CHAPTER SIX
INARADIDNOTenjoy the following week. The lessons in protocol and etiquette were boring and, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember the names and lineages of all the people she’d be introduced to, still less their potted family histories.
She kept curtseying when she shouldn’t curtsey at all, or bowing when she should have extended a hand. She walked too fast, walked too slowly, laughed when she shouldn’t and so on.
It was all far too similar to the lessons her mother had drilled into her, complaining that, for a mathematical genius, she was very stupid. How could she remember formulae when she couldn’t remember one person’s name?
Inara hadn’t known the answer then and she didn’t now. All she could do was try, but it felt as if her brain was made of Swiss cheese and all the important things kept leaking out through the holes.
The meetings with the PR people were as bad—lots of advice on what to say and what to do, most of which she couldn’t remember. She’d hoped the time she’d spend with the stylist would be better, but no. Her opinion on different outfits was needed, plus she had to keep still as she was measured and pinned to within an inch of her life.
She had no time to herself. No time for her research, to rest her brain in the cold, clean air of numbers where she could lose herself.
It was awful and she hated it.
Of course, it would also have been a million times more bearable if she could have spoken to Cassius—however briefly—but he was absent the entire week.
He seemed to have retreated from her like a mirage, vanishing into offices and receiving rooms, constantly surrounded by advisors and courtiers. Forever meeting dignitaries and heads of state. Always in some kind of meeting or other.
She barely caught a glimpse of him.
She’d tried asking one of his aides if she could speak with him, but was told his schedule was full for the week, and that he would see her the night of her official presentation.
Inara couldn’t shake the sense that he was avoiding her. The night she’d arrived he’d been very clear about what he wanted, going on about lessons and etiquette, and something about a formal presentation. But the only thing that had caught her full attention was that he expected them to share a bed.
She’d wanted that too, very much, and then quite suddenly, just as they were having a perfectly lovely conversation, he’d changed his mind. Without explanation. A staff member had come in within seconds of Cassius’s departure, ushering her through to the Queen’s private apartments and leaving her there.
Inara hadn’t minded that night. Instead she’d explored her new home, confident that the next day he’d come and find her and then perhaps they’d start their married life together.
But he hadn’t. It had been an aide instead, armed with a schedule, who’d chivvied her from one lesson to another, pleading ignorance whenever she attempted to ask about Cassius.
And he hadn’t come that night either. Or the one after that. Or the one after that. And, as the days had gone by, she’d gradually realised that he wasn’t going to come for her at all.
Inara ignored her disappointment, told herself he’d come for her when he was ready and, in the meantime, she’d do her best to be what he wanted. But as time had gone on and no word had come, she’d become less and less sure that he’d ever send for her. Less and less sure that he’d ever wanted her.
Less and less sure that he wanted a wife at all.
Perhaps he didn’t. He’d said that it wouldn’t be a union of convenience, and yet nearly a week later she was still on her own. Still in the Queen’s apartments, with its delicate, spindly furniture and hard floors of polished marble. With its echoing, vaulted spaces and views over the regimented lines of the formal gardens.
Still alone.
He’d forgotten about her. The way he always did.
Inara didn’t want that to ache like a thorn in her heart. But it did. He’d made such a big deal out of their marriage, about her coming to Katara to live at the palace, about her being Queen, and she’d accepted it. She’d put aside her own wishes, swallowed her fear, held on to her courage and left her home of nearly five years to come to the palace she hated.
And he’d ignored her almost completely.
She knew she had no claim on him, that their marriage had never been one of the heart, yet she’d thought he was her friend at least. Certainly after that night in the library, when he’d taken her virginity, she’d expected there to be...some kind of bond. That he’d at least think of her at some point.
But, no. Apparently not.
If she’d needed further proof that he felt nothing for her, then his silence and his absence confirmed it. She even started to doubt she’d see him the night of her first appearance as Queen.
Sure enough, when the night itself arrived, she was scrubbed and plucked and made up, then zipped into her gown without any mention of him. Then she was ushered down more long, echoing palace hallways and into a small, cold room off the main ballroom, where her aide told her to wait before disappearing, leaving Inara none the wiser as to why she had to wait here or what was going to happen next.
The room was empty of anything save some gloomy formal paintings and an icy-looking marble fireplace covered in too much gilt. Through the closed double doors that led to the ballroom, she could hear people laughing and talking and the delicate sounds of music.
It made her feel sick, made everything she’d been taught during the whole vile week go straight out of her head—not that it had ever been in her head to start with. Her palms were sweaty and she felt as though she were encased in armour instead of a glittering confection of a gown, all silvery tulle with silver embroidery and crystals sewn into the frothy skirts. Her hair had been piled on top of her head, a delicate diamond tiara set among her curls, and she didn’t want to move too quickly or tip her head in case the whole thing came tumbling down. The pins hurt and her eyes felt dry and sore with the new contact lenses.