Inhaling, I spoke truthfully. “We do that. It doesn’t require much in the way of conversation.”
“If he has harmed you—”
“Sadness,” I interrupted, unwilling to share too much. “I want to be more to him and to Molave.” I met Isabella’s gaze. “King Theodore asked me to stay. Roman thinks I’m leaving tonight.”
Isabella shook her head. “With the unrest, it’s dangerous for you to travel. Papa asked Francis and I to stay another few days.”
A sigh of relief escaped my lips. “That means you’ll be here too?”
“For a few days. Francis is satisfied with our guards. He wants to get back to Forthwith.”
That was the province in Molave where they lived.
“Forthwith hasn’t seen the uprisings that Monovia and the capital have,” she said.
“Are they—the Firm—making progress with Roman?”
Isabella shrugged. “You saw him this evening. He’s his old grumpy self.”
“He seemed different with me.”
“Then maybe,” she said, “there is progress. If different means better.”
I let my smile show. “It was. For only a moment, but it was.” The same smile dimmed. “I’m concerned he’ll not be pleased that I’m staying in Molave City.”
“Then he can take it up with Mum or Papa.”
“I will suggest that. What can you tell me about the tariffs?”
“As you know, Molave exports our mined resources and imports most perishable and consumable items.”
My months of training on top of what I’d learned over the last five years confirmed what she was saying. “Yes. The tariffs are on imports or exports?”
“Imports, costing the citizens and benefiting the crown.”
“Why? Does the crown need the extra funds?”
“Roman believes so. Francis has another theory.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“He believes Roman put the tariffs in place in retaliation because of the mining strike.”
I shook my head. “I know so little.”
Isabella lifted her glass of wine to her lips. “No matter the reason, the taxation is costly, and the citizens aren’t accustomed to the additional expense.” She looked around. “Mum has taken the customary role of staying away from the workings of the country. I wish Papa were stronger.”
The customary role that I was supposed to continue.
“I could be more involved,” I said.
“As you should. Molave is ready to move out of the dark ages.”
Before I could respond, the main door to the apartments opened. My breath caught as Roman entered, a step behind Francis. My pulse sped up as if I’d been caught in another situation of which he wouldn’t approve. Immediately, I stood and curtsied. “Your Highness.”
“I told Roman we’d find you here,” Francis said, jovial as usual.
Roman’s tone was less pleased. “I told the duke he was mistaken. You had left for Monovia or were preparing to leave as planned.”
Isabella stood. “Papa instructed her to stay.” When Roman’s dark gaze stayed on me, Isabella added, “We all want Princess Lucille safe.”
“Yes,” he said, his penetrating stare never leaving me.
The dryness in my mouth wasn’t the same sensation as earlier today. What currently coursed through me was the all-too-familiar dread of my husband’s ire.
“Come, Lucille,” he commanded. “We will talk.”
He will talk.
As I stepped toward Roman, Isabella reached for my hand. “Tomorrow morning after breakfast. If we’re both secluded here, I challenge you to pickle ball.”
“Yes,” I said with a forced smile.
Lucille
Lady Buckingham and Lord Avery were waiting as Roman and I entered the parlor, connecting our two suites. Their appropriate greetings came with a curtsy and a bow. If I’d had any doubt that the uncharacteristic affection earlier in the evening was an anomaly, the walk back to our apartments in silence reminded me of our reality. At no point did my husband attempt to make contact, verbal or physical. No hand in the small of my back. No reaching for my hand. Not even a word.
With my focus on the doorway to the left, the entrance to my private suite, I stilled at Roman’s next decree to my mistress and his attendant.
“Leave us.”
My gaze met Lady Buckingham’s. There was no avoiding whatever was about to happen. I could wish the crown prince into his Jekyll personality, but that wouldn’t make it happen.
Entertaining the idea was madness.
Giving my mistress a nod, I waited as Lady Buckingham and Lord Avery retreated into the palace hallways. Once the door was closed, I inhaled, straightened my neck and shoulders, and met Roman’s gaze. The dark brown of his orbs muddied as they scanned over me, from my hair to my shoes.
“You were told to return to Monovia,” Roman said, finally breaking the silence.
“King Theodore asked me to stay.”
Roman’s nostrils flared as he pivoted away and back, his hands balled at his sides. This was his prelude to my admonishment. I knew it well. His lecture was only beginning, yet at the moment, my thoughts were on his necktie. I recalled it had been gray earlier this evening, and my eyes were telling me it was blue. The starched white shirt and dark gray suit looked the same. The scent of his cologne was unchanged.
Yet the necktie…
Perhaps I was mistaken about what he’d been wearing earlier.
“Are you listening?” Roman asked, his volume raised.
Tilting my head, I asked, “Did you change your tie?”
“My tie,” he repeated, looking down. “Are you mad?”
My gaze met his. “I think I am.” I took a step closer and spoke clearly. “I’m going mad, Roman. I’m imagining things and seeing things.”
“You need help.”
“I do, from you, from my husband. I meant what I said, I don’t know you anymore. Being locked away at Annabella is…” I didn’t want to unleash my thoughts on a man who wouldn’t care, but in this world, there was no one else. “…maddening. And now I’ve learned that I’ve been shielded.” I used the word I’d been told. “I am the princess. I need to understand what’s happening in our country.”
“You have one job.”
To produce an heir.
“Then give me more.” Before he could reply I went on, “I know you’re riled at me. Have you ever considered that I am so thirsty for any attention from you that I’ll take the bad if it’s my only option?”
It was the most honest I’d been with him in years. I supposed the honesty started this afternoon when I spoke freely.
For a moment, Roman stood dumbfounded, his lips agape, until he straightened his shoulders. “Have I considered…?” His timbre slowed as his volume rose. “No, Lucille. I have more important things to consider than your fragile feelings. You are not special. Everyone has responsibilities.”
“Do you care for me at all?”
“Care? Of course, I care. You’re my wife.”