He stood at the fork in the walkway. In order to get to the northern section, he would need to take a left. He would need to face that which hurt.
Well, what else was new when it came to Ines? Always forcing him into hurts that were better left buried.
He could return to the palace, refuse to take part in this ridiculous intimacy ruse, but then she would run away again, and he wasn’t sure what little hold on control he seemed to have could survive it. Particularly with Vinyes making comments about Ines’sholiday.
Plus, it was necessary to prove to herandhimself that he was stronger than what strange feelings worked their way between them. These few months of torture would be followed by getting hislifeback.
He was used to those kinds of bargains, wasn’t he? Years of dancing around his father’s threats and whims had made him well acquainted with a devil’s bargain.
And he always won. Because here he was, the king. Alive and well and fixing Alis, one step at a time.
He walked along the path, knowing every step would lead him to where he did not wish to go. But when had he ever had any say in where he went? A good king was not beholden to his own whims. He was beholden to hiscountry. This he had learned from watching his father only care for himself—his ego, his temper, his wants.
Hislove.
Alexandre would be the best king, which meant rejecting all those things. No matter how Ines tested this. No matter what she was up to being in this part of the gardens.
The burial ground for one.
His mother’s grave was not in the Lidia family cemetery on the other side of the palace grounds—where generations of Lidia royalty including his father were buried in the shadow of a chapel. If any god truly sanctified such an institution, it would have certainly burned to ash at his father being buried on its grounds.
Instead, the chapel survived.
Mother had originally been given an elaborate mausoleum in the capital city’s cemetery. Buried far away from the family and Alex himself.
Alexandre had argued against this, even as a child. He’d been slapped and locked in his room for two days for theaudacityto demand something other than his father’s plan. He’d then been dressed up and trotted out for the funeral at the city center, surrounded by strangers.
The building, the stone, the memorial had been meant to show off the king’s wealth and power, but it had left Mother separated and alone. A symbol and nothing else.
Just like you.
Luckily, Alex had been ill and didn’t remember much of the funeral itself except feeling outside himself. But he had carried that day, that betrayal with him all his life. And he had always vowed to fix it when he got the chance.
So one of the first things Alexandre had done once Enzo himself was buried was to quietly have his mother’s body moved here—not to the chapel but to the gardens. Not that he ever visited. But he’d wanted her safe and protected, as he had not been able to make happen in real life. She was still alone here, but she wouldn’t be forever. He and Evelyne’s family would be buried here. And Evelyne came to visit. She even took Gabri sometimes.
Alexandre could not fathom why Evelyne would subject herself to such a morbid exercise, but maybe it was different for her since she did not remember Mother. She had no memories of her voice, her perfume, the way she had snuggled him into her bed and told him stories of all the good he would do. Be.
Better than your father. Because you have all my love, and he has none.
Alexandre pushed the memory away. These memories only lead to one place. The bitter, bloody end, and that simply would not do.
Ends were over. He had beginnings to work out.
He spotted Ines in the distance. At the foot of his mother’s grave. She was kneeling in the grass, the light fading around her as there were many trees here to create shade.
So many emotions battered at his insides, he could not even find some anger amidst them to hold on to, to use as an anchor. Or armor.
He approached her like a man approaching his own death. “What are you doing here?” He had meant it to come out sounding like a clear-cut demand—not a rusty, unsteady plea.
“Thinking,” Ines said. She began to get up, and he rushed to help her to her feet. He did not look at the stone or the flowers she’d laid across the grass.
He might see that old flash of her dead body. Bloody. Desecrated.
Because she had dared die on the king, and even in death he had used his fists to make it worse.
Ines did not look up at him, instead kept her gaze on the stone. Alexandre breathed through the sickness roiling around inside of him.
But it meant he was looking at Ines. She was wearing the same outfit she’d worn in his office earlier—and even though it had beenhours, she still looked a bit rumpled and mussed. Not her usual put-together, elegant self. Her eyes were a bit red and puffy. Almost as if she’d been crying.
