An empty, hollow man. A man without purpose, whose whole life had been for nothing.
Tiberius stepped back from the parapet. He’d go and find her now and tell her that she had to leave him, that she should be free, and he had to do it quickly. Make it swift and hard, like ripping off a sticking plaster, so she could heal faster.
He turned around, moved back to the doors.
And found Guinevere standing there, shining in the moonlight, sparkling and glittering like the fairy she was, her eyes, dark in the night, burning with her lioness courage.
He froze, the pain in his chest an agony. ‘I told you we’d have this conversation later,’ he said, his voice rough and raw.
‘It is later,’ she said levelly, and stepped outside into the night. ‘But we don’t need to have this conversation at all. You’ve said your piece, I’ve said mine, and we’ll agree to disagree.’
That was not what he’d expected.
‘Guinevere,’ he said, forcing the word out. ‘I have made a decision. I can’t give you what you need, and as such I can’t ask you to stay with me. So I’m going to start divorce proceedings—’
‘No,’ she interrupted flatly, and crossed the space between them, coming straight up to him and putting her arms around him, her head on his chest. ‘You can start proceedings, if you want, but I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you.’
He couldn’t bear to push her away, yet he also couldn’t bear to touch her because if he did, he knew he’d never let her go.
‘You have to.’ His voice was wooden. ‘You deserve a man who can love you the way—’
‘And I have found him,’ she interrupted yet again, lifting her head and looking up at him. ‘What I deserve is to be with the man I love, and that’s you. So, no. I’m not leaving, Tiberius.’
His heart felt like it was chained in barbed wire, little hooks digging into it, tearing it. ‘Lioness, I can’t…’
‘I’m not going to ask you to put me first,’ she said. ‘I would never ask that of you. All I want is a little corner of your heart that is mine. That’s all.’
A little corner of his heart…
‘Guinevere…’
‘You love an entire country,’ she said. ‘Are you telling me you really can’t spare a small piece of that great heart of yours?’
He looked down into her eyes and he could feel the fear wrapping around him, squeezing tight. The fear that she hadn’t just claimed a small piece, that she’d claimed all of it. All of him. And he was afraid, because where did that leave him?
‘If I love you,’ he began roughly, ‘then what is there left for Kasimir?’
Her eyes were midnight-blue and her arms around him were warm as she said, ‘Why do you think love is limited? That if you give it to your country there’s nothing left for anything else? Think bigger, my king. Love is boundless. I can love you and love my country. It’s just a different kind of love.’
His will was fading, his strength to put her from him failing. ‘I can’t make you happy, Guinevere. I don’t even know what that looks like.’
Strangely, she smiled at him. ‘Yes, you do. It’s me and you in the orchard, lying on our backs and looking at the stars.’
She’s right.
It burst through him then, in a brilliant flash of light. Yes, hehadbeen happy with her that day in the orchard. He’d been happy with her in every one of their daily two-hour meetings, and he’d been happy because of her. Because she’d showed him what it felt like. And it was lying on his back with her in his arms, looking at the stars. It was her in his lap, kissing him and touching him as if he was precious.
It was her smile—the one she gave him every day—and it was her in her yellow dress, looking like a splash of sunshine.
And it was her, her eyes dark, telling him she loved him.
Shewas happiness.
Which must mean that the agonising pressure in his heart was love.
Because he did love her, even though he’d been telling himself he didn’t. Even though he’d been telling himself it was impossible to love her and his country at the same time.
In fact it was perfectly possible, and he’d been doing it for at least a couple of weeks now.
