Page 95 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 1-4

For some reason that flustered her. ‘But I’m not wearing—’

‘You’re perfect,’ he interrupted. ‘Come. The car is waiting.’

Wren hadn’t been outside the palace for weeks. Even after their engagement ball she hadn’t wanted to leave the safety of its walls. Media attention had been and was still intense, and she hadn’t wanted to deal with it.

But she hadn’t realised how claustrophobic that had made her feel until now, as she sat in the car beside Isandro, the city streets passing by outside her window. She tried to guess where they were going, but couldn’t. At least not until they drew up outside the Valdoran Museum.

She blinked, gazing at the beautiful old building with the iron railings and its many windows, then turned to Isandro. ‘Here?’

His inky gaze was direct. ‘Yes. I had the place open tonight especially for us.’

A small dart of pleasure went through her. She’d always loved the Valdoran Museum, because she loved the centuries of Valdoran history. When she’d first arrived in the city, the museum had been the place where she’d spent the most time, mostly learning about the country she’d come to work in. It also contained an art gallery, and she’d loved that too.

‘Is this…for me?’ she asked him, a little unsure still.

‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘I know you like this place and I thought it would be something you’d enjoy.’

Warmth unfolded in her chest, and although her automatic reaction was to hide it, pretend she didn’t feel it, she didn’t. This time she smiled back. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy it very much.’

They should have spent the hour talking, but Wren was too busy wandering around the exhibits. While they were all familiar to her, she’d never been in the museum with him, and he was a wonderful companion because he knew a lot about his country’s history and apparently didn’t mind her asking a hundred million questions.

In the wing that housed the history of the Valdoran kings and queens, Wren paused before a case containing the medieval armour one of the Valdoran kings had worn into battle.

‘Lucky you don’t have to wear that,’ she said.

‘No.’ Isandro stood beside her, studying the suit of armour. ‘I don’t think it would fit.’

‘It wouldn’t,’ she agreed. ‘Seems the royal family has increased in height since medieval times.’ She glanced at him, tall and powerful, and so utterly beautiful. She could actually imagine him in armour, out on the battlefield, swinging a sword.

Obviously sensing her gaze, he glanced down at her and smiled. ‘It might fit you. I think you’d carry it off very well.’

The warmth that had been sitting in her chest spread, making everything inside her feel as if she was glowing. She was happy, she realised. Happy standing in this museum, looking at things she liked, and talking with the man she loved. Perhaps he was right about them being able to find happiness, despite everything.

‘What made you think of this?’ she asked impulsively. ‘I mean going out, going here.’

‘You talked a lot about the museum and how you were interested in history,’ he said. ‘And I know you haven’t been out of the palace since you arrived, so I thought an outing was in order, to a place you like going to.’

He’d been thinking of her. He’d been thinking about what she liked, remembering their conversations, and had organised this for her enjoyment. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So my feelings matter to you after all?’

His features tightened slightly, though she hadn’t meant the question to sound sarcastic or accusing, and he glanced back at the suit of armour behind the glass. ‘I want to do better, Wren,’ he said. ‘That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I failed Carlotta, and that’s my fault entirely, but I very much do not want to fail you.’

She stared at his strong profile, the straight jut of his nose, his high cheekbones, his hard, carved mouth. Of course, he’d think he was to blame for his wife’s unhappiness. He was a king, he took responsibility for everything and everyone. But he was also a man, and there were only so many burdens a man could bear.

‘You didn’t fail Carlotta,’ she said. ‘Some of her decisions were all her own.’

‘But would she have made them if she’d been happy? If I’d made her happy? I don’t think she would.’ He turned and moved on to the next exhibit, a five-hundred-year-old broadsword.

Wren stared after him. I want to do better. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.

He wanted to do better than his father, she’d always known that, but not that he wanted to do everything better. Which meant that, in some ways, he thought he wasn’t doing as well as he should.

‘Does that mean everything, Isandro?’ she asked, going over to stand next to him. ‘You want to do better at everything?’

He put his hands behind his back, clasping them, his attention on the sword. ‘Yes.’ There was nothing but his iron will in the word. ‘I want to be a better king than my father was, and I think I’ve mostly achieved that, though there are always more things to be done. I need to do better as a husband too.’ He glanced at her again, that same iron will shining in his eyes. ‘And I will.’

She stared back. ‘Not everything is your responsibility. You understand that, don’t you?’

His black brows drew together. ‘Everything that relates to me is my responsibility, surely?’