Page 48 of Her Royal Houseguest

Tears flooded her eyes at the endless cycles of hope and disappointment, each more devastating than the last. At first it was her mother’s cause, taking her to clerics when Anna was nine, whispering questions and asking for prayers. Anna had searched farther as she’d aged. Talking to wise women, studying fables, hinging hopes on fairy circles. It was all nonsense. At this point, she agreed with her father. This curse was an excuse. The truth was she was born backwards and no fairy tale would cure her.

‘I am done with looking for a cure. I will accept my life in the country and manage as best I can.’ She flashed him a wan smile. ‘Some fates are written. We only exhaust ourselves when we fight them.’ And she was exhausted.

He frowned, his expression flat except for the steady regard of his dark eyes. Then he sat beside her. He held his body under rigid control, careful not to touch her. She felt her belly hollow with grief. Even her nurse had refused to touch her sometimes, afraid that the curse was infectious.

‘My misfortune has never been contagious,’ she said. ‘You need not fear.’

‘I am not afraid,’ he said. In truth, he didn’t seem worried. ‘But I can see that you have fought this all your life. There comes a point when the spirit is weary, unwilling to try again. It hurts, yes? To hope. And yet it will not go away.’

Her eyes widened. How could he know that? ‘What do you hope for?’

His lips quirked. ‘What every soul in Siam wants. The king’s favour.’

‘His favour?’ she asked. ‘Like a boon? Or perhaps the king’s attention as a father to a son?’

His expression turned to surprise. ‘You are a clear-sighted woman.’

‘You are the only one who thinks so. Most think I’m a muddled mess.’

‘Then they do not see you. Only the…’ He gestured around him. ‘Debris.’

That was a good way to think of all the stuff here. Debris from her missteps, partial projects and enthusiastic idiocies.

‘What is it like to be a prince of Siam? How can you not have your father’s attention?’

‘My father has seventy-four children. We cannot all capture his love.’

‘So many!’

‘I have learned that the English do not take many wives. Not even your king or princes.’

‘That’s correct. Our marriages are between one man and one woman.’

He shook his head. ‘Do you know what that tells me about your country?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘It tells me that you are focused on riches, not on cherishing and supporting your people.’

She reared back, insulted to her core. ‘And how do you come to that conclusion? I would say that having many wives suggests you don’t cherish them at all.’

He shook his head. ‘You fail to use logic. A man must support his wife, yes? Because a woman cannot work. A woman keeps the home and teaches the children, yes?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘A wealthy man can support many women. Indeed, it is his duty to support as many as he can, else the women will die. But your men support only one. They amass riches but do not use it for the good of their women. What kind of man is that? To keep all for himself and not take care of those who cannot work?’

She rocked back as she tried to wrap her mind around such a thought.

‘So you marry women to support them.’

‘That is the path of an honourable man.’

‘Why not give them the means to support themselves?’

‘That is not nature’s way. Someone must keep the house. Someone must raise the children. That is a woman’s path and it is a man’s duty to see that she and the children are cared for.’

‘So it is a duty to society,’ she said. ‘There is no love between you and the mother of your children?’