“We have a week. And then we will announce our engagement.”
“Good.”
“What does that mean? Good?”
“We have a goal. We have a plan.” He looked her over. “I would thank you not to go off script again.”
“Oh,” she said. “Are my virginal fumblings too much for you to resist? I can’t think why else you would need to warn me away so.”
“It’s for your own good. Trust me.”
A small smile curved her lips. “This is the problem. I do not trust anyone.”
And he left with the distinct feeling that he had not succeeded in gaining the upper hand.
He was avoiding her. It was an irritation. Ever since their kiss in the ballroom, he had made himself scarce.
They had conducted lessons of a kind, but often they involved other people. He had brought in a body language expert; he had brought in stylists. And from that point on she had been surrounded by women who had spoken to her about being her true self and other things that seemed somewhat ridiculous to her.
None of this was actually about being her true self. It was all strange lies, a rallying cry she could not get her head around.
She did not need to be her true self.
She needed to be a woman who looked like she could be Queen.
It made a mockery of what she wanted, which was actually to know who she truly was. She wanted to understand. Wanted to be something other than a useful tool. She just couldn’t see a future where that was possible.
She had hoped. For a grim little while, she had hoped.
And that hope now felt sharp. Made her feel ill-used.
It would have been better to have no hope at all.
Still, she had succeeded in putting together a wardrobe that pleased her. The clothes that she had chosen were exactly as she had told Maximus she wanted them to be. They felt like armor.
The red dress that she would wear tonight on the eve of her coronation had long sleeves, a plunging neckline that revealed a wide V of pale skin. The fabric was stitched into clever panels that looked a bit like individual pieces of armor. It was a thick weighted fabric that held that shape even as she moved. And yet there was something incredibly feminine about it. And it made her feel strong.
She had been paraded around in soft white things for years. Her blond hair loose, as soft as everything else. Barely any makeup.
She looked in the mirror now. At the woman who would be Queen, and she was satisfied that it was a transformation.
Her hair was down, but slicked back, behind her ears and flowing down her back, a golden waterfall. Her lipstick was the same red as the dress, her eye makeup a pale bronze. She looked like she could just as easily lead troops into battle as she could dance the waltz.
And that seemed a triumph in and of itself.
At this event, she would also be introducing Maximus as her fiancé.
And she tried not to curl in on herself with embarrassment over everything that had transpired between them.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him.
It was just... She wanted him.
And the fact that he was so immune to her...
It was an interesting thing.
Being beholden to such...typical feelings. Embarrassment and jealousy over his past lovers. Insecurity about her own appeal as a woman. She had never worried about that. In fact, she had always hoped that she was not overly appealing as a woman. She didn’t want to fend men off. She didn’t want to be seen as beautiful. It was a dangerous thing. Just like her softness and her femininity was not something to enjoy.