Page 11 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

‘Theo’s.’

‘Right.’ So Valentine had been blindsided by the change to the seating plans as well. ‘So, King Theodosius thought to seat you next to the one person you don’t want to spend time with. Are you feuding with him?’

‘Not yet. I rather think our host thought he was helping. He wants us to make amends.’

‘And you? What do you want?’

His long, strong fingers toyed with the stem of his wine glass, and then he downed the drink in one go. Not the action of a king who could generally be counted on to make a glass of wine last all night. Not that she knew such things about him. Not that she’d been watching him from afar for years.

She looked at him, really looked at him. The shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of too little sleep, the tension lines bracketing his mouth, and as for his eyes themselves, the inky brown-black of them, they held an emptiness she’d never seen in him before. Maybe he had cared for his former fiancée more than he’d ever let on. She hated that thought but couldn’t discount it. ‘I don’t want to give you the impression of caring one way or another, but are you all right? Because you seem a little...off.’

‘Off?’

‘Unwell. Out of sorts. It’s like...you don’t seem yourself.’

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘Because you know me so well.’

She had once. She’d swum in his soul and he knew it. He was the first to look away. The first to start a conversation with the man seated opposite him. She reached for her drink and turned to introduce herself to the young gentleman on her other side. She could do this. Make light of her unease, turn away from him with every evidence of civility. No drinking in every little thing about him or worrying about what tomorrow would bring.

There would be no better way to have his adoring public think he was careening wildly towards the edge of sanity than for him to pursue her again.

He knew this, surely.

The meal came and went. Angelique didn’t slurp her soup, drop her fork or start an argument. Doubtless, some people were disappointed. Instead, she talked with a Minister of Agriculture about water rights, and chatted with the young man next to her about horses—Cordova horses specifically—and the very long waiting list for one. At some point she might have been goaded into offering Valentine the use of a polo pony for the weekend’s festivities, should he choose to ride. She drank very little and tried not to pay attention to Valentine’s every movement. She shifted restlessly beneath the prick of borrowed jewels at her neck and the agony of time passing too slowly. She wanted nothing more than to go and check on her horses—horses that were already magnificently stabled and in the care of grooms who knew what they were doing—but the dancing was about to begin and she knew what she needed to do next, and that was dance with Valentine and feign indifference and then leave him to get on with whatever existential crisis he was having.

Because it was quite apparent to her and plenty of others that he was having one.

She turned to find him studying her. Again. ‘Is my face not to your liking?’

‘I like it better without the make-up, yes.’

‘I always wear make-up.’ Coloured sun-protection cream at the very least. Protective gloss for her lips. Her eyelashes were thick and dark and rarely needed mascara, though, and physical labour throughout the day tended to bring warm colour to her cheeks.

‘Then I like you better with less.’

‘I suspect this is simply a setting you’ve never pictured me in before.’

‘Angelique, I say with complete confidence that I’ve pictured you in practically every setting imaginable. And you have always conquered it.’

Oh. Well. That was very... ‘Kind of you,’ she murmured.

‘What are your thoughts on children?’ he asked next, and she blinked.

‘Are you usually all over the place with your conversation?’ Because she hadn’t remembered that about him.

‘Humour me.’

‘I really, really am.’

‘Then what are your thoughts on having children?’ he repeated.

‘I don’t have any children. You might have noticed.’ Not that she didn’t want to be a mother one day, maybe, but a relationship with someone special came first. A marriage the likes of which her parents had. Not dull, never that, but strongly nurturing, loving and secure. And that kind of relationship had never happened her way. ‘What about you? Regretting the loss of your fiancée already? You should have married her earlier. Got some little heirs on the ground, created your happy family. Of course, you’re still young so your lack of children isn’t such a problem. Take your time.’

He smiled grimly. ‘You’re being obnoxious.’

Better he thought her obnoxious than overly sensitive, defensive and way out of her comfort zone. ‘I haven’t deliberately spilled anything on you yet and caused an outrage. I think I’m being very restrained. That’s because I’m worried about you.’

‘Dance with me.’ It wasn’t a request.

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