Grantham snorted. “I assume Ophelia has told Priscilla that we are lovers? And that she did not keep that fact from you.”
Remi’s eyes went wide. “Little minx did not tell me that.”
“Bloody hell,” Grantham muttered. So much for keeping his secrets. It seemed he would spill them all now that the floodgates were open.
“Of course, we have been a bit busy preparing for this last-minute presentation and perhaps Priscilla didn’t feel it was her secret to tell.”
“Here you’ve forced it out of me regardless,” Grantham grumbled.
“Hardly.” Remi chuckled. “You surrendered the information quite easily. I didn’t even have to employ torture tactics.”
“Only your company.” They laughed together a moment. Then Grantham bent his head. “Well, now you know. I’m sure you have a great many thoughts that you won’t keep to yourself.”
“You were never the kind to take casual lovers,” Remi said, his tone careful, as if he weren’t sure of the response he would receive. “Does that mean this is something more?”
Grantham sucked in a breath. He loved Ophelia. He knew that as much now as he had known it the previous night as they lay in each other’s arms. And yet the situation was still helpless.
“I don’t know that it can be,” he said softly. “There are many barriers in the way, after all. I’m not free to do whatever I wish.”
“If you could?” Remi pressed.
Grantham opened and shut his mouth. “Perhaps it’s better I don’t travel that particular road, brother. It seems the path of heartache.”
He slowly pushed to his feet and extended a hand to Remi to help him up from the floor. To his surprise, Remi tugged him in for yet another hug, though this time it was briefer and somewhat less emotional.
“I watched you push away so much of yourself thanks to Father,” Remi said as they broke apart. “But he’s gone now, Grantham. You get to decide who you are a leader and who you are as a man. I hope you’ll include happiness in both those equations.”
Grantham flinched and backed away. “A king’s happiness must come from the comfort of his people. Of all the things Father taught, that is the one good lesson. I must find a way to resign myself to it.”
Remi’s brow wrinkled and Grantham could see he wished to argue further on the point. To avoid it, he stepped back. “Now it is getting late. Only a few hours to the presentation on the terrace. I should ready myself.”
Remi inclined his head and let Grantham go. He pushed his shoulders back as he did so, trying to recall that he was king. And that had to take precedence over all else.
Ophelia sat on a chair in Priscilla’s dressing room watching as she was carefully dressed in a beautiful gown. Sasha and Queen Giabella were standing to the side, picking through case after case of beautiful jewels and crowns that had been brought for the occasion. From time to time, Priscilla would glance at them in a rather worried way.
At last, Ophelia got to her feet and stepped up, smiling at the fussing maids. The young women seemed to understand and hustled away. Ophelia met Priscilla’s gaze in the full-length mirror before her. “You’re nervous?”
Priscilla let out her breath in a shaky laugh. “How could one not be? I’m about to be presented as Remi’s bride. A princess, for heaven’s sake. And if that weren’t enough, this announcement is meant to take pressure off the rumors surrounding the departure of Blairford. It’s all very important. I don’t want to let the family down. Or Remi. Most of all Remi.”
Ophelia slid an arm around her. “Remi adores you. You could burn the palace down to the cinders and he would beam and say you were a marvel. Disappointing him is not an outcome you shall ever find yourself handling.”
Priscilla laughed and some of the tension left her face. “I hope you’re right. Oh, I wish you could stand on the terrace with us. I’ve been told hundreds will be welcomed through the palace gates, perhaps even a thousand or more. To know you were standing beside me…”
Ophelia shook her head. “The point of this exercise is to quiet whispers, not start them. If I were to stand on the terrace, there would be questions. After all, I don’t belong there.”
She said the words and they tasted very bitter after the past few days as Grantham’s lover. Last night, especially, had made her feel so close to him. But morning light reminded her it was an illusion.
She forced brightness and continued, “But I will be in the antechamber behind the formal terrace, watching it all. You will feel my support from there, I know.”
“Are you certain you don’t belong?” Priscilla asked, glancing toward the queen and Sasha. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I still think there is a place for you here.”
Ophelia sighed but was pleased she didn’t have to respond when the others approached, their hands draped in jewels to try with Priscilla’s gown. The excitement of that moment pushed the rest away. Ophelia concentrated on the fun of it, but in the background, her pain still niggled, a constant reminder that whether or not Priscilla accepted it, Ophelia had no place in this world.
And soon enough the pretense that she did would be gone and she would go with it.
CHAPTER 18
Grantham looked around the antechamber that led to the formal terrace at the front of the palace. It was a smallish parlor, finely decorated for the moments when it was needed for matters of state. Otherwise, it was rarely used. Today, though, it was filled with his entire family, save Jonah and Ilaria, who were still gone to Southern Athawick. A letter from Jonah had arrived that very morning, saying they were still trying to make arrangements to meet with the leader of the opposition.
But otherwise, the rest were there, all dressed in their court finery. His mother fussed over Priscilla, adjusting her crown, speaking softly to her to help ease her nerves. Remi had never looked more regal, standing at attention, his hand clasped in his bride’s.
Sasha and Thomas stood to the side, talking softly together. Grantham was proud at how swiftly they had readied themselves for this event. Prouder still of the staff and Dash, who had created something special and made certain the public garden below the terrace was filled with subjects and the dignitaries they could rush here on short notice.
It was obvious they were making a desperation play, perhaps. But no one had ever done it better.
He was about to speak to the family when the parlor door opened and Dash entered, followed by Ophelia. Grantham’s words died on his lips. She was also formally dressed, though she would not join them on the terrace for the family presentation. She couldn’t, of course, but God’s teeth, he wished she could. She smiled at him softly, then shifted that bright expression to Priscilla as she and Dash took up a place away from the family group.
The buglers were entering the terrace now from a secret door on the side of the parapet and the crowd below grew quieter as they blared out the sound of announcement. Grantham took a long breath and then stepped out first into the bright sunshine of this autumn day.
His mother followed, then Sasha and Thomas. The last were Remi and Priscilla, and when they appeared the crowd applauded enthusiastically. The couple waved, and from so far below, Grantham was certain no one noticed how Priscilla’s hand shook. Remi did, of course, and settled a hand at the base of her back. When he did, Priscilla straightened, confidence entering her expression.