The Royal Heir - The Valtoria Diaries 2

Cordonia 1, Auvernal 0

Maxwell was sitting on his new throne, surveying his empire. Doing his best to look imposing and important. And like he was The Man.

But appearances were deceptive. Maxwell really didn't feel like that inside at the moment.

Tonight was meant to have been his night. By now he should have given Christopher the signal to activate the disco and started to bring the party. But Madeleine had put her oar in this afternoon and vetoed any form of dancing tonight. Too risky, apparently. So now he was sitting looking down at an empty dancefloor. And, anyway, Bradshaw had killed the mood.

He'd been ready for Bradshaw and Isabella, actually. He'd been forewarned by Olivia about their demands (yessss, those silent prayers must have worked, Olivia hadn't murdered him, in fact she had been unnervingly pleasant to him). And while the question had thrown him, their attitude hadn't surprised him. From his limited interactions with the Auvernese royal couple in the past, he knew they were bullish and unlikeable. And the death looks he'd initially got on declining their offer didn't seem to fade when he'd asked them what style of dancing they would have fancied to start off the evening had it not been outlawed, after all they were the guests of honour!

But it had happened halfway through a quick demonstration of his salsa steps. Bradshaw's cruel, mocking laugh.

"You know, Maxwell, I enjoyed following the coverage of Anton's trial. I know he came up with a far-fetched story, but I rather liked the bit about your wife not being in love with you. That part of the lie was clever, in that it seemed pretty truthful."

He'd stopped dancing, and had just stood statuesque, stunned, not believing what he'd just heard.

"Come on, Isabella. Best leave the court jester to it."

He'd just remained motionless as they'd left, not knowing whether to A, start dancing again, B, run after Bradshaw and punch him, or C, cry. He'd almost felt suspended in time - like an unmade choice by an indecisive reader? Maybe they hadn't had enough diamonds for option B, because that would have been a good one. Anyway, he'd gone with option A in the end, dancing over to the dais, taking his rightful seat and now he was glowering down at that nasty little man. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he'd riled him.

      Please, Maxwell. Look at her and look at you. You're nothing special.

            SHUT UP, EVIL JUSTIN! Get out of my head and back in your cell..

      There is no way she would look at you...keep your ridiculous fantasies to yourself...

            Damnit, Bertrand, you can get back to Texas too...

      You'll never amount to anything, Maxwell. Apart from an embarrassment to our House.

           Wait, what? DAD? Where did you come from? Why not come and have a pop as well?

But no. Look at me. I'm here. I'm sitting on my throne, married to the love of my life. I did amount to something after all. Whatever Bradshaw has to say about it.

"Maxwell? Everything alright?"

His eyes flickered to the talking shape in front of him. Eventually it moved into focus.

"Oh. Rick. Hey." He winked and shot finger guns at him. "D'ya like my new seat?"

Rick surveyed it thoughtfully. "It's entirely appropriate. I had suggested to Jen that she should invest in a second ducal throne. Quite where she found a squid themed one, I have no idea."