CHAPTER 19
“The both of us shall bear scars,” Princess Anastasia said, smiling sadly. “All because of love.”
Today was the first day Tansy had finally managed to gather the strength to not just leave the bed for ablutions and bodily necessity, but to sit and take tea. To feel almost like herself again, despite the continued pain in her healing arm.
“On our hearts as well as our limbs,” Tansy agreed, smiling back at her friend with an equal amount of sorrow. “Do you forgive me for leaving without telling you?”
“Need you ask?” The princess gave her hand a reassuring pat. “I understand your reason for wanting to go, even if I hate the thought of no longer having you at my side as you’ve been all these years.”
“You will have Princesses Annalise and Emmaline to keep you company now,” Tansy pointed out, for her friend had just delivered the news that her sisters had arrived safely in Varros, freed of their uncle’s tyrannical rule.
“It won’t be the same,” Stasia said quietly, sipping at her tea. “I’ll miss you dreadfully. When do you think you will be leaving?”
Tansy sighed, hating the thought of leaving now just as much as she had before, if not more. “Very soon. My strength is returning to me.”
Maxim had been solicitous, tending over her with dedicated persistence. He had also refused her request to be moved from his apartments, and until this morning, she’d been too weak to leave. Finally, she’d been able to return to her own room, where Princess Anastasia had joined her.
“I wish you would stay, but that is a selfish desire, I know,” Princess Anastasia said. “I wish for so many things. At least there is comfort in knowing my brother will soon be on the throne, my sisters are free, and the people of Boritania will no longer be trapped beneath the hateful rule of an evil tyrant.”
“Do you think you’ll be happy in Varros?” Tansy dared to ask, hoping that neither Princess Anastasia nor Maxim would be miserable in their future together.
Although she was keenly envious of her friend becoming Maxim’s wife, she still understood the necessity for both of them. Even if she couldn’t bear to watch it happen.
Stasia sipped quietly at her tea, her countenance turning pensive. “Perhaps in time. Right now, my heart aches far too much for me to hope I’ll find contentedness here.”
Tansy took a sip of her own tea, understanding the sentiment all too well. She didn’t know if she would ever find happiness in England. Indeed, she very much doubted it.
A knock sounded at the door then, taking her by surprise, for she was expecting no one. Indeed, she had only just returned to her rooms earlier.
“Who is there?” she called.
“Me,” came a deep, growly voice that was as beloved as it was familiar.
Maxim.
She shot from her chair with such sudden motion that her dish of tea tipped, splashing hot liquid over her hand as she tried to right it, and then she switched to the hand of her injured arm unthinkingly. A gasp of pain tore from her, and before she could bid him entrance, Maxim was bursting over the threshold, a warrior king prepared to go to battle.
“What’s happened?” he demanded, stalking toward her. “Are you hurt?”
“Perhaps my pride and just a sting to my hand,” she reassured him shakily. “I spilled my tea, burned myself, and then attempted to right it with my injured arm.”
“Thank God.” He was there in an instant, blotting up the tea, gently cleaning her hand. “What are you doing here? You should be in my apartments, where you belong.”
A warm flush crept over her cheekbones at his blatant, masculine display of possessiveness, with Princess Anastasia as their audience. “I’m well enough to return to my rooms, Your Majesty.”
“Princess,” he greeted, as if belatedly realizing Tansy wasn’t alone in the room.
Her friend dipped into a curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
He looked from Tansy to the princess. “Am I interrupting something?”
How like him to belatedly have such a thought occur to him, after he’d already barged through the door and stalked into their tête-à-tête. Tansy would have smiled had her heart not been aching with the bittersweet knowledge she would soon leave him again.
“Princess Anastasia and I were taking tea,” she said pointedly.
“Tea?” His expression turned disgusted. “Coffee is superior.”
“To you, perhaps,” she countered gently.
