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Except right now his sharpness had hurt her, and he didn’t like it that he was the cause. She’d no doubt been hurt enough, and she didn’t need him adding to her trauma.
‘There is much to be done,’ he felt compelled to explain. ‘Time is of the essence. The people of Kasimir have suffered enough under your father’s rule, and the longer I take to fix the problems, the longer the people will suffer.’
She frowned. ‘Surely it’s notalldependent on you?’
‘Of course it is.’ He tried to rein in the sharp note in his voice. ‘I am the King now. The ultimate responsibility for our people is mine.’
She studied him. ‘That seems…an awful lot for one person to bear.’
The observation hit him uncomfortably, though he wasn’t sure why. Yes, itwasa lot for one person to bear. Which was why his father had started early in preparing him for it.
From the age of ten he’d been told what his purpose in life was: to reclaim his father’s stolen crown and rescue his country.
His journey to the throne room had been a long and hard one, but he’d survived it. His father had died before he could see Tiberius reclaim what had been lost, but now he was here and had begun the process of rescuing his country. His father’s ghost could be at peace now.
And now you can make the Accorsis pay—especially for what was done to her.
No, regardless of how furious he was about that, vengeance was a petty action and he was above it.
‘Not for me,’ he said shortly. ‘I was born to do this.’
Her brow furrowed, as if she found this worrying. ‘I… I could help,’ she said a little hesitantly. ‘If you like.’
His instinctive reaction was to snap that he didn’t want help, especially not from an Accorsi, and how could she help him anyway? But he simply couldn’t countenance letting his temper get the better of him any more than he had already.
It wasn’t her fault that he was letting her get under his skin. The blame lay with him entirely.
‘You can help by being at my side as my queen,’ he said carefully, impatient with her questions and the unwanted emotions they brought. ‘So, are you ready to walk to the orchards?’
‘Yes.’ Her hands were once again clasped tightly in front of her, which he was beginning to see was a sign of her anxiety. ‘I’m not agoraphobic or anything. Just so you know.’
She might not be, but it was clear to him that she was nervous.
‘We will take it slowly.’ He turned to the big double doors, opening them so they could step out onto the terrace. ‘The orchards aren’t far.’
He took the lead, stepping through the doors, then turning around to face her.
Guinevere stood still in the doorway, blue eyes slightly wary, the set of her shoulders betraying her nervous tension.
Without thinking, he held out his hand to her. ‘Come.’
She reached for it without hesitation, and for some reason that satisfied him. As if her taking his hand meant something. It didn’t, of course, he was only trying to reassure her. And yet he didn’t let go of it as she stepped through the doors to join him on the terrace, and the satisfaction deepened when, instead of pulling away, she held on tighter.
He met her gaze. ‘Are you ready?’
She took a little breath, then nodded, and they began to walk slowly to the end of the terrace and then down the stairs to the path into the gardens. Guinevere’s blue eyes were wide and she kept looking around—at the sky, the grass, the gardens, then back at the palace, its towers soaring into the heavens, mirroring the mountain peaks around them.
She was brave, this little mouse of an Accorsi. Despite what had happened to her—which he suspected was a lot worse than she’d said—she had a thread of courage running through her that gave her unexpected steel.
He watched her keenly, alert for signs of fear, yet there were none. Her cheeks had gone pink, the sun was striking golden sparks from her hair, and when she looked at him her smile was full of delight.
‘I’m outside,’ she said breathlessly, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. ‘I’m really outside!’
Tiberius hadn’t found much to smile about in life—the stakes had always felt too high for levity—but the simple joy on Guinevere’s face touched something long-forgotten inside him.
Back when he was boy, before his father had laid the heavy burden of kingship on his shoulders, he’d often gone out into the scrubby garden of his father’s rundown house after he should have been in bed. And he’d lie on his back, looking up at the stars. Pinpricks of light against the black background of space. Whole worlds, whole galaxies spinning above his head. He’d felt that simple joy then, at the beauty above him, and a sense of wonder that he too was a tiny part of those galaxies.
He’d forgotten what it felt like to experience joy…to find wonder in such a simple thing as being outside in the sun.