Something inside him relaxed in that moment…something that had been tense for a long time. Strangely, it felt as if he hadn’t been able to breathe properly, but now, right here, he could draw a full breath for the first time.
The stars glittered in the black velvet of the sky and he lifted a hand, pointing out the different constellations, feeling memories of his childhood interest in astronomy flooding back.
She nestled against him, her voice full of wonder as she asked him questions and then listened to him talk, and he realised that for the first time since he could remember he was utterly relaxed. Content to be in this moment. The relentless engine inside him finally still.
* * *
Guinevere lay with her head pillowed on Tiberius’s shoulder, listening to him talk about the stars. He knew a great deal about them, and for a change he talked without the edge of impatience that usually coloured his voice.
There was no tension in him, she could feel it in his body. And that made her feel good in turn, that she’d managed to give him this. Two hours of every day when he didn’t have to be a king, where he could be free of his burdens if only for a little time.
He needed it. And perhaps the worst part about it was that he didn’t even know he needed it, that she’d had to give him these hours by stealth.
After the first couple of days she’d wondered if he’d realise what she was doing, and perhaps stop coming, but he didn’t. And if he did indeed understand what she was doing, he certainly didn’t question it.
One thing was sure, though. She loved organising their meetings. Loved choosing places to have them—places he’d enjoy—and choosing food too, since he often forgot to eat, or so the palace staff told her. She loved spending time with him, talking with him. He was an interesting and highly intelligent man. He told her all about his plans for Kasimir—how he hoped to develop certain aspects of it for carefully managed tourism and also create export opportunities for Kasimiran products.
It was clear that he loved his people, loved his country, and that his whole life was directed to one purpose. Making things better. And that desire to make things better, to protect his people, came from a deep empathy, she could tell.
An empathy that came from the man rather than the King.
She wanted to know more about that man, that person, rather than about the role he played, so often their conversations would stray onto other topics as she tried to draw out of him glimpses of who he was deep down.
She discovered that he liked good food, and enjoyed wine, but that he had no hobbies. His interests were entirely bent to one purpose. Being a king. She needed to find out more, she decided, which was why today she’d organised to meet him later at night, so that after dinner they could lie in the grass and watch the stars, the way he’d done as a boy.
And she decided that there was nothing nicer than lying here next to him, listening to his deep voice telling her about the rings of Saturn, and how far away the moon was, and other such things.
‘Next time I’ll bring a telescope,’ she said. ‘So you can show me some of the planets.’
‘I’ll get one of my staff to find one.’
They lay in companionable silence for a moment, then he said, ‘Why did you bring me out here?’
She let out a breath, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. ‘I wanted to remind you that there was more to life than being a king,’ she said at last—because why not tell him the truth? He should hear it. ‘You said that those moments when you were a boy, looking up at the stars, were the most peaceful you ever had, and I just…wanted to give you that and to remind you what it felt like.’
He said nothing for a long moment. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured eventually. ‘It’s been a…long time since I’ve done anything like this.’
She turned her head, looking up at his face, all silver light and shadows under the moon. ‘Why, Tiberius? Why do you drive yourself so hard?’
‘Because there is a lot at stake.’ His voice wasn’t impatient for a change, but almost meditative. ‘Because it’s taking far too long for me to change things.’ There was another pause, then he added, ‘Because my mother died to protect me. Instead of saving her, my father had to leave her behind in order to save me. She insisted, apparently.’
Guinevere’s heart clenched in her chest. ‘And your father?’
‘Before he died of cancer, five years ago, he made me promise that I would dedicate my life to claiming back the crown and rebuilding what your father broke.’
‘What about you?’ She asked the question almost hesitantly. ‘Is that something you want to do?’
‘It isn’t a question of what I want,’ he said simply. ‘It is what I have to do. It’s the right thing to do.’
Was that regret in his tone? She couldn’t tell.
‘Did you never want to do something else?’
He was looking up at the sky, the expression on his face unreadable. ‘No,’ he said. ‘When I was a child I wanted to be an astronaut—like every other little boy, no doubt. But that wasn’t my destiny.’
The pain in her heart seemed to deepen. There was no wistfulness in his voice, only a flat note that excluded any possibility of him wanting to be anything other than what he was.
‘So you were told very early on what you had to be?’ she said.
