Chapter 7 - THE PRINCE WHO SAID I WAS WRONG
The arrest of Prince Regent Alaric shook Valeria harder than any scandal in modern royal history. Within hours, Parliament convened an emergency session. Newspapers printed special editions. Crowds filled the capital squares. The palace released an audio recording from the anatomy theater along with documents from Clara Vale’s archive showing decades of attempted interference in royal medical policy. For the first time, the public heard Alaric admit that the marriage selections had been exploited to delay Adrian’s marriage and manipulate succession.
They also heard something no one expected. Adrian admitting he had been wrong. He gave the speech from the same Hall of Mirrors where the Golden Measure had stood. The machine was gone. In its place, there was an empty platform. Emma watched from behind the cameras with Rose and Daniel beside her. “I believed fear justified secrecy,” Adrian said to the nation. “I believed that because my intention was to protect future children, the harm caused along the way could be excused. It cannot.”
No notes lay in front of him. He continued. “Women were mocked, pressured, starved, measured, and discussed as though their bodies were public property. I did not order those cruelties, but my silence created the conditions in which they grew.” Emma saw Chancellor Morcant standing under guard near the side entrance. He had agreed to cooperate fully with investigators. His future remained uncertain. Adrian’s voice did not shake. “The selection ends today. The Crown will fund independent medical counseling for every participant who requests it. Records gathered without informed consent will be destroyed unless the individual chooses otherwise. Any future royal marriage will be a private personal decision subject to the same laws that protect every citizen’s medical information.”
Outside, thousands listened. Some cheered. Some did not. Emma appreciated that. An apology was not a magic spell. When the speech ended, Adrian found her in the winter garden. She stood among orange trees beneath a glass roof streaked with rain. “Well?” he asked. “You did not say ‘mistakes were made.’” “I was advised to.” “I am sure you were.” He leaned against the stone edge of a fountain. “Do you think it was enough?”
Emma considered the question. “No.” His face fell slightly. “But it was a beginning.” He nodded. “That is fair.” They had known each other six days. It felt like six months. They had survived ridicule, sabotage, kidnapping, murder revelations, a palace conspiracy, and the destruction of a national myth. Yet they had never eaten a normal meal together. Emma realized that when Adrian asked, “Would you have dinner with me?”
She stared at him. “Now?” “Preferably before another relative attempts treason.” That made her laugh. Dinner was served in a small library rather than the formal dining hall. No orchestra. No ministers. No servants remaining in the room after the dishes arrived. Adrian had requested food from Vale Bakery. Emma looked at the basket of bread. “You sent royal guards into my neighborhood to buy rolls?” “I was informed sending a footman might look worse.”
“You are learning.” Slowly. That night they spoke about ordinary things. Adrian confessed he hated ceremonial hunting despite the public tradition. Emma told him she once chased a flour thief for three blocks with a rolling pin. He admitted he read detective novels under boring council papers. She admitted she had read all of the same series and preferred the villain in book four. The ease frightened her more than the danger had.
Because danger made choices simple. Affection did not. After dinner Adrian walked her to the east wing. Outside her suite he stopped. “I want to ask something.” Emma waited. “Not about marriage.” “Good.” “Would you stay in the palace after the hearings begin?” “For safety?” “No.” He looked almost uncomfortable. “For me.” Emma’s heart tightened. Adrian continued quickly. “I know how absurd that sounds. You have known me less than a week. I am not asking for a promise. I am asking for time.”
Emma looked at the man in front of her and the symbol behind him. Those were not the same thing. That distinction had become important. “I will stay through the hearings.” His expression softened. “That is not what I asked.” “I know.” He smiled. “Impossible.” “Before breakfast and after dinner.” She entered her suite. The next morning, Rose found her staring at the ceiling. “You like him,” her grandmother said.
Emma covered her face with a pillow. Rose sat on the bed. “That is inconvenient.” Emma lowered the pillow. “I do not know if I like him or if we survived something together.” “Both can be true.” “He is a prince.” “That seems difficult to miss.” “His life belongs to the country.” Rose’s expression gentled. “No. His job belongs to the country. That is not the same.” Emma turned the locket in her fingers.
“My mother ran from this place.” “Your mother ran from people who tried to take away her choices.” Rose touched Emma’s hand. “If you leave because you choose to leave, she would understand. If you stay because you choose to stay, she would understand that too.” The parliamentary hearings began three days later. Emma testified for four hours. She described the selection, the laughter, the hidden archive, and the kidnapping. She also read Clara’s statement about consent into the public record.
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When she finished, reporters waited outside. One shouted, “Miss Vale, will you marry the prince?” Emma stopped. A hundred microphones lifted. She smiled. “No one has asked me.” The clip spread across Valeria before sunset. Adrian saw it during a council break. That evening he arrived at Vale Bakery wearing no uniform, no medals, and no escort visible from the street. Emma opened the back door. “You came to my bakery.”
“I was told asking important questions inside the Hall of Mirrors has a poor reputation.” Her pulse jumped. “Adrian—” He raised a hand. “I am not proposing.” She exhaled. “I came to ask whether you would allow me to court you in public, honestly, without machines, councils, or secret criteria.” Emma studied him. Then she pointed toward a stack of flour sacks. “Carry those to the pantry.” He blinked. “What?” “You want to court a baker. Start carrying flour.” Adrian looked at the sacks. Then at her. “Is this a test?” “Yes.” “What does it measure?” Emma smiled. “Character.”
