The Wedding Night They Never Had

At the time he’d thought there was something wrong with him, as he’d never had any issues concentrating or remembering things when it came to scientific plant names and what specific conditions each plant needed to grow. But there hadn’t been anything wrong with him.

Because look at him now, doing everything his father had, everything Caspian had, and doing it successfully. He’d overcome his failings, his flaws, but he wouldn’t put Inara through the same mill by insisting. Because, if there was one thing he’d learned during the last three years, it was that people performed better when you focused on and utilised their strengths, rather than fixing their failings. If people were happy and enjoying themselves, then the resulting confidence boost tended to minimise those failings anyway.

And you? What about you?

He was irrelevant. He was the King and his enjoyment, his happiness, didn’t matter.

Not that you deserve any.

Cassius abruptly pushed away the plans he’d been staring at. This train of thought was pointless. Perhaps some time in the garden was needed to settle himself. He hadn’t yet told Inara about the ball, which he should have done, but she’d seemed happy and much more settled recently and he didn’t want to upset her.

Since when have her feelings become important to you? If yours aren’t relevant, then hers aren’t either.

Cassius shoved his chair back and got to his feet, trying to ignore that thought. Because it was wrong. Of course her feelings mattered, as did everyone’s. The King’s didn’t because he was the leader, the figurehead. He was the example everyone looked to, the example everyone followed. You couldn’t have feelings as a king. You couldn’t be a person, not in the same way as everyone else. Inara had accused him of being a martyr, but she was wrong. He hadn’t nailed himself to a cross when he’d taken his crown. He’d taken it willingly. And he was at peace with his role.

So at peace you walked out of a ball you should have remained at to follow a woman because you were angry. And then you took her to bed because you wanted her. And then you stopped important, vital protocol lessons to make her happy. And now you can’t concentrate on the ball you’re supposed to be organising because all you can think about is her...

Cassius gritted his teeth as he strode down the echoing marble hallways of the palace, not wanting to acknowledge the truth of all of that, yet not able to ignore it either. Because it was true. There had been minimal fallout from the ball, but only because of the stellar work of his PR team.

And, with another formal ball coming up, halting Inara’s protocol lessons had possibly been a mistake. He should insist she continue with them. He should get stricter with her, not relax the rules. Necessity had finally made all his father’s lessons stick; perhaps he should try the same tactics with her.

No, this isn’t about her. It’s about you. You taking her to bed every night. You indulging your own appetites, your weaknesses, your flaws...

Tension gripped him as he approached his private apartments, giving a curt nod to his guards as they opened the doors for him and he stepped through. He’d thought he could keep what happened at night in his bed separate from his duties during the day, that he could keep the man separate from the King, but it was becoming very clear that was impossible. Yet he’d already tried denying himself, and that hadn’t worked, so what else could he do?

Perhaps it was his need to hold her after they’d made love that was the issue. His need to drown in her scent and listen to the sound of her breathing. The strange desperation he had to get closer, even when he knew what he should do was keep his distance. He could allow himself a physical release, but anything more, anything emotional, was...wrong.

It was his emotions that had led him astray, after all, his frustration as child and then his impatience with the restrictions imposed on him as a young man. His anger at his father’s continual disapproval.

Perhaps he needed to limit Inara’s visits. Perhaps he needed to turn her away or not send for her. At least for a little while, or maybe just not every night, enough to remind himself that his own desires were not paramount. And maybe that would help him be stricter with her during the day. He couldn’t compromise the legacy he was trying to build. Not again.

He came to the door of his study, noting with displeasure that it was open, which meant that one of the cleaning staff hadn’t closed it properly. Annoying. He kept the room at a specific temperature optimal for his plants, as several didn’t like the cool of the rest of the palace, which meant he preferred to keep the doors closed.

Irritated, he made a mental note to remind staff to always close the door, then he stepped inside himself, closing it firmly behind him.

Only to discover that the room wasn’t empty.

Inara sat in one of the blue velvet arm chairs. She had a stack of papers on her knees, some of them overflowing onto the floor, and various pens scattered on the cushions next to her. On a small side table beside the arm chair stood three teacups, all with different liquids in them; the small orchid he kept there had been shoved unceremoniously to one side.

Today she wore a pencil skirt and a plain white blouse, but the pencil skirt was creased, the blouse crumpled and coming unbuttoned. Her hair was in what had probably once been a neat chignon, but was now half-coming down, silvery wisps haloing her face and one long lock draping over her shoulder. A pair of high-heeled pumps was scattered on the carpet in front of the arm chair, as if she’d just kicked them off and left them where they lay.

She should have looked like a disaster, the very antithesis of a queen, and yet... All he could think about was what one of his financial team had told him the day before, raving about how approachable the Queen was, how accessible. Making it obvious that Cassius’s parents suffered in comparison.

It had shocked him. His father had always been held up as the ideal, and Caspian had followed in his footsteps. But it could never be said that Cassius’s father had been either accessible or approachable. Be respectful, his father had always said, but maintain your distance. Allowing people to get too familiar undermined your authority, and above all a king had to maintain his authority.

People had respected his father, yet he hadn’t been an easy man to get to know. He had been reserved, never demonstrative. He had been gracious and perfectly pleasant to his subjects, but distant, remaining a cipher, an enigma, even to his sons.

There was nothing enigmatic about Inara. She sat in his study, in his armchair, with her shoes off, papers everywhere, half-drunk cups of tea crowding out his plant, her hair coming down. And yet... She wasn’t distant. She wasn’t chilly. She was approachable. Accessible.

She was human.

His heart clenched tightly for no apparent reason. And then she looked up from her papers, seeing him, her beautiful mouth curving in a smile like the sun rising. And the tightness in his heart constricted further, his whole body tensing in a kind of shock. As if her smile was something that hurt him.

‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t concentrate in the Queen’s office, so I thought I’d come in here. It’s such a relaxing space...’ She trailed off. Whatever expression was on his face, it couldn’t be anything good, as her smile faded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she went on quickly. ‘I’ll go. It was probably a bit forward of me to—’

‘Stay.’ His voice came out far rougher than he’d intended. ‘I’ll come back later.’

But Inara’s brow creased. ‘I don’t want to intrude on your space. I’ll stay very quiet, I promise. I always do when I’m working.’