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But he shook his head.

“Some of us are not put on this earth to live small lives,” he told her. “The trick is accepting that. I rather fancied myself a politician, as it happens. I thought I could do some good and rise to become a minister. But when your brother asked me to be his minister instead, how could I refuse? I stepped into that role and I have never regretted it. Not once.” He smiled at her. “And especially not now.”

She flushed again, but then the doors to their wing were pulled open and they were greeted by members of both of their staffs. They had to answer questions and respond to inquiries, and the moment was lost.

“There is yet more rearranging of staff left to be done, I think,” he told her as they walked away from the scrum of waiting aides some while later. “We will need to move some people around and see where they best suit.”

“I’m happy to let that be a process.” Cesca glanced at him, and he thought it was only because they were walking through her apartments that she’d let her public mask slip a little, so he could see that she was tired. She’d given no indication of it in the Study. She’d looked as if she could keep going for days, if necessary. “I don’t think there’s any need to rush into decisions like that. Between your staff, my staff, and my brother’s staff, I’m certain we can muddle through until we decide what works for us.”

“I’m certain you’re right,” he agreed.

It was all so formal and staid, really. Boring, even, someone might have said.

And so, the moment they crossed the threshold into her bedroom, he closed the door behind them decisively, swept her into his arms—enjoying the way her gaze darkened and her flush deepened—and carried her directly to the bed.

For a while, it was only heat. Then, after he got his mouth on her, kissing her until she was breathless, Cesca laughed.

Better still, he felt her whole body relax under his hands. “I didn’t think you meant it all quite so starkly,” she told him. “I thought it would be more of an easing in, or a negotiation, or a—”

“It will be like this,” he told her. “It will always be like this.”

Then he showed her what he meant. What they could do with their bodies, because it could never be more than their bodies.

And this time, he let her strip him naked, too, and get her hands all over him. Then he took down her hair, ordered her some late-night snacks, and showed her exactly how he liked a woman to kneel before him and take his cock in her mouth.

Especially when she was his Queen.

The next few days were more of the same. The Queen’s schedule was packed, and the papers were rapturous over the new monarch’s obvious intention to let the kingdom see that she took her ascension seriously and was getting straight to work.

Party princess to politician in one Christmas! the most egregious of the tabloids cried, but Saviero had to think that if that was the worst of it, they were doing well.

The interviews she’d wanted were arranged and executed, ranging from serious old-school journalists to podcasters with astonishing audiences, and Saviero only had to sit in on a few of them to understand that Cesca was in her element in such situations. She did what she did best, and her delivery was flawless. She always made the interviewer—and therefore the audience—feel as if they shared some kind of intimate connection. As if they were friends, and she was therefore sharing things with them more baldly and honestly than she would otherwise.

She had always done this, but now she was doing it with a certain regal authority that elevated the interviews she gave. Cesca made it impossible not to think well of her, even if no one had considered her particularly ready for the throne before.

“I think that’s an interesting question,” he heard her say in one of her interviews one morning. “What does it mean to be ready for the throne?” She and that particular interviewer were having a casual walk down one of the palace’s grand halls. And Cesca stopped, seemingly at random, directly below a grand portrait of the iconic Queen Valentina. A masterful touch, in Saviero’s opinion. “My brother spent his life preparing to take the throne, in the traditional manner. I spent my life living outside of the palace, getting the opportunity to interact with the people on their terms instead of mine. I can’t regret that.”

“Do you think it will make you a better Queen?” the interviewer asked.

Cheekily, Saviero thought, though he remained expressionless. Even as he walked behind them. He did not like it when they pitted sister against brother, though he knew it was inevitable.

“I have to believe that the experiences I’ve had will make me better able to answer the needs of the kingdom than I might have been able to do otherwise,” Cesca said, deftly. “You know that my brother left because he was tied up too tightly in too many traditions that did not serve him. He felt that if he continued, he could in turn not serve the kingdom, and there was no way he could live with that.”

Behind her, Saviero nodded. Well played, he thought.

Cesca kept going. “I hope that I can honor the traditions that have helped make this kingdom what it is, while also, perhaps, providing a bit of a breath of fresh air about the place.” And then she smiled at the interviewer. “But only a breath, never fear. Nobody wants a tornado where there ought to be a throne.”

And Saviero watched as Queen Francesca had an interviewer known for ripping public personalities apart laughing as if they were best friends, and even indulging in a glass of wine.

She truly was a wonder.

But all of that paled next to who she was to him when they were alone.

Every single night in that breathless week after their wedding, he showed her his appreciation with his hands. His mouth.

And any other part of him he could.

Some nights he carried her to the bath instead of to bed. He put her in hot water to soak. He usually ordered in food, making certain that she was well fortified in all ways.