Pretender to the Throne. Maisey Yates

      He laughed. “I hope there’s still porn under the mattress.”

      * * *

      There was. Though it was hideously dated and nowhere near as scandalous as he’d imagined it to be when he was a young man only just starting down the path of debauchery.

      The head of palace hospitality had ushered Layna to her room, and his father’s advisor had walked him to his own quarters. The man, as old as the king, was blustering, shocked and trying to get answers from Xander who was, unfortunately for him, not in the mood to answer questions.

      Instead he shut the man out, shut the door and looked around. That was when he found the magazines, just as he left them. They used to thrill him. He remembered it well. Now they just left him with this vague feeling of the stale familiar.

      But then, life in general didn’t thrill him much at this point. He’d seen too much. Done too much. He was less a carefree playboy than he was a jaded one. It was hard to show shock or emotion when one barely felt it anymore.

      The glittering mystery had worn off life. Torn away the day his mother died. Forcing him to look at every ugly thing hidden behind the facade. And so he’d walked further into that part of life. The underbelly. Into all the things people wanted to revel in, but could never bring themselves to discard their morals—or their image—in order to do so.

      But he’d done it. Morals didn’t mean a thing to him. Neither did his image.

      It was too hard to go on living in a beautiful farce when you knew that was all it was. So he never bothered. He was honest about what he wanted. He took what he wanted. As did those around him. Whether it was gambling, drugs or sex, it was done with a transparency, an unapologetic middle finger at life.

      He’d found a strange relief in it. In being around all that sin in the open. Because it was the secrets, the pretense of civility, he couldn’t handle.

      And now he was back in the palace. Center stage for the show. Back in chains. Pretending to be someone he was never born to be.

      He threw the magazines down onto the bed and looked around. He’d expected a few more ghosts. Or something. But he felt the same as he had before returning home.

      Shame and regret were his second skin. They existed with him, over him. And so he’d spent his life reveling in the most shameful things imaginable. He would feel it either way. At least if he sought it out, it was his choice. Not something forced upon him by life.

      Like standing beneath water that was too hot. Until you were scalded to the point where you didn’t feel it anymore.

      In truth, it had worked to a degree.

      But only to a degree.

      He pushed his hands through his hair and turned toward where his suitcases had been put. He would need ties, he supposed. He didn’t wear ties. One of the things he’d cast off when he’d left Kyonos.

      For now, he just had his suits and shirts he wore open-collared, but it would have to do. Just the thought of ties made it feel hard to breathe. Or maybe it was the palace in general.

      Her pulled open the door to his room and stalked down the corridor, not sure where he was going. He grabbed the passing housekeeper. “Where is Layna?”

      “Oh!” She looked completely shocked. “Your Highness...”

      “Xander,” he said. He had no patience for station and title. “Which room is she in?”

      “Ms. Xenakos is in the east wing, in the Cream Suite.”

      “Great.” He started in that direction. Because there was nothing else to do. There was no one else in the palace he wanted to talk to.

      He wasn’t certain why that was. He should seek out his father’s major domo. He should go and see his father, who was in the hospital. He should call his sister.

      He didn’t do any of those things. He just walked through the expansive corridors, past openmouthed palace staff, and toward the Cream Suite. He got lost. Twice. It was an embarrassment, but he just kept going until he got his bearings again.

      Then he pushed open the heavy wooden doors without knocking, and saw Layna, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her face snapped up, and again, he was shocked by her appearance.

      It hit him like a slug to the gut. She had been so beautiful. So many beautiful things had been destroyed in that time. Either by his actions, or his very birth. The fault was bred into him, in many ways.

      “What are you doing?”

      “I’m here to speak to you. And to...escort you to dinner.”

      It had been a long time since he’d escorted a woman to dinner. Usually he had sex with them, then they ordered room service and ate it naked. Although, on a good night, he kicked the woman out quickly, then ate room service by himself.

      She blinked. “Escort me to dinner? Where?”

      “Here will do. The staff has been alerted to my presence, and I have no doubt they’re eager to welcome me back with my favorite food,” he said, his tone dry. “Or at the very least they won’t let me starve.”

      “I don’t suppose the heir is of much use to anyone if he’s starved to death. I also don’t suppose he’s much use to anyone if he’s absent and drunk.”

      “No, it doesn’t seem that I’ve done any good during my time away,” he said, his voice tight. “But I’m not sure what I could have done here, either. I was not the king then. I am not now. I’m simply in line.”

      “But you left us,” she said, a note in her voice, so sad, so fierce, he felt it in his bones.

      “I left you,” he said.

      “Yes.”

      “Did I break your heart, Layna?”

      She shook her head slowly. “Not in the way you mean. I didn’t love you, Xander. I was infatuated, surely, but we didn’t truly know each other. You were very handsome, and I can’t deny being drawn to you. I’m a bit of a magpie for shiny things, you know.”

      “I was shiny?”

      “Yes. The shiniest prize out there.”

      “Not sure how I feel about that.”

      “You’ll live.” She looked down. “I loved the idea of being queen. I was raised for it, after all.”

      “Yes, you were.” He didn’t have to say that he hadn’t been in love with her. That much had been obvious by his actions. When he’d left Kyonos he’d hardly spared a thought for what it would mean to Layna. He hadn’t been able to spare a thought for anything but his own pain.

      “But I thought I would find someone else. Maybe Stavros.”

      “You wanted to marry Stavros?”

      She shrugged. “I would have. But then... Then the attack happened and I didn’t especially want to see anyone much less marry anyone.”

      “So you joined a convent? Seems extreme.”

      “No. I spent years struggling with depression, actually, but thank you for your rather blithe commentary on my pain.”

      That shocked him into silence, which was a rare and difficult thing. He didn’t shock easily. Or, as a rule, at all.

      “When did you join?”

      “Ten years ago. I was tired of muddling through. And I saw a chance to make myself useful. I couldn’t fit back into the life I had been in, so it was time to make a new one.”

      “And you’ve been happy?”

      “Content.”

      “Not happy?”

      “Happiness is a temporary thing, Xander. Fleeting. An emotion like any other. I would