Ophelia thought of Grantham’s brief recounting of his troubled relationship with the previous king. “You always knew you would marry King Alistair?”
Queen Giabella pivoted slightly toward her. “Ah, you have studied your history to know my husband’s name. Most in London did not, for they only think of Athawick when we make an official visit.”
“I have,” Ophelia said. “I thought it would only be polite if coming to your country to know a little about it. Though it seems there is always more.”
“Yes, even after nearly thirty-five years in this country, I always find new tidbits of history. An ever-opening rose like this one,” the queen said, holding up a perfect bloom she had just cut before she placed it in her basket with the others. “And yes, I always knew. Our fathers arranged the match when we were just children.”
Ophelia blinked as a terrible thought entered her mind. “And does King Grantham also have an arrangement in the wings?”
Giabella hesitated before she clipped the next rose. “He does not. The last arrangement was fruitful, but not particularly…happy, I will admit. I convinced Alistair that we should at least wait to arrange marriages until the children were old enough to have a say. A plan that did not exactly work correctly when it came to Ilaria, though I am happy for her choice and her joy.”
Ophelia smiled. Everyone knew the story of the princess’s defiance of the match that had been chosen for her, and of her adopted sister Sasha’s marriage to the Earl of Bramwell instead.
“You are curious about Grantham’s choices, it seems,” Giabella said softly.
Ophelia clipped a bloom and cleared her throat. “I suppose everyone is. It isn’t that kings don’t visit London often enough, but hardly any of them are young as he is. Or handsome.” She blinked as she realized what she’d said. “Or so many people think.”
“But not you?” the queen asked with a laugh.
Oh dear, now Ophelia was really mucking this up entirely. “Of course he is handsome. That is a fact, not a question. I only mean that some young ladies in London, and I’m sure here in Athawick, were interested in his prospects. He does not seem in a hurry to find his match like his brother and sisters have done, though.”
“He has a great deal of weight on his shoulders at present.” Again Giabella seemed faraway as she spoke. Tense. “A partner, the right partner, could ease that burden. But he is as stubborn as…well, he’s stubborn. He will only decide his future when he is ready. And I learned my lesson with his siblings not to interfere too much.”
Ophelia nodded and then glanced up at the palace. She found the study window too easily, and thought she saw a shadow of a person there. The king? Watching her. Just as he always seemed to be. The shadow moved, and she sighed.
She needed to get out of this dangerous territory. “Priscilla and Prince Remington seem a very good match.”
The queen eyed her for a moment but then graciously allowed for the subject change. The rest of the time they worked in the garden, they spoke of other topics, not Grantham. And yet he was all Ophelia thought about. And she could not help but continue to glance up at his window and wonder if he were there, standing out of view, thinking of her, too. Despite his best efforts to avoid her and whatever was brewing between them.
“And how do you like having your palace back, Your Majesty?”
Grantham blinked and brought his attention back to Count Friskar of the Northern Realm of the island. He had never had a problem with the man, who was about ten years older than Grantham and had only recently inherited the title from his father, a crony of the past king.
“Though your remaining houseguest seems charming, indeed.”
Grantham followed Friskar’s knowing smile toward Ophelia across the room. She was standing with the other attending counts, the center of their collective attention as she chatted about what, he could not guess. Something that seemed to light up every man within ten feet of her.
“Charming,” he grunted. “That is one way of putting it. My mother asked her to join the party, it seems.”
He had no way of confronting the queen about it, of course. It seemed the right thing to do from a distance, for Ophelia was very good at capturing the attention of anyone around her. She was an entertainment to a bunch of stuffy men who were tired of each other’s company after so much of it over the years.
And yet Grantham was not eased by her presence. No, he had been studiously avoiding her for days, trying to make his mind stop pivoting endlessly on the kisses they’d shared. Having her in the same room as him only started all his longing up again. Frayed all his careful control.
As if she sensed that weakness, she flitted her gaze away from her companions and instead met his eyes. She didn’t blush or look away, she just held there. Bold. Direct. All the heat in his body felt like it slid southward, and for probably the first time in his life he was happy for the more voluminous robes of his full formal outfit, for it covered the reaction his body made despite the inopportune timing.
“Your Majesty?”
He shook off his thoughts as he realized Friskar had spoken to him again. “Woolgathering, my apologies. What were you saying?”
“I was just wondering if you had more information regarding the situation in the south.”
Whatever pleasure, as unwanted as it had been, that had been engendered in him by looking at Ophelia fled in an instant at the reminder of his precarious position. “The new count and my sister are on their way to observe the situation in person,” he admitted. “I had hoped that time would mute the unrest, as all settled into the new routine of a fresh face holding the crown.”
“And yet it hasn’t.” Friskar was direct, as was his look. “I will tell you, sir, that as the protests against you become louder all over the island, some of the other aristocrats are beginning to…to whisper about your handling of this situation.”
Grantham set his legs a bit wider, almost physically preparing for this attack. “The others, or you?”
“I’m not as attached to my power, I suppose,” Friskar said with a shrug. “I’m telling you as…an ally. A friend, insomuch as you can have those.”
Grantham all but physically forced his shoulders to relax. “And I thank you for it. I also give you my promise that the problems are being taken seriously by the crown. They will be resolved…” He trailed off as he thought of how Blairford and the other courtiers, how some of the counts, how some of his other advisors, wished to resolve the issue. His stomach turned.
“If I can be of assistance,” Friskar said, “please let me know.”
Grantham inclined his head, but his attention was drawn yet again as he watched Ophelia excuse herself from the company of the others and slowly make her way across the parlor. She hesitated at the door and gave him a quick look over her shoulder. Then she was gone.
“Thank you,” Grantham said, dragging himself back to his companion. “I appreciate it. Will you excuse me?”
Friskar nodded and Grantham stepped away, toward where Ophelia had gone. He hesitated, unable to see her now that she had gone up the hall. He had no business seeking her out when this room was filled with allies and enemies alike. Some poised to choose which side they fell on.