Chapter Five
Tiberius didn’t really have the time to spare to acclimatise his new queen to the outside world. There were too many other, more important things to do. Yet the thought of one of his aides or guards accompanying her on her first venture beyond the palace walls was unacceptable.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her sitting in his study the night before, white-faced and delicate, hesitantly telling him that her brothers had hurt her.
He’d known, maybe subconsciously, that something like that must have occurred—especially given her terror of him.
But her confession, veiled as it was, had filled him with the most intense rage on her behalf.
That anyone had dared lay a hand on her, so fragile as she was, was incomprehensible to him.
Though he knew men did such things and worse every day.
That it had been her brothers, her family, who should have protected her and cared for her, made it even more egregious, and he burned to know what they’d done to her and why her father hadn’t stopped them.
But he’d bitten down on the questions. He hadn’t wanted to upset her further with intrusive questions, especially since his knowing wouldn’t change anything for her.
But when he’d told her he would protect her he’d meant it. Her brother and her father would pay. And if anyone else laid a hand on her they would answer to him.
Bullying behaviour was unconscionable in royal princes and most definitely in a king, and he would never be like that. Never.
Her first time outside the palace walls would be with him, so he could watch over her—as he should his queen.
Also, she would be at his side for their public appearances, and he needed to see how she reacted, so that if she was overwhelmed he’d know what to do and have some solutions.
The eyes of the world’s press would be on them and, as he’d told her, he wanted their marriage to at least look as if it was solid.
Taking her outside himself would also kill two birds with one stone—he could get her used to being out of the palace and also to being with him. It would not do for her to flinch away if he put an arm around her, for example.
Eventually, a few days after their dinner together in his office, he found a couple of hours free in the late afternoon.
He hadn’t seen her since then because he’d been working from dawn till midnight every day, wrestling with the thorny issues of getting his country back on track.
The damage the Accorsis had done to the Kasimiran treasury was considerable, though not as bad as he’d expected, so that was something at least.
He sent word to Guinevere to meet him by the doors to the back gardens, and when the hour came he strode down the echoing hallways, expecting to see his queen waiting promptly outside the specified doors. Only she wasn’t.
It took him a moment to realise that the tension in his muscles and the accelerated beat of his heart was anticipation.
For the past two days he’d been good, and he hadn’t thought about her once.
There hadn’t been room in his head for her anyway.
But late at night, when he finally left his study for bed, he’d come into the royal apartments to find a tantalising sweet scent hanging in the air, one that made his body go tight with want.
He’d ignored it, thinking that hard work and late nights would mean he was too tired to think about his new wife.
Sadly, he’d been wrong. That delicate scent would greet him and instantly he’d start to think about her, naked and at his feet—which was a terrible fantasy for him to have about a woman who’d been hurt as she had.
It had frayed his temper, put him on edge, and had helped him with his sleep not at all.
Which meant that by the time Guinevere finally arrived, five minutes after the time he’d specified, his mood was dark and irascible.
That she was in another of her pretty flouncy dresses, this one soft pink, with full skirts and a heart-shaped neckline, only added to his annoyance.
Her hair was completely loose, in a cotton-soft cloud around her head and down her back, and he was conscious of an unbearable need to wrap those curls around his fingers and tug lightly. Then maybe not so lightly…
No, that was a mistake. He should not be thinking any of this.
Unlike the previous times they’d talked, when she had been either white-faced with fear or angry, today Guinevere smiled at him as she approached, her deep blue eyes lighting up and something deep inside him stilled.
People smiled at him—of course they did. But not like this. Not as if they were pleased to see him. As if his presence gave them joy.
He was a leader, and his advisors, his guards and his army respected him. Feared him. Admired him. But they never looked at him the way she was looking at him…as if he was simply a man she liked and liked being with.
‘I know, I know,’ she said as she came towards him. ‘I’m late. Sorry. I was trying to find a ribbon for my hair and couldn’t, and then…’ She trailed off, noticing the scowl on his face.
‘I have limited time,’ he snapped. ‘I do not have it to waste, waiting for you.’
She reddened, her smile fading. ‘I said I was sorry.’
The loss of that smile angered him even more. Because he knew he was being unreasonable, that she probably had had enough of men being angry. But knowing he had no one to blame for that except himself only made it worse.
Other people’s feelings had never concerned him, and his own he kept under strict control. Emotions were irrelevant, his father had always said. The only thing of any importance was Kasimir and his duty to it, and everything else should come second.
Except right now his sharpness had hurt her, and he didn’t like it that he was the cause. She’d no doubt been hurt enough, and she didn’t need him adding to her trauma.
‘There is much to be done,’ he felt compelled to explain. ‘Time is of the essence. The people of Kasimir have suffered enough under your father’s rule, and the longer I take to fix the problems, the longer the people will suffer.’
She frowned. ‘Surely it’s not all dependent on you?’
‘Of course it is.’ He tried to rein in the sharp note in his voice. ‘I am the King now. The ultimate responsibility for our people is mine.’
She studied him. ‘That seems…an awful lot for one person to bear.’
The observation hit him uncomfortably, though he wasn’t sure why. Yes, it was a lot for one person to bear. Which was why his father had started early in preparing him for it.
From the age of ten he’d been told what his purpose in life was: to reclaim his father’s stolen crown and rescue his country.
His journey to the throne room had been a long and hard one, but he’d survived it. His father had died before he could see Tiberius reclaim what had been lost, but now he was here and had begun the process of rescuing his country. His father’s ghost could be at peace now.
And now you can make the Accorsis pay—especially for what was done to her.
No, regardless of how furious he was about that, vengeance was a petty action and he was above it.
‘Not for me,’ he said shortly. ‘I was born to do this.’
Her brow furrowed, as if she found this worrying. ‘I… I could help,’ she said a little hesitantly. ‘If you like.’
His instinctive reaction was to snap that he didn’t want help, especially not from an Accorsi, and how could she help him anyway? But he simply couldn’t countenance letting his temper get the better of him any more than he had already.
It wasn’t her fault that he was letting her get under his skin. The blame lay with him entirely.
‘You can help by being at my side as my queen,’ he said carefully, impatient with her questions and the unwanted emotions they brought. ‘So, are you ready to walk to the orchards?’
‘Yes.’ Her hands were once again clasped tightly in front of her, which he was beginning to see was a sign of her anxiety. ‘I’m not agoraphobic or anything. Just so you know.’
She might not be, but it was clear to him that she was nervous.
‘We will take it slowly.’ He turned to the big double doors, opening them so they could step out onto the terrace. ‘The orchards aren’t far.’
He took the lead, stepping through the doors, then turning around to face her.
Guinevere stood still in the doorway, blue eyes slightly wary, the set of her shoulders betraying her nervous tension.
Without thinking, he held out his hand to her. ‘Come.’
She reached for it without hesitation, and for some reason that satisfied him.
As if her taking his hand meant something.
It didn’t, of course, he was only trying to reassure her.
And yet he didn’t let go of it as she stepped through the doors to join him on the terrace, and the satisfaction deepened when, instead of pulling away, she held on tighter.
He met her gaze. ‘Are you ready?’
She took a little breath, then nodded, and they began to walk slowly to the end of the terrace and then down the stairs to the path into the gardens.
Guinevere’s blue eyes were wide and she kept looking around—at the sky, the grass, the gardens, then back at the palace, its towers soaring into the heavens, mirroring the mountain peaks around them.
She was brave, this little mouse of an Accorsi. Despite what had happened to her—which he suspected was a lot worse than she’d said—she had a thread of courage running through her that gave her unexpected steel.
He watched her keenly, alert for signs of fear, yet there were none. Her cheeks had gone pink, the sun was striking golden sparks from her hair, and when she looked at him her smile was full of delight.
‘I’m outside,’ she said breathlessly, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. ‘I’m really outside!’
Tiberius hadn’t found much to smile about in life—the stakes had always felt too high for levity—but the simple joy on Guinevere’s face touched something long-forgotten inside him.