The Wedding Night They Never Had by Jackie Ashenden, Millie Adams

CHAPTER TWO

INARAHADNEVERsaid no to him, not once. In all the years she’d been married to him, she’d done everything he’d asked. Refusing him wasn’t something she’d ever contemplated. He’d saved her from the marriage her parents had tried to force her into and, even though some of the things he’d asked her to do after he’d become King had been annoying and anxiety-producing, she’d done them without hesitation or complaint.

She owed him and, though he might not have said that explicitly, she was fully aware of her debt and was happy to pay it.

So she wasn’t sure why she said no now.

She’d always known their marriage wasn’t going to be for ever, that eventually he’d gently but firmly disentangle her from his life. She’d expected it at eighteen, but then the royal family had all died in a helicopter crash, leaving Cassius to ascend the throne, and all the divorce plans had fallen by the wayside.

For the past five years she’d been his wife in name only, and she’d been happy. She’d lost herself in the research her parents had never allowed her to undertake, as they didn’t view it as helpful to their social-climbing interests, content with burying herself in the glory of numbers and intellectual discussions via email with other researchers and experts.

Sometimes Cassius visited her, and she lived for those visits, yet dreaded them at the same time.

Lived, because she got to see him.

Dreaded, because he treated her the way he had always treated her: as if she was still that sixteen-year-old girl who’d crept into his limo one night.

Even so, she was happy. And a divorce wouldn’t change things, as theirs wasn’t a proper marriage in the first place. How could it be, when she’d been a child bride and he a notorious playboy prince?

He didn’t love her. He didn’t want her. He’d married her to rescue her and, now that she was safe, there was no reason for their marriage to continue. None at all.

Yet everything in her rebelled at the thought.

Cassius stood like a statue, a dark, still point in the bright, pretty room. The walls had been painted a parchment colour, and there were watercolours on the walls, all of them echoing that lavender shade, as did the soft velvet of the couch. The furniture, which she’d ordered herself, was as delicate and pretty as the art on the walls, but suddenly all of it seemed flimsy and insubstantial next to him.

His expression hadn’t changed, yet Inara was sure that the late-summer sunlight flooding into the room had dimmed and the temperature had dropped.

‘Excuse me?’ His deep voice was mild. ‘Did you just say no, you’re not going to give me a divorce?’

He was always composed. Always controlled and cool. He never got angry, never lost his temper. But he never smiled either. He used to smile a lot...

Inara took a slow, steady breath. She should nod her head and give in, tell him that of course he could have a divorce. That he could go and find some other woman who could do all the things he’d said. Who could give him children, support him as a wife should and be the kind of queen Aveiras deserved instead of the absent-minded, overly intellectual, socially inept mess that she was.

She’d always known she didn’t have what it took to be a queen, just as she’d always known he’d never feel for her what she felt for him. So, really, she should step aside and let him find someone else to make him happy. Or at least happier than he was.

But you don’t want him to find another woman.

That was the problem. She didn’t.

‘Th-that’s right,’ she said, annoyed with herself for stuttering. ‘I mean, you have a wife already, Your Majesty.’

Cassius’s expression remained inscrutable. ‘A wife who calls me “Your Majesty” is not the kind of wife I need.’

She blushed. How ridiculous to have called him that. Before he’d become King, she’d called him Cassius, and had had no problem with it. It was only after his family had died that he’d become so reserved and distant, and calling him Cassius had felt too...presumptuous.

‘Fine.’ She gave him a steady look. ‘You already have a wife, Cassius.’

‘But you’re not really my wife, Inara.’ His voice, again, was gentle. ‘That was something forced on you, so why wouldn’t you want to be rid of me as soon as you can?’

She could tell him the truth—that she was in love with him. That she’d loved him for years and, now that the reality of losing him for ever was staring her in the face, she couldn’t stand it.

But what would he say? What would a man like him, a king, want with the love of the girl he’d once rescued and married out of pity?

How can you lose him when you never had him in the first place?

She unclenched her fingers, stretching them to relieve some of her agitation. ‘I’ve enjoyed it, though.’

‘Again, what part of your life is connected to mine? Apart from legally?’

She tried to think. ‘You...come and visit me.’

‘Occasionally, yes. But occasional visits are not enough, and I think you know that.’

Of course she knew that.

‘Well...why can’t I h-help you out with all those things?’

He frowned. ‘Why would you want to do that?’ He said it as if it was the most mystifying thing he’d ever heard in his life.

Inara found it irritating. He’d never been quite this patronising before. ‘It just seems a little... I don’t know...pointless to go looking for someone when I could, you know, do what ever you need.’

‘But I didn’t marry you for that,’ Cassius said patiently. ‘I married you because you needed protection, nothing more.’

‘Yes, I know that, but—’

‘I will be needing heirs, little one. You do know how children are conceived, don’t you?’

The use of his old pet name for her was both irritating and comforting at the same time.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said testily. ‘Believe it or not, Cassius, I’m not sixteen any more. And even when I was sixteen I knew how children were conceived.’

The calm expression on his face didn’t change. ‘Then you’ll understand why it’s impossible for you to continue being my wife.’

A needle of hurt pierced her; she was so stupid to think he might want her. She’d left herself open for that, hadn’t she? Not that she’d truly thought he would, but a part of her had nursed a faint hope.

‘I didn’t think I was that unattractive,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘But I suppose if it’s impossible then I must be.’

‘Of course you’re not unattractive,’ Cassius said. ‘But it’s not about your attractiveness or otherwise. It’s about the fact that I still see you as a sixteen-year-old girl.’

It didn’t come as any surprise. He’d always thought of her that way and she knew it.

You haven’t done much to change his mind, though, have you?

No, and she hadn’t because she...well...she just hadn’t. She’d pushed it out of her mind, not wanting to think about when the day would come that he’d need heirs, a proper queen, a life...

A divorce.

But that day was now here and she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

You need to do something.

Yes, but what?

‘I’m not a sixteen-year-old girl, as I’ve already pointed out.’ She tried to sound as cool as he did. ‘I’m twenty-one.’

‘Be that as it may, you are still not a suitable prospect for queen.’

Inara took a couple of steps towards him, annoyed now. ‘That hasn’t been a problem for the last three years. What’s changed?’

His amber gaze flicked down her figure and then up again, lightning fast, but there was no alteration in his expression. ‘I’ve been advised it’s past time for me to start a family. Aveiras needs heirs, and the sooner the better.’

She understood. The country had lost nearly its entire royal family in one fell swoop, so naturally parliament would want to safeguard the royal line. They’d also want a queen who lived at the palace and took part in royal life, not someone who preferred an isolated country manor and spent most of her time studying arcane mathematical problems.

No, everything about this made logical sense and, given that the pathways of her own mind tended towards the logical, there was no earthly reason why she should refuse to give him the divorce he wanted.

Except that the part of herself she’d never understood and had never wanted to think about too deeply, the part that had fallen desperately in love with her husband, didn’t want to.

Her heart wanted to be his queen. It wanted to give him heirs. It wanted to be by his side and support him. It wanted do all the things he’d just said and more, and it was furious he’d even consider choosing someone else.

But what could she say? How could she argue? He still saw her as a child and, as long as he did, nothing would change his mind.

The fizzing happiness of his presence began to recede, a flat feeling stealing through her.

He’d never been a man who changed his mind once he’d made a decision, not even when he’d been that laughing, charming prince, and she knew there was no point arguing with him.

‘Fine. I suppose it doesn’t matter what I say.’ She clasped her trembling hands in front of her. ‘You’ve obviously made your choice. I don’t know why you bothered coming here at all, in that case. You could have just sent me an email.’

Another frown flickered over his perfect features. ‘An email? You really think I’d ask you for a divorce via email?’

‘You haven’t visited me in nearly six months. And you’ve already made up your mind. You could have just sent me an order; you didn’t need to make the trek all the way out here.’

Cassius’s gaze sharpened. ‘You’re upset. Why?’

Shock pulsed down her spine. She’d forgotten how perceptive he could be—when he deigned to notice, that was.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth. He’d look at her with distant, condescending pity and tell her gently once again that any kind of relationship between them was impossible. The thought was unbearable.

‘I’m not hurt,’ she said, forcing away her anger and the small, sharp pain of rejection. ‘I’m only...shocked, I suppose. It’s quite sudden.’

He gazed at her, still frowning, and she thought he might push it, but as he opened his mouth to speak someone said, ‘Your Majesty, we have an issue.’

Inara turned to see one of the uniformed palace aides standing in the doorway to the sitting room.

Cassius straightened. ‘What is it, Carlo?’

‘There’s a mechanical problem with the helicopter. A part needs to be replaced, and we can get it, but it won’t be here until after dark.’

If this annoyed him, Cassius didn’t show it. His expression remained opaque. ‘How long will it take to fix?’

‘A couple of hours.’ Carlo looked apologetic. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Your Majesty, but—’

‘It’s no problem,’ Cassius interrupted. ‘I’m sure the Queen won’t mind if we stay here the night.’

Inara blinked. ‘You want to...what?’

‘Flying at night can be an issue and safety is of prime concern to me.’ He nodded at Carlo. ‘Tell the pilot not to rush. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.’

Wait. What was he suggesting?

‘T-Tomorrow?’

He glanced at her. ‘We’ll stay here, obviously. There should be room for everyone.’

Already unsettled, his casual arrogance was a further irritation to her. Sure, he was the King, and casual arrogance was part of the job. And, yes, technically, although it was known as the Queen’s Estate, the manor was owned by the crown, thus him. But, still, she’d been living here for three years and she’d come to think of it as hers. He couldn’t just arrive, demand a divorce then decide to stay the night, as if having the house full of his presence for the next twelve hours wouldn’t be an issue.

Except...how could she argue? He was the King and this, despite all her protests, was his house.

Yes, and you’re the Queen. Don’t forget that.

That was true. She was. Maybe not for too much longer, but she was still the Queen now.

Inara raised her chin and stared at him in what she hoped was a haughty fashion. ‘Actually, I’m not sure. I’ll have to check.’

Another flicker of expression crossed his perfect features, but whether irritation or impatience she couldn’t tell. ‘No need. Henri is still managing the house, I imagine? I’ll inform him. It’s only me, Carlo, the pilot and a couple of my guards.’

Already he was looking away from her. Already he was dismissing her as if her feelings and her opinions were of no consequence.

As if she were of no consequence.

It reminded her too much of her parents and the way they’d controlled every aspect of her existence when she’d been young. She hadn’t been a daughter to them, only currency. A way to buy themselves more social standing, not a person with hopes and dreams of her own.

Hurt buried itself inside her, making her ache. If she’d needed any more proof that he didn’t care about her, then this was it, wasn’t it?

What do you expect? He asked you if you were upset and you told him you weren’t.

It was true, and she had no one to blame for that but herself.

Inara opened her mouth to tell him that she would have appreciated being asked first, but he’d already moved past her and was issuing further orders to Carlo, leaving her standing there, gaping silently after him.

Cassius entered the small library and stopped, surveying it with some disapproval. The room bore the signs of recent cleaning, yet there were still stacks of papers and books scattered over various surfaces. The sideboard had on it some dead flowers in a vase and what appeared to be several tea cups with different levels of tea in them.

A woollen garment of some kind—a cardigan?—had been thrown carelessly onto one of the leather arm chairs that stood beside the fireplace, and now half of it was trailing on the floor. A single slipper had been kicked under the chair. A few pens sat on the mantelpiece above the fire, along with yet more tea cups.

A disgrace. Was his wife the culprit or did the fault lie with the staff for not cleaning properly? Not that he could blame the staff, given Henri and Joan were getting on in years. However, had Inara always been this untidy or had he never noticed? It had been six months since he’d last been here, after all.

A thread of something that he refused to call shame coiled through him. It was ridiculous to be ashamed that he hadn’t visited her. She might legally be his wife, but there was nothing between them beyond that. He visited her out of a sense of duty, that was all, and, although she was always pleased to see him, she’d never said that she wished she saw more of him. In fact, the few times her presence had been required for any kind of state function in Katara, she’d appeared uncomfortable, awkward and downright miserable, which had led him to believe she only liked to see him when he was scheduled to visit.

Certainly her obvious displeasure with him today had confirmed that theory. True, initiating divorce proceedings wasn’t a happy subject, but he hadn’t thought she’d be quite so upset. And he definitely hadn’t thought she’d care about him staying.

Apparently, he’d been wrong about both of those things.

Cassius stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, going over to the arm chair that didn’t have the cardigan draped over it and sitting down. A large glass of brandy had been set on the table beside the chair—good brandy too, from the smell of it.

He stared at the glass for a long moment.

Alcohol was something he only touched sparingly these days, as he did with most of his old indulgences. He wasn’t twenty any more and he had a country to run. His days of drinking in bars and partying in nightclubs were over.

Perhaps he should have asked Henri for some tea instead. Yet the chair was comfortable and he was tired, and the last couple of months discussing budgets and taxes had taken it out of him. Numbers weren’t his thing. In fact, being a king in general wasn’t his thing—he’d been brought up as the spare, not the heir—and it had taken him a good two years of hard work to get a decent grasp of what was expected of him.

Caspian should have been King, not you.

Yes, he should. But Caspian was dead and Cassius was all Aveiras had left.

The silence of the house settled around him like a balm. He was rarely alone these days. There were always people wanting something from him—a signature, an opinion, an order or even simply to be in his presence.

He found it tiring.

‘Are you sure you don’t want the crown, little brother?’ Caspian had asked him one day. ‘It’s not too bad once you get used to carrying the weight of an entire country.’

Cassius had shuddered with distaste. ‘I’ll stick with carrying the weight of my own reputation, thank you very much. Which, luckily, is exceedingly light.’

He hadn’t known then he’d end up stepping into his brother’s shoes. Or that he’d end up carrying the weight of that crown, and all alone. But he hadn’t had a choice, and he wouldn’t let his family down—not again.

Cassius picked up the brandy glass and had already taken a few sips before being fully conscious of having done so. The alcohol sat warmly in his stomach, the taste rich and heavy on his tongue. He shouldn’t indulge—control in all things was important—yet it seemed a shame to waste such a good vintage.

He only had time for a couple more sips before the library door opened suddenly and he looked up to find his wife standing in the doorway, staring at him.

It was late and he hadn’t seen her all afternoon. She’d vanished after he’d finished sorting out the arrangements for himself and his staff for the night, and she hadn’t been around when Henri had served dinner in the little dining room.

He’d made some enquiries as to her whereabouts, but Henri had only shaken his head and said he didn’t know where Her Majesty was.

Cassius had told himself it didn’t matter where she was, that he didn’t care, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he’d upset her.

She hadn’t received the news of the divorce well. No matter that she’d told him she wasn’t upset, he’d seen the shock in her eyes, and the hurt too.

She didn’t look pleased to see him now, her pretty mouth firming as she spotted him sitting in the armchair.

She’d grown up into a lovely woman, which wasn’t something he’d wanted to notice in his visits over the years, yet he’d noticed all the same. Once he’d been a connoisseur of women, and adult Inara was definitely a woman he’d have made time for.

If he’d still been the charming, feckless prince he’d once been, of course. But he wasn’t. He had a duty to uphold, so he’d left that prince behind the moment he’d found out his family had died.

He hadn’t taken a woman to his bed since and it wasn’t because of a shortage of offers: he had more seduction attempts and frank invitations now he was a king than he’d ever had as a prince.

But his baser appetites had died along with the callow youth he’d once been, so he’d ignored every single offer. A king should be above reproach, as his father had always taught, an example of good leadership, and a new woman in his bed every night wasn’t an example of good leadership.

Besides, as King he couldn’t be seen to be unfaithful to his wife, even if they’d never consummated their marriage. Not that he’d found abstaining a hardship. Grief had killed any hint of the rebel in him and that was probably a good thing.

Yet he couldn’t help noticing again that the white cotton dress she wore was just as see-through now as it had been earlier that day, his attention drawn to the pink glow of pale skin and the lacy shadows of her underwear.

Something stirred inside him. Something he hadn’t felt for a long time.

‘Sorry,’ Inara said stiffly. ‘I didn’t realise you were in here.’

He recalled that she wasn’t a woman who hid her feelings and it was obvious that right now she was very annoyed. Hostile, even. He wasn’t used to it from her and he found he didn’t much like it.

‘If I’m intruding you only need say,’ he said formally.

‘It’s fine.’ One small hand gripped the door handle. ‘I’ll leave you in peace—’

‘Oh, come in,’ he interrupted, feeling suddenly impatient, knowing he’d have to have this discussion with her at some point so he might as well have it now. ‘We need to talk.’

‘Do we?’ She pushed her glasses up her nose with one finger. ‘I think you said all you needed to earlier today.’

Cassius leaned forward, clasping his brandy balloon between his fingers. He nodded at the chair opposite him. ‘Sit.’

‘I’m not one of your staff, Cassius. I don’t appreciate being ordered around.’

He’d become used to people jumping every time he spoke. And maybe it was the brandy relaxing him but, instead of feeling irritated at her refusal, he was almost amused instead.

She hadn’t been impressed with him even at sixteen, that night she’d appeared in his limo, even though he’d been a prince and she the under-age daughter of an unimportant family. She’d been suspicious of his marriage proposal, had asked a great many questions and had then insisted on him putting it in writing and signing it even before they’d got out of the limo.

It appeared she still wasn’t impressed with him, even though he’d been King for three years.

‘Please,’ he added.

She wrinkled her nose, pursed that pretty mouth, finally let out a breath and let go of the door handle, coming over to the arm chair opposite and sitting down on the cardigan still half-draped over the seat.

‘You’re sitting on....’ He gestured.

‘Oh.’ She frowned then wriggled half off the seat, pulling the cardigan out from underneath her. ‘Oh, there it is. I’ve been looking for that for ages.’

Watching her fuss with the cardigan was soothing, though he wasn’t sure why. He took another sip of his brandy, his attention caught by the way she lifted the long, silvery waterfall of her hair off the nape of her neck so she could drape the cardigan around her. It was a deft, practised movement, her curls silky-looking as she shook her hair out over her shoulders.

She was still rather fairy-like, her features elfin and delicate, the shape of her slender and fragile.

She continued to fuss around with the cardigan, then adjusted her glasses, before smoothing her dress in small, agitated movements.

She’s nervous...

He frowned. Why would she be nervous? Was it him? They’d known each other for five years and, although it was true he hadn’t seen much of her the past couple of years, surely he was still familiar to her?

Or maybe it wasn’t so much him as the topic of conversation: the divorce he’d asked for.

It mattered to her, as he’d already realised.

That was puzzling.

‘Tell me,’ he said after a moment. ‘What’s bothering you about this divorce?’

Her gaze dropped to her lap and she smoothed a non-existent crease in the fabric of her dress. ‘Nothing. It was a shock, that’s all.’

He didn’t think that was all it was but, given how nervous she seemed, he decided not to press. ‘And so you give me permission to start proceedings?’

‘Do you need my permission?’ She didn’t look at him. ‘You can do whatever you like. You’re the King.’

‘Yes, but you’re still my wife.’

‘No, I’m not. I might be your wife legally but I’m not in any other sense.’

Cassius watched her, caught by the strange, sharp note in her clear voice. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have said that she sounded hurt, though he wasn’t sure why that would be. Did she want to be more to him? If so, she must know how impossible that was. She was not in any way the Queen Aveiras needed and, as the country already had a king they hadn’t asked for, he wasn’t going to foist an unsuitable queen on them too.

That wasn’t the legacy he wanted for the family he’d lost.

‘That’s true,’ he said gently. ‘So won’t it be a relief to you when you’re not my wife at all?’

She looked up, the colour of her eyes silvery behind her glasses. Idly, he noticed that her irises got darker closer to her pupils, the grey turning into charcoal. Her lashes were also darker, the contrast startling with her pale hair and skin.

‘Why do you keep patronising me?’ Her stare was very direct. ‘You don’t have to soothe me like a child. If you want to divorce me, divorce me. What does it matter if I agree to it or not?’

The feeling that had woken up inside him when she’d come in gripped him tighter. But he continued to ignore it, because he hadn’t felt it for years, and he shouldn’t be feeling it now, especially not with her.

Not when that way led back to the prince he’d once been and the choices he’d made that had changed his life for ever. He’d never be that prince, that careless man, again.

‘I know you’re not a child.’ Absently, he cupped the brandy balloon between his palms, swirling the liquid, warming it. ‘And I’m not trying to be patronising. I’m just trying to do the decent thing.’

She lifted one shoulder, her fingers pleating the fabric of her dress. ‘Well, you don’t need to.’

Cassius frowned. ‘Would you really have preferred me to send a palace employee out with the divorce papers, then?’

‘As long as you gave me some jewellery, that would have been fine.’

Ah, yes, the jewellery. He’d once been famous for showering his lovers with expensive pieces. He’d liked giving them gifts, small tokens of his appreciation for the pleasure they’d given him in return.

He’d thought himself so generous back then, but in reality once he’d got rid of a woman he’d never thought of her again. So, yes, he’d been generous with his money, but selfish and shallow with everything else.

It wasn’t something he liked to be reminded of and he didn’t like it now.

‘Well, since I haven’t actually slept with you,’ he said, ‘Jewellery wouldn’t be appropriate.’

Her mouth opened then shut, and she blinked. ‘Uh...no. That’s true.’

You shouldn’t have said that.

No. It had been inappropriate. Perhaps it was the brandy. In which case he should put down his glass and not have any more.

Except he didn’t put down his glass. Instead he sat back in the comfortable arm chair and extended his legs, crossing them at the ankle. He took another sip.

He was relaxed, sitting here in the quiet of the house in this little room that was starting to feel more and more cosy despite the clutter. Relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt for years. He knew he shouldn’t be falling back into old habits, that he had a duty to his crown and to his country, but he wasn’t in the vast, cold spaces of the royal palace in Katara now. He was here with Inara and there was no one to see him but her.

‘What exactly is the issue, Inara?’ he asked after a moment. ‘You keep telling me that nothing’s wrong yet any fool can see that something is.’

She didn’t respond, merely continued pleating the fabric of her dress and smoothing it out.

‘You’re...interrupting my research,’ she said at last.

‘Your research.’ More amusement coiled inside him. ‘And how exactly am I interrupting it?’

‘Oh, just by being...’ She made a vague gesture in his direction. ‘Here. In the house. Hovering.’

He grinned, unable to help himself. ‘Hovering?’

She wriggled her fingers. ‘Yes, you know. Just by being around and being...distracting.’

That amused him too. ‘I’m distracting?’

A wash of delicate pink swept through her cheeks. ‘It’s not funny.’

Unaccountably fascinated, Cassius stared. The pink accentuated the grey of her eyes and gave her the most pretty glow. He had a sudden vision of what she’d look like if there had been a fire in the fireplace and the warm light of it was flickering over her. If she was naked, without all that white cotton in the way, just her silvery hair flowing over her shoulders and her pale skin pink and bare. He’d pull her from that chair, lay her down on the rug before the fire, spread her thighs and kneel between them. And then he’d...

What the hell are you thinking that for?

Cassius took a sharp breath. He shouldn’t be thinking such things, and especially not about Inara. She wasn’t the sixteen-year-old he’d married, it was true, but he couldn’t afford to start thinking of her as anything else.

She was young and innocent, and her place was in some university somewhere, putting that genius brain of hers to work. He was going to divorce her and find another woman more suitable to be his wife. A mature, self-contained woman who comported herself with dignity and who could give Aveiras the heirs it needed.

And, apart from anything else, the whole reason he’d married her was to save her from one selfish monster, not put her in danger from another. And most especially if that monster was himself.

But Inara is here right now and she’s your wife...

Unfamiliar heat wound through him, intense and raw. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, run his fingers through her hair, touched her silky skin. So long since soft thighs had closed around his waist and tight, wet heat had brought him home. So long since he’d had kisses and hot whispers in his ear... So very, very long...

Cassius became aware that Inara was watching him and that her cheeks had gone an even deeper shade of pink. Something in her eyes glinted and he could feel a certain tension gathering in the space between them.

A tension that hadn’t been there before and yet was familiar. He’d felt it with other women, years ago, though it had never been quite as...electric as this.

‘Of course it’s not funny.’ His voice was thicker than he would have liked. ‘You should leave. I’m not fit company for anyone tonight.’

Inara stared at him for a long moment, then slowly shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I will.’