The Billionaire Prince’s Pregnant Fiancée by Leslie North

18

There were a few hours left until the gala. Erik had already dressed and gotten himself mentally together enough to acknowledge he'd need to run any possible excuses for why Clara was not at the gala past his father. He found himself going to the east wing of the castle, his father's royal quarters. It was weird to be there without his mother there, another layer of grief on top of his current pain. He grimaced, but knocked at the door. His father's butler opened it, then gestured to his parents' private sitting room.

The room was small, by comparison to most of the rooms in the castle, he supposed. His father sat in a wingback chair by a lit fireplace. Over the heavy marble mantelpiece was a portrait of his mother and his father, in younger years. His father still had the fierce gravitas that made him one of the most intimidating kings in the lineage. His mother's smile, on the other hand, was quicksilver bright. Just seeing her made his heart hurt.

His father was reading newspapers and drinking a small snifter of brandy. He looked up, puzzled. "Is something wrong?"

Erik grimaced, but he answered with a steady voice. "I broke up with Clara."

His father blinked. "Already?"

"Well... yes," he replied, surprised at his father’s reaction. "You said that it had to happen in a hurry. That it would only cause more scandal if..."

"But the gala!" his father barked, dropping the newspaper on the table beside him. "You couldn't wait one day? Now, there are going to be questions. Is she supposed to be ill? Are you breaking up with her because of the Aldland issues? God. We'd have to drop a press release..."

Erik stared at his father as the older man frowned, obviously deep in thought.

"Do you think you can get her to agree to the gala itself?" he asked. "Just put up a good front, and then we can send her back. She'd be generously compensated, of course."

Erik actually took a step back, appalled. "Are you kidding?"

His father seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. "What?"

"I just broke her heart," Erik all but snarled. "I broke my own! To serve Fervia. To help you. Because you said it would be best politically, and to protect her. And now you're telling me you want her to act just to protect our asses? After I treated her like a complete bastard? Are you a robot?"

"You will respect me!" his father roared, getting to his feet.

"I have always respected you!" Erik roared back. "But how much have you respected me, Father?"

His father's eyes widened. "I don't know what you're—"

"You said, 'Erik will never have anything to contribute to the throne' and then wrote me off!" Erik shouted. He had never spoken to his father like this. But it felt like decades of pain and frustration were finally bubbling to the surface... and exploding. "You told Mother that, when I decided to go to uni. You told her that she was spoiling me by encouraging my music! You toldme I was spoiled!"

His father huffed out a breath. "I have never disguised the fact that I would have preferred you going into diplomacy, or international business, or law—"

"Have you ever heard me play, Father?" Erik barreled on. "Ever heard any of my compositions? Do you know just how much I love it? How good I am at it? I've won awards. I could have performed around the world, but you were so... so dismissive of my talent, so intent that being a musician was no pursuit for a prince, that I became a playboy, just wasting my time around the globe! You believed I was useless. You all but told me I was worthless." Erik let out a brittle laugh. "So I eventually believed it."

His father looked aghast. "Erik, no. I would never... I didn't want that!"

"Do you want to know why I promised that I'd do more for the family? That I'd try to support you, and do whatever I needed, to help the kingdom, to help Pelle? Even when I've never shown any interest in statecraft or diplomacy or trade agreements before in my life?" Erik felt like a train accelerating out of control, but he couldn't stop now. Probably wouldn't, even if he could. "After Mother's death, I felt so much pain... but I saw you were even worse. You've always been the strongest man I've ever known, but I know just how hard it hit you."

His father looked stunned.

"So I thought I'd do whatever I could, to help you. Because you were so lost. You needed a son you could count on."

"I..." His father looked at a complete loss. "Did you feel like I thought I couldn't count on you?"

Erik closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Fought for control. "I think you've felt like I made bad decisions," Erik said slowly. "And because I haven't pursued anything in the political arena, because I've kept myself out of the machinations of the royal court and the kingdom's affairs, I thought that you knew best. I thought that by doing what you wanted, I'd be doing what was right, for the kingdom and for our family. But I'm not doing this. I'm seeing now that my gut was right... and that you, Father, were wrong. In thinking that I'm useless because I'm more musician than diplomat. In telling me to leave the mother of my child, the woman I love, because of political expedience. You're wrong in thinking that, if you can only control everything and boss everyone, that you and your family and your kingdom will be safe. That's not how the world works." Erik sighed. "I may not be much of a prince, but I know that."

His father stared at him like he'd never seen him before. "Was I that terrible a father?" His voice was soft, shaken. Very unlike anything he'd ever heard his confident father sound like. "Do you... hate me?"

Erik shook his head. "No," he said with honesty. "You've been a hard man to live up to. But I know that you've had the best intentions. It's just... I can't do what you're asking. I don't want to. I choose not to."

His father swallowed visibly. "I... see. What does that mean?"

"That means that I'm never going to be the prince Pelle is, or the prince you expected me to be," Erik said. "I'm not going to try. And I'm not going to try to 'protect the reputation' of Fervia by hiding my music anymore. It's a big part of who I am. Above all, I'm going to be the best father, and the best husband, I possibly can. I screwed things up with Clara because I lost sight of what was important, because I got all caught up in this."

"She'll still be in the line of fire, politically speaking," his father reminded him.

"Yes—but that should be her choice. I want to protect her, but I can't choose for her," Erik pointed out. "I will still do whatever I can to protect her, but she has always wanted to be in politics. She's strong. One of the strongest people I know," he added. "She will probably handle it better than I would in her shoes."

His father nodded, a small smile of his own. "Your mother was like that," he said, his expression wistful. "I miss her. I never should have said that she spoiled you. She just understood you, better than I could. Than I do. And she was a force of nature. They might say that I'm an imposing figure as King, but your mother... as Queen, your mother was beloved."

Erik swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "I miss her."

"So do I," his father agreed.

They stood there silent for a moment. Then his father cleared his throat. "Please give Clara my apologies," he said.

Erik blinked. "Oh, God. Clara. I have to apologize. I have to fix this!"

His father nodded. "Hurry, then. The gala's going to be soon."

Erik rushed out. She hadn't been in the royal apartments when he'd gotten changed for the gala. He'd been told that she’d left. She wasn't at the airport, though. He asked the chauffeur where he'd taken her, and found out that she had headed over to Holly MacPherson's, the reporter for the Fervian Times. He felt a moment's pang of apprehension. She wouldn't be selling a story or something, would she?

He immediately calmed himself. Of course she wouldn't. She and Holly were friends—and God knows, with the stupidity he'd just pulled, she'd be looking for a friend to lean on at this point. He had to fix things.

He hurried to the car. "Take me to the last address you brought Clara, please," he asked the driver, his pulse racing with nerves.

He had to fix this. Make this right. Get Clara to agree to marry him... again.