Ophelia drew back. “I’m not certain I could be considered that, Your Majesty.”
Giabella arched a brow. “Do not play chess with a queen, my dear. We are put on the board to win.” She leaned forward. “Are you in love with my son?”
Ophelia was so taken aback by the direct question that she nearly fell from her seat. She gripped the edge, trying to stop the swaying as she processed the question.
Of course the answer was yes. There wasn’t even a sliver of doubt, though she hadn’t allowed herself to consider it before. She loved Grantham and she had for some time. It was why she kept reaching for him, even when he pulled away. It was why his happiness was so tantamount to her. Why she feared for his health and safety as he navigated this delicate path he had been placed upon.
The queen was still staring at her and Ophelia dropped her chin. Love him or not, it didn’t change the challenges. “I want what is best for him,” she said at last.
Giabella smiled slightly. “Another diplomatic answer. And one I cannot fault. I think he deserves someone who wants the best for him. After all, he thinks of what is best for everyone else in his orbit. If I could choose a match for him, it would be someone who could understand the weight he bears and offer to carry it in small but important ways.”
For a moment they were quiet together, staring off toward the garden as the sun began to dip into the horizon of the sea beyond. The queen did not seem to require a response to her suggestion. Ophelia wasn’t certain she had one.
The door behind them opened and she turned, heart leaping, but it was not Grantham there, but Dashiell Talbot instead. She glanced toward the queen and saw the light in her gaze, the burst of happiness to see this man.
“Your Majesty, Lady Ophelia,” he began. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all, Dashiell,” Queen Giabella said, rising and moving toward him, almost as if she were drawn to do so. Ophelia saw how Dash tracked her. “Was there something you needed?”
He inclined his head. “The celebration of lights.”
Giabella sucked in a breath and shook her head. “Of course. I forgot the time.”
“It has been a trying day,” he said softly. “And why I’m here to remind you.”
Giabella smiled before she returned her attention to Ophelia. “Our annual advent celebration involves a beautiful procession of lights. The preparations begin this time of year and I have some items to sign off on. You understand.”
“Of course,” Ophelia said, rising. “Don’t concern yourself with me.”
“Dash,” Giabella said.
The secretary moved toward her and then stopped. Ophelia noticed how he flexed his hand at his side, as if he wanted to touch the queen, but could not. Instead he motioned for her to lead and followed behind a step as they entered the house.
Ophelia sighed. The connection between the pair was palpable, and yet there were boundaries that seemed impossible to cross. Which felt all too familiar. She smoothed her skirts and was about to enter the house herself, retire to her room to think, when the door opened yet again and this time it was who she had been waiting for all along. Grantham exited, and when he saw her moving toward him, they both stopped.
He shifted, his expression hardening and she braced herself. He might wish to chastise her for how she had interfered with his conversation with his brother earlier and she readied herself for that.
“Ophelia, I-I—” He stopped himself and shook his head. Then he shocked her by closing the rest of the distance between them. He caught her upper arms and pressed his forehead to hers. She gasped, wrapping her arms around his waist as they held each other for a breath, two.
“Things will change soon,” he said softly. “I’ll have to…” He pulled back and stared down into her eyes. “Ophelia, I would not drag you into my chaos.”
She shook her head. “I like chaos, Grantham.”
He laughed, though the sound was hollow. Then his smile fell. “Jonah and Ilaria will be back tomorrow and they bring the kind of chaos no one will like. Things will shift…they’ll…” His voice broke. “We may only have tonight left.”
The thought sent a shiver down her spine. “Oh.”
“Will you—could we—”
“Come with me,” she whispered, catching his hand and drawing him toward the palace.
“Where?” he asked, though he followed her without argument.
She peeked back over her shoulder at him, this man she loved and very well might lose. “My room,” she said. “I’m taking you to my room.”
Grantham followed Ophelia into her chamber. A maid was there, stirring the fire. He stopped at the door, expecting Ophelia to blush and gasp and find a way to explain away why he was there. Instead, she arched a brow at the young woman. “That will be all, Lydia.”
The maid cast him a quick glance, but curtseyed and hustled out. He stared at Ophelia. That was a queenly move. It made it so very easy to imagine her at his side, helping him run his kingdom.
If there was a kingdom left to be run.
“Will she talk?” he asked, reaching behind himself to shut the door and turning the key carefully.
She shrugged. “Perhaps. What does it matter now? Your country doesn’t see it as a sin and I’m not in England.”
He smiled and walked past her, looking around the chamber. It was pretty enough, not overly small. He shook his head. “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever been in this room. I probably haven’t been in half the rooms in the palace.”
She watched him pace around. “I don’t doubt it. It’s a big place and you’re a busy man. Why would you come into every corner?”
He pivoted to look at her. “Had I been aware of every corner, perhaps all these dramatics with my people could have been avoided.”
She moved toward him. “Or maybe they couldn’t have. Don’t torture yourself with what could have been. There is enough to torment yourself about in the present without dragging all the what-ifs of the past into it.”
“You are very wise,” he said, and loved how the corners of her lips twitched at his teasing.
“Perhaps I’ve an old soul,” she said. “But we both know this witty repartee is not why we came here.”
“No?” he asked.
She took his hand and pulled him closer. “No.” She touched his face. “If you are right and this might be the last night we can do this…we shouldn’t waste it. Especially since we’ll be expected for supper in a few short hours.”
“Oh no, I’m not going to supper,” he said softly. “I’m not wasting one moment of whatever time we have left for something so frivolous as food.”
She cupped the back of his neck and drew him down. Just before she touched her lips to his, she whispered, “Good.”
He groaned against her mouth, reveling in the gentle pressure of her lips as it transformed to something hungrier. She pulled away and pointed toward the bed.
“Undress,” she ordered, and walked away.
He chuckled as he watched her go to the door and lock it. “You know, I’m the one in charge around here.”
“Are you?” She leaned against the door and watched as he removed his clothing piece by piece, laying them out against the back of the closest chair.