Ophelia blinked at sudden tears at the question. One she could never say no to. “Of course I will,” she said, embracing her friend tightly. “I would move heaven and earth for your happiness, if you wish this, I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Wonderful!” Remi said. “And without so many guests around, you’ll get to truly enjoy the palace and the island, and get to know my family all the better.”
Ophelia nodded and forced a smile, but there was the rub, wasn’t it? With a household full of guests, with her brother and Abigail and Priscilla as buffers, she had been able to avoid too much private contact with King Grantham. And yet being around him was still difficult.
What would it be like with all those buffers gone? With nothing between them to keep his disdain from being plain? He would not hide it, after all. She always felt his regard, hot at her back, seeping through her skin and into her blood. Sometimes he almost drew her in with long looks.
But when he turned away, it was almost always with a look of disgust. And if he knew her past? What she was? What she’d done?
Certainly he would feel even more of the same.
But staying here wasn’t about him, was it? It was about Priscilla, who she considered a sister. And she would not allow the cantankerous King of Athawick to ruin her last lovely days with her best friend.
She would just have to find a way to ward him off. Or make him accept her. Either way, it would only be a few weeks longer.
CHAPTER 2
The past few weeks on Athawick had been filled with swirling balls to celebrate the recent nuptials of Princess Ilaria and her handsome Captain Crawford. They had begun to blend together for Ophelia, and yet tonight felt…different as she stared out over the crowd that was bobbing about in a happy Athawickian folk dance. The faces were the same as they had ever been. The gowns were as beautiful and the music as wonderful. The gentlemen were on the hunt, the ladies pretending to be helpless prey, just as was true in any ballroom.
But something had definitely changed. At least for her. Perhaps because it was the last ball of this event. In the morning the ship back to London would fill with all these faces and all would sail into the horizon. All but her.
She sighed and turned to move away from the crowd. Only to find herself nearly careening into the broad chest of King Grantham. She hadn’t even heard him approach and she staggered back with a gasp.
“You—Your Majesty,” she said when she could find her breath. She offered a quick curtsey. “Good evening.”
“Lady Ophelia,” he said, drawing out her name ever so slightly.
He then said nothing else, but simply stepped up beside her, and together they watched the dancing crowd a moment. She shifted under the weight of the silence. The man was an expert at it, that was certain. Also at staring.
She cleared her throat when she could take it no longer. “I-I wished to say thank you for your kindness.”
He glanced at her. “My kindness?”
“In allowing me to stay for Prince Remington and Priscilla’s wedding.”
He grunted rather than answer and returned his attention to the ball. She waited a moment and then added, “You must wish to have your palace back from interlopers.”
He grunted again, though that particular sound felt more in the affirmative.
She pursed her lips. Great God, but the man was frustrating. Why had he approached her, why was he standing next to her if he was only going to be so taciturn and uncommunicative? Was he just playing a game with her?
She blinked and looked at him from the corner of her eye. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps this man just liked to watch her squirm. The more she mulled over that in her mind, the more sense it made. From the very first time she met him he had been…odd in her presence. Watching her even as he avoided her.
Was it all a game to him?
Well, if that were true, she could certainly play it. Match his energy with her own opposite one. If he wanted to be gruff and untalkative, she could be fluffy and light and playful and chatty, couldn’t she? Take the upper hand by batting her eyelashes at him and driving him mad?
It might actually make the next few weeks bearable. She smothered a laugh and turned to face him directly. His expression fluttered when she did, as if she had surprised him. Good.
“Your Majesty, I simply must compliment you on your gardens. Every morning I take a long walk and they are truly stunning. It’s clear the generations of work that has gone into the blooms. I, myself, have a rather black thumb, I fear. I cannot even manage to keep a bouquet alive for more than twenty-four hours. Perhaps that’s a curse.” She paused only for a quick breath and continued, loving how his eyes were progressively growing wider as she chattered on. “Not that I believe in such a thing as a curse. I’m far more reasonable a person than that. It’s all science, isn’t it? Water a plant well and it will grow. Give it food and sunlight and I suppose I’m simply not focused enough to recall to do it. Not that I’m flighty. Heavens, no.”
His mouth was dropped just slightly open and his gaze was entirely focused on her now. No, wait, not on her. On her mouth. As if he was trying to figure out how it was pushing so many words out at once. Excellent.
She drew a deep breath and continued, “I noted that Princess Ilaria’s bouquet was from the garden. What a wonderful wedding that was. They seem truly in love, as do Princess Sasha and the Earl of Bramwell. And of course our dear Priscilla and Remi. Love matches seem to be as in fashion in Athawick as they are presently in London. What do you think of that, Your Majesty?”
He opened and shut his mouth several times and then cleared his throat. “I think that I wish to see my family happy,” he said slowly. “And they are. So that is good enough for me.”
She was actually taken aback by that response. She had never been able to read the king’s response to the flurry of romances and marriages amongst his siblings in the past few months. But what he said seemed…genuine.
“My lady, would you like to dance?” he asked.
She caught her breath. They had known each other for months, been present at dozens of these events both at home and here in Athawick, and yet he had never requested a dance with her. He’d danced with Priscilla, with Abigail…but never her.
“I…” she murmured, and then shook her head. This was surely still part of his game…or if he wasn’t playing one, she needed to incorporate it into her own.
“Yes,” she said. “That would be an honor, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent,” he said, motioning her toward the floor, where the previous country jig had ended and couples were filtering on and off. She thought she heard him mutter something else as he followed her. Something about the only way to make her stop talking.
She smothered a smile. Excellent. If they were to be adversaries, she intended to win the day. And flummoxing him was fun. Certainly more entertaining than the time she’d spent avoiding him and wondering why he wouldn’t stop looking at her.
As they reached the center of the ballroom floor, she realized the room had turned to watch them. The other dancers stepped back a fraction, leaving them space. Of course they would. The king was dancing. No one wanted to miss that.
He let out his breath slightly and met her gaze as he reached out to take her hand. She caught her own breath when he did so. This was the first time he had ever touched her. She realized it in a heady moment of dizzy recognition. Even through both their gloves, she felt the heat and weight of his fingers as he glided them around her hand.