CHAPTER TEN
INARAFOUNDITdifficult to work the rest of the day. It was even harder when Cassius didn’t send for her that night, leaving her to pace about the Queen’s cold and echoing apartments by herself.
It wasn’t any mystery why he didn’t send for her, though. She’d confronted him, pushed him. Then she’d thrown that confession at him and he’d looked...stunned. As if she’d slapped him or hit him over the head.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have said it. Then again, she didn’t regret telling him, because she hadn’t been able to stand the self-loathing in his voice. He hated the prince he’d once been and she could understand it. He believed he’d sent his entire family to their deaths, and it was obvious he was trying to put as much distance between himself and that person as he could. She understood. She really did.
But she’d fallen in love with that man and she loved him still. And she hated the way he viewed himself. She didn’t see someone who’d killed his family. She saw a warm, empathetic prince who’d protected her, talked to her, been interested in her. Who’d made her feel good about herself for the first time in her life.
Yes, he had his failings. He was angry, and even back then she’d been able to see that anger. It had been evident in the edge to his voice whenever he spoke about his father, and it had been clear that he was unhappy. She’d often wished she knew why, but she hadn’t been brave enough to ask, and he’d never said.
But she thought she knew now. It had something to do with what he’d told her that day in the sitting room, about how he’d never been able to sit through those lessons in royal etiquette. How he’d had to escape into the gardens and how his parents had been so disapproving of him.
She ached for that little boy. She wanted to gather him into her arms and hold him, tell him it was okay to be the way he was. That he had his strengths, and they were just different from his brother’s and his father’s, just as hers were different. That he was just as worthy, just as admirable, as they were.
But she suspected the helicopter crash had only turned the scratches his family had inflicted into mortal wounds.
He couldn’t accept himself as he was, and she knew deep in her heart that if he continued trying to be the king his father had wanted, the king his brother should have been, then it would eventually tear him apart. And as his queen she’d have to stand by and watch him disintegrate, unable to do anything for him. Unable to help.
She hated the thought of it.
Days went by and the only communication she had from him was notification of the formal ball that would take place to introduce her to the nation. She was in a meeting with one of her favourite financial ministers when she heard, and for a second she just looked at the note that had been passed to her, her heart beating very fast.
But not because she was afraid, though a couple of weeks ago this would have been her worst nightmare. Now, it gave her an idea. She kept that idea in her head the whole day, letting it sit there, shining brightly, and only once she was alone in the Queen’s apartments did she examine it closely from all angles.
If she wanted to save her king, there was only one thing she could do. She had to show him there was a different way. A better way. That he didn’t need to base his entire life on examples that trapped him, that hurt him, that denied who he was deep down. That instead he should be true to himself, trust that he could be the king he was meant to be, not the king he thought he should be.
It might not work, but it was all she could think of. Especially given his tendency to distance her whenever she got too close. That last time she’d been the one to walk away, but only because she’d known that if she stayed the rest of what was in her heart would come tumbling out. How it wasn’t only the Prince she cared about, but the King as well. They were both part of the man. And it was the man she loved, every difficult, sharp and complicated part of him.
But she couldn’t tell him that. He’d only distance her even more.
He stayed away the entire week, closing himself off, and she let him. She didn’t want to give away any part of what she intended for the upcoming ball, because she was certain that if he knew he’d try and stop her.
More lessons in protocol appeared on her schedule, and this time at the King’s insistence. She didn’t protest. She sat through them, giving all the appearance of listening avidly while her mind took note of all the things she wasn’t going to do.
Because he was wrong. And his father had been wrong too. It wasn’t protocol and etiquette that made a good king, it was connecting with people. And that wasn’t something she’d thought of two weeks ago and, even though he didn’t realise it, it was Cassius who’d showed her that.
He’d told her that Aveiras should use her strengths and, since being involved with Aveiras’s finances, which she’d discovered she loved, she’d realised how powerful that was. That it wasn’t people as a whole she had difficulty interacting with—she had no problem talking to the ministers and staff in the finance ministry—just some people.
And that was okay. Not remembering names was okay. It was the connection that mattered, being interested in someone and demonstrating that. She still needed practice in that area, but for Cassius it was instinctive.
If only he could see that.
The week passed far too quickly.
She made no effort to contact him. Sometimes she heard his deep voice echoing in the cold halls of the palace and had to stop herself from running after him. That would undermine the point she wanted to make, so she didn’t. Instead, she made sure every report the etiquette people took back to him was glowing—that the Queen was making progress and they were happy with her efforts.
A schedule of events, seating plans, names and potted histories of VIPs arrived. She was advised who to talk to, whose hand to shake, who to merely nod at and who actively not to show favour to. Times were given and she was told very sternly that they must be adhered to. She nodded and smiled and forgot everything. Purposely.
A gown arrived, formal and decidedly neutral, stiff with embroidery. She allowed herself to be fitted for it without complaint, while in secret she talked to one of the royal dressmaker’s assistants. She didn’t want the King to know what she was planning, so everything had to be kept hidden.
The night of the ball soon arrived and Inara was led away hours beforehand to be scrubbed and plucked and primped to within an inch of her life, zipped up into the armour of a dress, painful contacts in her eyes. Her hair was smooth, sleek and shining, coiled up into intricate twists on her head, held in place by diamond pins. Careful contouring of her face was done, with a metric ton of make-up designed to look as if she was wearing no make-up at all.
And, last of all, the crown of Aveiras—thick and ancient gold set with antique diamonds, and brilliantly blue sapphires to represent the sea. It was heavy and made her head hurt, and she could only think of poor Cassius and the crown he had to wear, which was even thicker and heavier.
She would free him from that if she could.
With an hour to go, she dismissed her aides and attendants. She wasn’t used to giving orders, and had secretly worried that they wouldn’t obey her, but when she added that she needed some time to go through the schedules by herself they all agreed.