'The entire Palace is searching for you.'
She closed the document she was reading. 'I wasn't hiding. I like it here. I love the water gardens. The sound is so soothing.'
'The gardens were a wedding gift for my mother. She liked the sound, too. She told me that it was the one place in the madness of the Palace and her life that she could be sure of finding peace.'
'I can understand that. It's very soothing.'
'Do you need soothing? Are you stressed?' He sat down next to her and she realised how tired he looked. Since they'd arrived back in Zubran he'd been in endless meetings, his presence required almost continuously either by the Council or by his father.
'I should be stressed. Marriage and me. Can't believe I'm saying those two words in the same sentence and not freaking out and running through the Palace screaming.' Laughing at herself, Avery twisted the ring on her finger, realising that it no longer felt heavy. It felt good.
He breathed deeply and took her hand in his. 'You have no idea how relieved I am that you're not freaking out.'
'I trust you. And I love you.' She curled her fingers around his and smiled. 'Did you hear that? I said, "I love you." And now I just said it again. That's twice in as many minutes. I'm getting good at it.'
'It's practice.'
'Not practice. Trust.' She watched as a butterfly settled on the border of flowers next to her and opened its wings to the sun, trusting that no harm would come to it while it stole the moment for itself. 'Trust is like a door. I always assumed that keeping that door closed kept you safe, but now I see that opening it can let in good things. Things I've never felt before.'
'Avery-' He seemed unusually tense and she kissed him.
'Although we were together for that year, I didn't really understand the level of responsibility you face. I didn't understand the pressure. Everyone wants a piece of you and you have to juggle so many things. I think my job is busy, but yours is stupid. And everyone comes to you expecting a decision. I see now why you behaved the way you did when horrid Richard tried to goad you. As far as you were concerned, you'd already made that decision and moved on to the next. You were decisive because you loved me.'
He cupped her face in his hands. 'I do love you. Don't ever forget that.' He kissed her and then stood up. 'These party organising skills of yours-do they extend to children's parties?'
'You want to hold a children's party?'
'My mother was patron of a charity devoted to equal educational opportunities for all. Once a year we hold a giant children's party.' He gave a helpless lift of his shoulders. 'I confess that running it doesn't play to my skills.'
Pleased to finally have something positive to do, Avery smiled. 'Just as long as you don't expect me to do a balloon release or hire fifty swans. What's my budget?'
'Change the day.' Mal faced the Council, staring at faces aged with worry and experience, faces that had been part of his life for as long as he could remember. 'Even if you shift it by a week, that would work.'
'Your Highness, we cannot do that. You know that circumstances do not allow us any flexibility.'
He did know. He'd been living with those 'circumstances' for a decade. He also knew how Avery would react if she found out what that date signified.
And then the door to the Council chamber opened and she stood there, fire in her eyes, and he knew that, somehow, from someone, she had found out.
Across the room, their eyes met and he stood, forcing himself to absorb the silent accusation that flowed across the room like a lethal mist.
So that was it, then. Regret stabbed him along with disappointment and frustration at the timing. Maybe if they'd had a little longer in this phase of their relationship. Maybe if those fragile strands of trust had been given time to strengthen …
He addressed the Council. 'Leave us.'
Something in his tone clearly communicated itself to them because they rose instantly, those men for whom duty exceeded all other priorities, exchanging worried glances as they shuffled from the room. He knew there would be mutterings, but he didn't care. The only thing he cared about was the woman holding his gaze.
She stalked into the room, her heels tapping on the marble floor of the Palace that had housed his ancestors for centuries. She'd come to reject him, as a small part of him had known she would-reject her role as his lover, his wife, his princess.
The irony was she looked regal; this woman who had turned his life upside down from the moment he'd met her walked with the confidence of a Queen.
The moment the door closed behind the last Council member, she pounced. 'In the middle of planning this party, I had a very illuminating conversation with one of the Palace staff. Were you going to tell me?'
He didn't pretend not to know what she was talking about. 'I was afraid you would misinterpret the facts.'
'That is not an answer. Were you going to tell me?'
'I hoped I wouldn't need to.'
'So if I hadn't found out, that would have been all right?'
'Yes, because it has nothing to do with my feelings for you. It has nothing to do with us.'
'But it has everything to do with our marriage, doesn't it?' Her voice was a traumatized whisper. 'You demanded that I trust you, and I did. I've never done that before, but with you I made that leap.'
'Avery-'
'You told me so much about yourself, Mal. But you didn't tell me the most important thing of all, did you? That you have to be married, and that your marriage has to take place by the end of the month. And it seems everyone knows that but me.' Her laugh was agonised. 'Whenever I felt doubts, I looked at the evidence to prove that you loved me. I said to myself, He can't wait to marry me.'
'That is true. I do love you and I can't wait to marry you.'
'But the reason you can't wait has nothing to do with the depth of your feelings and everything to do with the terms of your late uncle's will.'
'I made no secret of the fact that I have to marry.'
'No, but you made it sound like a general thing, not something specific. You didn't mention the will. You didn't mention that you have to have a bride by a fixed date. It doesn't even matter who the bride is, does it?' Her voice rose. 'Just any bride will do in order to fulfil the terms of your uncle's will.'
'I repeat, that has no bearing on us.'
'So, postpone the wedding. Change the date.'
He didn't tell her that he'd been trying to do exactly that. 'You don't understand.'
'I understand that I was a pawn and so was Kalila.'
'Kalila was an attempt by the Council to fulfil the terms of my uncle's will, that's true, but she was fully apprised of the reasons behind the marriage right from the start.'
'So you were happy to tell her and not me?'
'The circumstances were different. The only reason I proposed marriage to Kalila was to fulfil the terms of my uncle's will.'
'No wonder she ran.' Her chin lifted. 'What I don't understand is why you felt able to tell her, and not me.'
'I was honest with her about the terms of our marriage and I have been equally honest with you.'
'That isn't true.'
'Yes, it is.' He saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes at his savage response but he was past caring. Past hiding anything. 'My reason for marrying you was love, but because you never believed in that love, because you never believed in us, I didn't dare tell you about the terms of my uncle's will. I knew you would use that as more food for your wretched insecurities as you have done before, so I told myself that I would tell you when our relationship had progressed a little further, when we had strengthened the bond, when I was confident that what we had could withstand a confession like that.'
She stood still, absorbing that. Her chest rising and falling as she breathed. 'You should have told me.'
'Apart from the element of full disclosure, my uncle's will had no bearing on our future. I would have married you anyway. The timing of that is immaterial.'
'But it isn't immaterial, is it?'
'I will tell you a story and you will judge.' Mal paced to the far side of the room and stared out of the pretty arched window that looked down on the stables. 'My grandfather had two sons. Twins. The right of succession naturally passes to the eldest twin-' he turned, watching her face to be sure she understood the impact of his words '-but no one knew who that was.'
'I don't understand.'
'There was a crisis during the birth. An obstetric emergency. People were so concerned about the welfare of the mother that somehow the midwife who delivered the twins lost track of which was born first. A matter of little importance, you might think, but you'd be wrong. Unable to think of any other solution, my grandfather decided to divide Zubran and give one half to each son, on the understanding that whichever of them had a son first, he would be the successor. It meant that ultimately the land would be united again. And that was me. My uncle had no children, so there was only me and he was concerned by my partying and what he saw as my decadent lifestyle.' His mouth twisted as he recalled the bitter exchanges they'd had over that particular subject over the years. 'My father tried to assure him that my actions were nothing more than the normal behaviour of a young man. For a short time they fell out over it, but then they agreed a compromise. My uncle agreed to name me as his successor in his will, providing that I was married by the age of thirty-two. If by that age I hadn't settled down, then the succession would go to a distant cousin.'