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to listen, grandson, and listen good. You don't get to destroy fifteen centuries of tradition, wisdom, and grace. God knows this family has had its share of scoundrels and rakes going backward through the ages. We've survived them all. We'll survive you, too, because you're bigger than your antics.”
    Oh, fuck. Here comes the pep talk, where she tries to remind me I'm born for this, bound to a destiny I never chose.
    “Let me guess, you want me to straighten up, fly right, and start acting more like you? Everything I've promised for the last four years, yeah?”
    “Act, yes. Act. I want more than talk, Silas. I'd like you to honor your family and your kingdom,” she says, one more remark that puts me on guard. “Your mother was a wonderful woman. Out of her element with royal life, certainly, but she had a graceful heart. Look to her example.”
    I can't believe what I'm hearing. She's laid the guilt trip on thick before, but she's never stooped to using my dead mother.
    I want to pivot and walk the fuck out. Too bad that's a breach of protocol even I can't bring myself to do, not when I've been raised to believe it's like slapping my own grandmother across the face.
    “What's mom got to do with any of this, Your Majesty?” I say quietly, letting the last of my buzz wash over me.
    “If you won't act for me, for this bloodline, or for this country, then please do it for her. I'm asking you to consider it seriously, Silas. I know full well by now I can't make you do anything. All the titles and power in the world can't do much for a man with your stubbornness.”
    “How about specifics? How the hell can I prove to you I'm already serious? Every time I try, the bastards in the press turn it into the butt of another joke. I can't control that, and you know it, Your Majesty.”
    She pauses. Thinking.
    Damn. Have I stumped the Queen?
    “You need a calming influence, something to prove that you're mature,” she says slowly, turning her head, studying my reaction for what comes next. “A woman, Silas. Not another whore you'll have for one night and never look at again. Find yourself a wife.”
    I think I blink before my eyes pop out, but I can't say for sure. I can't even feel my face when her words sink in, anchor, and drag me down with them.
    “Jesus. You're asking me to get married? Just like that?” I snort, turning around. “Surviving bombings in Kandahar was easier than that.”
    “I never said it would be easy. I'm giving you a difficult, but effective alternative, son. The people never loved your father, Silas. They loved your mother...loved her almost as much as they adore me. If they can't learn to respect you, then maybe they'll respect your family, your children. I can't save you anymore. I've already accepted that.” She pauses, a sad glaze coming over those eyes I know so well. “I can only save the family, the office, and the crown. Everything I'm bound by God, oath, and blood to salvage.”
    I want to ask why the fuck she's talking from both sides of her mouth. Telling me I need to shape up, but acting like I'm beyond redemption.
    And marriage? She's talking crazy. I wonder if she's going senile.
    One thing's for sure – I've had my royal limit tonight.
    “Are we done here?” I growl, the only words I can get past my numb lips.
    “You're dismissed. Think about everything I've said. Please.”
    I can't. Not now. Maybe not ever.
    My head dips in the shortest, angriest bow I've ever thrown her way. Then I spin so hard my designer shoes squeak loudly on the delicate tile, probably leaving a streak.
    I don't care. I have to get the hell away from this place, this asylum I've always hated, the world's most opulent freak show.
    It takes half my body strength to shove the heavy doors open. I'm not waiting for the guards. Victor doesn't say a word to me on the way back to my car.
    He knows when to keep his damn mouth shut, and this is definitely one of those times.
    I want to get back to the palace with a