บททั้งหมดของ Tempting the Wrong Prince: บทที่ 131 - บทที่ 140

Richard’s POVA reporter lifted a hand immediately, but I kept speaking, because if you let them interrupt early, you lost control.“The government, in partnership with approved suppliers and neighbouring markets, will begin controlled distribution of grain today at noon,” I said. “This distribution is not a performance. It is not a political gift. It is emergency relief, and it will be regulated to prevent hoarding, price inflation, and corruption.”I saw scepticism flicker across faces.They didn’t trust us.Why should they?“In order to ensure fairness,” I continued, “there will be requirements.”A collective groan rolled through the room, as if the word requirements itself was a crime.I lifted my chin.“This is famine,” I said. “Not a festival. There are rules because without rules, the strongest take everything and the weak starve faster.”The hall quieted, slightly.“The requirements are as follows,” I said, and nodded to my aide, who brought forward printed sheets for the pres

Richard’s POVThe doors behind me shut with the kind of finality that always made my spine stiffen.For a moment, the courthouse corridor muffled the chaos, like thick glass between me and a storm. The roar of the crowd outside became a distant, furious hum. The press hall, the podium, the questions meant to bleed me for entertainment, all of it fell behind me like a shed skin.But the anger didn’t leave.It stayed in my body, coiled and sharp, pulsing under my ribs with every step.My security detail formed around me immediately, tight and alert, radios crackling, boots moving in disciplined rhythm. An aide tried to match my pace, tablet hugged to his chest like a shield.“Your Highness, ” he began, voice strained, already anticipating the next fire we had to put out.I didn’t look at him. “Not now.”He swallowed, then nodded quickly, dropping back. He knew better than to keep pressing when my voice went flat like that. People in the palace had learned my tones the way soldiers learn

Richard’s POVFor a heartbeat, the air between us went still.Then my mother’s voice dropped, cold enough to freeze blood.“Watch your mouth,” she warned.I didn’t back down. My hands shook, but I didn’t step away.“You want me to watch my mouth?” I asked quietly. “You should watch your cruelty.”Her face hardened further, as if she had made a decision.“Cassandra is a woman of no virtue,” she said, as if pronouncing judgement.I felt my stomach turn.“Regardless of the issue,” she continued, voice gaining that familiar venomous certainty, “she should have waited until the divorce was finalised before getting involved with Arden.”My pulse thundered in my ears.“Iv, ” I began, but she cut me off, leaning closer, eyes gleaming with malice.“There is a possibility,” she said slowly, savouring it, “that she had been sleeping with Arden even before this issue.”For a second, I thought I misheard her. The absurdity of it almost made me dizzy.Then something unexpected happened.I chuckled.

Richard’s POVMy eyes stayed on Rachel a moment longer than necessary, searching for cracks.Was she afraid of the transplant?Afraid of the process?Or afraid of what the tests would reveal?A strange suspicion stirred in my mind, ugly, unwanted.Maybe she wanted James to remain sick.Maybe she wanted him fragile.Because a sick child kept her close to the palace. Kept her relevant. Kept her needed.It was a cruel thought.And yet, in this world, cruelty had proven itself true too many times for me to dismiss it easily.I pushed the thought down, but it didn’t disappear. It lingered, sharp and watchful.“I want to see him,” I said.Rachel nodded quickly. “Yes. He’s, he’s in his room.”We walked down the corridor toward James’s ward. The closer we got, the quieter my mind became. Not calm. Focused.Because James was all that mattered in this building.Not the court.Not Belmont.Not the Longmans.Not my mother’s poisonous games.James.When we reached the door, a nurse nodded quickly

Richard’s POVMy mother didn’t interrupt gently.She never did anything gently when she wanted control.One moment, I was facing Doctor Silvia Wallace, trying to keep my mind from splintering into old grief and newer fear, and the next, Ivana was gliding into the room like she owned not just the hospital floor but the oxygen in it.Her heels clicked once, crisp against the polished tiles, and every nurse in the hallway suddenly moved faster, straighter, quieter. People always changed around my mother. Not because they respected her warmth.Because they feared her cold.Rachel, who had been hovering at the edge of the room like she might bolt at any moment, straightened immediately when she felt Ivana’s presence. Her hands came together in front of her, fingers twisting for half a second before she forced them still.Silvia turned smoothly, posture professional, expression polite. She was too calm for someone confronted by a Queen, but then again, she had grown up in power too. She kne