Page 44 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

Something unfamiliar twisted in his gut and he found himself leaning forward, as if to study her more closely. There was fear in them, and yet an odd kind of defiance too.

Intriguing.

She’d been caught spying on him in his newly acquired throne room so she was right to be afraid. Yet this defiance in spite of her fear… It either made her very brave or very stupid.

‘A silent mouse,’ he murmured. ‘You should speak, little mouse. Explain what you’re doing, hiding and spying on your king.’

The fine line of her jaw hardened even though fear still lurked in her eyes. ‘I am not a mouse,’ she said. ‘And I was not spying.’

Her voice was precise and clear as glass.

‘Then what were you doing?’ He studied her intently, looking for signs of a lie, looking for weaknesses. He had a soldier’s instinct, alert to anything and everything that might be a threat, and while she might not be an obvious one, looks could be deceiving.

A woman in a flouncy, lacy dress could still cause him problems, no matter how pretty she was—and he had to admit she was very pretty.

Not that he was interested. He had been sexually abstinent for the past six months as he’d entered the final stages of his plan to reclaim the throne, because he’d wanted no distractions. His body hadn’t been happy about it, but he was a master of physical control and it would do what he wished.

Perhaps after his project for rebuilding Kasimir had got underway he’d find himself a willing woman and lose himself for a night or two. But not until then.

Everything had to wait until then.

The woman was holding herself very still, her hands clasped tightly together, and it was clear that she did not like being looked at the way he was looking at her.

Good. She wasn’t supposed to like it. If she hadn’t wanted to be looked at, she shouldn’t have been hiding in the walls.

‘Well?’ He kept his tone calm, almost gentle. ‘You will give me an answer, mouse. And that is an order, not a request.’

Her mouth firmed. ‘I was…hiding.’

‘Obviously. And who were you hiding from? My soldiers? Or…’ Tiberius stopped as a thought came to him. Now he’d taken a good look at her, he saw there was an odd familiarity to her features, as if he’d seen a face like hers before, somewhere…

Yes. He knew where. The photos his father had kept, which he’d showed to Tiberius as he was growing up. Making sure Tiberius memorised the people in them. Making sure he knew who they were and what they’d done.

‘These are your enemies,’ his father had said. ‘Your mother died because of them. Remember them. They took what is ours and it is up to you to get it back.’

Those sharp features, those blue eyes, that pale hair…

She was an Accorsi—of course she was.

A pulse of something hot and fierce lanced through him. So. Not all of them had escaped. One had stayed and here she was, standing before his reclaimed throne.

His prisoner.

His war prize.

‘Miss Accorsi,’ he said softly, watching her, seeing the flicker of shock in her eyes as he said the name, the delicate rosebud of her mouth opening. ‘It is a dangerous thing for someone with your name to be hiding in walls.’

She went even paler, almost the colour of her dusty white dress. ‘How do you know—?’

‘You’re Guinevere Accorsi, are you not?’ he interrupted, because she had to be. Renzo had had three children and there was only one girl.

Her gaze flickered, then that sharp little chin of hers lifted, as if she was trying to stare him down, no matter that he was on a throne, on a dais, and she was at his feet.

‘Y-Yes,’ she said. ‘And?’

Tiberius’s grip on the arms of his throne tightened as a thought began to take shape in his head. He was a master strategist, all his risks calculated, his gambles fully with the odds in his favour. Being an excellent tactician had given him the crown that was by rights truly his and, while he didn’t like surprises, when one presented itself he had no problem adapting it to suit his purposes.

If this woman was indeed Renzo’s daughter, then she could be useful to him. There were still those sympathetic to the Accorsis scattered throughout the country—supporters who would no doubt cause trouble now he was King.

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