Page 4 of Royal Resistance

“I have a responsibility to the band.”

“He’s not giving it up,” Dante says scornfully. “I can’t believe you thought he’d even consider it. Laandia means nothing to him. He wants to keep playing at his music –”

“I’m not playing at anything,” I snap.

It’s time to make a choice. Do I pick Kräftig, the band I joined four years ago, or do I go home and learn to be a king?

A rock star or a king? There’s no decision, really.

My father holds my gaze. There’s still a warmth in his eyes, but not as much as when I was younger. When my mother was alive. Before I started on this path that keeps taking me farther away from home.

The world shifts under me as I puff out a sigh of resignation. “I need to talk to the guys.”

“I wasn’t aware this was a democracy,” Dante says in his smooth tone.

“It is in the band,” I tell him, trying to keep the heat out of my voice. “Whatever I do will affect them, so they deserve to be part of the conversation.”

“You would actually consider giving it up?” Dante demands. His expression is tight, tense, and anger begins to seep out from behind his mask of indifference.

“I’m going to have to give up something.” My tone is bleak, and I don’t bother to hide it. It’s like a punch in the gut when I think about this being the last time I get on stage with the guys.

“I know this isn’t easy for you, Magnus.” Dad gives me a rueful smile. “It would be easier if you weren’t quite so successful.”

“But I am,” I mutter. We are.

My father is asking me to give up my life, the life I’ve created with Duncan and the rest of the band, to take on the mantle of heir to the throne. Really take it on—not just in name only. In public, I am Prince Magnus, and everyone knows that I will be king someday. And in the meantime, I’m enjoying myself. The partyboy prince. The rock star, the one with a gold medal hanging on the wall.

No one knows that, privately, I don’t want anything to do with being king.

But Dante does, and honestly, knowing my brother is champing at the bit to take on the role is the only thing stopping me from giving it up.

I don’t think Dante would make a good king. In fact, I think he’d make a crap king.

“Magnus, a great man doesn’t seek to lead,” Dad says.

I wonder if he’s secretly talking to my brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that some of the best leaders never asked for the job.”

“Afi Leif definitely asked for it,” I point out.

Dad smiles. “He definitely did.”

“Did you want to be king?”

He takes a moment to answer. “It wouldn’t have been my first choice.”

“Why not?” Dante scoffs.

Dad meets my gaze again but doesn’t reply. Dante may be cultured and well-read, but he’s also self-absorbed and greedy, with a cruel streak. He would not make a good king. He wouldn’t finish what my father has begun, leading Laandia into greatness.

I don’t know what he would do to my country.

I think I’ll be able to do the job. It’s not my first choice, will never be my first choice, but I know I would be a good king.

And I know what needs to be done.

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