Chapter Two
Tiberius went down the stairs of the dais towards her, knowing full well that he didn’t have time for idle chatter with an Accorsi. Yet that little show of spirit she’d displayed just before had intrigued him, especially given how white-faced and shaking she’d been only minutes before.
He’d been hoping to give the command for the marriage to go ahead immediately, since the priest was already at hand, but a quick discussion with her privately seemed to be in order.
He didn’t want to put yet another potential Accorsi tyrant on the Queen’s throne, so it would pay to do at least a little due diligence on the kind of woman he intended to marry.
He couldn’t believe she’d actually snapped at him.
No one had ever dared take that tone with him—not for many years—and yet this little woman…this apparently terrified little woman…had somehow mustered up the courage to chastise the man who’d just taken back his throne for calling her a mouse.
Interesting.
He preferred women with spirit and backbone—in a queen both were vital—and it appeared that, despite appearances, Guinevere Accorsi seemed to have at least a hint of both.
That was promising. After all, it wouldn’t do for her to be as pale and trembling in front of the public as she’d been in front of him.
Her big blue eyes widened as he approached, her cheeks ashen.
There was dust in her hair and on her dress, and a smear of it across one pale cheekbone.
That must have come from the secret corridors she’d been scurrying around in, which wouldn’t do.
His queen shouldn’t look like Miss Havisham waiting in vain for her lover.
He would have to instruct her not to go into them again.
Tiberius stopped in front of her. The top of her head only came up to his chest so he had to look down.
She really was very small and delicately built, gazing up at him from beneath long, pale lashes.
It wasn’t a flirtatious look. It was more like a deer staring at a wolf with wide, frightened eyes.
Weren’t you supposed not to be threatening to innocent women?
He wasn’t being threatening. And she wasn’t innocent—not the daughter of Renzo Accorsi.
She’d grown up here. She must be aware of what kind of person her father was, and how badly he’d mismanaged Kasimir.
And who was to say that she wasn’t the same?
Or at least cut from the same cloth? Her twin brothers certainly were, by all accounts.
‘I will not hurt you,’ he said, just so she was clear. ‘I sent my guards away so we can talk without an audience.’
This did not seem to make any difference to the fear in her eyes. ‘T-talk about what?’
‘About your suitability as my queen.’ He gave her another considering glance. ‘And also about showing proper respect for the King, especially in front of my guards.’
That glimpse of spirit he’d seen just before, when she’d snapped at him, glowed like blue embers once again. But all she said was, ‘Oh.’
The contrast between her fear and her defiance was fascinating. Was it really bravery? Because, if so, that was an admirable quality in a queen.
‘They do not like Accorsis,’ he said mildly. ‘So it would be as well not to give them any excuse to dislike you even more.’
Her sharp little chin lifted. ‘I won’t apologise. I don’t like being called a mouse.’
Something shifted inside him like the earth settling after an earthquake. A certain…interest. She was his captive, and she was afraid, and surely the most logical thing for her to do now would be to ingratiate herself with him. That was what he was expecting—especially from a cowardly Accorsi.
Yet here she was, doing the opposite.
‘A simple No, Your Majesty, I am not trying to bargain with you would have sufficed,’ he murmured. ‘What is it about a mouse you find so distasteful?’
She glanced down at her hands, as if the pressure of his gaze was too much. ‘I just don’t like it. It implies something small and insignificant and…a-afraid.’
Interesting that she didn’t like that…despite the fact that she was afraid.
‘Yet mice can scare human beings,’ he said. ‘They can also cause a lot of damage—which is why they are also thought of as pests.’
She kept her gaze on her hands. ‘I…am not a pest,’ she said finally, the words emphatic.
A silence fell again, and he let it sit there, because silence could be a useful tool. But, unlike most people, she didn’t rush to fill it with meaningless chatter. Instead, she gripped her pale hands together even tighter and stared fixedly down at the floor.
‘Then what are you?’ he asked.
She gave a little shrug. ‘No one important.’
He frowned. She’d said the words without any inflection, as if being unimportant wasn’t a bad thing, and perhaps it wasn’t.
The Accorsis had a cruel streak—he knew that for a fact.
His mother had died in the coup they’d staged to oust his father Giancarlo.
He had been forced to leave his critically injured wife in favour of getting his baby son to safety.
She’d been shot by a guard, and the Accorsis had left her to bleed to death in one of the palace hallways.
They’d then sent word to his father that that would be his fate if he ever tried to reclaim the throne.
Then there was the treasury Renzo had drained—funnelling money into offshore accounts and into the military, into casinos and palaces and other buildings that no one needed or wanted, while hospitals and schools were forced to operate on less and less every year.
Then there were the tax breaks for the rich, and some kind of grand plan to turn Kasimir into a tax haven, which would only be of benefit to his cronies.
A morally bankrupt, corrupt man. And, from the intelligence he’d received, the Accorsi sons had taken on their father’s moral compass. Maybe that was true of her too.
Perhaps she’d wanted to be important to them and never had been.
Or perhaps she’s lying through her teeth in an attempt to get close to you and assassinate you?
No, that wasn’t it. The fear in her eyes had been real, and he’d seen enough of it in his life to know when it was being manufactured and when it wasn’t.
She was truly afraid. And yet she also had courage enough to snap at him.
Curiosity caught at him along with the urge to test her courage and her fear, to see how deep they both ran. Because he had to know if he was going to make her queen. She would be merely a figurehead, it was true, but she would need to project an illusion of strength at the very least.
He moved closer. ‘You were bargaining with me,’ he said. ‘Weren’t you?’
She shook her head, still staring at the floor.
No, he needed to look into her eyes, see what was going on inside her head. He needed to see that courage again. So he reached out and put a finger under her chin, urging her head up.
Her breath caught audibly as her gaze lifted to his, revealing the deep, endless blue of her eyes.
They were beautiful, those eyes. He’d never seen a colour like it.
The sky at twilight, blue darkening into a deeper, almost violet blue, so startling in her pale face.
Fear was there—he could see it—but also something else.
A flickering anger and a stubborn defiance that seemed to reach inside him and grip a piece of him tight.
Such stark contrasts. He found them fascinating. In fact, he wanted to explore them further, with her skin warm and very soft beneath his fingertip, her blue gaze pinned to his.
‘Weren’t you?’ he repeated softly.
Her blue gaze darkened and he was conscious of the sweet smell of jasmine and something more delicate and feminine that made his body suddenly tight.
It had been months since he’d had a woman—not since he’d put into motion his carefully laid plans for retaking the throne. He hadn’t wanted the distraction. He didn’t want it now—and certainly not with an Accorsi. But pulling away would be an admission of something he didn’t want to admit.
So he stood there, his finger beneath her chin, looking down into her eyes, willing her to reply.
She stayed where she was, though there was still tension in her. ‘I’ll marry you,’ she said at last, her clear voice husky-sounding. ‘I will serve my sentence. But at the end of it you will let me go. You will let me leave Kasimir for good.’
Interesting. So she wanted to leave the country? Was it to follow her father and brothers? Because they’d left her behind?
‘Making demands in your position is quite the choice,’ he said, even as a part of him noted the shape of her mouth and the full pout of her bottom lip. ‘You are a prisoner, Guinevere. And after what your father did to this country you should be glad I’m giving you a choice of cell.’
The flicker in her eyes looked like anger, and this time she didn’t look away. ‘I’m not making demands. I…was going to leave Kasimir. That’s all I was intending to do.’
Was that the truth? It seemed to be. Those words, softly spoken with a kind of quiet dignity, weren’t something a liar would say, he was sure.
Yet still he couldn’t help but ask, ‘Why? To go after your family?’
‘No. What I want is to escape them.’
Surprise echoed through him. This was the truth.
He could see it in those luminous eyes of hers.
He wanted to ask her why—wanted to know what had they done to her to send her hiding in the walls where he’d discovered her—but that would be a waste of time.
He didn’t need to know her. All he needed was her to be his queen.
With an effort of will that was greater than he would have liked, he took his finger from beneath her chin and stepped back.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I can see no reason to keep you here any longer than necessary. I can’t say how long our marriage will be, but once Kasimir is more settled we will divorce and you may leave. But not until then—understand?’
She didn’t look relieved or pleased, her skin still pale. ‘And I’ll be a prisoner until then?’