Chap­ter 11: Brid­get found her­self slip­ping between emo­tion­al extremes as she tried to process every­thing hap­pen­ing around her. Rhys’s pres­ence on the flight offered a brief dis­trac­tion from her spi­ral­ing wor­ries, allow­ing her a rare moment of rest, but when the plane touched down, real­i­ty crashed back in full force. The anx­i­ety over her grandfather’s health had gnawed at her so fierce­ly that every sec­ond stuck in traf­fic toward the hos­pi­tal felt like agony. Pan­ic gripped her, fuel­ing ter­ri­fy­ing thoughts about arriv­ing too late. Even deep breaths bare­ly kept her fear in check, and by the time she reached the hospital’s hid­den entrance, she was on the brink of falling apart. See­ing Markus’s com­posed, albeit slight­ly disheveled, appear­ance was the first flick­er of hope that her grand­fa­ther had made it through the worst.

Relief washed over Brid­get when Markus con­firmed that King Edvard was awake, but her heart did­n’t set­tle until she laid eyes on him her­self. Walk­ing into the ster­ile hos­pi­tal suite, she had to fight back mem­o­ries of her father’s sud­den death, mem­o­ries that flood­ed her mind with painful clar­i­ty. Her grand­fa­ther looked frail yet stub­born as ever, scold­ing her gen­tly for wor­ry­ing and try­ing to brush off his con­di­tion with the kind of gruff affec­tion that had always defined him. Brid­get clung to the small com­fort his words offered, but deep down, she knew noth­ing about the sit­u­a­tion was tru­ly fine. As she recount­ed tales of her life in New York to keep his spir­its up, her mind drift­ed between grat­i­tude for this sec­ond chance and dread over what the future now demand­ed of her.

The offi­cial med­ical expla­na­tion for Edvard’s con­di­tion left her rat­tled. It wasn’t just a faint­ing spell—it was a seri­ous, life­long vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty trig­gered by stress. No amount of roy­al com­mand could wish it away, no mat­ter how much the king tried to act invin­ci­ble. Doc­tors insist­ed on major lifestyle changes to pro­tect him, but Brid­get and Niko­lai both knew con­vinc­ing Edvard to slow down would be like try­ing to stop a flood with a broom. As Brid­get watched her grand­fa­ther insist on being dis­charged ear­ly and return to work, she real­ized how deeply ingrained duty was in their blood­line, and how ter­ri­fy­ing that lega­cy could be. She did­n’t want to lose him the way she lost her father—suddenly, with­out warn­ing, and with no chance to say good­bye.

Weeks lat­er, as she rode with Niko­lai across the palace grounds, the weight of her new real­i­ty pressed heav­i­ly on her shoul­ders. Their con­ver­sa­tion, at first light­heart­ed with sib­ling teas­ing, soon veered into dan­ger­ous emo­tion­al ter­ri­to­ry. Niko­lai’s rev­e­la­tion that he planned to abdi­cate sent Bridget’s care­ful­ly recon­struct­ed world crash­ing down again. She under­stood his reasons—love was rare and precious—but the cold truth was that his deci­sion left her trapped. The Roy­al Mar­riages Law, rigid and archa­ic, would­n’t allow Niko­lai to mar­ry Sab­ri­na, and so the crown would pass to Brid­get instead. The free­dom she had tast­ed liv­ing abroad, pre­tend­ing to be just anoth­er young woman, would be stripped away per­ma­nent­ly.

Brid­get tried to keep her voice calm, but rage and betray­al churned with­in her as she real­ized Niko­lai had shared his plans with palace offi­cials before telling her. Even worse, she had no time to pre­pare. Every­thing she knew about her future was being rewrit­ten with­out her con­sent, and the suf­fo­cat­ing expec­ta­tions she had man­aged to avoid for years now loomed clos­er than ever. Her mind raced with images of roy­al duties, end­less scruti­ny, and a life­time spent ful­fill­ing a role she had nev­er tru­ly cho­sen. Mean­while, Niko­lai, vis­i­bly bur­dened with guilt, tried to explain him­self, but no words could fix what had already been shat­tered between them.

The raw ache in Bridget’s heart wasn’t just fear for herself—it was mourn­ing for the life she would nev­er get to reclaim. Her days of anonymi­ty were num­bered, and the idea of falling in love freely, liv­ing with­out cal­cu­la­tion, became a fan­ta­sy she had to bury. The palace walls, once mere­ly sym­bol­ic, now felt like real prison gates clos­ing in around her. Though she loved her fam­i­ly fierce­ly, the resent­ment build­ing inside her was unde­ni­able. It wasn’t fair that the dreams she had nur­tured so qui­et­ly had to die for tra­di­tions writ­ten cen­turies before her birth. Yet the bur­den of his­to­ry and duty was not one she could escape—not if she want­ed to hon­or the peo­ple she loved.

In the silent space between her and Niko­lai, Brid­get saw the heavy cost of roy­al­ty laid bare. Love could move kings off thrones, and devo­tion to coun­try could break hearts. She rec­og­nized the courage it took for her broth­er to make his choice, even if it left her feel­ing aban­doned. As the hors­es trudged back toward the palace, Brid­get squared her shoul­ders and swal­lowed the bit­ter­ness gath­er­ing in her throat. No mat­ter how much it hurt, she would meet her fate with dig­ni­ty. Some­where deep down, she knew she would find a way to sur­vive this too. After all, sur­vival was a skill every roy­al had to master—even when it felt like the world they knew had been stolen right out from under them.