Tiberius was almost stupefied by a hot rush of fury so intense he could hardly keep still. He’d not heard any rumours about Renzo’s sons, but this wasn’t a rumour. This was the truth, he could hear the ring of it in her voice.
They’dhuntedher.Terrifiedher. And all for fun, by the sounds of it.
He’d never wanted to hurt anyone as badly as he wanted to hurt her brothers.
‘And your father?’ he forced out, his voice hoarse with fury. ‘What did he do about it?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing. He indulged them…told me that’s what brothers did.’
‘Guinevere,’ he said roughly, taking a step towards her to take her hand, offer her something—he didn’t know what.
But then she lifted her head and looked at him, her blue eyes clear. ‘I hid from them in the end, because that was safer, and then they forgot about me. It wasn’t all bad, though—and I mean that. I had moments of happiness. Reading good books in my little room. Listening to music. Watching movies. Learning about the outside world. I just loved that.’
He could see her as little girl. Long golden curls and wide blue eyes alight with the same joy he’d seen when he’d showed her the orchard. Her ready laugh and her smile, despite what she’d been through.
She was made for joy, he thought suddenly. Standing there in her yellow dress, she was made for sunshine and summer and moments of happiness.
You cannot give her that. You will never give her that.
The thought came out of nowhere, startling him, pulling at something painful inside him. It was true. He couldn’t give her that. He barely even recognised happiness, let alone would be able to give it to her.
Yet you have tied her to you for ever.
That painful thing tugged harder, and he almost growled at it. Yes, hehadmade the decision to keep her—and he didn’t regret it. She was a strong woman. She would find her own happiness, her own joy. It didn’t have to come from him. That was one of the downsides of marrying a king: the work always had to come first. He’d given her a choice, anyway. She hadn’t had to choose to stay married to him.
A part of him told him snidely that that was specious reasoning, but he didn’t want to dig into it any further. It was what it was.
‘Well,’ he said, when she didn’t say anything more, ‘is there something else you wish to discuss?’
She stared at him a moment longer, then said, ‘I want to take part in your meetings. If I am to be your queen, then I want to be more than just a symbol to the people. I want to actually do something.’
She had mentioned something similar in the limo that morning, and he’d found her desire to be involved admirable.
You will need to spend time with her, teaching her.
He didn’t have the time to show her personally, but he could spare an aide to show her the ropes.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I will have someone come to you tomorrow morning, if you like. They can spend some time with you and—’
‘No,’ Guinevere interrupted, for the second time that day. ‘I don’t want one of your aides. I want you to do it.’
* * *
By the set of Tiberius’s mouth and the flash of temper in his silver eyes Guinevere knew that he didn’t like that idea at all. But that was too bad. If that was the only way she could get her husband out of his meetings and spending time with her, then that was what she’d do.
The idea had come to her as they’d discussed his utter disdain for holidays. Not that she’d expected anything else—especially given what he’d said about his father driving him and his mother’s death. She felt sorry for that little boy whose only peace had been looking at the stars. Such a heavy burden to put on his shoulders.
It made her understand him a little bit better, though. Gave her some insight into why he was so driven, why everything was of such vital importance, and why he had to be the one to fix it.
He was inured to fighting now, to struggle—she could see it in his eyes just as clearly as she saw his weariness.
He didn’t know what joy was, what happiness was, either. And for some reason that hurt. He was a prickly, driven man, who desperately needed some kind of surcease. More than what she gave him in bed, certainly.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have told him about what her brothers had done to her, because that hadn’t helped—she hadn’t missed the hot leap of rage in his gaze in response. But he’d called her lioness, and that had made her brave, and while he might not have been aware of it, telling him the truth had been a gift of trust. And he’d reined in his protector’s rage, not burdening her with it.
He didn’t know what he’d given her—didn’t know why being able to tell him and not suffer any judgment was important. She wasn’t sure he’d want to hear it anyway. But she wanted to give him something in return. If not happiness, then peace. Rest. A moment of lightness amidst the hard grind of his work.
But she was going to have to teach him. She knew it deep inside. Because if she didn’t, this was what the shape of her marriage would be. Seeing him at night only, with his country constantly taking and taking from him. It wasn’t the kind of marriage that people had in the books she’d read, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of marriage she wanted to bring her children up in.
