He had loved only one woman in his life, and he had loved her very dearly. They had been young, and while sex had been a part of their relationship, it had been...sweet. He had not been Stella’s first lover, but her second, and she his. Their lovemaking had hardly been the kind that rattled the walls.
But they had cared for each other. At first, he had thought that maybe women just wouldn’t be a part of his life, but it had gotten to a point where it didn’t seem like there was any reason to not have sex. His heart could not be touched. That was simply a fact. His body, though...
There was no point making it an issue. No point making it much of anything.
Annick unfortunately engaged, not his heart, but his sense of obligation. And along with it, desire. This was not as simple as he liked his attractions to be.
They would have to have children, for the sake of the kingdom. And what was marriage to him? Nothing.
But he would have her gently. With care for what she’d suffered. And it wouldn’t be about desire.
He would have control.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Would you like a pastry?”
“Thank you,” he said. “Though I would prefer coffee.”
“I have that as well.”
“An extra cup?”
“I have that too,” she said. “Coffee service can be made in my room.” She looked very pleased with that.
He crossed the space and found the coffee station. Where he poured himself a cup of black brew, then went and sat on the end of her bed.
She turned pink, all the way to the roots of her hair. “What is my lesson today, then?”
“What lesson do you feel is the most important?”
“Well. At the coronation, I will need to know dancing. I do not know dancing. I will also have to carry on conversation with people I don’t know. And...I will need clothes.”
“A stylist can be employed for that, and they will help you figure out what it is you like. And combine it with what it is you want to say.”
“What does this mean?”
“Your clothes send a message. As you mentioned to me earlier, they liked to dress you in white because it sent the message that you were pure. An unsullied figurehead. In that same way, you will be making statements now.”
“I need to look powerful. Confident. I don’t want to look pure. I want to look like a warrior.”
“Then all you need to do it is to speak to the stylist about it.”
“All right. Dancing, can you help me with that?”
“Yes. More than that, I can help you project the right feelings. In the world we live in now, where pictures are taken constantly, if you’re going to be pretending to be something you’re not, you have to be very good at it.”
“Is that how you ended up consulting people on image?”
“No. It could’ve been anything. It is something I slipped into and I am good at it. Very good. I’ve spent my life in Southern California, around people who are nothing but image conscious. And yes, I had to learn to fit in. I had to learn to pretend that I was one of them.” His chest went tight. “That I was like my father.”
“Your father...”
“Robert King. Self-made businessman extraordinaire. Not as entirely on the up-and-up as he would like the world to believe.” His father had secrets. Secrets he knew would hurt his whole family. Secrets that had already hurt the innocent. “My father is an expert at looking like he belongs.”
“Is that where you learned it from?”
Perhaps it was simply in his blood. “I don’t know that I learned it from him, but I discovered what a necessity it was by being his son.”