He nodded. “May I ask what is troubling you then?”
Ophelia hesitated. This man was too observant to put off with some empty platitude. “Just a question about your brother, I suppose.”
“My brother?” Remi repeated. “Did our esteemed monarch offend you in some way last night?”
Her eyes went wide. “Why…why would you ask me that?”
His brow wrinkled. “Because you each went onto the terrace at the same time and then you went to your chamber and he to his study to work. Since everyone knows you two are somewhat at odds, there was some question amongst the family at if you had an unpleasant encounter.”
“Not unpleasant,” Ophelia murmured, and tried not to relive that kiss yet again. This was really getting ridiculous. “But I do need to speak to the king, I realize. Do you know where he is?”
Remi’s expression faltered a little. “Back in his study, one must assume. He does not exactly keep me in the know when it comes to his schedule, I fear. He doesn’t seem to believe any of his family could be of assistance in his problems.” He looked off in the distance a moment. “I do worry about him.”
Ophelia’s ire faded a fraction at that very real expression of concern. Remi was so rarely serious that one had to pay attention when he was. He was truly worried about his brother. And she began to wonder, herself, at Grantham’s state of mind.
She cleared her throat. “If I have never seen you before at breakfast, I’ve also never seen him. Does he also lay about in bed?”
Remi snorted out a laugh. “Indeed not. He’s in his study from the break of dawn, if not earlier.” He lifted his plate. “Normally I would escort you there, but my lady awaits.”
“You must not disappoint her,” Ophelia said with a smile. “Tell her that your secret is safe with me.”
He gave a half-salute and headed out the door, plate in hand, bounce in his step. But the moment he was gone, her smile fell and she glanced from the room. Just down the hall was Grantham’s study. How she knew its exact location from almost any room in the palace was not a fact she wished to dissect at present.
What she did need to do was speak to the man. Directly address what had occurred between them and figure out what to do about it. She drew a deep breath and stepped from the room. Her hands shook as she made her way up the hallway until she reached the ornate door that led to the king’s study.
With a deep breath, she knocked. There was no answer immediately, so she worried her lip. He might not even be in there and then she would have to set out to look for him. With a frown, she tapped the door open just to verify.
He was seated at a huge cherrywood desk, bent over paperwork, so focused that she doubted he’d even heard her knock. He looked…sick. He looked worn down. In that moment she had never seen him so troubled and all her emotion softened toward him. She wanted to help somehow, though she had no idea how a person in her position could ever do that. He kept such a distance from her at all times.
Well, except when he kissed her. But that was once. He had never expressed any interest before that. So why would he accept her assistance now?
“What are you doing here?” he snapped, and his gaze lifted to snare hers.
She jolted at the sharp tone of his voice and the fire in his eyes, but somehow found the strength to step into the room rather than go racing away from him as she had done the night before.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” she said as she pushed the door partly shut behind her, trying to find privacy but not impropriety. It felt a precarious balance with this man. “I-I simply wished to speak to you and was told you might be in your study this morning.”
“Working,” he said softly. “You know you can make an appointment with my courtiers if you need to speak to me. Or better yet, discuss any complaints you have with my staff.”
She wrinkled her brow. Twelve hours ago he had been ravaging her mouth with his tongue, and now he spoke to her like she was a recalcitrant houseguest. And perhaps she was, at that, but still. It was very rude of him.
She folded her arms. “You wish me to speak to your staff about the kiss?”
His eyebrows shot up and he lunged to his feet, stalking around the desk and past her to slam the door fully. Now he was rising over her, uncommonly handsome and outrageously tall and broad. The man filled every room he came into with his form and his presence, and now he appeared to be lording it over her. She could scarcely breathe, but it wasn’t from fear.
She almost wished it were.
“Have a care, my lady,” he hissed. “I do not think either of us wants the news of our…our encounter to be spread throughout the household.”
She stared up at him, holding his gaze as he had done to her so many times in the months they’d known each other. Today he was the one who looked away first. “What is wrong with you, Grantham?”
He flinched. “You are speaking to a king.”
She shook her head. “I do not think I am. Right now I’m speaking to the man who kissed me. The man whose tension I can feel physically. What is wrong?”
He hesitated, and for a brief, wild moment she thought he might tell her. That he might collapse all those barriers he kept so high around himself and give over some hidden part of himself to her.
Then he stepped away and the spell was broken. He moved back to his desk and retook his seat. “Nothing,” he said softly. “Except that I have been interrupted in my very important duties.”
She pursed her lips. She was being dismissed by him…as always. And it stung far deeper after that kiss.
“I will be brief then. Why did you kiss me…Your Majesty?”
He flinched again, like he didn’t like her use of his title any more than the lack of it earlier. “Ophelia,” he said, his tone a low and rough warning.
“Why?” she repeated.
He looked up at her, and again she saw the cracks in him. The broken little places where she could still glimpse a man behind the crown. But he covered him. Froze him out. One day she feared he would erase him completely and be hardly more than the stone statue in the garden.
“I have no idea, my lady,” he said coolly. His gaze flickered over her face, unreadable as always. “A moment’s weakness, I suppose. Will that be all?”
She sucked in a breath at his utter disregard for her and what had happened between them. It…it…hurt her feelings because she wanted him to feel something about that kiss, as she did. But no. She wouldn’t be so foolish. She tamped the hurt down, seeking some other emotion to cover it.
Anger. Yes, that would do. She was annoyed by him, irritated by him, frustrated by him…but not hurt. Never hurt. She’d let one man do that in her past, she wouldn’t repeat the past with this one. This pompous arse who needed to be brought down a peg.
And she knew how to do it, didn’t she? Knew all the ways she annoyed him. Why not play into them instead of avoid them? Show him that his disregard meant as little to her as their kiss did to him? She’d rather be at war with him than whatever cocktail of emotion swirled in her heart at present.
“That will be all, Your Majesty,” she said, and executed a curtsey so low that her knees nearly touched the ground. He watched, eyes widening, filled with confusion and a touch of concern as she pivoted and left the room, closing the door none-too-gently behind her.