The Wedding Night They Never Had

Too busy looking at the bonsai, she didn’t hear the door click softly behind her.

‘Inara,’ Cassius’s deep, authoritative voice said from behind her. ‘Welcome to the palace.’

She hadn’t dressed for the occasion, Cassius observed with some disapproval as Inara straightened from looking at the bonsai juniper that sat on the table near the couch.

She looked as if she’d pulled on any old thing that had come to hand, which in this instance was a pair of worn jeans and pale pink T-shirt with a coffee stain on the front of it. Her silvery hair was caught in a simple ponytail at the nape of her neck and she wore no make-up whatsoever.

Yet still desire gripped him by the throat, refusing to let go as a deeply possessive, very male part of him noted how closely the T-shirt moulded to her figure, highlighting the soft roundness of her breasts and the elegant curve of her waist. The jeans, though they were entirely unsuitable for a queen, certainly made him want to put a hand on her pretty rear and squeeze her gently.

Unacceptable.

He hadn’t slept much the night before, having left the Queen’s Estate at dawn so he could get back to the palace as quickly as possible in order to prepare for Inara’s arrival. Also, if he was honest with himself, to get rid of the heat that lingered in his blood whenever he thought of her.

He’d thought having the entire morning to prepare and then attend to his other duties would have dealt with any remaining lustful thoughts, but apparently that had just been a convenient lie he’d told himself.

Apparently all that was needed for those thoughts to roar back into life was her physical presence, in simple jeans and a T-shirt no less.

It was unseemly. He needed to control himself, to discourage his baser instincts, not look at her hungrily, thinking about what he’d like to do to her. He should remember that he was the leader of a nation and not a teenage boy with more hormones than sense.

It was a good thing he’d spent some time this morning deciding on an appropriate code of conduct between them, which was why he’d brought her here, to one of his favourite rooms in the palace. He hoped she’d find it a relaxing environment in which to be informed of her duties as Queen and what the shape of her future at the palace would look like. Also his expectations of her as his wife, a subject he’d given much thought.

Since returning from the Queen’s Estate, he’d immediately informed his council and parliament of his intention to remain married and for Inara to stay on as Aveiras’s queen. This had prompted some disapproval, which he’d expected, and he’d had to put his foot down about the decision. However, he was hoping that a strict regimen of stylists and lessons in protocol and etiquette would soon sand the sharp edges off and make Inara more palatable to both his parliament and his people.

It was important to him that they accept her, especially when they’d already had to accept him, the black sheep of his illustrious family. He’d been hoping to give them a queen they could love, like they’d loved his mother, but as that was now out of the question he hoped to give them a queen that they could tolerate at the very least.

Being patient was key. Inara needed some time to come to terms with her new position and to learn her official duties, and that couldn’t be rushed. In the meantime, he’d organised a small function to present her to his court and his parliament. Nothing too formal or too large, but enough to remind people that Inara was their queen and would remain so.

Already, gossip about her was rife, and he’d decided that wasn’t a bad thing. The more people talked about her, the more she’d be in the public consciousness. She’d be a novelty at first, but then she’d become ubiquitous, as he had.

She turned from the bonsai, her eyes wide behind the lenses of her glasses. Then she straightened and her shoulders went back, as if bracing herself. ‘Hello, Cassius,’ she said, her sweet voice very formal.

He frowned. Something was missing. And it took him a moment or two to realise that what was missing was the smile she always gave him whenever she saw him—the warm, joyful one. The one that made him feel as if he was a bright spot in her particular world. The one that made him feel like a friend. Like a person instead of a figurehead.

Why would you want to be a person? Especially the person who caused his brother’s death...

Cassius shoved that thought away.

‘The palace staff will bring us a late lunch shortly,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be easier for you to have an informal meal for your first day in the palace. It will also give us some time to discuss what happens now.’

‘Oh. Uh...yes, that would be very...pleasant.’ She shifted on her feet, a pink flush staining her cheeks. ‘I don’t know where my suitcase is.’

The suitcase in question had been taken to the Queen’s apartments, though if she’d only brought one case then there hadn’t been much point in bringing anything. Not when he’d provide her with everything she needed.

‘It’s in the Queen’s rooms,’ he said. ‘Which will be exclusively for your use, of course. At night, however, you will share mine.’

She blinked rapidly. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes. Not right away, of course,’ he allowed. ‘You will need some time to feel comfortable with me, and I understand that. But you will be my wife, Inara. And that does not mean separate beds.’

It was something he’d thought long and hard about, especially after his lapse in the library with her. Grief and shock had killed his desire, and three years of abstinence hadn’t helped. But now it had returned and with such a vengeance that it was clear he needed an outlet for it. He needed someone in his bed and, logically, that someone should be his wife.

It was convenient that she was the one he wanted, too. Perhaps if he had her in his bed every night he’d be better able to control himself, not let himself become so desperate that he’d fall back into old habits.

‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘I suppose so.’

It shouldn’t have been a source of irritation that she didn’t look entirely happy with the suggestion, but he was irritated all the same. It was an emotion he had no right to, of course. He’d been the one to take her innocence the night before, to lose control. He’d thought of no one but himself and his own pleasure and, if he needed yet another lesson in what a mistake that was, he was looking at it right now.

It’s no less than what you deserve.