Page 40 of Pregnant at the Palace Altar

“You do not get to command what Isay, Diamandis. Or what I feel. If you wish to continue on as if you do not love me, that isyourchoice. But I have made mine.”

“I am the king.”

“And I am the queen. I will say it whenever I wish, but let us agree here and now—I do not require any response from you. These are my feelings, Diamandis. If they seem confrontational to you, that is your problem.”

“I have no problems,glyko mou.”

“Neither do I.” She smiled sweetly at him, and he did not understand one second of this.

So he decided to ignore it. He ate his dinner, said nothing more of love, and when they were faced with their bed that evening, he gave in to his desires. Yet again.

He was not so arrogant as to promise himself he would not give in to her, time and time again. But his feelings? He wouldnevergive in to those.

They did not speak of the conversation for the next few days, and Katerina did not push it. She had said her piece—what more was there? Instead, she set about enjoying the rest of her honeymoon.

And it was truly a honeymoon. They swam every day. Diamandis liked to swim straight lines, clock his time. It was exercise for him. She preferred to splash him, sit in the shallow waves, dig her fingers and toes into the sand and watch the birds swoop down into the surf.

She could be practical and focused—it was what made her a fantastic assistant. She enjoyed order, but she also enjoyed taking a break from it.

Diamandis should as well.

She could not allow herself to think she would get through his many walls. She could not believe a loving marriage was on the other side of this, but if she could get him to smile on occasion, if she could get his shoulders to relax when they were alone, would this be enough?

They ate lazy meals outside, the sun bronzing them both. He timed how long they spent in the sun, noticed how much water she drank, always so cognizant of her well-being. She knew that in his head it was about protecting his heirs.

She knew that in his heart, in a way he wouldn’t acknowledge, it was about love.

If she did not drift too close to personal topics, or love, he would even laugh and converse with her and not retreat to a room on the excuse ofroyal businesshe could not specify.

So she did not push. She did not bring up those off-limit topics. She loved him in every way she could imagine—in their bedroom, on the balcony, at the beach. She let him have her in whatever ways he wished, given her ever-growing stomach.

Each day of that was harder than the last. The more she allowed herself to feel love, the harder it was to be met with endless stoicism, even though she knew it was the only response he’d ever give.

But she would endure it. Whatever it took. Because while he never saidI love you, he also never saidI do not love you.

One night, with the stars shining above them as they ate a cold meal on the grand patio that sloped down to the beach, soft music lilting through the air from the invisible speakers, she stood, held out her hand to him and said, “Dance with me, my king.”

There were few things he refused when she called himmy king. Still, there was a pause. That flash of distrust.

Because he did not trust her love, nor any casual showing of it. Passion he accepted, but gentleness he saw as the enemy. Her heart ached for what he must have suffered at such a formative age to make him so suspicious of a soft feeling.

But he rose and took her hand. He pulled her close as they swayed to the music, their bodies in perfect tune. He held one of her hands in his, the other slid down the curve of her spine. She knew what he wanted, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted something more first.

“I have been thinking about names,” she informed him somewhat abruptly.

The hand on her back stopped its lazy trail downward. He did not drop her hand, but maybe that was because she held on so tight.

“There isn’t much to think about. There is royal protocol to follow,” he said stiffly.

“Yes, Zandra and I discussed the customs with her tutor. I am not opposed to the tradition exactly, but surely there’s some wiggle room.”

“I assure you, when it comes to the heir to the throne, there is no wiggle room,” he returned in that supercilious way that tempted her into a smile. She should not find his arrogance amusing or attractive, she supposed, but what kind of king would he be if he did not havesomedegree of arrogance?

“The twins should have a name thatmeanssomething. The tradition of naming them after grandparents seems foolish when naming them after your parents or siblings would be more meaningful.”

“No,” he said flatly, with icy coldness. He even took a step away from her, but she held on.

“Very well, but the custom includes the queen choosing one name from her own family for the fifth name, but there are no relations I’d particularly want our children to be named after. And your royal names are so long. Perhaps we could justskipa fifth name.”

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