Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B EAU HAD HALF expected him to order her out of the chalet. Back to the palace and his precious controllable life. But she lay in bed for at least an hour, and he never returned with more ridiculous orders or arguments.

Or an apology.

She'd finally gotten dressed, accepting that he wasn't coming. And it was her own fault. She had believed that no matter what happened, this new life would be better than her old one.

But it was just going to turn into the old one, wasn't it? He'd threatened to lock her away. An old threat. One she should be fully familiar with.

But she hadn't expected it from him, and that made her want to cry. But she'd be damned if she gave him the satisfaction.

She sat in the chair by the window and figured she was already miserable so she might as well call her sister.

"What have you done?" was how Zia answered the phone.

"What needed to be done, of course," Beau returned, trying to sound flippant. "But you may lecture me if you wish." Maybe that would take her mind off of Lyon's threats, and how awfully familiar they were.

There was a beat of silence. "I never lecture."

Beau smiled in spite of herself. "All is well, Zia. I promise. I even..." She looked at the closed door. She couldn't tell Zia everything. So, she stretched the truth. "Lyon's been very kind." Minus a threat or two. "I'm not unhappy. Nor will I be." She wouldn't let herself be. "Everything is well. How is it with you?"

"I am not happy with you."

"Of course not."

Zia grunted in irritation. Then caught Beau up on the past few days. A slight pregnancy scare, but she was healthy if on bed rest now. Cristhian, who had been insisting on marriage, walking that back so that it was up to Zia. She complained about that bitterly, but Beau could read what was really under all that bitterness.

Hurt and fear.

Beau sighed, thinking of what Lyon had said on their hike. About being a payment to a debt. It made Beau very much not like his grandmother, which was ridiculous since she was dead and Lyon was clearly devoted to her memory.

But it also made her realize that his outburst, his threats had come from somewhere . And if she didn't quite understand from where, maybe it was the same as Zia.

Hurt and fear.

Could she excuse that his hurt and fear meant if she didn't bend and scrape to what he wanted, she would be locked and hidden away once more? Artificially inseminated into having his heirs, all so he avoided this supposed slippery slope of desire.

Why don't you tell him all about your panic attacks then? That'll really get him going.

But the thought made her sad rather than mad. Because she did not agree with him about anything he'd said, but she was beginning to understand it all the same. He believed he had to be...perfect, she supposed. Better than his uncles and cousins.

A responsibility put there by someone he cared about. Not just himself.

"How am I supposed to know what the right choice is?" Zia demanded, pulling Beau out of her thoughts.

But Beau didn't know. Even if she did, Zia had to work it out on her own.

Beau listened and made the appropriate comforting noises. Maybe this was how she needed to deal with Lyon too. Maybe there was no pushing. Maybe he had to come to his own conclusions. Maybe he had to realize on his own that threats were...cruel.

But was that fair, she wondered after hanging up with Zia. He wasn't like her father. There was something noble about what Lyon was trying to do. It wasn't about his position, it was about what he felt he owed to his grandmother's memory and his country.

She sat with that for a moment, an uncomfortable worry creeping in. That she was excusing his bad behavior because...because she cared for him.

She rubbed at her chest that suddenly felt too tight. He wasn't like Father. That was a fact, not her being blinded by...whatever it was she felt. Not love, no. It was too soon for that. There was still so much they didn't know about each other, and she'd never trust him with her secret.

But there was the chemistry. That was undeniable. And she enjoyed his company. But why she liked him was the sense of being...noble or responsible or something. An inherent sense of right and wrong. It made him a good man.

These were facts. Not things she'd convinced herself of because she had feelings for him. And facts were what she should focus on. She reached into her bag and pulled out the boring, dry biography of Lyon's royal line.

Maybe the answers to his...rigidity were in these pages. She skimmed the first few chapters. All ancient bloodlines and wars for "freedom" and "ways of life" which were really only ever about one group having power over another. The history of the world forever.

Eventually she reached his great-grandfather. It seemed he'd been an excellent leader. Loved by all, as his wife had been. His life had been cut rather short by a sudden heart attack, and then the instability had begun.

The next crown prince, his grandmother's eldest brother, it didn't appear had done anything all that wrong. There had been rumors and stories about the prince and princess, and some lurid pictures printed, apparently, but nothing illegal or particularly wrong. He'd died young though. Another heart attack.

The next crown prince, another brother, had held the position for only a year before he'd been forced to abdicate to his brother after it was brought to light he'd been using palace funds to pay off illegal gambling debts.

The next prince had held the position for almost three years—before the grumblings of the female palace staff had become so great they couldn't seem to hire anyone to work at the palace. It didn't take a detective to figure out why.

He'd abdicated, claiming health issues. It went on from there. Sons. Brothers. Each story a little more salacious than the last so that she had to consult the internet to fill in the blanks as the book glossed over the more despicable acts.

A series of prostitutes given free rein and then stealing historical artifacts from the palace. Affairs that ended in public feuds. An inappropriate relationship with an underage woman that would have ended in actual jail time if the prince hadn't "suffered a heart attack."

There were all sorts of internet conspiracy stories about his death.

Yes, Lyon had quite the history of men who couldn't handle themselves or their power stretching out behind him. She didn't understand why the misdeeds of his family would hang around his neck like a noose, but she could see that they did, and why that might have him lash out in all that fear and hurt.

She closed the book and put it away, considering. If he truly believed giving in to anything he desired was a slippery slope to destruction, then perhaps she should not be angry with him.

Or are you turning into your mother?

She scowled at that thought. She was hardly going to twist herself into a pretzel for him, but she had promised him she would be the wife he needed. For Zia's future, she had promised to be a picture-perfect princess.

If that meant ignoring chemistry and enjoyment and keeping her distance from her husband who made her feel alive , well. That was the deal she'd made, wasn't it?

She blew out a breath, her stomach's growling only growing louder. Loud enough she could no longer ignore it. She finally got up and left the room. Perhaps he'd abandoned her here.

But the minute she left the bedroom she smelled food. She followed the scent to the kitchen. Where he stood over the stove, working on something.

Quite the sight. A handsome prince cooking a meal in his beautiful chalet kitchen. She had no mad left, and it filled her with a certain amount of anxiety. Shouldn't she still be mad? He had threatened to essentially lock her away. She should be furious.

But she found none of her ire watching him cook. Thinking of what he'd said about debts and payments. Bloodlines and respectability.

"It is almost ready," he said without looking at her.

She sighed and settled into a seat at the table. He served them dinner, making no eye contact whatsoever. It was a hearty-looking stew, and warm rolls glistening with butter.

"You've utilized your afternoon wonderfully," she offered, hoping to ease some of the tension choking the air.

He only made a vague agreeing sound before taking a seat at the table.

Beau was half-tempted to say something shocking, just to get a reaction out of him. But that wasn't being a good princess, was it?

So she said nothing. They ate without speaking to one another at all.

It kind of made her want to cry. But she was going to prove to him that she could give him what he wanted. She was going to try, anyway. So, she did everything he did. She helped him clean up the dinner without saying a word. When he retired to their rooms to take a shower, she retired to their rooms and read in the chair until he emerged. Then she silently went into the shower herself. She put on her coziest, baggiest pajamas and returned to the room.

He was already in bed. All the lights off, save one.

The small one by her side of the bed. It was an oddly thoughtful gesture that had tears springing to her eyes. And a horrible thought infiltrating.

She wanted him to care for her. In little ways and small ways. And she worried that it would come at great cost to herself, that want.

So maybe she understood him and his worries after all. She didn't want to be her mother. She'd never once thought she could be.

Until she'd started to develop these soft, caring feelings for him, and sometimes considered putting his own needs before her own. Would that only get worse? Until she too was bowing and scraping to make him happy at the cost of everyone else?

Terrible, terrible thought. One that made her cold straight through. But in that cold, she felt even worse for having argued with him earlier.

They really weren't all that different, were they? And his concern about falling into the traps of his family wasn't so outlandish, was it?

But she didn't know how to broach the topic with him. She didn't know how to apologize or make this right. And still, she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

She slid into bed, searching for the right words. "Are we going to awkwardly toss and turn all night or can we discuss the elephant in the room?" Definitely not the right words.

"There is no elephant," he replied gruffly.

She snorted. Hardly. "I accept that you find our...chemistry...appalling."

"I didn't use that word."

"Horrifying?" she asked, because she didn't know how to have a conversation that wasn't her poking at someone. She didn't know how to just be...open and vulnerable.

"It isn't the chemistry itself, Beau. It is how it makes me behave."

She supposed if there was anything she respected about this entirely frustrating and nonsensical thing it was that he blamed himself. Not her. Usually she was the easy target for blame in an argument.

Which didn't help with all this... softness in her heart when it came to him. But instead of continuing to think about her mother, she shifted her focus to what she'd learned about relationships. She knew things only in theory , but that was something, she supposed.

Mature adults had mature conversations. Just like the ones Lyon bemoaned had been missing from the book he was reading.

"I read about your uncles and your cousins. What the book glossed over, I looked up on the internet."

There was nothing but silence from his side of the bed. She could take that as a sign to stop talking, but she didn't want to return to the palace like this. Or worse, have to fake smiles and conversation for the staff, and then retreat to stony silences when they were alone.

"It helped me understand better, I think. It is quite a lot of bad behavior from one prince to another, and it makes your place all that more...challenging. To prove you are not like them."

It was not in her nature to apologize. She generally thought she was correct in everything she did. But this wasn't actually about being right or wrong. It was about a promise she'd made, and something he felt strongly about.

It was about, like him, the need to do the right thing. It wasn't about caring for him so much she needed to smooth this rift over. It was simply the right thing to do.

"I apologize, Lyon. I...may not agree with everything you've said today, but I understand where it's coming from now."

Lyon did not move. He continued to stare blindly at the darkness in the room. Apologies were a dime a dozen, his grandmother had always made sure he understood that .

But the way Beau said hers made him want to...believe her.

"I made a promise to you when we arranged this," she continued. "I would be what you needed. I promised to give you heirs and be a steady, respectable presence for your country. I'll admit, I don't understand why there needs to be such a hard line on decorum when people are meant to believe we're...in love, but I don't need to understand to respect that this is how you feel."

He finally rolled over to face her. She was sitting up in the bed, knees drawn to her chest. She was mostly a shadow, but he could tell her hair was free around her shoulders.

There was a humming need to reach out and touch, but he did not indulge himself. If he gave in tonight, not only was he a complete failure to himself, but he would be failing her.

She was apologizing. Saying she understood. He could hardly be the reason that didn't matter.

"My grandmother used to say apologies are pointless. Pretty words meant for the recipient to ignore what can't be fixed," he said, pushing himself into a sitting position like she was.

"That's a rather dire view of apologies. Particularly ones honestly given. Besides, I don't wish you to ignore anything. I'm only...reassuring you that I have not forgotten the promises I made. I can't promise to be perfect, that has never been in my nature. But I promise to try."

For a moment, he couldn't find any words. Couldn't understand this. He'd expected icy silences and perhaps another fight before they returned to the palace. He'd expected to have to make good with his threat and keep her as much out of view and away from him as possible.

But she undercut it all. With an apology . One that sounded so sincere, he did not know how to ignore it. One that felt like a bridge, past the struggles they were currently facing and toward a mature relationship of mutual understanding.

"No one has ever apologized to me in a way that felt genuine. I have always agreed with my grandmother's estimation. Until this. I accept your apology, Beau. Thank you for understanding."

She inched a little closer. Hesitantly. Until her shoulder pressed to his. He didn't want to push her away. This was a gesture, to go with her apology. To bring them back to accord. So he carefully placed his arm around her shoulders. Not pulling her in, but not pushing her away either.

There was a danger here. In the warmth of their bodies comingling, in the sweet, floral scent of her. But there was also a strange, sweet comfort. If they worked through this so early in their marriage, that was an excellent precedent to set for the future.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I do not wish to return to the palace at odds."

"Neither do I." He wanted to kiss her then. He wanted the sweet comfort of her body next to his. Under his. "I apologize as well. I should not have resorted to threats. Fights have no place here."

She didn't say anything to that, just sat next to him. He could have stayed right in this moment forever, but even this unknown gentleness felt like the kind of thinking that pulled a man down and under. Perhaps more so than straight desire. Desire was fleeting.

But caring about her... What kind of slippery slope would that be? So he very lightly brushed his mouth against her temple.

"Good night, Beau," he said, then moved over to his side of the bed.

"Good night, Lyon," she returned, moving over to hers.

Just as it should be. Just as it would be.