All The Queen's .Men

Plans

Left alone with Sierra, Jackson tenderly cradled her face between his calloused hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears threatening to fall. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a gesture of profound reassurance.

"I've known Eric my entire life," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm and comforting. "He may become angry, but he will understand. You need not fear him."

Sierra nodded slowly, drawing strength from his unwavering confidence. Their fingers intertwined naturally, seeking mutual comfort as they hastened toward the office, their footsteps synchronized in both pace and purpose.

Eric stormed into the office, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Is what Emily said true, Jackson?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

Jackson stiffened, his fingers still entwined with Sierra's trembling hand. He drew a deep breath before meeting Eric's gaze directly. "Aye, I'm in love with your bride-to-be, and she with me," he confessed, his Scottish accent thickening with emotion.

To their utter bewilderment, Eric's stern expression cracked, giving way to unexpected laughter that echoed against the office walls. Jackson and Sierra exchanged confused glances, their hearts still racing with anticipation.

"I already knew that," Eric revealed, shaking his head. "I'm neither blind nor a fool. The way you look at each other speaks volumes." His shoulders relaxed as he continued, "I was never going to marry Sierra tomorrow. My plan all along was to send you in my stead, Jackson." He turned to Sierra, his expression softening. "I recognized who you were the moment I laid eyes on you. My affection was merely a pretense to bring you home to where you belong—with him." Eric gestured toward Jackson. "You've loved her since childhood, you fool. Did you honestly think I'd forgotten those summer days when you would speak of nothing else?"

The three stood frozen in disbelief, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape. Sierra's grip on Jackson's hand tightened as they struggled to process Eric's words. None could determine whether he spoke the truth or merely crafted an elaborate performance to preserve his dignity in the face of rejection.

In the blink of an eye, he transformed back into a tempest of rage. His fist crashed against the desk, sending a thunderous boom reverberating through the office walls. The wood creaked beneath his knuckles, threatening to splinter under the force of his fury.

"I meant is it true what Cowell did," he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Is it true he altered my father's orders? That he dared steal from Lady Hale?" His eyes flashed with a mixture of disbelief and outrage. "That woman is a Saint amongst mortals."

Again his fist struck the desk, this time causing the inkwell to jump and papers to scatter. Disgust contorted his features, the venom of his words hanging in the air between them. His breathing came in short, controlled bursts as he fought to contain the storm brewing inside him. The betrayal cut deeper than any blade could—not just for himself, but for the noble woman he so clearly revered.

He placed a hand on his throat, wincing at the phantom pain that lingered there. "I yelled myself hoarse for them to release your family—so forcefully that blood rose in my throat and silenced me for days afterward. My heart shattered watching Sierra's sorrowful eyes as she bid you farewell, Jackson. And now you reveal it was all Cowell's fabrication, driven by his insatiable greed?" His fingers trembled slightly as he lowered his hand. "Do you have evidence to support this?"

Jackson withdrew the scroll from his coat and extended it toward Eric, who accepted it with reverent caution. Eric's brow furrowed as he examined the document, his weathered fingers tracing the damning words. Minutes passed in tense silence, broken only by his occasional sharp intake of breath. Finally, he raised his head, eyes burning with a newfound determination that transformed his entire countenance.

"We need a plan," Eric declared, his voice low and resolute. He folded the scroll carefully, his knuckles whitening around the parchment. "This betrayal cuts too deeply to be forgiven. This will not go unpunished."

"Sierra, could you bring your mother here tomorrow?" Emily's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers trembling slightly with barely contained excitement.

For a few precious hours they shed their polished, royal personas. They weren't heirs to thrones—they were simply young, unburdened conspirators sharing secrets in the safety of their makeshift haven.

As the plan materialized, each accepted their crucial role with solemn nods:

Eric would serve as the speaker, his diplomatic skills perfectly suited to the task

Jackson would become the arrester, his commanding presence impossible to ignore

Sierra would stand as the witness, her sharp eyes missing nothing

And Emily would guard their secrets, her loyalty beyond question.

"She absolutely should witness this," Sierra mused, tracing intricate patterns on the blanket with her fingertip, a habit she'd developed whenever deep in thought. "Mom has always cherished a good mystery, and this particular one might actually leave her speechless for once." A rare smile softened Eric's usually serious expression as he nodded in agreement.

Sierra's hand entwined with Jackson's, the intimate gesture spurring Eric to reveal his soul. The candlelight highlighted the gentle way Jackson's thumb caressed Sierra's palm, a silent language between them.

"Since we're all laying our hearts on the table," he began, his regal composure dissolving into that of a nervous schoolboy fidgeting with his thumbs, nothing like the distinguished noble king he typically portrayed. His voice carried a vulnerability none had heard before.

"Emily, would you do me the honor of accompanying me tomorrow evening?" Eric asked, his face contorting slightly as though bracing for rejection, years of diplomatic training abandoned in this moment of genuine emotion.

Emily launched herself forward, embracing him with unbridled enthusiasm that sent several pillows tumbling from their fort. "Of course!" she exclaimed, her eyes alight with joy. A crimson blush spread across her cheeks as she realized how impulsively she had reacted. The weight of her eagerness hung in the air between them.

"Hey, why don't we let these two talk privately?" Sierra suggested with a playful wink, sensing the need for discretion.

"Good idea," Jackson replied, grateful for the interruption. They exchanged warm good nights with the others and strolled toward Sierra's room, enveloped in a heavy silence that spoke volumes. Each footstep echoed their unspoken thoughts.

Once Sierra safely reached her door, Jackson pivoted to leave, his shoulders tense with unresolved emotion.

"Wait," she called, rushing after him, her hand reaching for his arm. "Don't you want to come in?" Her voice carried a vulnerability she rarely displayed.

Jackson paused without turning. "I thought I was just your tool for revenge, Sierra," he replied, his words measured and hollow. "Now that you know the truth, you no longer have to pretend to want my touch." His gaze remained fixed on the floor, afraid of what his eyes might reveal.

"But you told Eric you love me," she whispered, the statement lilting upward like a question seeking confirmation. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she awaited his response.

"And I do," he admitted, finally meeting her gaze with eyes that held both tenderness and pain. "But do you honestly think after every twisted thing you've said to me, I would believe you felt the same?" A humorless laugh escaped his lips, the sound brittle in the corridor's stillness.

Sierra's mind drifted back to her cruel words from earlier that evening, each syllable now a knife turning in her own heart. "Yes Jackson, take what you can never claim," she had taunted. The memory of her own voice made her wince, those venomous words now cutting her far deeper than they had wounded him. She stood frozen, trapped between pride and the desperate need to undo her mistakes.

"Jackson, please, I need you," she whispered, her voice breaking with vulnerability. "You don't have to touch me, I promise. I just can't bear sitting alone with my thoughts right now. The silence makes them scream louder. Just stay with me tonight," she pleaded, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to hold the fragments of her composure together. Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, searched his face for any sign of compassion.

He began to retreat, but then a sound pierced his resolve—Sierra attempting to stifle her sobs. Her shoulders trembled with the effort of containing her grief, each suppressed whimper cutting through the silence between them. The quiet intensity of her restraint affected him more deeply than any loud wailing could have, revealing the raw vulnerability she rarely allowed others to witness. Her fingers pressed against her lips, eyes glistening with tears that refused to be contained despite her determination.

Perhaps she genuinely cared for him after all. Whether she did or didn't ultimately made little difference now. The evening had transformed into a harrowing ordeal for her, and Jackson recognized his own selfishness in this moment. Her tear-stained face haunted him, each quiet sob piercing his conscience. How could he possibly declare his love so passionately one minute, then abandon her to her suffering the next? The thought made his chest tighten with shame. He watched her trembling hands and remembered how they had once felt intertwined with his own—warm, trusting, alive with possibility. What kind of man would he be if he walked away now, when beneath her composed exterior she was clearly breaking apart?