

When I thought about a future with Elle, it was one of passion and joy—days of adventure by her side, nights of pleasure in our bed. I thought of the things I wanted to show her, the places I wanted to take her, the exciting life we might lead together. But I never thought of the other side—the price I might pay for that privilege.

My freedom. That’s what it all comes down to—I’ve set myself on a path to lose the very thing I treasured most. I had the freedom to go wherever I wanted, do whatever I wanted, see whatever I wanted. I had the freedom to follow my desires and pleasures. The freedom to take the world on my terms. Sure, my father sometimes tried to curb that behavior, but it was easy enough to ignore his orders. Then, I had nothing to lose.

Now I have everything to lose, and my father knows it. Worse, I know it. I know I want Elle, want to spend the rest of my life with her, but I’ve never really thought beyond that. Now I’m slowly realizing my father’s insistence that I take a role in this government isn’t the problem—it’s a symptom of a much larger problem.

Even if he doesn’t force me to take a job on the Treasury Council, I’m still losing my freedom. With commitments—even seemingly pleasurable commitments—come responsibilities. And not just easy ones like taking her desires into account or donating to the causes that she cares about—real, life-altering responsibilities. I’m not just committing to a life of pleasure with Elle. I’m committing to everything else. To giving up my freedom, the very thing I built my entire life on.

You love her, I remind myself. You love her more than anything.

But is that love enough to help me endure a life of mind-numbing work on the Treasury Council? Is it enough for me to give up the opportunity to ever make a decision truly for myself—and myself alone—ever again? Elle is my weakness—and if my father knows it, others will too. But when will it all become too much? When will I reach the limit of what I can endure for another night in her arms?

I’m at the farther end of the orchards now, far enough that no one in the palace can hear me when I lean my head back and yell up at the sky. I shout every curse word I can think of, in multiple languages. But it isn’t enough. My body still thrums with an energy that has nowhere to go.

I spin and march over to the nearest tree. Without stopping to think, I slam a fist into the trunk.

Pain shoots through my knuckles and up my arm, but I don’t care. I punch it again with my other fist. And again. And again, until I can feel the blood running down my fingers.

What are you doing? You love her. Think of how much you love her.

And I do—my feelings for Elle are warm and bright in my chest, but even they can’t erase the knot of dread in my gut, the heavy lump that seems to whisper, How far will it go? How much of this can you endure?

Not much. That’s the sad truth of the matter—nothing in this world terrifies me more than a life of mind-numbing boredom. I love Elle, but without my freedom, my life is worth very little to me. The future my father has planned for me would slowly eat away my soul and suck every bit of joy from my life. Sure, my feelings for Elle might get me through a few weeks or months of this, but I know myself. Over time, these chains will suffocate me.

Over time, even love might not be enough.