Apologies for keeping you waiting for this long. I've been having some trouble with this story because I've strayed from the original plan, so the original ending won't fit anymore. So I needed this chapter to get me going in the right direction again. I'm going to wrap this up in the coming five chapters, so don't worry. I will finish it! Thank you for bearing with me.

ACT III.

Philosopher

Part I.

Truth and lie.

He still didn't remember her name, but she had no qualms about him calling her Kent. Why would she? A small sacrifice – renouncing her name, the one given to her at birth –considering she would gain a throne. A crown. A title and –

'I just don't see you as a husband.' Eleanor was laying on her back, one arm hanging off the side of her brother's bed, while the other rested in Jasper's lap, hand hidden from his sight and Robert had absolutely no inclination to discover where or what exactly she was grasping with her paw.

He decided to humor her. 'And why is that?' Had been doing that a lot the past couple of days. Humoring her. Now that Liam had officially moved out – and the two of them were still not on speaking terms. If anything, Robert knew how to hold a grudge. Nothing short of Liam begging and groveling on his knees would get him to speak to his younger brother in the foreseeable future – and his mother was dropping hints here and there and everywhere concerning his impending engagement, there were few things that did not make him miserable or make him lose his temper and humoring Eleanor, so he had discovered, was one of those few things. He considered it a miracle the Kingdom hadn't gone to shit, yet.

'First off, you've been pitiable ever since Liam's wedding and secondly, you're just not husband-material,' she said. 'Too stubborn. Too proud. Too sure of yourself.'

'Seems like you're describing yourself,' Jasper smirked and Robert saw her arm move, lightning quick, grabbing hold of something and Jasper flinched.

'Your input is not required, bodyguard,' Eleanor said, her arm now in full display, and over her head Robert raised an eyebrow at Jasper, smirking.

Balls, Robert mouthed at him. Jasper rolled his eyes, at the same moment rolling over as Eleanor scooted closer to Robert. He arched an eyebrow at his little sister, leaning back as she pressed herself forward off the bed in his direction.

'Too stubborn, too proud and too sure of yourself,' she repeated. 'And too in love with somebody else.'

Right.

That.

Not that again.

'Yes, that again!' He hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud, looked up at Eleanor wearily. Perhaps he'd been humoring her too much lately.

'I'm not really in the mood, Len.' Everything concerning her had already been said. And he remembered his anger, the feeling of betrayal, when his mother told him Poppy knew.

Had been her idea.

This girl who he had slowly started to… Not love. Never love. But he had started to believe her. Had believed that maybe there was something there for him, something more than being a King on a pedestal, alone. Perhaps not alone.

With her?

Maybe.

Not anymore, though.

'I'm engaged to Kent and that's it.'

'You're not,' Eleanor insisted. 'Not yet you are.'

'An irrelevant detail,' he told her, scowling at Jasper who was laying sprawled across the bed like he belonged there now that Eleanor had vacated it. Like it was his. Entitled little prick.

'Hey!' Eleanor hissed, snapping her fingers in his face. 'I am talking to you, Robbie. Stop looking at my piece of shit boyfriend and start looking at me.'

He did as she demanded, unimpressed though, his face carefully schooled in deliberate impassivity.

'What do you want, Eleanor?' he sighed. 'Kent is an amazing woman. She's from a respectable family, has had a good education. She's intelligent and beautiful, soft-spoken unlike others here at court' – Jasper coughed – 'and she will be a good Queen.'

'And who fed you that bullshit?' Eleanor said scathingly. 'And who cares about being a good Queen? Will she be a good partner, a good friend? A good wife?'

'I'm sure I'll find out.'

She groaned and for a moment he thought she might stamp her feet. She did not but she was damn near close as she threw herself next to him on the sofa.

'You're such a prick,' she complained. 'Come on, be honest. Don't you like Poppy? Don't you... I don't know. Love her?'

She saw the look on his face, the raised eyebrow, and corrected herself. 'In love with her? Care about her? Have feelings for her that at least go deeper than what you feel for Kent? I mean, we don't even know the girl's bloody name!'

'Amelia Windsor,' Jasper said and Eleanor furiously whipped her head towards him. 'Again, bodyguard,' she hissed. 'Your input is not required.' She waved at him dismissively, baring her teeth at him as she went on a lengthy rant about why he always felt the need to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted nor needed.

And Robert remembered them, those deeper feelings. Remembered again anger and betrayal. Agonizingly slow, as he had left his mother's study to return to the party, all the pieces had fallen into place, and in between kissing some great-great Aunt on the cheeks and twirling Eleanor around on the dancefloor, he had come to the realization that – for fuck's sake – Poppy had betrayed him.

And when the thought finally hit home, settled in and became a harsh truth rather than a vague guesstimate, his fingers had tightened on his sister's hand and the perpetual frown he seemed to be carrying daily, suddenly had become deeper.

He remembered clearly.

The need for air when Kent had approached him, looking perfect and all smiles, reaching for him and for fuck's sake, this was to be his wife. He had mumbled an excuse, something, anything, and he was almost certain she hadn't believed, but she had let him go, had let him flee this façade of a wedding – he also remembered his brother, Liam and Willow, happy, together, nothing like him – into the empty halls of the palace and calm and peace and her.

He remembered.

He stumbled upon her in one of the back halls, face half hidden in shadow as she leaned against a dark wooden, low cabinet. She was on her phone. He recognized her immediately. And perhaps everything inside of him exploded at that moment.

Imploded.

'Robert,' she breathed as she noticed him, but she had barely time to catch her breath again, as he slammed her against the wall. The back of her head hit the paint hard and he pressed her there, his fingers spread around her neck, palm pressed insistently against her throat. He felt her swallow deeply, felt her raised heartbeat in the vein that ran beneath his hand. He dimly registered her phone dropping to the floor, her hand fisted in the lapels of his jacket.

He'd punch the wall beside her head, wanting to scare her, make her fear him, but she had only pulled him closer. And he had pressed closer, had tightened his hold on her throat.

'Why are you doing this?' he remembered asking and she hadn't looked at him. Had placed her cheek against his hand resting on the wall beside her head. Her soft breath on his skin. And just like that all the anger bled from his body. All that was left was –

'Why?' he repeated.

- regret?

He sighed. Rested his head on her shoulder, his nose burying in the crook of her neck. Taking in the scent of her.

'It's a good dowry,' she whispered. 'There were worse options.'

Taking in the taste of her, as he pressed a soft kiss against her skin.

'She'll be a good Queen,' Poppy continued.

His left hand had dropped from her throat, had started exploring. She was wearing a black dress, unassuming, employee, not short enough. He pulled the hem up, ran his hand over her thigh. Slowly.

'She's from a respectable family, nobility,' Poppy said.

He pushed her knees apart, pressed his hips against her.

'She's had a good education,' said Poppy.

She let him.

'She's intelligent,' she said.

His fingers moved to her inner thigh, upwards. Closer. He could feel her heat.

'Beautiful,' her voice was low. 'She's beautiful.'

He pressed an openmouthed kiss against the side of her jaw, worked his fingers past her knickers. Moist.

Her breathing hitched. His finger slipped inside. A second one and she whimpered. Wet.

'I missed you,' he said. 'I missed you, I missed you. I missed you.'

She made to kiss him, ran her fingers through his hair, but before she could pull him nearer, he dropped to his knees. She squealed, but the feeling of his hot breath on her center had her gasp. Took her breath away. He kissed her there, pulled the fabric of her knickers to the side. Tentatively he ran his tongue between her folds and for fuck's sake, it was exhilarating tasting her in his mouth. All of her. She arched off the wall, fisting her hands in his hair and he lifted her slightly for better access.

'I missed you,' he murmured against her. She couldn't hear the words, but she damn sure felt them as she panted out his name. Her leg shook as he added a finger, his tongue running over her throbbing clit as her fingers tightened in his hair.

'Robert..' She pulled his hair, forcing his head back. 'Someone will see us.'

He looked at her from between her legs. Flushed. Out of breath. A red tinge to her cheeks. She was fucking beautiful.

'Let them see,' he snarled, the intensity behind the words surprising him. 'Let them see you're mine.'

And it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

He remembered kissing her, the taste of her cunt still fresh in his mouth. The way they clung to each other. His pants dropping to his knees. Her knickers around her ankles. That feeling of rightness as he entered her, her legs locked around his hips, her head arched back. He slammed into her with all his frustration, and anger, and hopelessness and so beautiful, as she eagerly spread her legs for him. The sound of his name on her lips, the hoarseness of her voice. Her abandon. There was nothing better than knowing he did that to her. Only him.

After, he pocketed her knickers. She saw and smirked. He adjusted her dress and she fastened his belt. He kissed her then, and it was slow and deep and everything they could be.

'Do you really want me to marry her?' he asked her. Forehead resting against hers; lips brushing ever so slightly. She pressed their lips together. Her eyes remained open, as his.

'Does it matter?' she asked.

No.

It doesn't.

He kissed the top of her nose. The corners of her mouth. The little spot behind her ear. Her collarbone. His arms slid around her body, pulled her near, held her.

'You know I love you, right,' he murmured, his voice muffled by her hair and he felt her stiffen. And then relax. It was as much truth as lie. It was all that he could give her.

'I love you,' he whispered in her ear. As if that would make it any less of a lie or any more of a truth.

He remembered.

'I told her I loved her,' he said out loud. Eleanor halted her monologue, turning slowly back towards her brother as Jasper's mouth former a surprised 'o'.

He avoided his sister's enquiring gaze, instead looked at the swirling contents of his whiskey glass.

'I told her I loved her,' he repeated slowly. 'And then I ordered her to make the necessary arrangements for my engagement and walked away.'

His sister's disappointment in him he saw coming.

The porcelain vase she threw at his head he did not.