She couldn’t know, and yet there was a light in her green eyes that spoke to him. That said: Where are your excuses now?
Not a girl.
Not dizzy.
Not frizzy.
“Good evening,” she said, edging slowly into the room and taking a seat a comical ten chairs away from him.
His body relaxed into the relief of the distance and he tightened his fist. Unwilling to cede that he needed her to keep distance.
“Tinley,” he said. “We will not be able to discuss anything if you are half a league away from me.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know the appropriate distance to keep from a king.”
He thought of the times they had all been forced to dine at one end of the table, with their fathers down at the other talking about matters of state.
She knew well enough.
“When you are dining with a king you must sit close enough to converse with him,” he said.
“Well, your voice does carry.”
“It shouldn’t have to.”
She stood, hardly the picture of lithe grace and dignity. No. She was nothing half so basic.
You want basic. You need it.
She walked slowly over to where he was. And then she sat, her posture remaining comically rigid.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring the cat.”
She rolled her eyes at him. Like a bratty teen. “I’m not ridiculous.”
“Good to know.”
Those same eyes now narrowed at him. “Was that a joke?”
“No. It really is helpful to know that you’re not ridiculous. It’s valuable to know exactly what it is I’m working with.”
“It may have escaped your notice,” she said, folding her hands in front of her on the table and staring him down. “But I am not eighteen. I’m not eight years old, either. I run and coordinate a charity. I manage events, fund-raisers. I’m not going to bring a cat to the dinner table.”
And in those words he saw a spark of something. Not just the dizzy, frizzy hair that he had noticed earlier. But the light deep down inside of her that he was certain she must show in other areas of her life. She had to. If not, then how could she run a charity.
When he had arrived at the cottage and seen it in disarray, when he had taken a look around at all the homey things that—in his opinion—were a study in superfluity, he knew that many people saw the life of a Royal as one of potential excess. Of privilege. And it was true, there was a great deal of power and privilege to be had when one was royal.
But in Liri, at least, the tradition of royalty ran much more toward stark. The King was the protector. Liri had mountains to the north, the sea to the south, and thick forest to the east and west, guarding the borders, with Italy on one side and Slovenia on the other. They were small, but they were powerful. And the ruler of the country had always been a part of that power.
It was not power to be taken lightly.
His father had taught him that a king must rule with a firm hand.
He and Dionysus were different people. He had always been more serious than his brother. And it was entirely possible that... Perhaps his brother would have brought some much-needed lightness to the country.
His father had been an only child, and Alex knew it had been his hope that his sons would help one another. That they would not have the competition seen in family generations past, but that Dionysus would be the piece Alexius might be missing on his own.
The world was not as it had once been, after all.
The Lion of the Dark Wood had been necessary across the history of Liri. They’d had conflict with other nations. They had struggled financially in the beginning. War, famine.
These things were not so in the twilight of his father’s reign, and they were not so for Alexius.
But he was what the people had gotten. Even if he was not what they deserved.
And he was what Tinley had to contend with as well. Whether she liked it or not.
“It is true,” he said, “that you have managed to tame yourself into an image that will be easier for me to pass off to another gentleman.”
“That’s very sweet that you think of yourself as a gentleman.”
“A figure of speech, more than an actual commentary on my beliefs regarding myself.”
Her eyes glittered.
She was a strange and fascinating creature. She seemed hapless, and yet he could see that wasn’t the case. Her choices, her animals, her hair...
There was a deliberateness to her. To the hodgepodge of her house and the whirlwind of her movements. And he realized she wasn’t dizzy at all.
She was like a carnival ride, flashing and spinning and lighting up the night. Seemingly random and reckless, but in fact spinning in perfectly calculated time.
It was like he was seeing her for the first time. Not as he wanted to call her. It was easier to just see her as accidental, for that made her less than she was.
And she was already far too much.
But she was right. She could not do the job she did, couldn’t have graduated from University, if she were truly haphazard.
“Tell me,” he said, the command in his voice like iron. For his every command was iron. “What was it like to grow up with your father?”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because I’m intrigued. I’m interested in what exactly has made you...this. You were raised practically in the palace, as I was.”
“As was Dionysus,” she said. “But the two of you could not be more different than... Well, a Ferrari and a lion.”
“Those comparisons have nothing in common.”
“To my point,” she said, dryly mimicking something he’d said to her earlier. “You know, one is machinery. Modern and sleek and shiny. The other is a bit toothy. Dangerous. Ancient.”
“If that’s a joke about my age...”
“Oh, no.” She waved a hand. “It’s definitely about your personality.”
“So tell me. How is it you managed to grow into...what you are?”
“You saw me grow up. I was here most of the time.”
“And when you weren’t?”
She blinked. “I don’t know. I guess... It was difficult with my mother. Always. I think she loves me.”
She looked away, her eyes downcast.
“You think?”
She looked back at him, her expression defiant. “Yes. I think she withheld her praise because she thought if she gave it I might not try. And in her opinion I never tried hard enough.”