“From what?” Remi asked, tilting his head. “I would love to know how you would finish that sentence.”
Grantham knew exactly how he might finish that sentence. In a half dozen incredibly inappropriate scenarios that he shoved from his mind as he refocused his energy and smoothed his jacket with both hands.
“This is what Priscilla wishes?” he asked softly.
Remi nodded. “Very much so.”
Grantham sighed. “My future sister has been through a great deal during her time with us. I would never deny her something that would make her happy. You may tell her to ask Lady Ophelia.”
Remi’s expression lit up, and for a moment all Grantham could think about was racing along the beach with his brother when they were boys, before their lives had become so complicated. Before walls had been erected between them that felt so impossible to climb.
“Thank you,” Remi said, and it seemed entirely sincere. “I will do so straight away. See you tonight, yes?”
“Of course. Where else would I be?” Grantham grumbled, returning to the window as his brother rushed from the room. His study overlooked the garden and down below he saw that Ophelia, herself, had stepped out with the Duchess of Gilmore and Priscilla. The woman were talking and laughing, but the most animated of all was Ophelia.
His entire body felt like it clenched, even more so when she glanced up toward the study window. She could see him there, he was certain. He had stood in that very place in the garden many a time and looked up to see his own father watching.
And just like his face had done all those times, her expression fell, her smile fading. He backed away and returned to his desk where he sat, wishing his mind wasn’t racing, trying to get himself back into focus.
Before he could, there was another knock on the door and he looked up to find his head courtier, Stephan Blairford, entering the room, a pile of papers in his hand.
Blairford was older than him by at least twenty years. He had served Grantham’s father and it was expected that he would carry on in his role as head courtier. Grantham had always felt uneasy about him, truth be told, and even more so as of late. But the man knew everything, and with the island in such upheaval, it was hard to turn help away.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” he said with a small bow. When he straightened his mouth was pinched.
“What is the problem, Blairford?” Grantham asked. He felt the tension in his body shift, thoughts of Ophelia fading slightly.
His courtier cleared his throat. “There were more of those fliers left tacked to the gate this morning,” Blairford said. “Freedom for Athawick. With the reverse flag.”
Grantham pressed his lips together. There was the problem with his kingdom. It seemed some didn’t want it to be his anymore. “They were removed?” he asked softly.
“Yes, and burned,” Blairford said. “They are becoming bolder to place them right on the gate.”
“They want to be heard,” Grantham mused, and ran a hand through his hair. He nudged his head toward the stack of papers. “Are those for me to sign?”
Blairford nodded and laid out the papers along Grantham’s desk, and as they began to talk about what had been placed before him, he sighed. This was what he needed to focus on now: his country. He couldn’t let an English sprite keep him from his duty.
Ophelia stared up at the window where she had seen King Grantham standing a fraction of a moment before. Staring at her. Frowning at her.
She shivered. Normally she was certain of herself, at least mostly. But the man threw her off every time she looked at him. He made her hot and cold all at once, made her brain rush with thoughts that were entirely inappropriate. She knew he didn’t like her, his expression made it abundantly clear every time he looked at her. Not that he seemed to like anyone. He was too grumpy a person for something so frivolous as affection.
“Oh, look,” Priscilla said, her entire countenance lighting up. “Here comes Remi.”
Ophelia pushed away her thoughts and glanced back at the steps leading from the terrace high above. Prince Remi was, indeed, coming down the stairs, a broad smile on his handsome face. Priscilla practically bounced as he neared them, the joy glowing from deep within her.
Abigail gave Ophelia a quick look and the two women stepped back to allow the soon-to-be married lovers to reunite. Although they’d seen each other at breakfast, the way Priscilla took his hand, the way he leaned into her, one might have thought it had been days.
He whispered something to Priscilla, and her friend’s smile grew as she linked her arm through his and the two moved to her and Abigail.
“It is done,” he said, nodding to Abigail.
Ophelia cocked her head. “Done? What is done? Are you three concocting plans and daring to leave me out of them? Badly done!” she teased.
Priscilla laughed. “We were doing just that, but out of nothing but the best reasons, I assure you. We only wanted to be certain before we spoke to you. And now it has all come to fruition.”
Ophelia wrinkled her brow. “Since Pris insists on speaking riddles, perhaps you would like to explain, Your Highness.”
Remi chuckled. “Indeed. As you well know, I would do anything to make my future wife happy, and one thing would make her very much so. That is for you, Ophelia, to stay in Athawick for our wedding and a few weeks longer after that.”
Ophelia blinked, watching Priscilla nod with enthusiasm and Abigail beam with pleasure on her behalf. She felt very little of it herself. She had begun to count the days to her return to London, count the days until she would no longer be under the watchful and judgmental eye of the King of Athawick.
“I…” she began. “Surely the king and queen must be looking forward to having the privacy of the palace back after the guests these past few weeks.”
“The king is very pleased to have you stay,” Remi said. “He was just telling me before I came down to inform you of the invitation.”
Her stomach flipped at the idea that Grantham…King Grantham had been talking about her. Remi might make it sound pleasant and friendly, but she knew better, didn’t she? There was no way the king was pleased about anything at all, certainly not her.
She turned her attention to Abigail. “You and Nathan would need to discuss this, I think, before I could answer.”
Abigail beamed. “We already have, my dear. The royal family has kindly agreed to act as chaperone. There is nothing holding you back from staying and enjoying the extra time on this beautiful island.”
“So you…you would not stay.”
Abigail glanced toward Priscilla. “We have our escort duties to perform.”
Ophelia shook her head. Of course they did. She was being selfish to forget. Priscilla’s father and her horrible stepmother had showed up unexpectedly on the island only days ago, creating all kinds of stress and pain for her friend. Nathan and Abigail were marching them home, and that was a very important duty to protect Priscilla.
She glanced apologetically at her friend and was happy to see that Remi had put his arm around her, his expression growing dark momentarily. He truly did love her. He would do anything to protect her. And so would Ophelia.
Priscilla stepped forward and took her hands. “The wedding is private, of course. Only family. And there is no one else in the world that I could call family but you. Please won’t you stand up for me, Ophelia?”