Page 92 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

A curious anger was growing in him—part defensiveness, part disappointment and part an odd pain that his suggestion had been rejected. Yet it seemed ridiculous to be so angry about that. Why should he care?

‘Of course it is,’ he said curtly. ‘But it will help our people also.’

‘So you’d rather organise a hugely expensive coronation for me than give me another hour of your time. Is that what you’re saying?’

Frustration joined the mix of emotions inside him. He had no more time to give, and she should understand that. ‘Why is that a problem?’

Her blue gaze darkened, her smile just a memory. ‘You don’t understand, do you? That I might enjoy spending time with you and want more of it.’

‘We’ve talked about this,’ he said, trying to mask his impatience. ‘Kasimir is the most—’

‘Important thing. Yes, I know,’ she interrupted, the blue sparks of her temper beginning to show. ‘But it’s possible to do both, Tiberius. You can rule your country and be a husband at the same time.’ She gestured at the crowded ballroom. ‘There are plenty of people here who are great examples of that.’

His anger built and he was conscious of it being out of proportion to what she’d actually said, and yet he seemed to be powerless to ignore it.

‘Those people do not have the same history we do,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘And neither do their countries.’

Guinevere’s gaze came back to his. ‘You mean me being the daughter of your enemy?’

‘No,’ he snapped, forgetting himself. ‘Our marriage being one of convenience.’

‘Yes, until you made it real.’ She turned to face him fully now, standing small and indomitable before him. ‘You were the one who didn’t want a divorce, Tiberius.’

‘And you agreed,’ he shot back.

She looked away abruptly, her hands clasped in front of her now, a sure sign of her distress.

You are ruining this for her.

Pain threaded through him at the sight of her small hands, holding on to each other so tightly. It was a pain he didn’t understand. Because it hurt him that she was distressed. It hurt him to think that he was ruining this evening for her, too, especially when he’d been trying to make things better.

‘Little lioness,’ he said softly, taking her hands once more and drawing her behind one of the columns. ‘I don’t want to fight with you. If you don’t want a coronation, then we won’t have one. I only thought you’d like it.’

She stared up at him, her gaze luminous, and much to his shock he saw tears in her eyes.

‘Guinevere?’ He drew her closer. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s not the coronation,’ she said after a moment, her voice thick and shaky. ‘I don’t…don’t need any of that. What I need is you, Tiberius. More of your time, more of your company, just…more of you.’

‘Lioness,’ he murmured, tightening his grip. ‘You know I can’t—’

‘I need it because I’m in love with you.’

The stunned look on his face told her everything she needed to know about how he felt. There was no joy, no happiness. Only shock.

She’d known it would be a difficult thing to tell him, but she hadn’t been able to mask her feelings about his coronation offer well enough. His offer to do something for her, that she’d hoped would be about spending more time with her, only for it to be about a coronation had been too sharp a disappointment.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it, it was that the thing he’d chosen wasn’t really about her at all. It was about what she represented as his wife, his queen, and their marriage as a symbolic union for all of Kasimir.

It wasn’t about her.

It wasn’t about Guinevere, who was in love with her husband and who only wanted to spend time with him.

But of course time was his most precious commodity, and he didn’t have enough of it to spare for her and her alone.

She shouldn’t have told him the real reason for her disappointment, but not telling him the truth would only cause more trouble between them, especially when she wasn’t good at hiding her feelings.

But she’d said it now, the the truth that had been sitting there all this time since that moment under the stars in the orchard.

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