1. Alex

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This story has been reduced to a sample on September 19th, 2021. You can read the complete novel on Radish Fiction. I am self-publishing this series in 2022. Follow me to keep up-to-date on details.

Series reading order: Fake Crown, Scarred Crown, Heavy Crown, Fallen Crown. You can read them out of order, but for maximum enjoyment (and no spoilers), follow the series.

Whenever I was summoned to my father—the king's—office as a kid, I expected trouble. As an adult and the first in line to the throne, my father and I meet all the time. Finding the request on my calendar isn't unusual, but given the swirl of controversy surrounding the monarchy right now, I'm uneasy that something else is about to be dropped on me.

When I arrive to his office, the crowd greeting me is a surprise. My younger brothers Brice and Nick along with his soon-to-be wife, Julia are lounging on the couch. My mother is at my father's shoulder, standing at attention. My father's semi-retired secretary, who also happens to be Julia's mother, is also present. Finally, Desmond, the secretary I share with Nick and Brice is here too. Every person who could either plot against me or rescue me from my own stupidity is in the room. Thankfully, it's a big office.

"This feels ominous," I say. They've left the seat directly in front of my father's desk free.

As a child, standard conversations on etiquette and protocol were had around the dinner table, on our private jet, or in various hotel rooms. If we were called to the office, we were in trouble. Big trouble. My father would be seated across the desk from one or more of us, a reprimand on his lips along with a slew of community service hours. In those instances, he wasn't my father, he was the king.

This crowd, though, is abnormal—whether in celebration or castigation.

"I wanted to make sure everyone was here for this conversation." My father taps a thick book on his desk with his index finger.

Is that the coronation manual? I haven't actually read it. Julia, my younger brother's fiancée and my father's current secretary, is in charge of organizing the exchange of power, both the ceremony and legalities.

I examine each person in the room, and no one meets my gaze. Not unusual—as my brother Nick likes to claim, I'm the asshole in the family. It's a title I don't relish, and I'm not convinced I always deserve, but I'm not going to deny I can be abrupt and direct. I am who I am.

"Must be a big mess if you needed everyone. Did you invite the butler too?" I check behind me.

"Alexander," my mother admonishes.

I run my palms along the armrests of the chair. "Who's in charge of delivering the doom and gloom?" Ever since my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, I haven't been sure whether he should be leading Bellerive, and he has, for the most part, shared that opinion.

The coronation is almost a year away, but his cognitive decline might not be so predictable.

With the public referendum on legalizing assisted suicide and my father's disease out on social media, our island politics are in disarray. The Advisory Council of Bellerive, our national government, passed a temporary measure to eliminate royal input until I'm king. They cannot risk a political misstep by having my father involved, especially with some of them up for re-election. Cutting us out isn't a problem as long as none of the issues require the tie-breaking vote the sovereign provides.

Fingers crossed the country can make it through the year.

My father passes the manual across the table to me. "The page is marked."

I flip it open to the highlighted section and breathe out a frustrated grunt. "Prior to the coronation, the heir apparent must be wed." I read aloud. "To become king, I need a wife? What kind of archaic bullshit is this?" I glance up and my gaze connects with my mother's. "Am I interpreting this correctly?"

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