CHAPTER TWO
INARAHADNEVERsaid no to him, not once. In all the years she’d been married to him, she’d done everything he’d asked. Refusing him wasn’t something she’d ever contemplated. He’d saved her from the marriage her parents had tried to force her into and, even though some of the things he’d asked her to do after he’d become King had been annoying and anxiety-producing, she’d done them without hesitation or complaint.
She owed him and, though he might not have said that explicitly, she was fully aware of her debt and was happy to pay it.
So she wasn’t sure why she said no now.
She’d always known their marriage wasn’t going to be for ever, that eventually he’d gently but firmly disentangle her from his life. She’d expected it at eighteen, but then the royal family had all died in a helicopter crash, leaving Cassius to ascend the throne, and all the divorce plans had fallen by the wayside.
For the past five years she’d been his wife in name only, and she’d been happy. She’d lost herself in the research her parents had never allowed her to undertake, as they didn’t view it as helpful to their social-climbing interests, content with burying herself in the glory of numbers and intellectual discussions via email with other researchers and experts.
Sometimes Cassius visited her, and she lived for those visits, yet dreaded them at the same time.
Lived, because she got to see him.
Dreaded, because he treated her the way he had always treated her: as if she was still that sixteen-year-old girl who’d crept into his limo one night.
Even so, she was happy. And a divorce wouldn’t change things, as theirs wasn’t a proper marriage in the first place. How could it be, when she’d been a child bride and he a notorious playboy prince?
He didn’t love her. He didn’t want her. He’d married her to rescue her and, now that she was safe, there was no reason for their marriage to continue. None at all.
Yet everything in her rebelled at the thought.
Cassius stood like a statue, a dark, still point in the bright, pretty room. The walls had been painted a parchment colour, and there were watercolours on the walls, all of them echoing that lavender shade, as did the soft velvet of the couch. The furniture, which she’d ordered herself, was as delicate and pretty as the art on the walls, but suddenly all of it seemed flimsy and insubstantial next to him.
His expression hadn’t changed, yet Inara was sure that the late-summer sunlight flooding into the room had dimmed and the temperature had dropped.
‘Excuse me?’ His deep voice was mild. ‘Did you just say no, you’re not going to give me a divorce?’
He was always composed. Always controlled and cool. He never got angry, never lost his temper. But he never smiled either. He used to smile a lot...
Inara took a slow, steady breath. She should nod her head and give in, tell him that of course he could have a divorce. That he could go and find some other woman who could do all the things he’d said. Who could give him children, support him as a wife should and be the kind of queen Aveiras deserved instead of the absent-minded, overly intellectual, socially inept mess that she was.
She’d always known she didn’t have what it took to be a queen, just as she’d always known he’d never feel for her what she felt for him. So, really, she should step aside and let him find someone else to make him happy. Or at least happier than he was.
But you don’t want him to find another woman.
That was the problem. She didn’t.
‘Th-that’s right,’ she said, annoyed with herself for stuttering. ‘I mean, you have a wife already, Your Majesty.’
Cassius’s expression remained inscrutable. ‘A wife who calls me “Your Majesty” is not the kind of wife I need.’
She blushed. How ridiculous to have called him that. Before he’d become King, she’d called him Cassius, and had had no problem with it. It was only after his family had died that he’d become so reserved and distant, and calling him Cassius had felt too...presumptuous.
‘Fine.’ She gave him a steady look. ‘You already have a wife, Cassius.’
‘But you’re not really my wife, Inara.’ His voice, again, was gentle. ‘That was something forced on you, so why wouldn’t you want to be rid of me as soon as you can?’
She could tell him the truth—that she was in love with him. That she’d loved him for years and, now that the reality of losing him for ever was staring her in the face, she couldn’t stand it.
But what would he say? What would a man like him, a king, want with the love of the girl he’d once rescued and married out of pity?
How can you lose him when you never had him in the first place?
She unclenched her fingers, stretching them to relieve some of her agitation. ‘I’ve enjoyed it, though.’
‘Again, what part of your life is connected to mine? Apart from legally?’