The Wedding Night They Never Had by Jackie Ashenden, Millie Adams
CHAPTER SIX
INARADIDNOTenjoy the following week. The lessons in protocol and etiquette were boring and, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember the names and lineages of all the people she’d be introduced to, still less their potted family histories.
She kept curtseying when she shouldn’t curtsey at all, or bowing when she should have extended a hand. She walked too fast, walked too slowly, laughed when she shouldn’t and so on.
It was all far too similar to the lessons her mother had drilled into her, complaining that, for a mathematical genius, she was very stupid. How could she remember formulae when she couldn’t remember one person’s name?
Inara hadn’t known the answer then and she didn’t now. All she could do was try, but it felt as if her brain was made of Swiss cheese and all the important things kept leaking out through the holes.
The meetings with the PR people were as bad—lots of advice on what to say and what to do, most of which she couldn’t remember. She’d hoped the time she’d spend with the stylist would be better, but no. Her opinion on different outfits was needed, plus she had to keep still as she was measured and pinned to within an inch of her life.
She had no time to herself. No time for her research, to rest her brain in the cold, clean air of numbers where she could lose herself.
It was awful and she hated it.
Of course, it would also have been a million times more bearable if she could have spoken to Cassius—however briefly—but he was absent the entire week.
He seemed to have retreated from her like a mirage, vanishing into offices and receiving rooms, constantly surrounded by advisors and courtiers. Forever meeting dignitaries and heads of state. Always in some kind of meeting or other.
She barely caught a glimpse of him.
She’d tried asking one of his aides if she could speak with him, but was told his schedule was full for the week, and that he would see her the night of her official presentation.
Inara couldn’t shake the sense that he was avoiding her. The night she’d arrived he’d been very clear about what he wanted, going on about lessons and etiquette, and something about a formal presentation. But the only thing that had caught her full attention was that he expected them to share a bed.
She’d wanted that too, very much, and then quite suddenly, just as they were having a perfectly lovely conversation, he’d changed his mind. Without explanation. A staff member had come in within seconds of Cassius’s departure, ushering her through to the Queen’s private apartments and leaving her there.
Inara hadn’t minded that night. Instead she’d explored her new home, confident that the next day he’d come and find her and then perhaps they’d start their married life together.
But he hadn’t. It had been an aide instead, armed with a schedule, who’d chivvied her from one lesson to another, pleading ignorance whenever she attempted to ask about Cassius.
And he hadn’t come that night either. Or the one after that. Or the one after that. And, as the days had gone by, she’d gradually realised that he wasn’t going to come for her at all.
Inara ignored her disappointment, told herself he’d come for her when he was ready and, in the meantime, she’d do her best to be what he wanted. But as time had gone on and no word had come, she’d become less and less sure that he’d ever send for her. Less and less sure that he’d ever wanted her.
Less and less sure that he wanted a wife at all.
Perhaps he didn’t. He’d said that it wouldn’t be a union of convenience, and yet nearly a week later she was still on her own. Still in the Queen’s apartments, with its delicate, spindly furniture and hard floors of polished marble. With its echoing, vaulted spaces and views over the regimented lines of the formal gardens.
Still alone.
He’d forgotten about her. The way he always did.
Inara didn’t want that to ache like a thorn in her heart. But it did. He’d made such a big deal out of their marriage, about her coming to Katara to live at the palace, about her being Queen, and she’d accepted it. She’d put aside her own wishes, swallowed her fear, held on to her courage and left her home of nearly five years to come to the palace she hated.
And he’d ignored her almost completely.
She knew she had no claim on him, that their marriage had never been one of the heart, yet she’d thought he was her friend at least. Certainly after that night in the library, when he’d taken her virginity, she’d expected there to be...some kind of bond. That he’d at least think of her at some point.
But, no. Apparently not.
If she’d needed further proof that he felt nothing for her, then his silence and his absence confirmed it. She even started to doubt she’d see him the night of her first appearance as Queen.
Sure enough, when the night itself arrived, she was scrubbed and plucked and made up, then zipped into her gown without any mention of him. Then she was ushered down more long, echoing palace hallways and into a small, cold room off the main ballroom, where her aide told her to wait before disappearing, leaving Inara none the wiser as to why she had to wait here or what was going to happen next.
The room was empty of anything save some gloomy formal paintings and an icy-looking marble fireplace covered in too much gilt. Through the closed double doors that led to the ballroom, she could hear people laughing and talking and the delicate sounds of music.
It made her feel sick, made everything she’d been taught during the whole vile week go straight out of her head—not that it had ever been in her head to start with. Her palms were sweaty and she felt as though she were encased in armour instead of a glittering confection of a gown, all silvery tulle with silver embroidery and crystals sewn into the frothy skirts. Her hair had been piled on top of her head, a delicate diamond tiara set among her curls, and she didn’t want to move too quickly or tip her head in case the whole thing came tumbling down. The pins hurt and her eyes felt dry and sore with the new contact lenses.
She felt like a little girl dressing up in her mother’s clothes, the way she always had back when she’d been trotted out to all the parties her mother had insisted she attend.
Her mother had said that everything—even her—could be improved with a pretty dress, yet for some reason there had never been a dress that could magically improve Inara, and it was likely this dress wouldn’t either.
What would they all think when she walked into the ballroom? What would they be expecting? Probably the child bride their prince had married so foolishly all those years ago and had since forgotten.
Inara had begun to tremble with nerves when the door that led to the corridor opened and Cassius walked in. He was, as usual, surrounded by people, but he lifted a hand and they all withdrew, leaving her alone with him at last.
It had been a full week since she’d seen him in that lovely room with all the plants, and the impact of his presence was almost a physical force.
He was dressed formally, in tailored black evening clothes with no adornments bar the royal crest of the de Leon family—a set of scales signifying justice set in a jewelled pin on his lapel.
The ascetic lines of his clothing only emphasised the sheer masculine beauty of the man who wore them—his height, the width and breadth of his shoulders and chest, the lean span of his waist and the powerful length of his long legs.
His charisma was a palpable thing, regal, commanding and utterly authoritative. It made Inara’s knees weak, and her heart beat far too fast. And, when his smoky amber gaze met hers, something inside her burst into flame.
She forgot her nerves. Forgot the ball in her honour happening just outside the doors. Forgot the entire week of hell she’d endured and how he’d ignored her. She forgot everything except that at last they were in the same room.
‘C-Cassius,’ she stuttered, taking a helpless step towards him. ‘You’re here.’
‘Of course.’ His deep voice was as cool and measured as ever, the perfect lines of his face revealing nothing but calm. ‘Where else would I be?’
He was the only familiar thing she’d seen all week, and she wanted very badly to get close to him, to put a hand on his broad, hard chest and take some of his strength, some of his control and authority, for herself.
Except there was something about him that held her rooted to the spot, an icy distance that made her certain he wouldn’t like her touching him one bit.
Inara swallowed, closing her hands into fists to stop herself from wiping them on her glittering gown. ‘I...wasn’t sure. I’ve been trying to see you all week, but everyone kept saying you were busy.’
‘I was busy. Didn’t they tell you that I’d see you tonight?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘But what?’ One imperious black brow rose.
‘But...’ She stopped.
He looked so unapproachable, so untouchable. Would he really want to hear about how homesick she felt, about and how nervous she’d been and still was? How hard she’d found this week, trying to remember all the things she had to do and say and in what order?
A few years ago she wouldn’t have thought twice about confiding in him. Maybe even a few months ago. But now...it felt different. They were in the palace, in his territory, and he was the King. The heavy gold ring of state was on his right hand, and he was looking at her as if she was merely a poor petitioner come before his throne rather than his queen...
‘Nothing,’ she said at last, her mouth dry. ‘It’s fine.’
Cassius surveyed her for a second, his gaze inscrutable as it drifted from her elaborately curled hair and tiara, down over the strapless, embroidered silver bodice of her gown to the layers of tulle and crystal of its skirts.
She had no idea what he thought of it, or whether he approved, but she wanted him to be impressed with her. To think she looked like a queen at least. To think that she was beautiful...
Are you crazy? Why would he ever think that, when even your own mother thought you were at best only acceptable?
She shoved the thought out of her head, trying to force down how intimidated she felt in his presence and how the apprehension about the moment they would step out into the ballroom was getting to her. How ill it was making her.
She’d do this because that was what she’d promised him. To be his queen, one who hopefully would shame neither him nor Aveiras. Because this was important to him and she didn’t want to disappoint him.
Not like she’d disappointed everyone else.
So she didn’t speak about any of her fears, trying not to let his lack of reaction get to her. When he presented his arm, she took it, resisting clutching at it like an over-anxious child. Then they turned towards the double doors, which were then thrown open, the glittering lights and noise of the ball crashing over her like a wave.
‘His Royal Majesty, King Cassius,’ the usher announced loudly as the noise of the crowd quietened. ‘And Her Royal Majesty, Queen Inara.’
And, whether she wanted to or not, Inara found herself being drawn relentlessly into the ballroom.
Inara was so bright he couldn’t even look at her. He didn’t dare. She was small and delicate and exquisite in a silver confection of a gown that looked as though it had been scattered with stardust. And she, alabaster-pale, her grey eyes luminous, was the star.
He’d thought a week of avoiding her would put some distance between him and his unnervingly powerful desire, but it hadn’t. The moment he’d stepped into that room and set eyes on her, watched the bright, joyful thing ignite in her eyes when he looked at her, everything possessive, hungry and desperate had roared up inside him and demanded its due.
It should have been enough, burying himself in all those impossible, endless meetings that he loathed with a passion, the never-ending round of requests made, answers he must give, decisions he must make. The constant procession of audiences and petitions and grievances and complaints...
All those duties, the duties of a king, should have reminded him how petty were his own passions and appetites. How unimportant next to the needs of his country. Yet all he’d been able to think about was how he wanted to cancel every meeting he had to go looking for her. To go hunting for her, to catch her and drag her from the Queen’s apartments and into his bed.
But he knew himself too well and how those base desires and primitive emotions could take hold. They were all-consuming. They’d once made him put the pursuit of them before his family, before his country. They were flaws.
And a king had to be flawless.
So he tried to ignore the woman on his arm, so bright and glittering, delicate and beautiful, as he guided her around the ballroom and introduced her to the important people of his court. And, because he couldn’t look at her, he didn’t see how pale she’d become under the glittering crystals of the chandelier, or notice how she kept looking at him whenever he spoke someone’s name. He told himself that he didn’t need to pay attention, because all those etiquette and protocol lessons and PR consultations would have given her everything she needed to handle this little soiree.
Nerves were expected, so he didn’t worry when she stammered, curtseyed to someone instead of shaking their hand or looked bewildered when she called the Prime Minister by someone else’s name, then appeared to forget that Aveiras even had a prime minister.
As the evening wore on, he could hear people whispering, and caught the looks of disapproval sent their way as Inara forgot yet another name, and then used the wrong title, and then stopped speaking altogether.
He told himself that it would get better for her, that this was a rite of passage she had to bear and that, once it was done, she’d find things easier, but for some reason all those things sounded like hollow justifications.
It never got easier for you.
No, but he’d been thrown in at the deep end after the accident and, faced with drowning, he’d simply learned how to swim. Inara wasn’t in the deep end and she’d had a whole week’s preparation. And she had him at her side. It wasn’t the same at all.
Except it was becoming apparent that, despite what he’d told himself, Inara was a long way from learning to swim in these particular waters.
After she made yet another mistake with a name, he finally forced himself to look at her. She was so pale and her eyes looked red and irritated. Her shoulders were tense and she held herself awkwardly, her movements stiff and unsure.
She seemed to jolt suddenly as his gaze rested on her, as if she’d just become aware of his attention, making a sharp, involuntary movement that looked almost like a flinch, and knocking some woman’s elbow and the wine glass she was holding out of her hand. The glass smashed on the marble floor, red wine splashing everywhere like blood.
The music stopped, people pausing in their conversations to look in Inara’s direction.
A terrible, awful silence fell.
She stood there in her beautiful gown, red wine staining her skirts, an expression of utter horror on her face. ‘I—I’m so sorry,’ she stammered, white as a sheet and trembling.
Cassius put out a hand to her, but she ignored him, turning without a word and running straight through the massive double doors that led to the terrace and the formal gardens beyond.
Whispers began, the wind of disapproval blowing through the ballroom, heads turning, attention focusing. Everyone looked at him and he knew they’d be gauging his response, wondering how he’d handle this unseemly display.
This is your fault. You ignored her all week, because you couldn’t handle yourself in her presence, and now look what’s happened. She wasn’t ready and you threw her to the wolves.
Yes, he’d done that. This mess was his fault. He’d ignored her because he didn’t like the way she’d made him want her, leaving her in the hands of palace employees who clearly hadn’t done a good enough job of preparing her. He should have overseen her lessons or at least checked in on her.
Well, if the court wanted to see his response to the Queen’s chaotic and abrupt departure, then he would show them.
Allowing no emotion to be displayed on his face, Cassius murmured to the aide at his elbow, then proceeded to soothe the ruffled feathers of the woman whose arm had been knocked. Palace employees rushed in to sweep up the glass, and within moments the music had resumed, conversation buzzed again and the ball went on as if nothing had happened.
Five minutes later, once attention on him had shifted, Cassius told his aide curtly that he’d be seeing to the Queen, before striding from the ballroom after her. The ball could go on without him for a while, especially as the whole reason for the ball in the first place had disappeared.
Outside, even though it was night, the discreet lighting of the formal gardens ensured that it wasn’t completely dark. Fountains played, and beneath their delicate music he could hear the sound of the sea crashing against the white cliffs below the palace.
He couldn’t see Inara anywhere, though he searched all the places in the gardens where she might have gone, the stone benches near the fountains and beside the rose beds. The pretty archway of bougainvillea. The magnolia copse.
At last he came to a pavilion of white stone that stood on the cliffs, looking out over the ocean. He gave it a cursory glance, because it didn’t look as if anyone was inside, then stopped, his gaze caught by a slight glitter.
In the shadow of one of the pillars, sitting on the stone bench with her skirts caught around her, was Inara. Her head was turned away, her gaze on the ocean throwing itself against the cliffs.
Despite it being late summer, the sea breeze was cool, so he moved over to where she sat, shrugging out of his jacket as he went so he could drape it around her pale shoulders.
She turned her head as he approached, obviously hearing his step. Even though she hurriedly wiped her face, he could see the tears there.
You hurt her. Like you hurt everyone close to you.
His heart twisted hard with a familiar pain. Well, that was nothing new, but at least with Inara he could do something about it.
He came closer, holding his jacket out, but she shook her head, her tiara slipping to one side. ‘No. Stay where you are.’ Her voice sounded thick. ‘Just...give me five minutes.’
Cassius stopped. ‘Inara.’
‘I’ll come back, I promise.’ She surreptitiously wiped at her face. ‘I hope that lady was okay. I didn’t mean to knock her elbow, I just... I don’t know what happened.’
‘Inara,’ he said again.
‘I’m sorry. I tried, I really did, but when I told you I wasn’t good in social situations, well, I meant it.’
He stood there stiffly, holding his jacket in one hand, staring at her small figure curled up on the stone bench. Remembering her white face and her red eyes. The feel of her fingers on his arm, clutching at him.
Remembering joining her in that little room before the ball, reeling from the gut punch of her beauty and trying not to show it. Trying not to see the way she looked at him, as if for reassurance. Trying not to hear the hurt in her voice as she told him that she’d asked for him...
She’s always looked at you as if you were her hero. And you let her down.
His stomach dropped away, the truth of it settling in his heart. Denying the man had worked very well for three years. He’d controlled his appetites, excised the selfishness from his heart and, following his brother’s example, he’d done everything he could to become a perfect king. But that didn’t allow for much else. It certainly didn’t allow for a woman who was new to royal duties, who hadn’t been brought up with them the way he had.
A woman who was only here because of him and the mistake he’d made. He couldn’t fix what had happened with Caspian, but he could fix what happened with Inara. He’d lost control with her when he shouldn’t have and, while nothing could change that fact, he could admit that the decision to keep her at arm’s length had clearly been a foolish one.
He’d decided she would be his queen, but Inara wasn’t a princess brought up in the palace spotlight. She was a girl he’d married at sixteen and left to her own devices in an isolated manor house in the countryside for the best part of five years. Throwing her into court on her own after a mere week’s training, and expecting her to behave like a woman born to it, was ludicrous.
Worse, it was selfish, because it was about his own discomfort rather than anything to do with her. And it had hurt her. His control was usually excellent these days. Yes, he’d lost it with her once, but that didn’t mean he’d lose it every single time. And, anyway, he wanted heirs. How could he get those heirs if he avoided taking her to his bed?
She was his wife. His bed was where she belonged and it was high time he showed her that. Without a word, Cassius strode over to her and draped his jacket around her shoulders.
She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘What are you doing? Just give me another minute and I’ll come—’
‘You’re not going anywhere except back to my rooms,’ he said coolly. Then he bent and picked her up in his arms.
Inara stiffened, twisting in his grip. ‘Put me down. I don’t want...’
‘Hush.’ He tightened his hold, keeping her safe against his chest. ‘We won’t be returning to the ball. We’re going to my apartments where we can talk in peace.’
She took a breath and he could feel the resistance bleed out of her, her small, delicate frame going limp against him. ‘I’ll get wine on your clothes.’
‘I don’t care.’
He stepped out of the pavilion, making his way through the dimly lit gardens, conscious of how warm she was, and how beneath the acrid smell of spilled red wine he detected the faint musky scent that was Inara.
It made him feel hungry and possessive, like a leopard with its kill. Ordinarily he would have ignored that kind of feeling. He would have pushed it away. But not tonight.
Avoiding the ballroom, Cassius entered the palace through a side door. He nodded to the guards stationed on either side and strode on down the corridors, heading towards his private apartments.
‘I’m sorry,’ Inara said, a bitter note in her voice. ‘I failed.’
He glanced down. Her head rested against his shoulder, silvery hair caught in the black fabric, and she was staring at nothing in particular. Her pretty mouth was soft and vulnerable, her cheeks still very pale. He remembered the bright smiles she always had for him, the joy that had lit her expression whenever he’d visited, and now...
Now she looked defeated, all the brightness, all the joy, gone.
You did that to her.
He had. And so he’d fix it.
‘You didn’t fail,’ he said flatly. ‘What happened in the ballroom was my fault and mine alone.’
She looked up at him, frowning. ‘What do you mean, it’s your fault? You’re not the one who forgot everyone’s name or knocked a glass out of—’
‘No, but I’m the one who ignored you the entire week, giving your preparation over to someone else who clearly had no idea what they were doing. I’m the one who didn’t check on you to make sure things were running smoothly. And I’m the one who didn’t ask you tonight if you felt prepared or take any notice of how pale you were or how frightened you looked.’ He stared into her reddened eyes, wanting her to be absolutely certain. ‘It won’t happen again. Do you understand?’
Her cheeks had gained a little colour, which was good. ‘Did I really look that frightened?’
‘Yes. You looked terrified.’
Her silvery lashes descended, veiling her gaze. ‘I didn’t mean to. I’m...not very good at hiding my emotions.’
‘You’ll learn. But not in a week.’ He came to the doors of his private apartments, the guards rushing to open them so he could walk through. ‘And, given that for the last five years you’ve been living in the country with no court experience at all, it was unconscionable for me to expect this of you so quickly.’
‘You don’t need to blame yourself,’ she said quietly. ‘Some of this was my fault too. It reminded me too much of all those parties my mother kept dragging me to and I suppose I...panicked.’
He knew what her mother had put her through. She’d told him, in the months after their wedding, when he’d visited her, how her parents had never been happy with her and how she’d always disappointed them.
He hadn’t realised, though, that balls and social engagements would still be an issue, even all these years later.
You should have.
Yes, damn right he should have.
‘No, it was not.’ He couldn’t bear for her to take the blame, not even a small part of it. ‘I’m the King, and you’re my queen, therefore it’s my responsibility to prepare you for your role. And I should have remembered that about your mother.’
His footsteps echoed on the marble floor as he passed by the door of his study, carrying on down towards his bedroom.
Because that was where this had to end.
It was his own desires that had got Inara tangled up in this, so it would be his own desires that he’d deal with first. And perhaps, once he had, he could then focus on the important work of preparing her to undertake her queenly duties properly.
He was conscious of Inara’s gaze on him as he walked, of her warm body in his arms and how it seemed to fit there perfectly. Of how his hunger seemed to grow with each step and how his anticipation gathered tighter and tighter.
‘I didn’t think it would be such an issue for me, so why you should have been able to anticipate it I have no idea,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t have to take responsibility for everything, you know.’
He didn’t deign to respond. Of course he had to take responsibility for everything. He was the King. What else did a king do?
But it was becoming difficult to think of anything beyond the feel of her in his arms, and how he hadn’t been able to look at her all evening. Yet now, in the privacy of his bedroom, he’d strip that gown from her body and look his fill.
No one will be watching you. No one will be judging you.
His breath caught as realisation gripped him tight.
In his bedroom he could be anyone he wanted. There’d be no one to see him. No one to know if his crown slipped a little, or even a lot.
No one but Inara. And she already knew who he truly was inside. She always had.
‘Where are we going, Cassius?’ She sounded as if she already knew.
He glanced down once more, meeting her gaze. ‘Where we should have gone the night you arrived. To my bedroom.’