Ophelia smiled despite the trying night. A smile that fell as Remi and Grantham entered the room. Grantham immediately crossed to his mother as Priscilla got up to go to her husband.
“He is fine. A minor injury. You may go to—”
He didn’t get to finish. The queen said nothing, but simply rushed from the room. Grantham sighed before he turned his attention to Ophelia. Their eyes met and she couldn’t help how hers filled with tears. He cleared his throat.
“I would like the room,” he said softly, but firmly. It was not a tone that brooked refusal. Not that anyone seemed in a mood to refuse. Slowly, the others filtered out. Remi and Priscilla were last. Both of them touched Grantham’s arm before they left and closed the door behind them.
He moved to the settee and sank down beside Ophelia, sliding his knuckles across her cheek. She leaned into his hand, choking out a breath. “I thought I’d never feel your touch again.”
He nodded. “I feared the same. My God, Ophelia.” He leaned forward until their foreheads touched and they sat like that for a moment.
She finally cleared her throat. “Grantham, he manipulated your father. He told me he put the wedges between you and him. Between him and your mother.”
Grantham’s cheek twitched. “I would wager he did, now that his entire plan is becoming clearer. But my father allowed it all. He didn’t care enough not to let Blairford carry out his machinations.”
She nodded slowly. “But you did.”
“Yes, and it almost got you killed,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Who I am, what I am, what must happen next almost ripped you from me.”
She wrinkled her brow. “What must happen next?”
“My people are speaking,” he said softly. “I must listen. This country will change and I fear it will not be easy. Men like Hadley, men who have benefited from the system of power like Blairford did…they will fight change. And it could get ugly. It will.”
She cupped his cheeks. “But you will get through it.”
He smiled at her. “When you say it, I almost believe it.” He sighed and the smile faltered. “What I said to you on the beach…I meant it. I love you.”
She shivered at how beautiful that was every time she heard it. “I know you do. But do you know that I love you in return? Because I do love you, Grantham. With all my heart, all my soul. All my life and my future. I love you.”
She saw the absolute joy on his face at that declaration. The relief and the hope. But then he did what he had been trained to do his whole life. He pushed it down. It left his face and he became impassive.
“But love might not be enough, Ophelia. I cannot offer you peace. I don’t know how long it will take to get there, if I ever will. This situation may drag out for years, with intermittent violence. I won’t get to focus only on you and your happiness. I am still king—these are still my people, no matter what. I must put all my efforts into keeping this country intact, even if the monarchy cannot stand.”
She straightened up and tilted her head. “Do I strike you as the kind of woman who runs away from a fight, Your Majesty?”
He smiled again. “Very much not. But this is a terrible fight, Ophelia.”
“All the more reason not to face it alone,” she said. “Grantham, no one in the world can offer peace. Yes, your situation is certainly more fraught than the average gentleman’s, but no one could look me in the face and tell me I would never face hardship if I married them. If I loved them.” She cupped his cheeks gently. “My peace, my love, is you. I want your peace to be me. The rest…the rest will work out.”
He stared at her. “Are you truly saying you would wish to be with me?”
“Every day, in every way, until the moment I take my last breath,” she said, and meant it.
He leaned in and his lips touched hers, at first feather-light and then harder and with more passion and desperation after everything they had endured.
“You know there is one wonderful thing about giving up the throne,” he said between kisses.
She leaned back. “And what is that?”
“I can marry who I please. No need for political matches,” he said. “And I adore you so completely. If you would be mine, I would be the luckiest man in the world.”
“Lucky together,” she corrected as joy overcame her. “For the rest of our lives. So if you are asking me to marry you, the answer is yes.”
He laughed as he took her mouth again, and she sank into the warmth and wonder of him. And she knew she would never have to give it or him up again.
EPILOGUE
Three months later
The wedding had been held quickly and quietly, the moment the Duke and Duchess of Gilmore had been able to return to Athawick to joyfully give Ophelia away. In the time since they wed, Grantham had never once taken his queen for granted. Ophelia had stood by him through the difficult times and the joyful ones. She brought that light that burned within her into what were sometimes very dark times.
And now, as they stood together on the terrace attached to their chamber, overlooking the sun as it drifted over the cold winter sea in the distance, he held her closer.
“I have news,” he said.
She turned more fully into him, her arms tightening around his waist. “I wondered when you would tell me about Remi’s report on the desires of your…our people.”
He glanced down at her. “How did you know Remi was ready to report… Ah…Priscilla.”
“It is your own fault, two brothers marrying two best friends.”
“I suppose it was badly done in a few respects, though the good far outweighs the bad, I assure you,” he teased.
She laughed and it was music. Then she smoothed her hands along his spine. “Tell me.”
“There does seem to be a majority who do not wish to continue under a monarchy. Even if they approve of me, they don’t want the institution to continue.”
She tightened her arms around him. “How do you feel?”
“I’ve been preparing for this for months,” he said, staring out at the sea in the distance, and felt…peace. “Seeing the signs as I worked with Marabelle on the best ways to give power to the people, be it small or large. And yet now the truth is out and I feel…relieved? A little frightened. The future is…very different now.”
“It will be wide open once this is done.” She stepped back and took his hands. “Do you still intend to run for the position of leadership? What are you calling it?”
“Prime minister, I think they wish to call it,” he said. “To lead over the elected houses of nobles and commoners, which will likely be equally split.” He shook his head. “Marabelle seems to think my candidacy will be accepted. She intends to support it as leader of the uprising. It is a way to transfer power gently.”
“So you will not be king, but you will still steer your country.” Ophelia smiled. “And I will be by your side the entire way.”
“It is the only thing that makes this bearable,” he said softly, and he meant it. The transition and its chaos were not something he looked forward to, though this idea of a representative government excited him.