Chapter 14
Bees
If today is the day that holds all the hopes and wishes for our future together, it is not starting out promising.
I stare out the window while the same maid who watched Rhys fuck me in the hall not so long ago—silently asking if he wanted her to join in, to share him with me—delivers my breakfast tray.
“Will there be anything else?” she asks and thankfully, I know that she’s not asking me for my opinion, but instead Rhys, the king, the one who holds all of our futures in the palm of his hand and he and he alone will decide.
“That’s all,” he says kindly before she bobs a quick curtsy, a blush staining her cheeks, and then scurries out of our rooms.
I don’t watch and I definitely try not to notice the details of their interactions.
If I do, I’m liable to lose my mind. I don’t want to be jealous; I don’t want to think that while my husband is out of my sight, he could be with anyone he chooses.
Even if this marriage is the culmination of a top secret planning committee and the dark machinations of a dead king and his son for power.
I hate it and I hate feeling like this. This isn’t me. This is not who I am or who I want to be.
Instead, I watch rain fall from the gray skies in a heavy drizzle and wonder if it will always feel like this.
In another lifetime, today would be a happy day, one where I could celebrate my impending nuptials to a man I love with all my whole heart, one who I could trust with my life.
He would be kind and caring, probably not rich by any means, but I don’t need that.
We’d eat spaghetti in our pajamas and socks and watch movies in my small apartment.
But this isn’t that lifetime. In this one, I love him, but can I trust him? I want to, but then I’m reminded of one of the reasons why I shouldn’t. Like the housemaid.
“You’re going to have to let that go, hen,” he says with a sigh.
“What if I don’t want to?” I ask.
He sighs and re-folds his newspaper, setting it down on the table where he spends his early mornings before heading to his office.
Today he’s here in my rooms, waiting for the weather to clear and the grounds to fill with the who’s who of European aristocracy for the beginning of our wedding celebrations.
Rhys pushes back from the table and walks over to where I’m standing with my arms wrapped protectively around myself.
I feel the heat of his body against my back as he wraps himself around me, his strong arms pulling me back into his chest, whether in comfort or protection, I don’t know.
I don’t even know if it’s real or an illusion, but I’ll take it. I need it desperately.
“In this life, there are things we don’t want to do, but we have to,” he says, his gravelly voice filled with both regret for what cannot be changed and fortitude to move forward through the tough things.
I hate that I have to learn to fight through the awful parts of this life that I never asked for.
“I’m sorry you never learned to cope during your childhood but am more than grateful that you were granted a childhood free from the heavy mantle of duty that we must carry.
Just as I hate knowing that with age, your youthful exuberance will dim. ”
“You make me sound like a child,” I reply sadly.
“In some ways you are,” he says causing my spine to stiffen, readying for another fight. “I do no’ mean it as a bad thing, hen. You are young; much younger than I am.”
“Then why marry me?”
“Because I can’t no’,” he says as if that explains everything. If anything, it both warms my heart and leaves me more confused.
“You talk in circles.”
“I don’t, hen,” he says. “I may have chosen you from a dossier of prospective brides, aye, but it was always only you. From the moment I laid eyes on your picture, I saw your dark hair and big brown eyes and I knew you’d be the one… the only one.”
“Rhys…”
“And then I flew to the states to see if the beauty in the photo matched the real thing and you literally fell into my arms,” he chuckles.
“Admit it, you set that up.”
“I did no’,” he says. “That was all you and your enchanting clumsiness.”
“That’s probably true,” I admit.
“No’ probably.” He laughs. “Sometimes I wonder how you learned to walk, because you bounce into walls and trip over your own feet.”
“Rude.”
“But then I remember that your nose is probably stuck in a book and you’re no’ watching where you’re bloody going,” he says.
“But none of it matters. I felt you in my arms and took one look at your ripped jeans and university jumper, with all that hair piled up on top of your head and I knew that you’d be mine. ”
“How did you know?” I ask, caught up in the fairy tale he’s weaving around us both.
“Because I knew I’d stop at nothing to make you mine.”
“Rhys—”
He stops me.
“I know you don’t like her,” he says, not bothering to say Meg’s name to my face. “But she is from a time before. I will no’ lie to you and tell you that there were no’ women. There were. I am older than you by quite a bit and I lived my life before I found you. You canno’ be mad about that.”
“Are you sure?” I ask brattily.
I hear the smile in his voice and feel his body relax knowing that the fight has gone out of me… for now. There’s still so much I have to come to terms with, but that’s not for today.
“Aye, hen, I’m sure,” he says. “But you have my word that you have nothing to worry about and you know it.”
“How so?”
“I can’t keep my bloody hands off you and you know it,” he says, and I warm to his compliments. “My cock is always hard when you’re near. It’s bloody inconvenient.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “That sounds like a personal problem.”
“Aye,” he chuckles. “Now will you sit down to some breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he says as he leads me back to the table. But instead of letting me sit in my own seat, he sits back down in the one he previously abandoned and pulls me into his lap.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I rather like the idea of holding you close this morning,” he says. “We are about to celebrate our future together and I’m feeling a bit romantic. Will you indulge me?”
“Yes,” I whisper as he brings the teacup in his hand up to my lips for me to sip from.
“Good.”
He squeezes my hip, runs his fingers through my hair or his palm down my back, between bites of eggs and toast or sips of tea. It’s intimate and just as he said, a bit romantic. I have trouble balancing this sweet version of him with the man who punished me so provocatively.
“What’s spinning through that brilliant mind now?” he asks with a small smile playing about his lips.
“I don’t understand you,” I admit.
“What’s there that you don’t understand?” he replies to my comment with another question.
“I don’t know which you is the real one.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“This sweet and attentive version,” I answer. “Or the one who’s quick to punish. Are you the man who loves me like I’m his whole world or the king who chose a bride as a means to political gain and global power? Who are you really?”
“Who says I can’t be both?” he asks me thoughtfully. “Why do I have to be only one thing to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Aye, I am a lot of things,” he says. “I’ve lived forty years with the knowledge that I would one day be king, that I would rule my people with all the love that I have for them and this country but also ruthlessly protect them and our homeland.
So, one could assume that when I chose to become a husband I could also be a lover and a fighter. ”
“I suppose that’s true,” I agree hesitantly.
“But one thing is to be certain, hen.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“I do no’ want to be just one boring thing to you,” he says.
“Okay…”
“I want to be everything.” And with my held breath searing my lungs and my eyes locked on his, I believe every word, but can I be brave enough to let him?
“Knock, knock,” Maeve calls out as she actually knocks on the door.
“Come in,” Rhys calls out and she pushes open the door with a smile on her face.
“I’ve come to get our blushing bride ready for her garden party,” she says, smile morphing to a smirk. “But I figured it would be safest to call out before I entered the lovebird nest.”
Rhys laughs and answers, “Aye, I appreciate the thoughtfulness too.”
“You remind me so much of your father when you smile like that,” she says with a bittersweet look on her face.
I wonder what her relationship to the late king really was. Interesting, since he was married to Rhys’s mother and then Saoirse, shortly after the late queen passed away in a car accident.
“Thank you,” he says quietly before lifting me off of his lap. He stands from the small table. “I’ll let you ladies do your primping and prettying while I make some calls in my office.”
“Thanks,” I reply just before he places a quick kiss on my lips.
“Remember what I said, hen.”
“What was that?” I ask. “I remember you had much to say this morning.”
“Everything,” he replies, making my heart beat faster. And then he walks out the door, letting it close quietly behind him.
“Is it just me or is it a bit warm in here,” Maeve asks, and I laugh.
“Something like that,” I answer.
“Would you like anything else?” she asks. “More tea before we get started?”
“I’m fine. Would you like some?” I ask her. No matter what her relationship to the family is or was, this woman has only ever been kind to me and looked out for me as best she could. I will always show her the same kindness and respect.
“Oh no.” She laughs. “I was so excited last night; I could barely sleep a wink. Not to mention, I’ve had enough coffee this morning to serve a whole army.”
“Yikes.” I laugh.
“Exactly, so let’s get started,” she says as she whips out a curling iron and a bunch of sprays and whatnot for hair. I let my mind go blank as Maeve curls and pins my long hair so that it can cool.