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One thing was sure, though. She loved organising their meetings. Loved choosing places to have them—places he’d enjoy—and choosing food too, since he often forgot to eat, or so the palace staff told her. She loved spending time with him, talking with him. He was an interesting and highly intelligent man. He told her all about his plans for Kasimir—how he hoped to develop certain aspects of it for carefully managed tourism and also create export opportunities for Kasimiran products.
It was clear that he loved his people, loved his country, and that his whole life was directed to one purpose. Making things better. And that desire to make things better, to protect his people, came from a deep empathy, she could tell.
An empathy that came from the man rather than the King.
She wanted to know more about that man, that person, rather than about the role he played, so often their conversations would stray onto other topics as she tried to draw out of him glimpses of who he was deep down.
She discovered that he liked good food, and enjoyed wine, but that he had no hobbies. His interests were entirely bent to one purpose. Being a king. She needed to find out more, she decided, which was why today she’d organised to meet him later at night, so that after dinner they could lie in the grass and watch the stars, the way he’d done as a boy.
And she decided that there was nothing nicer than lying here next to him, listening to his deep voice telling her about the rings of Saturn, and how far away the moon was, and other such things.
‘Next time I’ll bring a telescope,’ she said. ‘So you can show me some of the planets.’
‘I’ll get one of my staff to find one.’
They lay in companionable silence for a moment, then he said, ‘Why did you bring me out here?’
She let out a breath, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. ‘I wanted to remind you that there was more to life than being a king,’ she said at last—because why not tell him the truth? He should hear it. ‘You said that those moments when you were a boy, looking up at the stars, were the most peaceful you ever had, and I just…wanted to give you that and to remind you what it felt like.’
He said nothing for a long moment. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured eventually. ‘It’s been a…long time since I’ve done anything like this.’
She turned her head, looking up at his face, all silver light and shadows under the moon. ‘Why, Tiberius? Why do you drive yourself so hard?’
‘Because there is a lot at stake.’ His voice wasn’t impatient for a change, but almost meditative. ‘Because it’s taking far too long for me to change things.’ There was another pause, then he added, ‘Because my mother died to protect me. Instead of saving her, my father had to leave her behind in order to save me. She insisted, apparently.’
Guinevere’s heart clenched in her chest. ‘And your father?’
‘Before he died of cancer, five years ago, he made me promise that I would dedicate my life to claiming back the crown and rebuilding what your father broke.’
‘What about you?’ She asked the question almost hesitantly. ‘Is that something you want to do?’
‘It isn’t a question of what I want,’ he said simply. ‘It is what I have to do. It’s the right thing to do.’
Was that regret in his tone? She couldn’t tell.
‘Did you never want to do something else?’
He was looking up at the sky, the expression on his face unreadable. ‘No,’ he said. ‘When I was a child I wanted to be an astronaut—like every other little boy, no doubt. But that wasn’t my destiny.’
The pain in her heart seemed to deepen. There was no wistfulness in his voice, only a flat note that excluded any possibility of him wanting to be anything other than what he was.
‘So you were told very early on what you had to be?’ she said.
‘Yes. From the age of ten I knew that that one day I would be King.’
‘Did you ever…wish for it to be different?’
He turned his head, looking down at her. ‘Different? What do you mean?’
‘Did you ever wish that you weren’t heir to the throne, I mean?’
He looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t remember,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t remember ever having the choice—not that I would have chosen any differently if I had.’ Something flickered in his eyes then that she couldn’t read. ‘My mother died to save me. She sacrificed herself and I have to make that sacrifice mean something. The same for my father too. On his death bed he made me swear that I would reclaim the crown and be a good king for Kasimir.’
She’d told him what a terrible burden she thought that was before, and she still believed it. That the purpose of his entire life was to make his parents’ deaths mean something seemed a terrible burden to have to carry.
‘You can make their deaths mean something and not drive yourself into an early grave,’ she said. ‘And you can allow yourself other interests that have nothing to do with being a king.’
His gaze flicked back to hers. ‘Speak plainly, lioness. What is it you’re trying to say?’