Page 49 of Thrones We Steal

“Leave her alone, Father.” Henry’s voice carries a sharp edge, and I imagine it pricking the skin, a bead of blood popping out.

“May I remind you who you’re speaking to,” William hisses, giving a swift tug on his morning coat. “Not that you’ve ever had a sense of propriety between your ears.”

I clear my throat rather loudly at the sight of a photographer making his way toward us. No matter what William says, I don’t trust the press further than I can throw them, which, looking at the beefy man wielding the camera, wouldn’t be far. “It might be time to wrap up this discussion,” I say.

With a glance at the photographer and a surly one thrown in Henry’s direction, William turns and walks away. Argos follows closely at his heels. Relief steals over me as I watch him retreat. My energy has drained away like suds in the bottom of the shower.

The photographer gestures for Henry and me to move closer together. I try to step away as soon as he’s captured his shots, but Henry’s arm remains snug around my waist.

“Get your hand off of me.”

He drops it like I touched him with a hot iron. “Relax. What did my father actually want?”

“He was giving me a few tips on happiness.”

Henry snorts and kicks at the grass with the toe of his shoe. “What the hell does he know about being happy?”

“Nothing, if his face is any indication.”

“And how did he advise you to be happy?” He tilts his teacup up, and I wonder if he smuggled in something besides tea as well.

“He suggested I take Beck as a lover.”

He chokes on his tea—it is, in fact, tea.

“Good god,” he says once he’s caught his breath. “And he says I have no scruples.”

I rub a thumb along the gilt-edged handle of my teacup. “Guess I don’t either.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had the thought long before he suggested it.”

He stares at me like he thinks I live in a box—a very tiny, secure box that doesn’t allow room for hormones or emotions of any kind. “And?”

“And what?”

“Are you going to do it?”

“No.”

“Conscience get the best of you?”

“Apparently Beck’s conscience is loftier than mine.”

“You actually asked him?” He’d be less surprised if I threw my tea in his face.

“Yes, Henry, I did.” Irritation seeps into my pores like water in a leaky boat. “Not that it’s any of your business. But rest assured, he wasn’t interested.”

“He’s a fool.”

I consider telling him his father made the same comment about him just a few minutes ago. Instead I say, “What’s the deal with your dad? Is he always like that?”

I didn’t see William much when I was younger. He was always attending events or meetings when I was with Henry. In recent years, we’ve had minimal interactions, and they are always in public. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a conversation alone with him before today.

“You mean charming, gracious, and full of sunshine?”

I smile in spite of myself. “I’m assuming you’re his usual victim?”

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