‘He believed in Frederick.’
‘That isn’t the point. The point is that by concealing the truth Frederick may have changed history—changed people’s lives.’
‘For the better.’
‘Maybe, but maybe not. And maybe not long-term. And—’
‘You can play alternative endings until you’re rainbow-coloured, but at the end of the day you make the decision you make on the day.’
‘And what if it turns out to be the wrong one?’
‘Then you have to live with the consequences.’
The words came out way too harsh as memory stirred, pulling him back to eighteen years before, and the decision he’d made then. He’d rescued Elvira from the fire and had made the decision not to go back in for his parents.
Little matter that, given the state of the fire, he would most likely not have survived. Little matter that he had been restrained by his neighbours. He knew that if Elvira had still been inside somehow he would have broken free and tried to save her—would have perished in the attempt. But he hadn’t done so for his parents. A decision made that he had to live with. And God have mercy on his soul.
He pulled his mind from his own thoughts and flinched at the expression on April’s face. The colour had leeched from her face and despite her best efforts to cover it up her hand shook as she placed her glass down. Wine slopped over the side and spread a puddle on the white of the tablecloth.
‘April...?’ In that second he knew with bone-deep certainty that whatever demons haunted April, whatever decisions she rued in her life, they rivalled his own. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No. I’m sorry.’ She reached for a napkin, fumbled, and hauled in an audible breath. ‘I’m fine.’
‘No. You aren’t.’
He could sense the pain that emanated from her and wanted to soothe it. Lord knew he could empathise with the whip of guilt and pain. Without thought he reached out and covered her hand in his, and felt sensation jolt his veins and heat his blood. Her green eyes widened, as if her reaction to his touch had jerked her from the edge of pain.
‘Then I will be fine.’
Her gaze lingered on his hand and gently she pulled her own out from under it, retrieved the napkin and scrubbed at the wine stain.
‘But there is something I want to know. You told me how the people felt about Frederick and Axel. What about you? Axel was your best friend. How did you feel?’
Marcus closed his eyes in an attempt to ward the question off; this was something he had spoken to no one about—not even Elvira. But suddenly here and now, as he opened his eyes, met her gaze and saw the genuine compassion in them, for a moment he wanted to share the grief.
Axel had been like a brother to him—the one person he had let a little close. They had been best friends as boys, had run and played together, argued politics and crafted Lycander’s future together. But...
‘My feelings are irrelevant. It is Lycander that matters. Nothing can bring Axel back. His death was a tragedy, but maybe his legacy can live on.’
April nodded, her green eyes wide with empathy as well as sympathy. ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ she said simply, ‘and I appreciate how strongly you believe that Frederick is the right person to rule Lycander now. And I do understand why you want me to drop the story.’
‘Will you?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure it is up to me to make a decision of such enormity with such huge possible repercussions. I need to think.’
‘Understood.’
There would be no point in pushing her and in truth he understood her stance.
‘So, right now why don’t you have some of Gloria’s chocolate and apple torte, famed throughout the region? And then I’ll drop you back to your hotel.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Thank you.’
But as they ate the sumptuously decadent dessert conversation dwindled, both of them caught up in their own thoughts, both of them with decisions to make.
Marcus glanced at the serious intent on April’s face as she dabbed up the last flakes of pastry with one finger. He didn’t know which way her choice would fall—he suspected neither did she.
A sylvan picnic hadn’t cut the mustard, nor even the Lycander tomato chutney, so he needed to move to Plan B.