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She was wearing the same clothes as she had the day before. The same dusty white lacy dress. And even the streak of dust across one cheekbone was still there. She clearly hadn’t bothered to wash.
Why not? Had something driven her from the royal apartments? And why had she come here? Why had she curled up like a cat and gone to sleep?
He stared at her, the curiosity he’d felt the previous day pulling tight once more and deepening.
She was an Accorsi, from the same family that had put Kasimir through hell and destroyed his own family, and yet curled up on the cushions, small and pale, she had an innocence to her, a fragility that belied her family’s history. It tugged at something long-forgotten inside him, reminding him of being very young, long before his father had told him who he was and what his destiny was to be. When he too had been innocent, and all that had concerned him was who he was going to play with at school and whether his father would cook something he liked for dinner.
Was it peaceful, this sleep? And if it was, what would it be like to sleep so deeply that not even the presence of another person standing close could wake you? Long years as a soldier had made him all too aware of the threat of deep sleep, and even now, after he’d left his military career, he didn’t sleep well. There were too many things to think about, too many things to do.
Sleeping was a waste of time that he only tolerated in order to keep himself physically well. And he needed the strength to keep moving forward, to keep fighting—because the battle was constant. He couldn’t put down his burdens, his duty to his country, not even for a moment.
His mother had sacrificed too much, and if he was going to deserve the gift of life that she’d given him, then he had to keep going no matter how tired he was.
She deserved better.
Kasimir deserved better.
He had no idea how his new wife could sleep so deeply, given what her father had done, but she must feel safe, here in this little room, to give herself over to sleep like that. He was a little jealous of that. Sometimes there were days when all he wanted to do was lay down those burdens. To rest. To sleep as Guinevere Accorsi was sleeping, deeply and without fear.
He should wake her, not stand there staring at her, and yet he didn’t move. Because he was becoming aware of other things. Things he should not be aware of. Such as how the blanket was half falling off her and how her dress was pulled up, revealing one gently rounded thigh. And the way she was lying made the neckline of her dress gape slightly, giving him a view of the soft darkness between her sweetly curved breasts.
A pretty little thing…
Almost without conscious thought, he let his hand come out to touch the dusty streak across her cheek—perhaps to wipe it away or maybe just to feel the texture of her skin. He wasn’t sure. But bare inches from her face he stopped.
His hands were soldier’s hands, scarred from missions and battles and roughened from long hours spent training, and he had the oddest thought that if his fingertips brushed her cheek he might harm her. That he might mark her pale skin like the rough point of a nail against sheer silk.
Does that matter? She is an Accorsi. You could touch her…have her. Corrupt her as her family corrupted Kasimir. That would be an apt vengeance.
His body had gone tight, his breath catching hard in his throat.
No, those weren’t thoughts worthy of a king. He didn’t thirst for vengeance for his mother’s death, no matter how many times his father had told him he should. He was a protector, and he protected his subjects. And, Accorsi or not, she was one of those subjects. Corrupting her would end up making him no better than her father and he would not do that.
He wouldneverdo that.
Besides, regardless that their marriage was only political, she was his wife and his queen, and that made her worthy of his respect.
Tiberius straightened, bringing his recalcitrant body back under ruthless control, and opened his mouth to give her a curt command to wake up.
However, before he could get the words out her silvery lashes fluttered and her eyes opened. She looked up at him, the deep, dark blue of her eyes holding him captive, and her mouth curved in an unexpected welcoming smile, as if he was a friend and she was delighted to see him.
His heart caught hard inside him. No one had ever looked at him the way she was looking at him right now. His army saw a general they were loyal to, his aides a king they must obey. It was always awe and fear and respect—never happiness. Never delight. He hadn’t known he’d wanted that until this moment.
Then she blinked a couple of times and her eyes went wide, as if she was only now processing the fact that he was here. Abruptly she sat up, rearing back against the window seat, the smile disappearing, her face going pale with unmistakable terror.
And that caught him too—like the bite of a whip.
She was scared of him.
Are you surprised, when you forced her to marry you? She was scared of you yesterday too.
Disappointment gripped him, though he told himself he didn’t feel it. She was right to be scared. She was an Accorsi and she should fear him. Marrying her wasn’t quite the vengeance his father wanted, but in a small way it was to punish Renzo. He would certainly not be happy to learn that his daughter had married his enemy.
‘Good morning, my queen,’ Tiberius said flatly.
‘Wh-What are you doing here?’ she asked in a shocked voice. ‘How did you find me?’
He folded his arms, his mood fraying. ‘It wasn’t difficult. The door to the royal apartments was locked, and yet you’d disappeared, so I assumed you’d vanished into the secret corridors again.’ He glared at her. ‘It seems I was correct. And now you have wasted my guards’ time and mine by vanishing without a word.’