Surviving His Royal Highnass, Prince Ashton

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Postmortem

Ash's POV

I threw the heavy, mahogany doors of the study open, causing the settled dust to rise from its long slumber. The last person to step into this room was my father, the night before his trip to Canterbury. Had I known it would be his last, I wouldn't have left his side that night. I stood in the center as the musty scent overwhelmed my senses. Months had gone by, yet I still saw the aura of my father hunched over the sturdy oak desk, its cracks crept to the surface from generations of use. He spent countless nights here, drafting policies and reading letters from citizens all over the kingdom.

Above all, he was a man of honor.

Not a man who would squander the blood, sweat and tears of his people, especially not for personal use.

I frantically opened the drawers of the desk, revealing their contents.

Maps, parchment, ink –

There it was, bound in leather, still in its primeval form, lay my father's accounts book. I found comfort in his familiar script, which seemed to effortlessly flow across the page. He handled the quill with such grace that he turned writing into an art. I felt a pang in my chest once I realized I'd never be able to observe his penmanship again.

Hansbury will eat his words, and at the very least, the pages of the pristine accounts this journal held.

I flipped through the pages, scanning the numbers, and waiting for my mental arithmetic to add up—

Yet, I had to wait longer than I expected.

The numbers didn't add up.

My entire being froze. Not even a finger would give way for me to flip to the next page.

No.

No, this can't be.

I rummaged through the other drawers, hoping to find the real accounts book. But it wasn't there. It wasn't there because it lay in front of me, overflowing with conceited lies.

A teardrop fell onto the worn page, causing the old ink to distort into an illegible blot. Several tears followed after that as my form shook uncontrollably. I deliberately cried over my father's accounts, hoping that my tears would somehow erase the sinful ink that bled through the innocent lives that toiled to support the kingdom.

I felt a hand on my shoulder as another delicately raised the book off the desk. I looked up to find Evelyn as she furrowed her eyebrows over its contents. I dropped my gaze, too ashamed to meet her eyes.

I felt dirty, like a hypocrite. Everything that I stood for as king was in direct contradiction of my father's platform. The man whose footsteps I yearned to follow, I now wished to erase.

What world had I been living in for the past few years that I wasn't even aware of the illegal dealings happening just down the hall?

How could my mother simply watch as her son vehemently denounced the very deeds committed by his own father?

I let out an agonized cry as I angrily swung my arms across the desk, knocking nearly everything over.

Evelyn's POV

I jumped as an inkwell, several books, and vase fell tumbling towards the floor with a loud crash. A nearby guard rushed in, alarm written all over his face.