That thought jolted her. She had been utterly lost before, after all. To her great detriment. She broke their mouths and staggered back, staring up at him as she clenched her shaking hands at her sides.
“I—” she began but could think of no words. So instead, she pivoted on her heel and raced away.
Grantham watched as Ophelia raced past the parlor door that would take her back to the family and disappear into the darkness on the other side of the terrace.
“Fuck,” he muttered, spinning back to the low stone wall where he gripped his fists against the rough surface. His lips felt like were on fire. Hell, his entire body was on fire, burning for this woman who confounded him regularly.
“Your Majesty?”
He jumped at the sound of Blairford’s voice behind him, and drew a long breath before he turned to face the courtier. If Blairford had seen anything between Grantham and Ophelia, his expression did not reveal it. Of course, his expression never did. Something that had become more troublesome with each passing day.
“What is it, Blairford?” Grantham asked quietly.
“I have an update about the separatist group, and you said you wished me to come to you as soon as I had it.”
Grantham shook off his response to Ophelia as best he could and nodded. “I asked you to find me a leader I could meet with, to address the concerns of those who wish me not to be king. Does this mean you have found someone?”
The flicker across the other man’s face answered the question far before his words did. “Er…no, Your Majesty,” Blairford admitted. “It is not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” Grantham asked. “It seems markedly simple to me. We are not an enormous country, Blairford. A few days’ ride from one end the other. In most of the areas of the island, everyone knows everyone else. If you cannot manage this, perhaps it is time I find someone who can.”
At that Blairford’s expression darkened, and Grantham recognized a flare of…hate in his eyes. This man hated him, at least in the moment. Which did nothing to increase his trust of the courtier.
“That is unnecessary, Your Majesty,” Blairford said, and the expression was gone now, not a remnant left behind. “I only wish your permission to use more…strenuous methods of uncovering the identity of whoever is in charge.”
Grantham pursed his lips. “You mean violent means. You wish to threaten in my name. That is intolerable. Find another way.”
Blairford inclined his head and began to walk away, but he’d only gotten a few steps when he stopped and turned back. “May I speak plainly, Your Majesty?”
Grantham arched a brow. “Please.”
“If you could save a thousand of your people by sacrificing one, would you do it?”
Grantham wrinkled his brow. “Not without exhausting every other method at my disposal. You see, that is the difference between you and me, and those who would encourage me to use my power as a club. I refuse to devalue one for many. Not until there is no other choice.”
Blairford pinched his lips and nodded slowly. “Then it remains to be seen how history will judge that decision, sir. Good evening.”
Grantham watched him go, his chest burning with frustration for everything that had happened tonight. He’d always valued loyalty…trust. And now he wasn’t certain where to properly place any of it.
“Perhaps the real person you cannot trust is yourself,” he muttered as he began to make his way across the terrace, himself. Only he didn’t stop at the parlor, where he could see his family still gathered. Sasha had gone to the piano and was playing a jig as the others danced together and laughed.
No, he couldn’t go back into that room because they would see how torn he was about their country, how torn he was about Ophelia. He couldn’t let them see. Instead, he went to the terrace door that led to his study. He would work tonight and fulfill his duties first, as he had been taught to do.
He would work tonight, and somehow that would make him forget.
CHAPTER 6
Ophelia had hoped that if she read a book and had a good night’s sleep and pretended she’d never kissed the King of Athawick, the memories would fade into the back of her mind.
A failure if ever she had experienced one.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried. She had returned to her chamber and sent a quick note to the family that she was tired and wouldn’t return to their fun. She had picked up the book she’d been reading during her stay and stared at the same sentence fifteen times before she tossed it aside in frustration.
And when she readied for bed and blew out her candle? She hadn’t slept. No, she’d just relived Grantham leaning in toward her. The pressure of his lips against hers. The taste of him that lingered on her tongue.
And now as she paced the breakfast room the next morning, she still thought of the same thing. Her mind raced with questions:
Why had he kissed her?
Why had she kissed him back?
What would happen now?
What did it all mean?
“Good morning, Lady Ophelia.”
She jumped as Remi entered the room, a broad smile on his face. “Remi…Prince Remington, Your Highness,” she stammered.
He stopped and stared at her. “Remi is fine, Ophelia. After all, you and my soon-to-be wife are as close as sisters. We will be family in a matter of days.”
“Yes,” she said, glad to grasp on to this far more pleasant topic. “I cannot wait.”
He motioned to the sideboard where a selection of breakfast delicacies had been placed. Ophelia had been in the room five minutes and not even looked at them.
“God’s teeth, they do make a spread,” Remi murmured. “I am rarely up early enough to be here for it.”
Ophelia smiled as she looked over the food before her. She was still so anxious she could scarcely think of eating. “If you are not normally an early riser, what brings you up today?”
He gave her a half-smile and put a few of what Ophelia recognized as Priscilla’s favorites on his plate. “I think you can guess.”
She felt her cheeks heat slightly, but she laughed. “Well, you two are not very good at keeping secrets. She has not slept in our shared chamber since your marriage was announced. But why did she send you to fetch her breakfast? I’m sure you could have asked a servant.”
“The lady very sweetly believes that no one will be the wiser if I fetch a plate for us to share,” he said. “And I could never disabuse her of such a notion.”
Ophelia tilted her head. “You truly do love her.”
“I do.” His tone became serious. “With all that I am.”
Ophelia pondered him a moment, her mind taking her back to a man she had once believed could love her so completely but hadn’t. And to Grantham, who might kiss her on terraces but would surely never allow his heart to thaw enough to want more than that.
Not that she wanted more than that from him. She didn’t even understand why he’d kissed her. Was it part of some ruse or game to him? That thought annoyed her to no end.
“Your expression has become very taut,” Remi said with a half-laugh. “Do you disapprove the match?”
“Gracious, no,” Ophelia said. “Priscilla is happy and I think you will make it your life’s pursuit to keep her that way. I could ask for nothing more for her.”