“Is anything amiss?” she asked, confused.
Her heart leapt as the obvious occurred to her. Had something happened to Princess Anastasia?
“I wish to see you in the light, and it’s damnably dark in here,” he muttered, hauling her behind him as he swept aside the window dressing with one haphazardly flung arm.
The sun was nowhere to be found, the day beyond distinctly gray. But a faint light fell over the two of them, illuminating the scar near his eye and reminding her of the dream that had jarred her from sleep, not so far removed from the life he had lived. He was known as the warrior king. He had earned his throne on the battlefield, proving his might and right, facing mortal danger.
She shivered.
Maxim caught her chin, tilting her face toward the scant light, studying her, his brows drawn together. “Are you hurt?”
His touch made a strange, liquid sensation pool low in her belly.
“Of course not,” she reassured him. “Why do you ask?”
“You were trembling.”
He had noticed.
She swallowed hard against a rush of longing. “It was nothing.”
“It wassomething.” His frown was ferocious, his gaze traveling over her as if searching for evidence that she had been somehow hurt or wounded. “I came to you as soon as I dared.”
To her. A glowing warmth pervaded her at his words. And then it was chased quickly by guilt and duty. How dare she allow herself to feel joy from his pursuit of her? She had no right. He was not, could never be, hers. He belonged to his kingdom and, soon, to Princess Anastasia. Never to Tansy.
“You should go to your betrothed, not to me,” she told him, seeking to put some necessary distance between them. “Have you word of the princess?”
His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “She is well enough, from what I’m told. It is you I’m concerned about most. From this morning on, my men will guard this chamber. If you need anything, call for them and they’ll reach me forthwith. Do not hesitate. Indeed, it’s imperative that you notify me immediately if anything untoward is happening.”
There was an urgency in his voice, in his countenance, that she didn’t like.
Tansy frowned, searching his gaze. “What are you not telling me?”
He swallowed hard, and she tracked the bob of his Adam’s apple. “There is danger.”
She might have scoffed had she not been so thoroughly upended by his unexpected appearance and concern. “There isalways danger, is there not? It is inherent to the roles we play, this evil world in which we live.”
He exhaled, the sound sharp in the morning stillness. “This is a different danger entirely. Do you understand my meaning? And I want you…nay, Ineedyou safe.”
A new wave of fear swept over her. “I pray you would be honest with me, Your Majesty.”
“By God,” he bit out. “You are to call me Maxim.”
“But you are to be my king,” she reminded him, repeating his words from the night she had sought him out.
The night he had taken her.
The night that had changed everything.
And yet, the night that had also changed nothing. For while her feelings for King Maximilian had altered wholeheartedly, her ability to embrace those feelings had not. She was still merely Tansy Francis, the lady-in-waiting of Princess Anastasia St. George of Boritania. She was the orphan who had been taken in by the royal family. She owed her friend everything, most of all, her loyalty.
Loyalty which she had torn asunder two nights past.
“I am your king,” he agreed solemnly, “but you are my true queen. I want you with me, at my side. In my bed.”
His words jolted her. For a moment, her foolish heart dared to believe and hope.
And then she understood that he was offering her a position instead of a marriage. He wished for her to be something she could never be. And her hope shattered along with her foolish heart.
