‘Queen?’ she repeated faintly. ‘But I don’t want... I mean, not officially...’
She’d gone very pale, looking even more ethereal than she normally did, and the shame and regret inside him sunk deeper.
If he needed another reason why this had been a mistake, then here it was. Just as he’d never expected to be King, Inara had never expected to be Queen in anything but name. He’d automatically undertaken most of the official duties on his own, because he’d sensed her discomfort with the role, leaving her safe to pursue her own interests here at the Queen’s Estate.
He knew she hated the palace in Katara. She hated being looked at and talked about. Hated the social engagements that being a queen involved, the functions and parties and balls and openings she’d be expected to attend. She hated being the object of everyone’s attention and, as he could do most of that himself, he’d left her to her own devices.
Choosing another woman to do that duty had seemed like a kindness, so her arguing about it earlier had made no sense. Unless of course she’d changed her mind. Now, though, it was obvious she hadn’t changed her mind. She clearly regarded being queen as similar to going to her doom.
She’ll have to learn how to deal with it. As you did.
Cassius wasn’t a cruel man. There was no profit in it, and besides, a king should never be cruel, although sometimes justice could look like cruelty. And sometimes doing the right thing could look the same way.
It probably looked that way to her now.
‘I know you don’t.’ He gave her what he hoped was an understanding look. ‘But there are times when we don’t get to choose. And this is one of those times.’
‘Cassius...’
He put a gentle finger over her mouth, silencing her. ‘That’s my decision, little one.’ Her lips were very soft, very warm, and suddenly all he could think about was how they’d felt beneath his and how she’d tasted of brandy and desire and every good thing...
If you stay here, you’ll risk making the same mistake again.
It was true. He could already feel his body begin to harden once more, responding to her soft weight in his arms and her sweet scent, the delicate curves of her body pressing against him.
He could have her again. He could take her upstairs and spend the night with her. It wouldn’t make any difference to his decision and, if he was going to keep her as his wife, then it would be a marriage in all senses of the word. There would be no celibacy for him any more.
But, although it was tempting, he needed to get some distance between himself and the appalling mistake he’d made. Some time to recall his own promises and put in place safeguards to make sure he wouldn’t lose himself so completely again.
She’d need some time to come to terms with what he’d told her too, and what it would mean. And there’d definitely have to be a period of adjustment. Which meant that sitting here with her in his lap was probably not a good idea.
Carefully, Cassius shifted her off him, getting up from the chair then settling her back into it. She looked up at him, small and, fragile and wide-eyed, curled up on the big leather seat.
‘So...that’s it?’ Inara said. ‘I don’t get a say in this?’
‘As I said, sometimes we don’t get to choose our path in life, and this is one of those times.’ He checked his watch, impatience gathering in him. Normally he’d ignore it, as impatience was not an admirable quality in a ruler, but right now he had a few things to do. There were arrangements to be made and certain things to be put in place if he was going to bring Inara back to the palace, which he would. As soon as possible.
‘But you didn’t want me to be your queen. You wanted someone else. You said I wasn’t a suitable choice.’
There was a desperate note in her voice that made his chest tighten, though he wasn’t sure why she was trying to argue with him now, when she had seemed so opposed to the divorce only a few hours ago.
‘You’re not. But I don’t have a choice about this either.’ He tried not to let his own regret and impatience show, given it was clear she needed some reassurance, and him getting angry wouldn’t help. Especially as it wasn’t her fault. The blame lay entirely with him. ‘Don’t worry, Inara,’ he went on in softer tones. ‘I’ll do all I can to ensure that you’ll be the best queen Aveiras can hope for.’
She said nothing, her face white, her eyes going dark behind the lenses of her glasses. She was looking at him as if he’d dealt her a mortal blow.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have told her that he’d been celibate for so long. Certainly, that hadn’t helped matters, as she’d appeared genuinely shocked when he’d mentioned it, even upset. He wasn’t sure why that was, but no wonder she was shocked. She probably still thought he was the feckless prince he’d once been, indulging himself at every opportunity.
The one who’d begged his brother to swap places with him on the trip his father had insisted they take to the cemetery in the mountains, where all the de Leon kings were buried, in a last-ditch effort to try and instil in Cassius a sense of history and propriety. An understanding of the weight of the name he carried and what it meant, especially after the scandal of his disastrous marriage.
But he’d spent the night before the trip drinking, and had woken up late in the bed of some socialite. He’d called Caspian and bribed him to take his place—a habit they’d got into as boys, as their parents couldn’t tell them apart. He had then had gone back to sleep...only to wake a few hours later to the news that the King, Queen and Prince Caspian had been killed in a helicopter crash.
It was his responsibility, no one else’s. He might not have caused the crash, but he’d sent his brother to his death all the same, and deprived Aveiras not only of its current king, but of its heir too. There was no coming back from that. There was no fixing it either. All he could do was try his best to make up for what his country had lost.
Inara’s pretty mouth opened, and then she shut it again and looked away. He didn’t like feeling that he’d hurt her somehow, and it was clear to him that he had.
Of course you have. And telling her she’ll simply have to make the best of it isn’t helpful.
Perhaps it wasn’t. He’d had to deal with his own personal version of hell, because he didn’t have another choice. Aveiras had needed a ruler and he had been next in line to the throne. Renouncing the throne at a time of intense public grief would have been unforgivable, so he’d forced down his own personal grief, and the iron weight of his guilt, and he’d done what he had to do. He’d become King, even though it had been the very last thing on earth he’d wanted to do.